Macy Beckett - Make You Mine

At the very least, they were close friends, but if the covert glances Alex kept sliding at Ella were any indication, he wanted more. As much as Allie enjoyed helping lovers find a match, she hoped Alex kept it in his pants. She liked Alex, and she’d hate to see him turned from a stallion to a gelding by his own brother.

“I’m sorry about all this, Allie.” Ella-Claire fidgeted with a sliver frog pendant around her neck, smoothing a thumb over the amphibian’s single emerald eye. “Marc told me you took this job to help promote your bakery, and now you can’t do that.”

Allie softened at the apology. She’d never been able to stay angry for long. “Not going to lie,” she said, tucking both hands in her back pockets, “I’d rather be making pastries, but I can be a team player. Where do you need me?”

Alex’s twin, Nick, approached the desk and jumped into the conversation. “I can use you in the casino.” He tossed a gallon-sized Ziploc baggie onto the counter, revealing a rectangle of charred plastic sealed inside.

Allie grimaced at the remains. “What’s that?”

“Chef’s cell phone.” Nick snorted in disdain. “We have to replace it, and of course he wants an upgrade for the trouble.”

Allie scrutinized the half-melted device. If she tilted her head, she could see how it had once been a cell phone. “Hold on,” she said to Nick. “You put out the fire pretty quickly, right?”

Nick nodded. “Only because I was in the hallway when it broke out.”

“But look.” Allie lifted the baggie and turned it over in her hands, studying the rippled screen. “This thing burned a lot longer than the bed did. I’ll bet this is what started the fire.”

The group shared a dubious glance before Nick threw her a bone. “Maybe. I guess.”

“Never heard of a cell phone starting a fire,” Alex added.

But it could happen—Allie didn’t care what anyone said. Holding the phone toward Nick, she asked, “Can I have this? When we stop in Natchez I want to have someone look at it.”

“Knock yourself out.” Nick backed toward the lobby and motioned for her to follow. He glanced at her chest and a grin crossed his mouth. “Any chance I can get you to unbutton that shirt a little? It’d be great for business, especially if I put you behind one of the blackjack tables. My gamblers won’t be able to count their own cards.”

She gave him an answer in the form of a glare.

“Hey, no pressure,” he said, lifting both hands like a robbery victim. “But you did say you were a team player. . . .”

Allie shook her head at him. Why couldn’t it be Marc who thumbed his nose at the supposed curse? “I’m not feeling that generous.”

While they crossed the lobby and made their way to the second floor, Nick snuck his usual glances at her rear end—clearly, he was an ass man—but he kept the come-on lines to himself. Which stuck her as odd.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Allie said as they approached the casino, “but why aren’t you hitting on me?”

“Ah.” Nick nodded sagely as if preparing to discuss foreign policy instead of pick-up lines. “Despite what you might’ve heard, we Dumonts aren’t total dogs. We never share women.” After biting his lip, he corrected, “Except for the jazz singer, but that was an accident.”

Allie cast him a skeptical look. To hear him tell it, you’d think they’d all tripped and landed inside the woman. “So I’m off-limits because . . .”

“Because you’re Marc’s,” he said simply, opening the door for her.

Allie’s heart squeezed as she preceded Nick into the gaming room. She wished she were as unaffected by his statement as she pretended to be. On the inside, she wanted more than anything to be Marc’s girl—to warm his bed at night and feel the stubble of his jaw tickling her bare shoulder each morning.

To be the only woman who lit his fire . . .

She had her work cut out for her, though. Her sister had been right about one thing: the Dumonts had a raging case of emotional ADHD. They never stayed with one lover long enough to make it count.

Before long, the music of slot machine payouts stifled her thoughts, and Allie paused inside the casino to let her eyes adjust to the sensation overload. Flashing screens and twinkling lights competed for her attention, set against rows of gaming tables and roulette wheels. Quick-footed waitresses dodged stools to deliver drinks to sunglasses-wearing professionals and bucket-toting grannies alike. The scents of metal coins and excitement hung in the air along with the ring of electronic chimes, a few shouts of victory, and even more groans of defeat.

Yet despite the distractions filling the room, Allie’s eyes found a lone white captain’s jacket and fastened on Marc like a compass needle pointing north, drawn by an irresistible force of magnetism. She felt that pull deep inside and ordered her feet to remain rooted to the carpet.

Marc had removed his hat and let his chestnut waves hang loose against his shoulders, indulging in a moment of laughter with his pawpaw as they leaned against the bar that stretched along the back wall. The old man belted back a swig of amber-colored liquid while Marc spoke animatedly, talking with his hands.

Those hands .

Her body buzzed hot with the memory of Marc’s touch. Heavens, the man could do things with his hands that should be illegal. If she lived ten lifetimes, she’d never forget the tease of his fingertips between her thighs, his warm breath in her ear asking, Feel anything, sugar?

Oh, yeah.

She’d felt it then and she felt it now. He possessed a magic more real than any curse, practically ruining her for all other men without ever moving past third base.

Gracious, she was going to get her heart broken. But knowing Marc, it would be worth it.

As if she’d called to him, Marc halted his conversation and met her gaze from across the room. His smile fell, his dark eyes growing stormy by slow degrees as he held her captive with nothing but a look. The intensity between them told her he wanted to pick up where they’d left off, but the firm line of his mouth warned he’d try his damnedest to resist. He stared her down for several heartbeats until Nick waved a hand in front of Allie’s face and broke the connection.

“Earth to Allie,” Nick said, snapping his fingers in front of her nose.

She blinked a few times and faced him. “Sorry. What?”

“Ever worked in a casino before?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t suppose you’ve got a gaming license.” He pursed his lips as if brainstorming a way around that little roadblock, but he must have decided it wasn’t worth the risk. With a small sigh he concluded, “Guess you can serve drinks.”

The idea of slinging booze for the next two weeks made Allie’s shoulders sag an inch. This wasn’t how she’d pictured her trip. She was supposed to be in the galley alongside her professional idol, forming connections and wowing guests with her mouthwatering creations.

So much for that.

She saw Nick’s sigh and raised him a groan. “Fine. Just tell me what to do.”

He picked out a cocktail waitress in the crowd, a young brunette with fuchsia-painted lips and acrylic nails to match. “That’s Christy, the head waitress. She’ll assign you a zone; then you circulate it and keep a drink in everyone’s hand. Alcohol tends to loosen the wallet, you know?”

“I bet,” she said. “No pun intended.”

“It’s pretty easy. All the drinks are free, and everyone’s carded at the door, so you don’t have to worry about checking IDs.” Nick gestured toward the bartender. “At the end of each day, split your tips with the barkeep. And don’t stiff him. He’ll mix your orders faster if you play by the rules.”