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A glint of light reflected off a shiny surface inside and a squiggly line of carved snakes appeared beneath Harry’s arm. Adrenaline spiked in his system, sending blood racing to his heart. He’d done it! “William, my friend,” he said in a reverent whisper, “we’ve found the tomb of Vashti, daughter of Azhi, the Devil Shah of ancient Persia.”

“A princess, huh? She was probably daddy’s little girl and completely spoiled. She better be loaded, is all I got to say.” Will leaned his shoulder into the lid and it slid to the side, where it teetered for a moment then fell with a resounding whomp, shaking the sandy floor of the tomb.

“I think we’ve hit pay dirt, Will.” Harry straightened, tossing the pry bar to the ground, excitement bubbling up in his belly at what lay before him. A smile stretched his lips across his face, and he flipped his hat in the air. “Do you realize what we’ve found? Do you have any idea?”

Will stared down at the mummified remains of an ancient woman surrounded by decayed woven baskets and several unscathed decorative bottles. He frowned, his lips twisting in a lopsided grimace. “A mummy and some old bottles?”

Harry laughed, his voice echoing off the chamber walls. “Will, look past the dust and decay. Don’t you see the details in the finely woven gown she’s wearing?. Look here, the embroidery is still intact. These symbols are those of the ancient lovers, Vis and Ramin. See the stone with the carving of a two-headed dragon laying over the mummy’s head?”

“So, it just looks like a big dumb rock, to me.” Will shrugged. “Big deal.”

“William, my man.” Harry draped an arm around Will’s shoulders. “Beneath that layer of dust is the most mystical stone known to man. Kings have fought wars to possess it, but it was lost long ago. Heinrich Schliemann himself couldn’t find proof of its existence.”

Will’s chest puffed out. “But we did it, eh?” He gave Harry a skeptical glance.

“So, why’s it so damn important?”

“Because of the legend.” Will’s lack of enthusiasm irritated Harry. He began to wonder what Will thought he’d been searching for all these months. “The legends say that whomever touches the Stone of Azhi will have great powers. Powers to change the world as we know it. Powers to make every wish come true.”

“My wish right now is for a ten pound steak and a woman to share it with.” Will licked his lips. “Suppose it might be worth something back in the States?”

“It’s priceless-if only for its historical significance. But there are many men who would pay a king’s ransom for its professed magical properties.”
Will leaned over the mummy and reached for a dusty bottle. “I wonder what the bottles are for?”

“Probably contained the princess’s favorite perfumes. Never mind them. It’s the stone we want. No one’s gonna pay for old glass when they can have all that power.”

“Shit, I’ve been three long weeks without the comfort of a woman.” Will waggled his eyebrows. “Does it have the power to grant me a woman?”

Harry was glad Will had finally understood the importance of their find. He slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Why settle for one? You could buy a dozen women with the money we’ll make.”

“Hell, I might even buy you one.”

“No thanks.” Harry lifted a bottle from the collection at the mummy’s feet and brushed the dust from it. The blown glass reflected hues of deep sea green and blue, and was rimmed with gold bands.

“You aren’t still mad about Fiona, are you?”

“Not in the least.” He set the ornate container back in the sarcophagus.

Will lifted another of the glass bottles and tossed it lightly in the air, catching it one-handed. “Good, she’s not your type anyway.”

What was his type? Someone willing to follow him on wild chases across hostile continents? What woman in her right mind, would do that? Harry didn’t know and really wasn’t too interested in finding out. Last one, Fiona, had tried to hem him in with ultimatums.

Had he stayed, he’d have resented her. Leaving her had been the only answer.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a steak the size of Cleveland about now.” Will grabbed for the stone at the same time as Harry.

“Wait, Will. We need to be careful.” What if the legends were true? Could the stone be dangerous? When his fingers felt the smooth points of the two-headed dragon, tingling spread from Harry’s hand up his arm and into his chest. The tingling turned to a burning sensation.

“What the hell?” Will staggered backward, his forehead creasing into a frown. He stared down at his hands and shook them.

The floor trembled and the walls around Harry and Will shook. Dust rose and filled the air until Harry couldn’t see the hand in front of his face, much less his friend. “Will!”

