Her gaze roamed down the front of his white T-shirt—clean
but with a pinhole near the collar—to where it draped over
his waistband. A rivet must have fallen away from his jeans
because a corner of his pocket was dangling. Lower, the
faded denim clung to his thighs before coming apart in loose
threads at his knee.
When she got back to meeting his eyes, he was grinning.
“Like what you see?”
“Crude. But there’s potential.” Oh, he was dangerous. One
minute in his company and she was making leading comments,
behaving as recklessly as ever. Time to leave.
He set the cue stick aside and hooked a finger in the
shoulder strap of her dress to lightly tug her closer.
“Potential?”
“You could do a putting-green version for golf,” she
suggested, veering the conversation back to impersonal
topics, decelerating her heart rate back to the speed limit.
“I’ll give it some thought. I have other ideas I’d like to
hear your opinion on. Now that we’re talking.”
“Hell hasn’t completely iced over, handsome.” She placed
her palm in the middle of his chest, forcing him to release
her. She had to get away from him before he overwhelmed her.
She had hoped this meeting would provide closure, but this
wasn’t closure. This was an addict getting a last fix before
going into rehab.
“And I don’t have time,” she added, pointing at her
watch.
Wicked woman, it wasn’t her watch she wanted him to see.
He caught her hand and stared at the diamond on her third
finger.
“It looks real.” It made his chest feel tight.
“Of course it’s real.” She tugged her hand out of his
grasp and adjusted the ring on her finger as she considered
it.
The way she extended her arm made him think of the way
the Ring of Reversal card was played in his best-selling
game Orion’s Rings. It had the power to ward off all sorts
of trouble and Renny appeared to be wielding hers against
him. Interesting, since he was pretty sure she had searched
him out so they could get back together.
He’d been counting on her coming to him. That way, he
could take her back without losing ground. Sure enough, the
day before she would have to go through with this marriage
she was supposedly planning, here she was. He wasn’t going
to gloat, though. He didn’t need to make someone else feel
like a loser to enjoy the invincible feeling of winning. He
wouldn’t force her to concede. He’d let her play out her
hand, intrigued as always by her strategy.
“Is he Italian?” He recalled Gran had first mentioned the
engagement when she had called from Italy.
“We met in Venice, but he’s American,” Renny said.
“So you’ve only known him a few weeks?”
“Doesn’t matter. He wants marriage, a house in suburbia,
and two-point-three kids, just like me. You might think
marriage is the equivalent of going directly to jail without
collecting two hundred dollars, but I value it.” She gave
him a hard stare for a moment then lowered her gaze. “Sorry.
I promised myself I wouldn’t get into this with you. There’s
no winner or loser, right? We chose different leagues,
that’s all.” She shrugged.
There were moments in any game when the play shifted,
when an opponent’s move took you off guard and forced you to
re-think from square one. Con had that feeling now.
“If we’re okay over your gran, I’ll get going. I really
do have a lot to do. Bye, Con.” Her voice went weak and so
did his knees.
“I call bullshit,” he said.
She paused three steps into her exit. “I beg your
pardon?”
“You’re bluffing.” Please, God.
“Bluffing what?”
“All of it. The engagement. Gran and the con artist.
Walking out. You’re hoping I’ll ante up with a diamond ring
as big as that one. You want me to marry you.”
“I’ve always admired your optimism, Con.”
And he had always admired her ability to make him laugh
while she tugged the rug from under his feet. She wasn’t
really getting married, was she?
“Other women have done crazier things, hoping I’d marry
them.”
“They don’t know you as well as I do.”
Yeah, she was a laugh riot. Or would have been, if he
knew she was joking. He was starting to think this was
serious, though. He hated serious.
“Is he rich?”
“No. He’s not particularly poor, either. He’s quite
average in all respects.” Her voice thinned; she was
insulted.
So was he. Losing never felt as good as winning, but it
was easier to take when the competition was worthy.
“You’re getting married—the dullest, most predictable rut
anyone can fall into—and you pick a man best described as
‘average?’”
“Yes, Con. Congratulations on escaping my evil trap. I
was hoping you’d be happy for me.”
Happy for her? That was the hand she was dealing him? It
was as good as a fold, but maybe that’s how he should play
this. He was the Prince of Play. He had long ago passed on
the game of white picket fences. Apparently, though, it
turned Renny’s crank, and he shouldn’t expect her to stay in
a relationship where it wasn’t an option. But he hadn’t
believed she was serious. About any of it.
Something else occurred to him.
“Are you telling me Gran really got rooked?”
The corners of her mouth dropped like the value of stock
in Performance Games after his departure.
“Are you going to yell at me now?”
“Hell, no. I’m going to enlist you. Gran needs that
money, Ren. Let’s get it back.” He caught her wrist and
started for the door.
Renny jerked him to a stop and broke free of his grip.
“She isn’t my only concern right now. Jacob’s waiting for
me.”
“Who?”
“My fiancé, Jacob.”
“He’s here?” He pointed toward the front door. “Outside?
Right now?”
“Introduce us.” "
