His jaw clenched defensively. Evans was an asshole, but the guy wasn’t stupid. An advantage player. Nick had been thinking the exact same thing. Not that he’d let Evans know his usual running commentary hit its mark.
He took a sip of the Heineken. “A skillful use of mathematical advantage isn’t illegal, you ought to know that,” Nick said, his tone as chilled as a Monte Carlo martini. “There is an attorney underneath this high-priced suit.”
“But not a partner.” Evans’s smile did not reach his eyes. A round of applause exploded around the blackjack table. His colleague cocked a dark eyebrow. “Better keep an eye on your fiancée and her shuffle-tracking skills. Never know what other secrets she keeps.”
Watching Evans walk away, Nick felt an invisible band tighten around his chest. The truth was, he felt disquieted by Marianne, by her satin dress, her numbers-based gambling talent, and yes, her secrets. His fiancée was more like him than he’d imagined, and while a buttoned-up cardigan girl wasn’t his type, a table runner with a penchant for sequins and pop-out cakes? That woman sounded like fun. His eyes caught her gaze. Her hand fluttered to her throat, and the ring sparkled under the casino lights. Too much fun.
The dealer threw down another card. She swiveled on the green velvet chair, all innocent blue eyes and killer legs. Yeah, his fiancée had her secrets, secrets that were kind of sexy. He’d figure them out. But secrets were for later. Tonight, he had a partnership to win.
Nick cruised over to the gaming table. Marianne glanced at Dan’s cards and pursed her lips. His boss stayed, she took the hit, and won the hand with a total of twenty.
“The firm is acting as the house tonight, Dan. Don’t let her take too much of your money,” he said, offering his boss a firm handshake. “She’s a bit of a card shark.”
A blush colored Marianne’s skin as he bent to brush a kiss across her cheek. “Maybe I need to cash in my chips before my luck runs out.”
“Nonsense,” Dan said, with an encouraging smile. “All of tonight’s proceeds go to charity, so I’m happy to be bested. What about you, Nick?” His boss turned his sharp gaze in his direction. “Ready to lose a little money for a good cause?”
Offering up his most polished smile, Nick said, “I’m not much of a gambler, but my donation will be on your desk in the morning.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, before lowering his voice in side commentary. “She’s a real sweetheart, a serious asset, too, even made Bill Jeffers chuckle, and I’ve not seen the man laugh in nearly fifteen years. If you don’t marry her, I will.”
Across the gaming table, a stack of chips fell, and a slightly drunken junior partner called out, “Let’s see you kiss her, Nick.”
His boss protested, but the rally cry of his colleagues grew louder. Five-hundred-dollar chips were tossed in his direction as his coworkers laid down odds on the length of the kiss, a few hashing out side bets should Nick fail to deliver. Hell, even Elvis sporting full jewel-encrusted attire and plenty of charisma got in on the action, breaking out in an off-key version of “A Little Less Conversation.”
What could he do?
As the cheers rained down, Nick held up his hands in mock surrender and turned toward Marianne. A shy smile edged across her features as his hands curved around her waist. He bent his head and whispered, “What’s the probability of me kissing you in front of all these people?”
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Well, given that’s it’s for such a good cause, I’d say the event-to-outcome ratio is 100 percent.”
Just what he needed to hear.
Nick took her face into his hands, brushed his thumb across her already pink cheek and kissed her, forgetting all about the chips and the wager. Hell, the whole partnership event was a memory, distant to the feel of her in his arms. Her lips parted, and his tongue dipped inside. She tasted like some sweet pineapple and rum concoction, tropical and exotic, a far cry from prim and proper. He felt no boundaries, temporary or otherwise, no barriers at all, save the edge of the table. All he wanted was to continue being lost in her kiss.
Without a thought in his head, he pressed her back against the table’s green felt edge, eager to continue his pursuit of her mouth, the incredible feel of her, the luscious taste. No doubt about it now—she was his cake girl. And if he had his way later tonight, he’d show her how much she thrilled him. A stack of chips scattered onto the table, but who cared about blackjack? Nick didn’t care about anything except kissing this woman.
As for the rest of it…
Let the chips fall where they may.
The dealer cleared his throat. Nick broke the kiss slowly, unconcerned that half the partnership was staring. Hell, the other half was cheering, and he didn’t mind that, either. He pulled back another inch and grinned down at her, dazed and pretty, her new glasses askew. Funny how he’d never considered glasses sexy before. But on Marianne, it all worked. His smile deepened, and he reached out to straighten the damn things.
