But the sips of Alex’s expensive Bordeaux had warmed her stomach, giving her a flush of courage . . . and so had his words. Now she was seated at a blackjack table, and her fear was very nearly gone, replaced instead with the fizz of anticipation. “Chips in.” Maddy slid a small black chip across the table. It seemed like such an insignificant token, yet it represented one hundred dollars, the minimum buy-in for the table. It may not have been much money to the health-club-fit thirty-something on her left, the one who was handsome and dressed well yet still left her cold. It might have been pennies to the predatory-looking woman to the left of him, the one wearing gold sequins and an expression of hawklike intensity. The sharp suit on the man next to her, black wool accented with a deep purple tie, drew Maddy’s mind back to Alex and to the hardness of his frame beneath his expensive clothes. She must have looked drab in comparison, her floral skirt, black shell, and sandals all from Walmart.