“Harry! What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” Harry’s heart raced and his breathing came in short gasps, his lungs filling with sand. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Will called out.

But the doorway remained shrouded in thick dust.

The burning intensified until Harry felt he’d been seared by the sun. He gagged and choked on the sand rasping against the lining of his throat. Giant stones fell from the walls and ceiling.

What a way to go. Just when he’d discovered the stone of Azhi, he’d die in the mummified arms of the devil king’s daughter.

The dim light from the torches snuffed out and blackness engulfed his tortured body. As if picked up by a tornado, he was jerked off his feet and sucked toward the sarcophagus, spiraling like a puff of smoke filtering through a tiny opening. His body screaming in pain, he could hear Will’s terrified cries echoing his own. Then a loud thump ended the storm, sealing him in darkness.

Harry drifted into oblivion, wondering what the hell had happened.

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He crooked his head, as if to listen. Lifting his nose, he scented the air.

Mara…

A low snarl rumbled in his throat as he took another step forward. The two spotted jaguars behind him stood and came to his call, rubbing up against his slick glistening thighs. Turning his head, he stared straight in front of him as if something or someone lurked there in his path.
His lips twitched and he growled, “I see you.”

Fear invaded her body, while Mara struggled against the ropes binding her wrists and ankles to the two trees. Spread apart in the shape of an X and naked, she felt laid out as if in sacrifice to an ancient god. Which was possible. For whom could the golden-skinned man be but a god?
She’d never seen a man such as him. Long, lean, and darkly sexy. The sight of him naked and glistening with sweat, with the two beasts at his sides took her breath. Despite her fear, she quivered in awe.

He stopped a foot away and scrutinized her with an intense stare. As his gaze traveled from her feet to her head, she had the distinct feeling of being caressed expertly by firm rough fingers. Her fright soon abated, and shivers of pleasure radiated over her body to collide into a ball of heat right at her center.

Mara reasoned she should be afraid and not aroused. Held captive and bound to the trees, with no way of escaping, she was at the mercy of the man in front of her. He could do anything he wanted to her and she couldn’t stop him. Part of her, the primal and unexplained element that raged through her, didn’t want to stop him.

He took another step forward until he stood in front of her. She could smell him. Wild and earthy, like a thunderstorm. Involuntarily, she licked her lips, tasting sweat on her tongue.
Without touching her, he sniffed her skin. Starting with her hair, he worked down to her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut as his hot breath on her flesh sent shudders of delight over her. Goose-bumps rose on her skin and her nipples tightened into aching rigid peaks.

When she felt him pull back, she opened her eyes. She watched as his eyes dilated in lust and he licked his lips as if the scent of her had made him hungry. Swallowing down the saliva pooling in her mouth, she gasped when he dropped to his knees.

Desire hearty and hot gathered deep within her sex as he sniffed at her feet and then traveled up her legs. When he neared her knees, she let her head fall back in rapture. He wasn’t touching her, but the mere thought of him doing so sent her spiraling into bliss.

A far corner of her mind whispered to her that she should be scared, that she should scream for help. But the hushed sounds couldn’t be heard over the hammering of her heart and the thundering throb in her sex.

The teasing was driving her insane. She hungered for him to touch her, even wanted to beg him to caress her skin, to trail his tongue over and into her flesh. The scent of her own lust floated to her nose like musk perfume. She was hot and wet, anticipating him to reach her center and feast of her juices.

Mara gasped when she looked down her body and saw him between her legs, gazing at the soft sprinkling of dark hair over her mound. She could feel his hot breath brush over the intimate folds of her flesh. Her clit swelled in response, aching for attention.

Please, she wanted to beg. Please touch me, taste me, take me. But the words would not come. All she could do was moan her encouragement.

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I don’t play for a living, I play for more gambling money. I don’t think I ever could do it for a living. I’m not exactly faint of heart, but I think you’d have to be made of stone and have ice water running through your veins to endure the pressure of something like that.

Sure, I can turn the odds to my favor. But just because you have a winning-expectation game going doesn’t mean you’re going to win. No one wins all the time, and the fluctuations can be killer.

