An Offer He Cant Refuse - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,80

who sews, actually."

"I feel a stereotype in the offing," she said dryly.

Though his attention was still directed out the windshield, he grinned. "Sorry. But my idea of a sewing woman is a plain-Jane homebody wearing pincushions on each wrist and who spends her nights with one of those dressmaker dealies instead of a date."

"They're called dummies. Dressmaker dummies." She owned two. One in the plus size she used to be and one with the more streamlined curves she now laid claim to. And, as humiliating as it would be to admit, she was a plain-Jane homebody. Though Johnny didn't seem to think so.

She sat up a little straighten "So I, urn, don't fit your image of a woman who sews, is that right?"

"Contessa, you made your very own mold the night you danced in my arms."

That hot flush once more warmed her skin. Again, she wiggled against the leather seat.

"Stop doing that," he said softly, "or I'll go insane."

Tea froze. What did that mean? Her eyes swiveled his way, but his gorgeous face might as well have been carved in stone. "I can see why you're good at poker," she murmured under her breath.

They were on the freeway heading out of the Coachella Valley now, and he set the cruise control then looked over at her. "What did you say?"

She cleared her throat. "I, uh, asked if you always wanted to be a - what did you call it? - money manager?"

"I... well..." Johnny hesitated, one hand reaching up to rub his chin.

All at once, there was a new thread of tension between them.

"You don't have to tell me," she offered quickly. "It's none of my business."

"No," he said. "I want you to know about my work. Maybe you'll think I should have told you about it before."

Tea frowned, alarmed and curious at the same time. "Really, Johnny. As long as your checks clear, that's good enough for me."

"It's nothing illegal."

She already felt a thousand times better. Not that she'd really believed he was involved in criminal activity, but hearing him say it was a relief. Given her family history, who would blame her?

"I told you that my playing in poker tournaments is a hobby."

"I remember. I have a friend who holds a monthly girls' poker night and she's always inviting me. Maybe I should get you to give me some lessons first."

He smiled, this one creasing a sly dimple in the side of his cheek. "It would be a pleasure. It could be a pleasure." His voice held that dark undercurrent that always sent her imagination soaring.

She cleared her throat, trying to rein it in. "But you were saying... ?"

"Poker's my hobby. Gambling's my job."

"Huh?" She blinked, trying to understand. "I don't get it."

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "Let me go back for a minute. Have you ever heard of the group of MIT students who cleaned up in Vegas several years ago?"

Not that she wanted to admit to it, but she'd caught a Dateline NBC rerun last summer when she was home on a Saturday night spending time with - what else? - her dressmaker's dummy and her sewing machine. "Maybe..." she said, trying to sound uncertain. "Didn't they have some sort of card-counting scheme?"

"Yes. And if you use just your brains to win at the game, that's not illegal either. But the casinos don't like their clientele so smart. They finally sniffed them out and put their photos in the Griffin Book - an encyclopedia of sorts used by the biggest security firm in Vegas that the casinos hire to catch not only cheaters, but habitual winners. Whenever someone in the book shows up at one of the places they protect, the transgressor is politely, or not so politely, shown the door."

"So you were part of this group from MIT?"

He shook his head, then shot her a little grin. "That group was caught. I was part of a different group from UC Berkeley. It's how I made my seed money to invest in the syndicate I now run."

She supposed she admired his youthful talents, but she still didn't understand about this syndicate. "Which means you do exactly what?"

"I'm no different than any other kind of fund manager, meaning I direct the dollars of our group of highly capitalized investors. Rich men. But instead of investing the money in mutual funds or stocks and bonds and betting we'll turn a profit from them, our group bets on the outcome of sporting events. Usually the three