Bartered (The Encounter #1)(36)

After our little playful banter upstairs on the deck, Hugo decided that he wanted to squander some of his fortune while I stood a foot away, close enough to his chair to take note of how he played cards. After all, he was a casino owner. I was sure he had tricks up his sleeves.

His table consisted of five other men and Jacques. It seemed that the French racer was losing money fast, while Hugo’s stack kept rising. It was apparent I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed, too. The women had certainly started to mill about the table, taking an interest in the game, the money, and the players.

In half an hour’s time, the audience grew at our table compared to the other ones nearby. My eyes kept wandering about the new onlookers, and it seemed that Jacques and Hugo most especially got more come-hither looks than the rest of the men there.

Were they always this desperate? I mean, I got it in a way; to be in the presence of all these successful, power-driven, and not to mention überly sexy men sure did evoke all sorts of unjustifiable feelings of helplessness, admiration, heart-stopping and jaw-dropping moments that left women in a bit of a tizzy. I, too, was guilty as charged, but come on, didn’t they see that Hugo had come with a date tonight? That date being me. I felt a little insulted that they didn’t mind at all.

With Damen, I hadn’t experienced this kind of disrespect because he and I always did things together, and people didn’t dare question that we were in love. Anyone with eyes could see how smitten we were with one another. Therefore, this situation wasn’t familiar to me. It was an unwelcomed, foreign feeling to which I wasn’t sure if I should feel proud to be gracing Hugo’s side or if I should make a move, a statement that would ensure my position that he wasn’t up for the taking.

Or I could simply ignore them all because Hugo could pretty much do as he pleased. And if his alcohol consumption was be taken into account along with his blatant display of sexual prowess from earlier, the man could pretty much accept their invitations with a quick nod before striding into the nearest available spot where he could shag to his fancy. The most shocking part was that this scenario wasn’t too far-fetched. In fact, this was the real Hugo Xavier. Curbing his appetite would merely make him more ballistic, and sooner or later, he’d eventually give up and seek physical comfort in the nearest woman who would accommodate him all night long. And the supply of willing bodies was endless.

The sensual laugh from the French woman who was standing with a martini on my close left brazenly reached out to touch the lapel of his jacket, making him glance at her with a stern look. “Vous regardez grave, mon chéri.” (You look tense, darling.) Hugo glanced away the second the new draw of cards were being distributed. The French woman stayed put, much to my chagrin. Maybe it was how Hugo hadn’t seemed bothered that some random woman touched him, or maybe it was the fact that he’d never said anything at all that made me want to put the woman in her place. Either way, I wasn’t happy about any of it.

The crisp sound of the new chips drew my eyes towards his hand that was producing the sound. His large, masculine hand covered a stack of purple chips as he let the chips fall, sounding more like dominoes falling.

Then, out of the blue, the table erupted with cheers.

Blackjack.

Twenty-one. Spades suited.

“Putain de merde!” (f*uking shit!) Jacques huffed out as he threw his cards back on the table before looking to his left and grinning at Hugo. “Sacré veinard!” (You lucky bastard.) That’s right. The man sure was lucky, I thought proudly. I was about to reach out to congratulate him when the women came in droves.

“You’re such a fantastic player, Hugo.” The blonde woman with amber eyes blushed when he gave her those one of a kind toe-curling smiles that used to get me every single time.

The friend smiled even wider. “It’s in his blood.”

More over the top compliments were thrown around, and I was literally a breath away from wanting to stomp my foot on the expensively carpeted room and mark my territory.

Grounding my teeth together, I gazed at all of them like a woman about to unleash wrath before common sense directed me to leave him be to bask in his popularity and find my own solitude before I truly did something that I’d regret, like claim him as mine.

My mind was a tricky thing. I knew he wasn’t mine per say, but my body somewhat protested.

Feeling frustrated, I slowly crept away before I found myself on the opposite side of the yacht, away from the loudness of the gathered party goers, partaking alcohol, dancing, and gambling.

I was on my way to seek a quiet spot when I luckily walked past a barman and asked for a bottle of champagne, uncorked. The second he handed me a Rosé, I went on my merry way towards the back of the yacht and found a spot where I sat facing the glittering silhouette of Monaco.

I lavished on the chilled bottle while I reflected on my life, my ghastly behavior—or more about how my thoughts were getting muddled by it all—Damen, my friends, and well, Hugo, as if my mind would ever let me forget about him.

Staring at the dark sea, the thought of Damen partying around women, getting zonked, and having the time of his life without me made me feel a tad depressed. What if I wasn’t the only one fighting sexual attraction? What if, he, too, was going through the same thing I was, being attracted to another woman? Would he act on it? Would he still love me after he shagged her?

Troubling questions marred my mood, yet the more I thought about it, the more it sunk in that this was quite possibly happening. And if so, what would I do if Damen told me he’d had sexual relations with other women? Would I still be able to take him back and love him the same as I had before? I mean, would I still be able to hold him in such high regard? It was my fault our relationship had halted, and maybe it would make him feel better if he did. It would serve me right for causing him such heartache.