The casinos have all the money for a reason. It’s not just that the odds and numbers and statistics are in their favor; it’s the resources and manpower and experience they have.

They’re unbeatable.

Which is exactly why some people have to try.

I pick a $25-min table. The shoe is low, so I figure I’ll warm up and let it play out and start on a clean one. There’s two other people at the table, but the first base chair is open so I slide into it, throw down my money and card. I shouldn’t use a player card in this situation, but screw it—I’ve always wanted to stay at Bellagio, see how the ultra-rich live, and the only way I’ll ever be able to afford it is if I work up some sort of player rating.

I ease back, settle in and play a few hands. Even though it’s useless, I keep a count just to warm up.

Count: zero. The cards get thrown out. I get a pair of eights; count: zero. The guy next me, he’s got a four and a three; count: plus-two. Next to him are a jack and a six; count plus-two. Dealer shows six; count plus-three. I split my eights, get a ten and a six. Hard eighteen always stands, hard fourteen stands on a six showing—I’m done drawing, the count is plus-three.

Four-and-three draws, gets a nine; count is plus three. He should stand with that sixteen on six, but he hits, gets a jack, goes bust, count is plus-two. Jack-and-six stands. Dealer flips the hole card. It’s a seven. Count: plus-two. Dealer draws, pulls a queen and busts. Count: plus-one. I get paid.

Of course, it goes much quicker than that. It actually feels like: zero, split eights, count: plus-two, plus-three, stand and stand, plus-three, plus-two, plus-two, plus-one, cha-ching.

Easy, see?

I fiddle with the chips in front of me, absent-mindedly flipping a few between my fingers. Why not? Let’s really see if they do notice all this shit or not. Sun Tzu would have a shitfit about me acting this way right now, but since we aren’t actually talking about lives at stake here, I want to have some fun and test the waters.

The dealer looks at me once, but that’s all. No raised brow, no look over his shoulder to the pit boss. I pull a blackjack as the shoe runs out then lean back and light a smoke as he shuffles. I flip, backflip and smoke until he hands me the card to cut the decks. Cocky, I cut really low, don’t even leave a deck and a half to go uncounted.

It’s an interesting game. The guy next to me knows how to play. The guy next to him doesn’t. He hits a hard fourteen when the dealer’s up-card is a five. He pulls a ten, which busts him.

What he probably doesn’t notice is that the dealer turned up a hole card of a queen, so he took a hit and drew a six to give him twenty-one, which beat my eighteen. If the guy hadn’t taken that stupid hit, the dealer would have drawn that ten and busted and we all would have won.

I’ve seen some people at tables get pretty pissed over shit like that, but I don’t. Let him play the way he wants—that’s part of the chance I’m taking when I sit down. I started playing hundred-dollar hands, which was definitely way over my head, but it was the Bellagio. I’m playing on yesterday’s winnings anyhow, so I don’t care.

After a while, when I get a count slightly in my favor, I triple my bet. The weirdest hand I’ve ever played unfolds. I have the running count at plus-nine with the true count at plus-three, including three discarded decks. The triple bet is camouflaged by the previous wins, and it’s time to exploit vulnerability.

I get served an ace and a deuce. The guy next to me gets an eight and a nine. The other guy who hit his hard fourteen is gone. The dealer’s showing an up-card of seven. I have to hit—I’ve got either three or soft thirteen.

I tense because I’m expecting the ten to show up, but take the hit anyhow. I draw a three. Strategy says hit again, so I do it. I pull another ace. Soft seventeen has to take another hit, so I do. I don’t want to, but I do. I pull a five. Fucker. Fucker.

Now I’m standing with a hard twelve against a dealer seven. Strategy says I have to hit, but I know that ten card is just waiting to come up and bust me. I’ve got five cards in front of me already and I started off waiting for the tens to come up.

Sighing, shoulders tense, I tap my cards and take another hit, following the strategy for the cards. I get a freaking four. I snort out loud. I was expecting tens to come up, and instead I’m looking at six cards that total sixteen. The guy next to me isn’t showing a ten, and the dealer’s showing a seven. I can feel my heartbeat as I close my eyes and tap my cards again and wait for the ten to finally show up.

