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a miracle worker.”
     
    “Can’t let that ride, sir,” the dealer informed him. He was already on the phone and he didn’t look happy.
     
    “Well I can’t bet against you.” Dorian gathered his chips, once again doubled in size. “You want me to sit this one out?”
     
    “Yeah.” Jodie nodded, frowning at the table. “I just have a bad feeling…”
     
    Kimber overheard, leaning over to tell Lauren and the rest of the girls.
     
    “Well your instincts have been right so far.” Dorian took seven of his chips and put them in the “don’t pass” field.
     
    “Betting against the shooter?” The stick man raised his bushy eyebrows, so thick they almost matched his mustache, but the dealer placed the bet.
     
    “I’ll sit this one out,” Kimber said, counting up the chips sitting in her rack in front of her. All of the girls had made a ton of money but they were following Kimber’s lead, holding back from placing any more bets.
     
    “Want to make a little side wager?” He waggled his eyebrows at Jodie when she turned her head to look at him. His arms around her waist felt perfectly comfortable now. “Make it even more exciting?”
     
    “What kind of wager?”
     
    “How about…” He slid his hands over her hips, smiling slyly. “If you crap out, you take another selfie with me. My choice of time and place.”
     
    She looked at him, considering. “And if I don’t crap out?”
     
    “You keep that.” He nodded at the pile of chips—minus his thirty-five thousand dollar bet on craps—still sitting on the table.
     
    “Oh no. No way.” She felt the blood drain from her face at the thought of that kind of money. “I can’t take that.”
     
    “Why not? You earned it, shooter.” He laughed. “Besides, if you’re right and you crap out, you won’t have to take it.”
     
    Jodie blinked at the pile of chips and tried to imagine how her life would change if she had that kind of money. And then she remembered that incredible kiss, his hands on her ass, mouth slanting across hers, and the heat that flooded her at the memory was enough to turn her cheeks rosy. She turned away from Dorian, not wanting him to see her flushed face, watching chips being tossed everywhere on the table. Word had spread about the lucky shooter.
     
    Before she knew it, the dice were back in front of her again and she picked them up in one hand, not sure what she should ask for. If she threw a seven or eleven, Dorian would insist on giving her the money he’d made on her rolls. If she crapped out, he’d double his thirty-five thousand dollar bet on the table—and he’d win a selfie of the two of them, taken whenever, wherever he wanted.
     
    She tingled all over at that, wondering what he was up to—but she knew the general direction he was going, considering the way he pulled her into the saddle of his hips as they stood at the table, two puzzle pieces, almost but not quite fitting together. Just a little nudge, and then…
     
    “What do you want me to roll?” she glanced back at him, feeling the eyes of everyone at the table trained on her. The casino was still loud, lively, but the table was quiet, waiting for her.
     
    “I want you. ” His whispered words made her breath catch in her throat, his fingers digging into her hipbones. “And I intend to have you—no matter what you roll.”
     
    She threw the dice, not caring what they came up, knowing that either way, she won. Turning, she snaked her arms around his neck before pressing her lips to his. She wanted him to know—she wanted him too. There was nothing else in the world she wanted more, nothing else she could think about. It could have been all the drinks, or the excitement of rolling the dice, winning all that money, but it wasn’t any of that. This man, this Dorian Cole, wanted her— her, Jodie Miller. She was desirable, wanted. After everything that had happened over the past week, that was enough.
     
    The moment their mouths met, she