Page 78 of The Christmas Trap

Perfect cue. I set my hand down slowly, deliberately. Straight flush. The silence that follows is sweet.

James whistles under his breath. “Bastard.”

“That’s why you don’t talk before the hand’s finished.” I gather the pot toward me. The weight of the chips feels good in my palm.

“Arrogant sod.” Toren’s lips twitch. He seems to be fighting a smile.

Adrian lifts his glass in my direction. No words. Only respect.

James reaches for the bottle with a groan. “Next round’s mine. And if one of you bastards thinks you’re walking away tonight with my money, think again.”

I let a smile curve my mouth. “You don’t make it easy, Hamilton. But I’ll keep trying.”

The air thrums with competition, with brotherhood. The kind I miss from my stint with the Marines. I’m lucky to have found it here.

"Now that I have your attention…" I glance around the table. "What are you guys doing next week, same time?"

James leans back in his seat. "Attending your wedding?"

The others chuckle.

I raise my glass of whiskey in his direction. "You’re right."

"What?" His jaw drops.

The others exchange a look.

Toren, cool customer, merely takes another pull of his whiskey. "You’re getting married?"

"To whom?" Adrian scowls.

"Not to your executive assistant?" James takes in the look on my face, and chuckles. "No way. Itisyour EA."

"Next, you’ll tell me it’s Gramps who chose her," Toren drawls.

I wince.

“He did choose her?” Adrian stares.

I scowl at my cards. “In a matter of speaking."

"Gramps must be over the moon. The last of his grandkids settling down. His life’s work is finally realized." James watches me with shrewd eyes.

"He seemed to be strangely philosophical when I told him about it. It’s almost as if he was coming to grips with the fact that he doesn’t have any more lives to manipulate." I take another sip of my whiskey. "He may have hinted that he has the three of you in his sights."

"I hope not." Adrian shudders. "I’m happy with my life as is."

"Besides, he doesn’t have any control over our inheritances." Toren shrugs.

"Unlike you tossers, I'm a self-made man. I have no interest in my parents’ inheritance." James drums his fingers on his chair.

"The classic response of the man who has it all." I smirk.

"I didn’t start out that way," he reminds me.

James and his siblings are adopted. The Hamiltons made sure to give them the best education and access to contacts within the upper echelons of London society. But there are shadows in James’ eyes which can’t all be attributed to having seen action.

"You’re really doing this?" Toren cuts off the end of his cigar and lights it.