I get a three. A freaking three. I can’t believe it. I exhale with a huge grin and stay on my nineteen. The guy next to me stands with his hard seventeen. Then the dealer turns over his hole card. I expect the ten to finally show its face.

But it doesn’t.

He’s got an eight under that seven. I smirk. The running count is now plus-twelve with a true count of plus-four and not a single ten on the table this hand. This is absolutely outstanding for a player—it’s almost guaranteed he’s going to bust.

He draws.

He pulls a five. That gives him twenty to beat my seven-card nineteen.

“You are kidding me!” I say out loud and look up at him. I’m shocked for an instant. I had vaguely noticed another dealer come on but was so wrapped up in the game I didn’t really greet him or even look up at him. Because if I’d looked, I would have taken note.

It’s the dealer’s turn to smirk, and he does. Speaks fluidly.

“That was a good one, huh?” His gaze lingers on me longer than it should, and I try to match him. I checked out his face when I first looked up, seeing his high cheekbones, really dark short hair. But now he’s got me engrossed in his dark eyes.

I breathe and it sets me straight again. I blink and look down at the table, suddenly aware of how inappropriate that was. Even more rattled at what he was potentially thinking as he looked back at me.

“Are you always this lucky?” I ask him.

He cocks a brow and shakes his head.

“Don’t know, this is my first time.” Sweeping the cards off the felt and putting them in the discard deck, he glances over at me again.

“Get out. This is your first day dealing?” I ask. “And you’re at the Bellagio?”

“Nah, huh-uh. I mean, like, it’s my first day dealing this game. Twenty-one.” He pulls the cards out of the shoe and I notice that his hands do move more slowly and deliberately than most dealers.

“Well, you’re doing a good job. For them. Not helping me much.” I don’t want to sound like I’m whining, so I make sure to say it jokingly. “Let’s see if you have good luck if you’re playing this side of the table. This one’s for you.”

I have the count at plus-thirteen and check out my hand. Or rather, the hand I’m playing for him. He slides me an ace, finishes the table then comes back around and paints me with a jack.
Now, finally, the fucking ten shows up.

As he pays me, I slide the chips back to his side of the table. “That’s yours—I guess you are lucky.”

“You don’t gotta do that, I don’t deserve all that,” he says as he collects the discards. His hands seem to move a bit more rapidly this time. They’re nice hands, nails clipped short, long fingers.
“Yeah, I want to, it’s cool. You’re earning it.”

Shifting his weight, he nods his head once, taps his hand in front of me and points. Says, “Thank you. Really, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now let’s see if we can get some luck for this side, too.”

“Yeah.” He winks at me. “You deserve some luck.”

“No one deserves luck,” I say. “But I’ll try and earn it anyhow.”

Lowering his head and smiling, he starts dealing and says, “All right, c’mon now, let’s go, good cards for my cutie on the end here.” As he slides the cards in front of me, his tongue settles onto the corner of his mouth. “Yo, how’s that, huh? You like those? Not bad, huh?”

Looking down, I see two face cards. “Yeah, I’ll take that. Thank you.” I sweep the table and do the math in my head.

The guy next to me takes a card then holds with an eighteen. The dealer flips his hole and he has seventeen.

“There you go,” he says as he pays us off. “Start of a hot streak for the players on this table.”
Licking his lips, he winks at me again.

I can feel someone standing behind me, and the dealer acknowledges him.

“Yo, what’s up, sir? Grab a seat, it’s about to get rolling here.” He points him to a place further down the table. I watch him as he changes the guy’s money. Dark hair, dark eyes, definitely Italian or Latino. He’s like chained energy. His tongue finds its way to the corner of his mouth again as he handles the money and counts the chips. He shifts his weight a few times, always has his body in a slight contrapposto. Most card dealers are like stone—they have only the most conservative actions and keep their bodies at rest. His one leg taps constantly. He’s in one spot, but he’s not standing still. Action in repose, that’s what he exudes.

When he starts dealing us again, I ask him, “You’re a dice dealer, aren’t you?”

