Maybe Yes: Maybe, Definitely Book 1 Page 2

  I tuck my long strands behind my ear. I can’t believe he is talking about his death right now. I nervously run my hands through my hair over and over.

  “I’m not ready,” I say without meeting his eyes. I can’t face disappointing him again.

  “Yes, you are. You’re beautiful. You were born to marry a man who can run the Felton empire. Once you are married, you will see it was the right thing to do. You will feel taken care of. You will finally feel like you have found your place in this world.”

  I let my eyes glance up at him for just a second. I see honesty. His eyes are filled with honesty.

  “Maybe,” I say weakly.

  His face brightens. “Yes,” he says.

  “Yes,” I repeat on autopilot.

  “The meeting is tomorrow at eleven a.m. at the Felton Grand on the strip.”

  “Yes,” I say again. I stand up without looking him in the eyes. I walk out of the door without looking back.

  I walk back to the basement, back to my haven. This time, when I slump into the chair, I don’t feel an ounce of comfort. In fact, I feel nothing. Sitting here and watching movies the rest of the day isn’t going to help anymore. I won’t be able to zone out on them again. I just promised my grandfather I would marry a total stranger in six months. I’ve never broken a promise before, and I don’t plan on starting now.

  I just don’t know what I want.

  I think of everything I’ve been told I want—money, clothes, a modeling career, an acting career, and an intelligent husband who will run our company to give me even more money. But not one of those things has ever made me happy. I try to think about things that have made me happy—my family and Scarlett. But that leaves me with fewer answers.

  I know what I don’t want.

  I don’t want a modeling career.

  I don’t want an acting career.

  I don’t want to marry a complete stranger.

  I try to think of my happiest memory with my dad. It was on my eighteenth birthday. It coincided with my high school graduation. He took me to a casino in California, one I could legally gamble at. He taught me how to play blackjack and how to count cards. We won—a lot. It wasn’t the winning that made it fun. It was learning something from my father. It was the confidence he displayed in me when he gave me high amounts of money to place a bet I would win because I was capable. It was one of the only times I felt he was proud of me for something other than my looks.

  The line I will never forget my father saying to me is, “No one would ever suspect you of counting cards. You’re too pretty.”

  It was that day I learned my beauty was a weapon I could use to my advantage. I just never learned how to harness it.

  I head to my room to grab my shoes and purse to head to a casino, to find a happy memory…because tomorrow I’ll meet the man I’m going to marry. Tomorrow I’ll have to face the fact I don’t get to decide my future. I don’t have to face it today though. I still have a chance to make today better.

  I was wrong. Today isn’t the worst day of my life either. Tomorrow probably will be, so I’m going to make the most of my last night of freedom.

  2

  I place five hundred dollars in chips on the table—my maximum bid. The true count is up to plus-six, so I need to bet high since a positive true count tells me I have an advantage over the dealer. I watch as the dealer deals out the cards. In my head, I silently keep track of the cards being laid out. I look at my cards—a jack and a ten. I smile at the twenty, just one short of twenty-one—the number I want to match without going over. The dealer turns to me on my turn, and I signal I want to stand.

  I watch the dealer flop an additional card to add to his fifteen. It’s a king. He’s busted at twenty-five. I smile as he hands me a thousand dollars in additional chips bringing my winnings up to five thousand for the night.

  I should stop soon. Not stopping is always the chance you take when you play against the house. The house always has the advantage, even when you count cards, even when you know the odds. There is always a chance you will lose the hand, you will lose track of the count, or you will get cocky and bet too much.

  But I didn’t come here to win. Although winning feels good, I came here to escape. So, I’ll keep playing, no matter what.

  “You’re good. You should teach this old man to play. I’m having terrible luck,” an older gentleman sitting next to me says.

  I smile at the sweet old man. He’s been sitting next to me for over an hour now, and I don’t think he’s won more than a couple of hands. He is down well over a thousand dollars.

  I bid my maximum five hundred again. I keep my eyes on the cards as the dealer deals. I silently keep up the running count while still giving attention to the older gentleman.

  “It’s just beginner’s luck. I haven’t played in years.”

  The man smiles at me. “It looks like more than luck to me.”

  I shake my head as I smile back. I watch as the man takes his turn. He has seventeen. He should stand. If he hits, there is a good chance he will bust. He hits and busts. I knowingly shake my head.

  It’s my turn. I get a blackjack. I smile as the dealer pushes more chips my way.

  The old man sitting next to me shakes his head in disbelief of my winning streak. I try to act innocent by twirling the long blond hair of my high ponytail with my fingers. I don’t want to draw attention to my card counting, not that anyone would expect a young woman in jeans, a ripped comfy sweatshirt, and no makeup to be counting cards. But if security does catch on, I know enough about casinos to know I’ll be kicked out.

  I silently divide the running count by the decks left in the shoe. I get negative four indicating I’m at a disadvantage. I place a low bet this time, expecting to lose. I do.

  “Guess my winning streak can’t last forever.”

  The older gentleman chuckles. “Maybe your luck has passed to me.”

