Dragonfly Read Online Free PDF Page B

name I sure wish I’d never learned—had made the first and biggest crack. Did I really want anything to do with him?
    Did I want to return to the time before I’d gotten old and cynical? When I’d loved my life, when the Empire I served was beautiful and exciting and worth the struggle, when every daybreak brought a new adventure?
    Hell, yes.
    I gulped my martini, fire engulfing my belly from the heady mix of alcohol and danger. I didn’t care if Malachite was still the sexiest man I’d ever met. I’d give him his challenge. Damned if I’d give him me.
    “You think I can’t get in?”
    “I know you can’t. I’d just love to see you try.” He flicked his deep blue gaze down my body, and it burned over every curve.
    My spine tingled warm, even as my indignation rose. “Fine. Watch me.”
    “With pleasure. Your two minutes are up, by the way. You can slap me if you like.”
    “Don’t tempt me.”
    I slid my glass onto the bar and walked away before he could say
too late.
    A thin woman in furs and diamonds was folding her hand, leaving a place open at the tarocchi table. I sauntered up and sat down, crossing my legs conspicuously, the soft leather chair warm beneath my thighs, and waved at the waiter for another martini. Dragonfly glanced at me, those hot brown eyes giving me a swift once-over, and glanced away again. Was he impressed? I couldn’t yet tell.
    I nodded at the cashier, and he pushed a short stack of shiny chips my way across the merlot baize. The old man opposite me was dealing, his ancient fingers heavy with alabaster rings. I tasted my icy drink and watched him, half a sultry eye on Dragonfly.
    The game was seven-card tarocchi, four in the kitty. You bid for how many tricks you thought you could take, then whoever won the bid got the kitty and called a suit for the king, and whoever held that king became their partner for that game. You could bet on who’d win which tricks with which cards, where the kings would end up, how many tricks would get trumped, who’d win the most or the least points. Pretty much anything.
    Dragonfly glanced at his cards, dark chocolate strands of hair falling over his cheekbones, and bid four cups in his soft Rus.
    I studied my cards, keeping my face blank. I had the queen and prince of cups. If he wasn’t careful we’d be partners.
    I sipped my martini. “Five.”
    The fat Espan man to my right snapped his hand closed and passed, his damp jowls wobbling.
    The dealer peered at his cards, bony fingers quivering, and bid five swords in a wavering voice.
    Dragonfly flipped a chip between those talented fingers. “Pass.”
    A gambit, for sure. The dealer bid swords, and the remainder of my hand was a washout. The rest of those cups had to be somewhere. Dragonfly must surely have the cards for six, yet he’d forgone. Was he tempting me to call cups for the king, which would no doubt make him my partner? Was he flirting with me?
    My stomach clenched. In my work, I’d cozied up to murderers, lowlifes and guys who turned me off—who hadn’t?—but never to such a personal enemy. I steeled myself, imagining the needling I’d get from Malachite if I couldn’t go through with it. Dragonfly wasn’t repulsive to look at, at least. On the contrary. My gaze took in those soft dark lashes, melting brown eyes, that maddening mouth.
    Two-faced little bastard.
    I shifted in my seat, my nerves writhing. “Six.”
    The ancient dealer shook his head.
    I reached for the kitty and swapped a four of coins for the queen. “The king is cups,” I said, and the betting started.
    I put two chips on my team winning all the kings, and another on winning the last trick with the king of cups, four to one each.
    Dragonfly sipped his scotch and slid four chips across the table. He was betting on valat, which meant he and his partner—surely me—had to win every trick. The payout on valat was sixteen to one. As he withdrew, his fingers brushed mine, accidentally or not. My palm tingled,