the table. âYou donât know what you want to play. Thatâs no way to win. Youâve got to be consistent.â
âConsistency was never my strong suit,â Tom responded, looking down the table at Fenster, who was greedily taking in the luscious Natasha even as he spoke to Tom. âBut you sound like a man who knows what heâs talking about.â
âOh, I am,â Fenster squeaked, bouncing up and down in his chair ever so slightly. âI play my good-luck numbers. Stick to âem, and they always pay out. Itâs a question of averages.â
Hmmm. Plays his favorite numbers, does he? That was when Tom noticed that Fensterâs green chips were ranged over the same pattern of numbers on every spin. All he had to do was glance at Natasha to know sheâd seen it, too. He saw her concentrated stare as she memorized the series of numbers in her steel-trap, photographic memory.
âSlow and steady, is that your game?â Tom asked. âYou never take a chance on something unexpected?â
The chair next to his was vacated as a small fortune was lost on one roll and the man whoâd lost it threw his hands in the air and retreated to the craps table. Natasha oozed into the chair, sensuously descending, aware that all eyesânot just Fensterâs and Tomâsâwere upon her.
âThatâs right,â Fenster told him. âAll that crazy betting is going to cost you in the long run. Itâs bad business!â
âAnd your business, it is a good business?â Natasha asked, her accentâor the accent of the woman she was pretending to beâas thick as the fog on a mountaintop in the Urals.
âMy business is an excellent business,â Fenster said with conviction. âIn fact. . .â He let loose a high-pitched giggle. Tom noticed a slight tightening in Natashaâs jawline at the unexpected noise and almost had to laugh out loud. âIâd probably take better care of someone like you than that crazy-betting guy youâre with. At least Iâm dependable!â
âYou better watch it, my friend,â Tom intoned, concentrating on the liquid movement of the chips in his hand as he bet a stack on number eleven. âThis ladyâs very special to me.â
âOh, donât be such a muddy stick,â Natasha chided him. âHe is just being friendly.â
âAll right, doll,â Tom murmured, with just a hint of threat in his voice. âGo be friendly, then.â
âPerhaps I will,â Natasha pouted, her bottom lip growing a full half inch as she slipped out of her chair and seemingly floated down to Fenster.
Tom watched her, outwardly playing the somewhat jealous sugar daddy, inwardly feeling a fiery rush of admiration for the skillful way she was manipulating the poor fellow.
âTell me about your steady game,â she told Fenster, sliding Tom a reproachful glance.
Nice touch, he thought. He watched her run an ivory hand up Fensterâs hairy, beet red arm and felt a shiver ofâwhat? Jealousy? No, he wasnât worried that Natasha would go too far in her assignment. He simply wanted her for himself. At the same time, he wished everyone in the room could know what she was up toâso they could admire her as he did.
Fenster didnât stand a chance.
Natasha murmured something into Fensterâs ear and made him titter again, ordering him a big, fruity drink served in a ceramic tiki god festooned with umbrellas. He said something back to her, something that made her look sharply at Tom, dropping character for less than a nanosecond. She had something. Something they could use. He received the information with a jolt, and then she was gone again, vanished back into the vapid creature she was pretending to be.
God, he adored her.
This was what heâd always wanted. Work and personal life coming together as elegant as a tango. Working with a partner might be a good idea