“Johnny… I… Johnny, I’m not…”
Something bumped inside the room, crashing against the window frame at the same time. A body fell into the room, cursing in fluent Glaswegian.
Appalled, Addie watched over Johnny’s shoulder as Big Malky rose to his feet, shaking his shaggy head as if to clear it.
Johnny span round. “What the…?”
Malky blinked at the pair of them. “Aw right there, big man?” he said amiably to his host. “Happy New Year.”
The Grand Master of her body—and her fate.
Queen’s Gambit
© 2009 Marie Treanor
Ever since a jealous wife cursed her, Christi Blythe has lived seven hundred years of a half life, trapped by day in the black queen of a chess set. She lives only between the hours of dusk and dawn, waiting for the one true love who is willing to sacrifice a vital game of chess to break the curse.
Now, years after she has given up hope, her remote Highland hotel is hosting a chess match between two high-profile Grand Masters of the game. One of them is the brilliant but erratic Russian, Andrei Zuvaran.
Andrei suspects there is something different about the luscious barmaid and her chess set. One hot night with her—and one shocking dawn—confirms it. But he can’t afford to lose this match. Not even to free her.
He’s got more riding on it than money, more than his heart. His next move could cost a life.
Enjoy the following excerpt from Queen’s Gambit:
An hour later, wearing only an inappropriate red sun dress to cover her modesty in the face of any unlikely encounters with customers or staff, Christi had cleared and washed all the glasses, cleaned the bar and the tables thoroughly. Fortunately, Archie had left the top windows open, so it didn’t smell too stale. Christi herself had lost track of time in her whirlwind clean-up, and she’d left her watch in her room. It was to gauge the hour that she first went to the bay window, pulling back the heavy curtain, but, having done that, the view caught her all over again, and she found herself sitting on the window-seat and watching the moon’s reflection in the loch under the looming black hills.
Four whole hours until dawn, she judged, maybe a little more. At least two before the hotel staff started to work on the cooking and cleaning.
Someone was up already. Someone was striding across the grass from the direction of the loch, heading for the path to the front door.
Briefly, her eyes closed. There was some sort of fate at work here. But no, just because Zuvarin was out walking did not mean he had to find her here.
Her eyes opened, her hand already reaching to pull the curtain closed again. Yet her fingers only gripped the fabric without moving it, for he had stopped, one foot on the first step, looking directly toward her window. Of course, he would have seen the chink of light. She doubted he could make out her own figure, and even if he could, why should he bother with her? Had she not left him alone to face his Mafiosi? Had she not previously run away from his embrace as if he were repellent to her?
Yes, she had, so it was not surprising that after a moment, he simply carried on up the steps into the hotel. Christi drew the curtain back into place, then rested her hand on her fist.
Repellent, dear God! Right now there was nothing she wanted more than that man inside her, his big, naked body covering her while her fingers roamed all over it, feeling the play of muscles in his back and hips as he pushed into her over and over. Then his… Oh, God, she really needed to get control of these fantasies!
The gentle tap on the door actually took her by surprise. Her head jerked up, her eyes stared stupidly at the door until it came again. Then, because she could do nothing else, she rose and walked across the room to unlock it. Her heart was already hammering in her breast, and yet when she saw him standing there in his baggy sweater, holding his coat over one shoulder, his lips curving into a spontaneous smile, she thought she would explode.
Her fingers, still gripping the door handle, were trembling.
“I thought it was you,” he said. “Can I come in?”
She knew she should say no. Just one word, loud and clear. Instead, her shaking hand drew the door wider, closed and relocked it when he’d slipped past her. Already, unbearably, he was touching her, standing close behind her, both his hands lightly holding her by the shoulders as he murmured, “You are even more beautiful in this dress, beautiful and free…”
Her breath caught. That word again.
“I’m not free,” she said unsteadily, and had the satisfaction of hearing his breath drawn in sharply. As if she could not help it, her head fell back, resting on his chest. Her eyes closed.
“You are married? My God, I never even thought to ask.”
“We know nothing of each other, nothing.”
“I know you,” he insisted, his fingers tightening, gently kneading her shoulders. “I know I want you. I know you want me…”
“I don’t!” she gasped as those fingers moved down, dragging her whole body against him so she could feel his hard erection nudging her back. Then both his hands moved on until they covered her breasts, holding, caressing, his thumbs rhythmically stroking her tight nipples. She knew he was smiling into her hair as he nuzzled her nape.
“No?” he teased, his fingers spreading across her breasts to outline her stiff, hard nipples through the fabric. Then one hand moved lower, fingers splayed, palm gently pushing as it slid down her abdomen, making her gasp and gasp again before it reached between her legs with probing fingers. She moaned with sheer pleasure.
His lips kissed her neck strongly, his tongue, his teeth sending shivers of ecstasy down her spine. Moving down her leg, his right hand caught at the fabric of her dress, drawing it upward with gentle, teasing caresses until his fingers could reach the hot wetness between her thighs.
Now it was he who gasped, and for some reason his reaction gave her the confidence to laugh, a shaky, breathless sound, as she opened her eyes and twisted her head to see into his face. “Shocked?”
And Zuvarin, his breath short and quick, gave one of his swift smiles. “Shocked? Because you don’t wear knickers to clean the bar? Oh, no.” His fingers began to move, butterfly-light, slow, explorative, working toward her clitoris with delicious languor. “Rather—delighted.”
Christi’s head pressed back into his shoulder. She no longer cared that her eyes must be giving away his devastating effect upon her—her whole body betrayed her already. She just wanted to see his heated face clouded with desire for her, and she did. She saw more, too, for his eyes, surely were as vulnerable as hers, revealing not only his own wants, but also his need to please her. She could not hide the intensity of pleasure his fingers induced as they stroked all around the desperately wet petals of her pussy and finally, gently, pressed on her swollen, pulsating clitoris.
Moaning aloud, she reached blindly up with her mouth, finding his and kissing him wildly with all her passion and gratitude for the orgasm that was already rising with earth-shattering depth. When his hand left her pussy, she cried out in distress. He turned her in his arms to deepen the kiss. His hands held her hips so that his could grind into them. It was delicious, exciting, maddening, but it was not nearly enough.
“Now,” she whispered urgently, her hands on his jeans, trembling as they stroked the big, hard bulge at the front and fumbled with his zip. “Now, Andrei…”
Vaguely, she was conscious of his gasps, joyful at his reaction. Then, as her hand closed around his big, thick, rock-hard cock, he groaned, sweeping her up in his arms and off her feet, carrying her swiftly across the room as if she weighed no more than a baby. Her mouth claimed his again. She rejoiced in the feel of his hands holding her bare buttocks.
He set her on the bar, her legs dangling down the front while he stood between them, his crotch pressing into hers while he kissed her with huge, demanding kisses that drove her wild.
Arms around his neck, she wriggled, trying to slither forward to enable his entry. “Now, Andrei,” she gasped a
gain, but inexplicably he held her back. His fingers had found the zip of her dress and let it fall around her shoulders, revealing most of her breasts beneath for him to kiss and caress, his tongue flicking fire across her nipples. Christi thought she would die if he didn’t do it to her, if he did not fuck her now, at once…
She grasped his hair to tell him so, but he eluded her, kneeling on the floor below her to kiss her legs from the ankle up.
“Andrei!” she got out, half-weeping with frustration as well as laughter. “I’m dying!”
But he made no response, for his lips were now on the inside of her thigh, just at the top and moving toward the heated wetness of her crotch and at last she began to suspect what he would do.
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