Grinning, he nods. “Yeah, yeah, I am, man. Why? How’d you guess that?”

“You just seem like one, that’s all.”

“Yeah, why’s that, huh? Cause I suck at dealing these cards?”

I stand on my hand of hard nineteen, and he goes around the rest of the table.

“No, no, that’s not it. You’re doing really good.”

As I tell him that, he flips over his hole card, which is an eight. He had a five showing. He takes a card and gets a three, hesitates for a second then busts a grin.

“See that now? See? Soon as you say that I gotta count the spots to see how much I got.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,” he says as he pulls another card for himself. It’s a six, he’s busted, but he blushes as he taps the card and adds it up. “Yo, that’s what happens with a dice dealer on a card table, can’t even add up the cards.”

“That’s just ’cause the dice only go up to twelve. You’ll get used to it.”

Sighing, he takes our cards away and gives us chips. “I hope so, man. I hope so. So how’d you know I was a dice dealer?”

“’Cause the best-looking guys always are,” I answer and drop my eyes down at the cards he’s dealing me. Peeking up, I can see him smiling. I check out his nametag: Miguel.

“You see that?” he says to the guy next to me. “See that? She’s tryin’ to distract me over there. She knows I’m new meat and she’s gonna mess with me now.” He deals me a nineteen and that guy a twenty.

“Looks like it’s working, too,” the guy answers him, and nods to me.

He pays us off and starts dealing a new hand. He nods again, shifts his weight then pins me in his gaze when he’s done. It must be those eyes of his, ’cause I swear he’s trying to communicate with me. More so, I swear it’s working.

Realizing I’m crazy, I look down and tap my hand to get another card, but he just stands and leans with his hands on the rail for a second. He goes, “I bet you play dice, too.”

“How would you know that?” I ask.

He hesitates a second then finishes dealing our hands, adding up his cards, paying us off.

“I know it ’cause not a lot o’ females play dice. It takes a certain kind, you know?” he says as he sweeps up the cards.

“Oh, Madone. And what kind is that?”

Dealing again, he looks at the guy next to me and tells him instead of me. “They all got three things. Three things, man. They’re cute, they’re smart. And they’re all cool.”

I look down at my hand of fifteen facing his king. I have to surrender.

I have no idea what the count is.

END EXCERPT

24/7
What it’s about:
Sexy and pulpy, this book is set in glittering Las Vegas.

Sparks fly when a sharp card counter falls for a charming casino dealer. But when the dealer’s past surfaces to haunt him, and threaten her, she’s forced to make a dangerous choice. In a city built on luck, it’ll take all her brains to figure out if she should gamble on her heart.

Now available as paperback and an ebook!

Paperback: Amazon.com $14.96
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ebookad.com. $6.99

Your local bookstore! — They may not have a copy of my book in stock, but if you ask them for it, they can get a copy for you!

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He kneaded the sensitive mounds as she arched into his palms. But it wasn’t enough. She reached for her shirt, and he helped her tug it over her head. With no bra on, she was ripe for his viewing in a matter of moments. He stood there, staring down at her, his eyes as hot as his touch. Her nipples tightened with painful bliss as his eyes ravished her. And when his fingers
touched them, she moaned with the relief and need it created.

“Harder,” she demanded, hardly recognizing her voice or the boldness she simply couldn’t hold back.

He pinched them, and the jolt of ache and it shot to her core. The slick wetness of arousal clung to her pants. “Enough?” he asked, his voice hoarse with a sensual hum.

“No,” she said, her hands on his wrists, as she tried to stabilize herself. “More.”

He tugged at her peaks and twisted slightly. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” But it was so good she thought she would fall. He reacted to her unspoken need, and lifted her, his hands cupping her ass. She wrapped her legs around his body, grateful for the steadiness of the bed as he sat her on the edge. He reached for her pants and tugged them down her legs. She wore no panties and was glad. Parting her legs, she minute she was free, she invited him into the V of her body. And he was there, hands exploring, and mouth on her neck, and shoulder, and God yes, her nipple. Teeth scraping….lips playing.

