thrusts and then finally stopped moving. With a rough, thorough kiss, he allowed some of his weight to rest on her.
“Amazing,” he gasped as she let her legs fall to the mattress. “Goddamn amazing. I think this was better than Palm Springs,” he said, fingering a lock of damp hair off her cheek. “Maybe we get better with practice.”
“Could be,” she answered with a smile. “I’m certainly willing to do some more research.”
Chuckling, he pulled out and rolled onto his back with a satisfied groan. “Oh yeah. Me too, but I need to recharge. How ’bout we order some room service?”
Mariah turned on her side and propped her head on her hand. “Sounds perfect.”
Half an hour later, dressed in complimentary Egyptian cotton robes, they were feasting on an extravagant buffet in the posh living room of the suite. Because the menu was so extensive, Mariah had been unable to decide, so Tucker ordered anything she expressed an interest in: gourmet panini sandwiches, poached salmon, sliced fruit, banana pancakes and bacon, champagne and chocolate mousse.
Having worked up an appetite, Mariah served herself from each of the dishes.
“So,” she said, “the last time I saw you, you were working on a math degree at Stanford.”
“Good memory,” he said, piling his own plate with food. “Yeah, ends up I got the degree, but I eventually took up a different line of work.”
“You mean poker.”
Tucker’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth as he glanced at her, surprised that she knew what he did for a living. “Yeah, that’s right. Poker. How’d you know?”
“I caught you on TV once or twice,” she said, shrugging her shoulder. “You’re a regular celebrity.”
Tucker turned his attention back to the salmon. “No, I’m not. I’m just a guy who’s lucky enough to play cards for a living.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. From what I’ve seen, it’s damn hard work. You probably can’t stop thinking even for a moment in the middle of a tournament. I can’t imagine the mental demands of calculating odds like that for hours and hours. That’s why I couldn’t hack it that time in Palm Springs. I just couldn’t keep it up.”
“But I didn’t make it to the final table that time either,” he reminded her.
“No, but you almost did. If that guy hadn’t pulled that full house on the river, you’d have made it.”
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
She shrugged and took a bite of panini. “So that tournament in Palm Springs we were in together, was that the beginning of your career?”
“Sort of.”
“What made you go into it full time?”
“My buddy Tony.” Tucker wiped his mouth with his napkin. “He was always pushing me to try again, saying he knew I could win a big pot if I just tried. So I did.”
With a three-thousand-dollar buy-in, Tucker’d had a few doubts, but Tony was confident that his head for numbers and knack for observation would prove him a winner. He was right. Tucker had walked away with ninety-seven thousand dollars. That win had attracted the attention of Dale Branson, a heck of a guy, always willing to share his pearls of poker wisdom. His offer to take Tucker under his wing prompted Tucker’s move to Atlantic City. A year later he’d earned half a million dollars. After two years, he’d almost tripled that.
She raised her glass of champagne. “And now you’re Mr. Freeze.”
“Yeah.” Tucker rolled his eyes as they clinked glasses.
“What, you don’t like your nickname?”
“It’s all right, I guess,” he said. “It’s a damn sight better than Chilly the Kid.”
Mariah laugh-snorted champagne. “I’m sorry. Chilly the Kid?”
“That’s what they used to call me in school.”
“Oh I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh,” she said, not too convincingly. “What does I.C. stand for, anyway?”
He put his champagne down and regarded her with a tight-lipped smile. “Ichabod Cornelius.”
“You’re making that
“Amazing,” he gasped as she let her legs fall to the mattress. “Goddamn amazing. I think this was better than Palm Springs,” he said, fingering a lock of damp hair off her cheek. “Maybe we get better with practice.”
“Could be,” she answered with a smile. “I’m certainly willing to do some more research.”
Chuckling, he pulled out and rolled onto his back with a satisfied groan. “Oh yeah. Me too, but I need to recharge. How ’bout we order some room service?”
Mariah turned on her side and propped her head on her hand. “Sounds perfect.”
Half an hour later, dressed in complimentary Egyptian cotton robes, they were feasting on an extravagant buffet in the posh living room of the suite. Because the menu was so extensive, Mariah had been unable to decide, so Tucker ordered anything she expressed an interest in: gourmet panini sandwiches, poached salmon, sliced fruit, banana pancakes and bacon, champagne and chocolate mousse.
Having worked up an appetite, Mariah served herself from each of the dishes.
“So,” she said, “the last time I saw you, you were working on a math degree at Stanford.”
“Good memory,” he said, piling his own plate with food. “Yeah, ends up I got the degree, but I eventually took up a different line of work.”
“You mean poker.”
Tucker’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth as he glanced at her, surprised that she knew what he did for a living. “Yeah, that’s right. Poker. How’d you know?”
“I caught you on TV once or twice,” she said, shrugging her shoulder. “You’re a regular celebrity.”
Tucker turned his attention back to the salmon. “No, I’m not. I’m just a guy who’s lucky enough to play cards for a living.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. From what I’ve seen, it’s damn hard work. You probably can’t stop thinking even for a moment in the middle of a tournament. I can’t imagine the mental demands of calculating odds like that for hours and hours. That’s why I couldn’t hack it that time in Palm Springs. I just couldn’t keep it up.”
“But I didn’t make it to the final table that time either,” he reminded her.
“No, but you almost did. If that guy hadn’t pulled that full house on the river, you’d have made it.”
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
She shrugged and took a bite of panini. “So that tournament in Palm Springs we were in together, was that the beginning of your career?”
“Sort of.”
“What made you go into it full time?”
“My buddy Tony.” Tucker wiped his mouth with his napkin. “He was always pushing me to try again, saying he knew I could win a big pot if I just tried. So I did.”
With a three-thousand-dollar buy-in, Tucker’d had a few doubts, but Tony was confident that his head for numbers and knack for observation would prove him a winner. He was right. Tucker had walked away with ninety-seven thousand dollars. That win had attracted the attention of Dale Branson, a heck of a guy, always willing to share his pearls of poker wisdom. His offer to take Tucker under his wing prompted Tucker’s move to Atlantic City. A year later he’d earned half a million dollars. After two years, he’d almost tripled that.
She raised her glass of champagne. “And now you’re Mr. Freeze.”
“Yeah.” Tucker rolled his eyes as they clinked glasses.
“What, you don’t like your nickname?”
“It’s all right, I guess,” he said. “It’s a damn sight better than Chilly the Kid.”
Mariah laugh-snorted champagne. “I’m sorry. Chilly the Kid?”
“That’s what they used to call me in school.”
“Oh I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh,” she said, not too convincingly. “What does I.C. stand for, anyway?”
He put his champagne down and regarded her with a tight-lipped smile. “Ichabod Cornelius.”
“You’re making that
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