Nick wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Or we could just ask. What makes you tick, Alice?”
Sewanee cycled through possible replies in her head, all sarcastic. Then she stilled. She didn’t have an answer. It had been too long to know. So she deflected. “What makes you tick?”
“Curiosity,” he answered without hesitation. “I don’t understand people who stop. Who go, I’m good right here, no more for me, ta. You know that parable, the bloke dying of thirst who goes to the well?”
“And won’t risk looking into it to see if there’s water, because he couldn’t live with the disappointment?”
“So he dies of thirst. Womp womp. Me? I’d be looking in that well for sure. I have this painting–and I’m not one of those art people, but I have this one painting–of a path that disappears ’round a bend. Because I always have to go ’round the bend. Must do.”
“Like the next page of a novel.”
“Like the offer of dinner with a beautiful woman.”
“God, you’re good.”
“A woman who says, with oblivious innocence, ‘It’s a bit tight. It needs to open.’”
Sewanee’s brow furrowed. “Well, it was. It did.”
“Ay. But you can bet I wasn’t thinking of the wine when you said it.” He looked quickly at her dress then had the grace to look away. He muttered, almost to himself, “If I knew you better I s’pose I’d be ashamed.” After a moment, he dared to look at her. “But I don’t. And I’m not.”
Sewanee unconsciously licked her lips. “Well. To assuage your curiosity? I am and I don’t.” The retort flowed from her as smoothly as the wine from the decanter.
Nick stilled, untangling her comeback. She saw the moment it clicked. His eyes bulged and an uncontrolled laugh burst out of him. “Jaysus.” He threw his napkin on the table and slow clapped. “I’m done. You win.”
“Were we playing a game?”
“Always.”
“And you like to win?”
“Who doesn’t?”
Smiling, they both sipped their wine. She saw him glance at his watch and said, before she thought better of it, “Do you have to go?” She was surprised to find her voice hoarse. She quietly cleared her throat. Good thing she didn’t have to record tomorrow; nothing dried her voice out like red wine.
“Not this second. But soon.”
Resigned, Sewanee signaled the waiter for the check.
“I’m curious,” Nick said. “Do they talk to each other in these Romance novels of yours or just get straight down to business?”
“Of course there’s talking. Talking is foreplay. The other stuff doesn’t work without the talking.”
He smiled slowly. “You don’t say.”
FULL OF STEAK, truffled potatoes, and Margaux, Sewanee and Nick giggled their way out of the restaurant and onto the casino floor. Nick dragged his weekender roller bag and slim briefcase behind him. On impulse, she looped her arm through his, just another couple strolling through a Vegas casino, slightly overdressed, slightly drunk, slightly inclined to make bad decisions. Then something caught Sewanee’s attention and she slowed.
Nick followed her gaze. “Are you wanting to play?”
She bit her lip. “I’m not sure. I mean, I came with five hundred dollars and told myself I’d make one bet. All of it on red or black.”
“Right.” He moved toward the roulette table. “I want to see which one you choose.”
She tugged him to a stop. “I think I’m a little too tipsy to enjoy the win. And not tipsy enough to handle the loss.” She moved to leave.
He didn’t budge. “C’mere to me and listen?” She nodded benevolently. He took a breath. “This isn’t dire. This isn’t life and death. Either way you’re walking away from the table. The excitement’s in the play, yeah? That’s what we’re doing here.” He stepped closer. “You came with five hundred dollars to lose. You could have lost it in the jacks, slipped out of a pocket, into the toilet, never to be seen again.” He paused, gazed into her eye. “Surely you’ve lost more important things before than five hundred dollars.”
For a moment, she blinked at him. Then she said, “You’re right, you are an arse,” and walked straight to the table.
She opened her purse, pulled out a small billfold, took out the whole of the cash in it. Do it, Swan. She put the bills on the table and the croupier changed them into chips. “Place your bets, place your bets,” he called.