  I glance up from the table when I see them—the most intense eyes I have ever seen. The eyes belong to a man in a suit. The kind of man who knows designer clothes and only wears the best. A man that demands attention wherever he walks because of his mere presence. The kind who spends all day in a boardroom but still looks like he spends all of his time at the gym. I can’t believe I haven’t noticed him before. I’ve been sitting at this table for over an hour. In that time, many people have come and gone. None of them were the least bit intriguing.

  There is something about the way this man is looking at me that sends goosebumps all over my body. I’m not sure what the look actually is. Is it lust? Interest? Anger? Frustration? I don’t know. All I can feel is the intensity of his eyes. And they are staring at me. His eyes don’t leave me as the dealer begins dealing.

  I glance back at the table to continue counting the cards, but I still feel his eyes burning into me. I lose track of the count, not really caring anymore. I hit even though I’m at nineteen, and it doesn’t make sense. I bust.

  “I think I’ve pushed my luck too far at this table. Good luck,” I say to the older gentleman next to me. I stand from the table, taking my chips with me.

  I make it a point to avoid looking at the man in the suit with the intense eyes, but I still feel his eyes on me. I’m not ready to leave yet. As soon as I leave, my world will no longer be in my control—not that it ever was in my control. I need more of a distraction.

  I walk to the bar in the center of the casino and take a seat. I relax as my butt hits the cushion of the barstool. I know I can’t sit here for long without ordering a drink, which is the last thing I want. Maybe I’ll try my hand at pushing the buttons on the slots. I know I’ll end up losing all the money I just won, but I don’t care.

  “So, you’re a pro.”

  “What?” I turn left, toward the direction of the voice.

  That’s when I see them—the same piercing eyes. It’s the same man who was watching me at the blackjack table.

  I flip the chips over in my hands at the bar.

 
; “A pro card counter,” he says as he takes a seat next to me.

  Shit. I’m about to get thrown out of here.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn back to the bar. I try to get the attention of one of the scantily clad bartenders, but the closest one to me is busy flirting with a man.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch my visitor as he raises his hand, and the bartender immediately smiles and begins walking over to us.

  “Yes, you do. Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn you in.”

  I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding. “Do you work here?”

  “No.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. I have no idea why this complete stranger followed me. It’s not like the other night at the bar when I was dressed to pick up a guy. Tonight I look like death. No one is attracted to that. So, he can’t be here to hook up with me. He’s not here to kick me out. That leaves…I have no idea.

  “What can I getcha?” The woman leans over the bar, pushing her cleavage closer to the man’s face.

  I watch his lips move, but I don’t register his words. He doesn’t ask me what I want. He just speaks to the bartender, while keeping his eyes on me.

  I stupidly assumed his eyes would be on the pair of boobs in front of him giving me an opportunity to check him out. I was wrong.

  Now, I can’t take my eyes off of him even though my cheeks are burning red with embarrassment. I notice his suit conforms to his body, making it obvious he doesn’t work here. His dark brown hair spikes slightly to one side, and I think there is a little red in it if I look closely. He has a hint of a five o’clock shadow outlining his downturned lips that seem just as intense as his eyes.

  The whole time I’m taking him in, he doesn’t move. His expression never changes. I’m used to men at least smiling at me, but his lips don’t curl upward even a hint.

  He’s older. I know that much. He has lines around his eyes that hint at him being older than me. I have no idea how much older though—maybe ten years, if I had to guess. Closer to thirty than twenty.

  He’s intimidating.

  His eyes don’t shift from mine until the bartender returns with our drinks, and he reaches into his pocket to hand the woman his shiny platinum credit card.

  I glance at the bar and see two glasses of wine sitting in front of us. The bartender returns his credit card having opened his tab.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  He nods and takes a sip of his wine. I do the same. As soon as the liquid touches my lips, my whole attitude toward this stranger changes. The liquid is exquisite. No, it’s better than exquisite. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. It puts the Cosmo my almost one night stand got me the other night to shame.

  “This is delicious.” I hold up the wine to my lips and take another sip.

  “Good,” he says, seeming satisfied with my response.

  I curiously look at him. “Why are you here?”

  “Because I’m like every other person on the planet who likes to drink and occasionally gamble his money away while looking at boobs.”

  I smile bashfully when he says ‘boobs’ even though he isn’t talking about mine. Mine are completely covered up, if you can even call what I have boobs.

  He, on the other hand, still hasn’t cracked a smile.

  “I meant…” I shake my head. I’m not going to ask.

  “I’m intrigued by you. You’re beautiful, yet I detect a bit of insecurity in you for reasons that don’t make sense. You are obviously intelligent if you are able to count cards, but you are used to your beauty helping you to cover up that intelligence, just like you did with your card counting. You seem sad, yet you’ve chosen to come to one of the most alive places on the planet. You have every reason to be confident, yet you act like a scared, innocent little girl. I’m just trying to figure out what you are doing here.”

