"Ace high flush in hearts," he smirked, laying the cards out for all to see as if they were the crown jewels of England.

All around the table, the others folded their cards with expressions of friendly envy. Including Tom. It could never be said that Tom wasn't a sport. Even though he was now down ninety dollars for the night.

He could sense that someone was about to suggest calling it a night, and before the words could be spoken, he grabbed the deck and began shuffling. "Seven card stud, deuces wild," he announced.

The other three exchanged knowing glances again, but this time the shared understanding was a different one. For each and every one of them knew Tom and his quirks well.

And each and every one of them knew he was a compulsive gambler.

Janet Jamison stripped her clothing off quickly in the bathroom, eager to rid herself of even those few garments. With practiced expertise, she gave the faucets a few quick turns and the water blitzed out of the shower head at precisely the steamy temperature she preferred.

Quickly, she adjusted the angle of the spray, then tucked the aromatic mass of her luxuriant hair up in a tight bun so it wouldn't be splashed.

She stepped into the enclosure, sliding the heavy tempered glass doors into place and reached for the bar of fragrant, sweet-smelling soap. Its scent was one of pine and herbs, and it reminded her so vividly of her childhood home in the forests of Washington. It was there that Tom had first met her. He'd been just a field man, then, servicing the little gas stations carrying the brand of tires he sold. She was just sixteen, ten years younger than him.

But the first time, they's sew each other had been the start of a frantic intrigue culminating with the two of them sharing a creaky motel bed. She'd lain beneath him, wide open and receptive to every powerful thrust of his virile loins, crying out from time to time in her ecstasy as she'd felt his prick driving deep into her.