Off the Map (Winter Rescue #2) Read Free Page B

entire night dissolved and neither one of them got custody of poker night. Keep it light. Keep it simple. Keep it fun. It was the only way to avoid going back to her apartment alone.
    Tilting her head and angling for a coy tone, she managed to roll all three mandates into one. “You’re just afraid I’m going to play better than you and win all your money again, aren’t you?”
    “You don’t play better than me—you just turn things unlucky when you touch them. And you’re always touching everything.”
    “Some men find that a point in my favor.”
    “Some men obviously haven’t spent very much time in your company.”
    They stood at an impasse for what felt like hours, eyes locked, stances squared, hearts pounding in sync. It was a tactic Scott liked to use when he was feeling superior—this alpha-dog approach to staring others into submission—but she’d be damned if she’d play along this time.
    She crossed her arms and settled in for the long haul. She could wait. She literally had nowhere else in the world to be.
    Scott must have sensed her resolution because he gave a resigned sigh. “Fine. I’ll play. But we’re not doing any of your stupid wild card or Hi/Lo crap. I hate girly poker.”
    “Okay.” She relinquished her upper hand with a smile. “You win.”
    He looked confused. “I do?”
    “Absolutely. We’ll play macho poker and I won’t touch anything until you specifically ask me to—playing cards and body parts included. Happy now?”
    Scott’s eyes flashed a warning, but not even he could find something to argue about in complete capitulation. He’d try , but he wouldn’t succeed.
    “Ecstatic,” he said dryly.

Chapter Two
    “Max, would you please grab these and give them to Scott?” Carrie nudged the red cards across the table with the nub of a pencil. “I’d like two.”
    “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Even though Scott had been determined not to be the first to give in, he couldn’t take much more of this. “You can hand them directly to me. I give you permission to touch your own cards.”
    “Do you?” She beamed at him, her smile as sincere as if he’d just lavished her with flowery compliments. “That’s nice. We’ll be able to play so much faster now.”
    He tossed her the top two cards from the deck, groaning when her eyes lit up and her smile only increased in wattage. Carrie had the worst poker face in the world—every heart and diamond reflected in her oversized brown eyes—which made it difficult to infuse the game with any real challenge. With that woman, you always knew in advance if you were going to win or lose.
    Scott lost. Every time.
    “Well?” she prodded. “Are you just going to sit there, or are we playing stud?”
    He clamped his jaw down so hard he almost bit off his own tongue. Carrie might be enacting some kind of saintly, put-upon ex-girlfriend routine over there, but he knew when he was being goaded. Playing stud was something they’d both rather enjoyed in the past.
    “Dealer takes three,” he said, and drew his own cards. Goddammit. A two, a jack, and a five. The worst possible hand he could have pulled. As Ace slapped his cards down and Max liberally swore, Scott realized she’d managed to come out ahead yet again.
    “Full house!” she chirped merrily, and leaned in to pull the stack of coins her way. “Mama’s buying herself a new pair of shoes.”
    As she was seated directly across the table, her enthusiasm provided a generous glimpse of her breasts straining against her low-cut white sweater. He’d have bet every penny in front of him—a small pile that was dwindling by the second—that she’d worn it on purpose.
    It was the Carrie Morlock way of doing things. Distract and awe. Cause major accidents. Somehow manage to avoid the fallout afterward.
    That must be one of the benefits of being the most beautiful woman in the world. Statuesque and perfectly proportioned, everything about Carrie’s body was designed to beg—and