She knew that tone. Janet Jamison bent down, the upper hem of her top sagging to reveal her gorgeous tits almost to the nipples, and pressed a light kiss on her husband's cheek.

Again, the men's eyes followed her as she strode from the room, this time lighting on her well-filled ass cheeks, tight and full, as they twitched within the unconcealing short-shorts.

Any one of them would have given a year of his life to have had her as his own wife. Every one of them wondered if Tom Jamison had lost his mind – he seemed far more interested in the cards than the beautiful, sexy woman who'd just done everything short of unzipping his fly to coax him into bed.

The three men exchanged glances, understanding glances, knowing glances. Then they each settled back into place for the game.

Tom continued examining his cards. There was sixty bucks in the pot. The betting was at five bucks – to him. He held three eights and jack high.

He was already down seventy for the night. If he could take this pot, he'd be within striking distance of breaking even, maybe even coming out a little ahead for the first time in weeks. He'd been a streak of bad luck like nothing he'd ever seen in his life – almost four grand in losses in over the past six weeks.

He had a feeling deep in his gut that this was the hand, this was the night, this was the week his luck would change. He knew that if he took this hand, he could start winning his debts and paper back, maybe even get ahead. And then he'd quit.

Of course he would. Just like all the times before.

He pushed all the other considerations from his head and played the hunch. "I'll call," he announced cooly, and tossed the chip in.

The three men turned to Sid Koenig, the heavy-set, balding man with the face of a bulldog and the temperament of a kitten with his friends. He'd started and boosted this round of betting.