  I narrow my eyes at his rude comments. How could he have formed such a strong opinion of me in such a short amount of time? “Thank you for the drink,” I say as I stand. I’m not going to sit here and listen to a stranger insult me, not tonight.

  He grabs my arm as I get up. “I didn’t mean that as criticism.”

  “Seemed like it to me,” I say cautiously as I stare at his hand holding my arm. I feel the heat transfer from his body to mine. It feels overpowering, like everything else coming from this man.

  “Let’s try again. I’m Killian. You seem like a nice woman. I would love to hear over another drink how you became so good at blackjack and hopefully get some tips because I sucked back there.” This time, after he speaks, his lips curl up slightly.

  It’s not quite a smile, but I can tell it’s pushing it for this man.

  I smile brightly, hoping that if I smile, he will too.

  “I’m Kinsley,” I say, extending my hand and returning to my seat.

  Killian shakes it like it’s a business arrangement. I suck in my breath at his touch. His handshake is powerful and strong. It’s practiced, like he has shaken a million hands. I bet he can close business deals with just the strength of his handshake.

  “And I would love more wine.” I take another sip of my wine, finishing it off.

  He nods to the bartender this time, and she immediately comes over to him even though the bar is now full, and it’s not our turn to be served.

  “Another?” the woman asks him, smiling brightly.

  He nods.

  She winks at him before she goes to retrieve our drinks.

  My mouth stays open. “How did you do that?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Order drinks?”

  “How did you get her attention like that? Are you a regular or something?”

  “No. Bartenders just know where their biggest tip lies. And that’s with me.”

  I nod although I’m not sure if that’s completely it. He definitely has the sex-appeal thing going for him. And the intense almost lust-filled look he gives would make any woman say yes immediately.

  I find myself wondering what it would be like if he asked me to go home with him tonight. How different would it be from Brent, my almost one night stand from hell? I shake my head, getting that thought out of my head. I can’t have sex with this man—not that he is asking me anyway.

  The bartender places our drinks in front of us. I immediately grab the glass and bring it to my lips to taste the sweet, smooth liquid again. I moan quietly as the liquid pours down my throat. The taste is magical. I’ve never had anything like it.

  “My father.”

  His eyes find mine, but he doesn’t say a word.

  “My father taught me how to play blackjack.”

  He nods.

  “He taught me how to count cards.” My cheeks flush slightly from my admission.

  I think I see a hint of a smile forming, but I don’t know how to keep that smile on his lips. I don’t know how to flirt and show him I need a distraction.

  “He passed away…” I blurt out, but can’t add that he died this week. Then, I wait. I wait for the I’m sorry. I wait for the Is there anything I can do for you? I wait for the How are you doing?

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  My eyes widen. “What?”

  “We are leaving.” Killian stands from his seat, throws a hundred dollar bill on the bar as a tip, and begins walking in the direction of the exit.

  I laugh. He’s got to be kidding.

  When I glance at him, I realize he’s not. His face is stoic as he waits just a couple feet from me to follow him.

  “What?”

  “This isn’t what you need.”

  I laugh again before I glance back up at his eyes. “How do you know what I need?”

  Killian walks to me until his body just grazes mine. His eyes stay on mine as his hand tucks my hair behind my ear. His hand doesn’t stop there though. It trails down my neck as he pushes my hair back until he is gently holding the nape of my neck. My breath catches. Shivers form all over
my body. An ache for more forms in my belly, but I don’t let my need show. A complete stranger can’t turn me on this much. It took Brent most of the night to get me this filled with lust. How has this stranger done it with barely a touch?

  I watch as he bends down. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips move inches away from my neck so I can feel his hot breath there. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

  “Your body tells me. Your eyes are begging me to kiss you,” he whispers into my ear. His deep voice causes fluid to soak my panties. “You’re wet.”

  I suck in a breath, proving him right.

  “You want me to take you to my hotel room down the strip and fuck you until you scream.” He moves away from my neck. “That’s what you need.”

  He cocks his head and grins for the first time. It’s a beautiful sight, and it’s a side of him I doubt he displays often.

  I nod, and he smiles brighter.

  “Come,” he says, holding his hand out to me.

  I blush at the double meaning of the word. I bite my lip as I debate on what to do. I reach for the phone in my pocket, but I let my hand fall to my side. My father isn’t here to guide me. Scarlett can’t give me any advice. I have to decide this one on my own. And my body is begging me to go with this stranger. I have no doubt he will know how to handle my body.

  But I can’t. I tried it once, and I ended up puking alone in a stranger’s bathroom while my father was dying.

  “I ca—”

  His lips stop me from speaking as his tongue slips into my mouth in one motion. The kiss is long and slow. His tongue takes complete control as he explores my mouth. Owning my tongue with complete authority. When he breaks from the kiss, I’m panting, unable to catch my breath.

  “Come with me. You need this.”

  I stare at him, still panting hard, while I try to decide if he is a serial killer or not. Based on that kiss though, I’m not sure if I care. I would die happy, kissing this man.

  I grab my glass of wine and down the last few drops, hoping the liquid will calm my nerves. It does.