But as he started to slide farther downward, she had a sudden burst of realization. He was taking her control again and she was letting him. What power might she have over him? Perhaps, she needed to find out just what could be done to even the playing field. His fingers slid along the slick folds of her aroused core and she bit back a sound. If she didn’t act now, she’d be lost.

Her hands tightened on his head, and he looked up at her. A primal look danced in his eyes, raw and seductive. He was male perfection. She took a deep breath. The thought of taking charge of such a powerful beast - and at the moment that was what he reminded her of – was becoming highly erotic.

“Stand up,” she said, firm with her tone.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not through yet.”

Her brow lifted. “Yes you are. Stand up.”

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Ugh! Feeling like an idiot, she gave him directions to her apartment. Before she could get too distracted by the sight of his bare, muscular thighs so close to her own, she asked the question foremost in her mind.

“So, where did you disappear to last night?”

“It was late when Jake and I finished our game, so I thought it best just to go home.”

“And you invited him to play ball with you guys tonight?” He’d made plans with Jake instead of her?

His hands fidgeted on the steering wheel, the muscles in his forearms jumped, and so did her pulse rate. She’d never found a man’s forearms sexy before.

“Yeah. Our talk turned to ball, and he mentioned he used to play so I invited him along. Are you and he very close?”

“Me and Jake?” she squawked.

Gage laughed at her surprise. “Yes, you and Jake.”

“Not really, no. I mean we work together almost every night, and we get along good. But we’ve never really talked. We’ve never had the need to.”

“What do you mean ‘the need to’?”

“Well, he runs the kitchen, and I handle the bar. We each do our thing, and everything goes smoothly. Why?” Was he jealous? Did he really think she would hit on him if she had something going with Jake?

“No reason, really.” He shrugged. “He just seemed pretty protective of you last night, so I wondered. Here we are.” He slowed the truck to a stop and put the parking brake on.

Sable’s brain was still stuck on needs. All the naughty needs that had started to build inside her the moment he’d stepped into the pub.The need to taste him, to feel him. To have his hands cup her breasts, his fingers pinch her nipples, his tongue in her mouth, his cock buried deep inside her.

“Would you like to come in?”she asked, her voice husky.

He grimaced, as if in pain, when he answered her. “I better not.”

“I’ll feed you.” When she saw him hesitate, she continued to tempt him. “I make a mean chicken stir fry. As long as you like it hot and spicy.”

Heat flashed in his eyes at that, and Sable felt a shiver run down her spine.

“Hot is definitely a favorite of mine, but I have to say no thanks.” He studied her intently for a beat and then continued. “Look, Sable, you’re a beautiful and intriguing woman, but I’m at a place in my life right now where I want more than a casual relationship. And I get the feeling that’s all you’re looking for. So . . . I think it’s best if we just leave things the way they are.”

Just her luck. She finally decided she wanted to have hot fling, and the guy she wanted to do it with is looking for a relationship.

She’d consider a relationship, if she didn’t suck at them. But she could barely handle a relationship with her family and they had to love her.

She looked into the depths of his eyes. His desire was clear. His words might have told her he didn’t want her, but his eyes told her he was lying, and she felt the rightness of them in her gut.
Determined not to let him go without something to think about, she reached a hand up to cup his cheek and softly pressed her lips against his.

She’d meant it to be a quick kiss, a tease, but the instant their lips touched, hunger swamped her. She ran her tongue across his full bottom lip, seeking entrance. His lips parted and his tongue darted out to duel with hers. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she pulled him closer and deepened the kiss. Her heart thumped against her chest, her breathing became ragged and all thoughts fled as they tasted each other for the first time.

Needing air, she pulled back a bit, nibbled at his lips and kissed the corner of his mouth before sealing her lips over his fully once more. When his hand cupped the back of her head, she tightened her grip on his hair and pulled her mouth away. My God, she was practically on top of him!

Resting her forehead against his, their panting breaths mingled in the small space between them. She looked into his eyes and felt her chest tighten with a foreign emotion.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Not bothering to keep her disappointment from showing, she pulled away completely and exited the truck before she said something she’d really regret.

Something like “Take a chance on me.”

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