cards and his long legs stretched out across from hers, she tried to concentrate on her own cards.
“Maximum bet is twenty-five cents. Maximum raise fifty cents. I bet fifteen cents. What’s your favorite color?” he asked, drawing a card from the pile.
“Um, periwinkle. Why do you ask?” She looked at her cards and tried not to reveal her disappointment. “I’ll see your fifteen cents.”
“Because the media showing up tomorrow have decided it would be cute to give each of us a quiz about the other.”
Gwen glanced away from her cards. “Media tomorrow? We just did that today. I thought the other interviews would be over the phone.”
He shook his head, discarded two cards and drew two from the pile. “I need to know everything about you, and you need to know everything about me. I’ll bet twenty-five cents.”
She sighed in frustration. “Okay, so blue is your favorite color,” she began.
“What makes you say that?”
“When asked to name his favorite color, almost every man on the planet will say blue.”
“Mine is green,” he said.
“You’re just being contrary,” she said.
“Romantic,” he countered. “Your eyes are green.”
“Borderline sappy,” she said, discarding and drawing.
“Where do you want to honeymoon?” he asked.
The question jolted her. “Honeymoon?”
“Tahiti or Bali?” he said, discarding and drawing.
“Somewhere more private,” she mused. “Peter took me to Hawaii. I found out later that he leaked our plans to the press so they would show up to take photos.”
Luc met her gaze. “Really?” he said in disbelief.
“Yeah,” she said. “All about the PR.”
“Not on your honeymoon,” he said.
“You can’t tell me that you’ve never exploited the honeymoon angle,” she said, discarding three of her sorry cards and drawing three more sorry cards. “Check.”
“Maybe, but the couples who are really in love just tell me to take a flying—” He broke off, suddenly reaching the conclusion that Gwen had reached for herself.
Silence fell between them.
“You have my sympathy,” he said.
Her pride stung, she raised her chin. “Don’t you dare pity me for what Peter—”
“Because you’re going to lose this hand,” he interjected, laying his full house on the table.
She stared at his cards then hers. One card shy of a full house, she scowled at him. “Beginner’s luck,” she said. “I’ll get you in the next game.”
He laughed. “In your dreams,” he said and scooped up the cards and shuffled them. “Now you owe me.”
“Owe you what?” she asked. “We were only playing for pennies.”
“Pennies translate into favors,” he said, shuffling again. “You wouldn’t play for clothing, so it’ll have to be favors.”
“Favors,” she echoed. “What do you call this fake engagement? Oh, wait, my mistake. That’s blackmail.”
“Exactly,” he said, presenting the deck for her to cut it. “So we’re playing for favors.”
“What if I win the same number of times you do? Doesn’t that just negate the winnings?”
“That won’t happen,” he said. “But if it did, you would get the same number of favors from me.”
“What if I don’t want any favors from you?”
“You will,” he said, meeting her gaze for a long moment that took her breath away.
“Deal,” she said, determined to teach him a lesson.
For the next two hours, they traded victories and secrets. She learned his favorite music, food, beer and pastimes, and he learned hers. It occurred to her that Luc would know more about her preferences after two days than her husband had known after three years.
“First crush?” she asked, preparing to rack up another win for herself.
“Sara Jameson, fourth grade,” he said.
Gwen stared at him in surprise. “You remember her name? I would have thought you’d have dated so many women that their names would run together.”
He shook his head. “If I’m the master of spin, then don’t you think I know how to create it for myself?”
“Are you telling me the playboy image isn’t real?”
“I create my image, then do what I want,” he said.
“You didn’t really answer my question,” she told him.
“I told you the name of my first crush. We didn’t break up until she moved away, freshman year in high school.”
“Wow, that’s longevity.”
“What about you?”
“I was shy, too tall. It took me a while.”
“You had to grow into those legs,” he said, his gaze sliding over her denim-clad figure.
“Tucker Martin,” she said with a sigh. “He had dimples and blue eyes. He was smart and funny.”
“How long did that last?”
“Oh, it never got off the ground. He didn’t notice me,” she said.
He gave a bark of laughter. “Poor sap. Bet he’s kicking himself down the street these days.” He placed his cards on the table. “Full house, again.”
She mentally swore. “You’re impossible.”
“I work at it,” he said. “You owe me another favor.”
She sighed and glanced at the monitor again. The horse had settled down. “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” she said quoting Scarlett O’Hara. “Time for me to go to bed.” She rose and he did too, standing mere inches from her. “Thanks for the amusement.”
“My pleasure. You need to give me one of my favors now,” he said.
A warning instinct flashed through her. “Why?”
“It’s something I need to know for the interview,” he said, moving closer to her.
She
