She began to lose. Gradually, a few chips at a time, then more and more. Soon, she was busted. "I guess that makes me the winner," said Mr. Steele.

"Not so fast," she said. "I've still got something to play with." She stood and skinned out of her cocktail dress. She rolled it into a ball and tossed it onto the table. "Another pot with that instead of chips."

"It's been a long time, Mr. Steele," started one of the watching men. "Why not go along with her?"

"I do like her spirit," the dark-visaged man conceded. "Very well, young lady. If you know what the end result is likely to be if you should lose everything."

"Would I really lose, if I lost all my clothes?" she asked coyly, trying to lock eyes with the mysterious Mr. Steele. The man sat with his face shrouded in the shadows. She saw a glimmer of light that might have meant his eyes twinkled.

"Deal."

She dealt. And lost. Marcus took her dress off the table and vanished with it. She wondered if she could recoup her loses. The man against her played conservatively. She could win with a bold move now. Both of her shoes were lost on the next hand.

"I still have enough to bet with," she said, standing and moving away from the table. She was clothed now only in her bra, panties, garter belt and stockings. She began to undo the garter belt when Mr. Steele's sharp, "No!" stopped her.

"Why not?" she asked.

"The bra – or forfeit everything."

She seductively undid the bra, bringing the cups off her voluptuous tits in a slow, teasing motion. She shivered as a blast of cool air from the air conditioner raked across her turgid nipples. She was still turned on by the brief encounter with Marcus. Or was it Marcus at all who turned her on now?