Nick knew he should move away, say their goodbyes, call it a night. Instead, he kept looking at her, his brain circling around the same three thoughts. One, he was engaged to a woman whose kiss had him thinking about sleepovers and back-to-back dates during football season. Two, the success of his entire career depended on her—at least for the next six weeks. And three, the woman had secrets.
Card-counting, cake-jumping, potentially, career-busting secrets.
And for some damned reason, he was still thinking sleepovers.
Chapter Nine
“The body is meant to be seen, not all covered up.”
—Marilyn Monroe
That kiss.
Tucked into the corner of the living room’s leather sectional, Marianne flipped through the massive, swirling universe of late night television in search of a classic movie, anything to keep from dwelling on the sweetness of Nick’s lips on hers. She’d made a beeline for the bedroom after the party, but now she couldn’t sleep—again—so she was channel-surfing in the living room.
She’d wanted a Marilyn movie, but since Nick didn’t get the classic film channel, she’d have to settle for The Big Bang Theory or a midnight viewing of Body Heat. Wicked. Seductive. In line with her goal of becoming more sexually adventurous.
She clicked on the film and tried not to think too much about the man on the pullout next door, all sleepy-eyed and naked. She swallowed hard, certain Nick slept naked. She snuck a peek at the door to his office.
Gloriously naked. She shoved aside an impulse to renegotiate the no sex inside the relationship part of their deal and settled against the buttery soft leather couch, determined to relax. Ever since her father’s incarceration, she’d been unable to sleep. Ambien. Lunesta. Chardonnay. Nothing seemed to keep her thoughts from racing. Certainly knowing her fiancé was naked a few feet away didn’t help. At least she had popcorn for a distraction. She ripped open the bag.
“Are you an insomniac as well as a card shark?”
Marianne drew in a startled breath, and her hands flew to her heart, sending popcorn flying into the air. A self-conscious laugh bubbled up from her chest. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, their words overlapping.
He took a step toward the couch at the same moment she stood to manage the popcorn situation and—bam—her body slammed smack-dab into The Great Wall of Nicholas.
Her gaze locked onto his perfectly defined deltoids, causing her brain to stop. Literally stop. In its tracks. No thoughts. No cranial activity. What. So. Ever. She blinked twice, or maybe several times, forcing her eyes to focus, but all she saw was the broad scope of his carry-me-to-bed-and-kiss-me-breathless shoulders.
Nick crouched to gather up the popcorn collected at her feet and tossed the stray kernels onto the coffee table. He looked up at her smiling, all rumpled and barefoot and gorgeous. “Or maybe you’re simply addicted to old movies?”
Addicted. Oh, she was rapidly growing addicted to something, and it wasn’t Ambien.
Or old movies.
Her knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the edge of the sectional, the unexpected movement causing the tie at the neckline of her Victorian-style nightie to fall open, revealing her curves to the silver moonlight streaming in through the windows.
Instinctively, she reached up to retie the straps, but noting how his surprised gaze turned heated before coasting from the open neckline to the floor, she released them. If she wasn’t going to stop thinking about that kiss, then she may as well do something about it. She wanted more. Starting. Now. She raised both hands into the air. “Guilty on both counts, movies and insomnia.”
Her inner siren was ready to play.
Leaving her neckline undone, she dropped her hands into her lap and leaned back against the corner of the couch. Guilty? Definitely, she thought, biting down hard on her lower lip, amazed at her new ability to flirt so freely.
He was close enough to kiss again, and wearing only a thin, V neck T-shirt and a pair of delicious, low-riding pajama bottoms. It was practically all she could do not to tug on the waistband of those pants and bring him tumbling down on top of her. So go for it, the husky voice of her inner seductress whispered, please go for it.
Her eyes dipped lower, past the top button to where the airy cotton stretched across the smooth skin of his muscular hips and thighs. What she wouldn’t give to be that cotton right now. She slammed her eyes shut and her hands balled into fists to keep from reaching out to touch him. He was just so gorgeous. Crazy gorgeous in a way that caused her toes to tingle and her palms to itch with the need to run across his naked skin.
When her eyes fluttered open for another peek, he was easing all six feet and several inches of his body onto the comfy sofa. The cushion dipped under his weight, and she slid closer. Her heart beat triple time against her ribcage. Why did he have to sit so close, close enough to cause her mind to focus on the warmth emanating from his perfectly toned body? Oh yes, counselor, guilty on all counts. She pressed both hands to her cheeks. He wasn’t even naked, and she was thinking about kicking their deal to the curb.
“Is this Body Heat?” Picking up the remote, he clicked up the volume, his eyes narrowing on the images moving across the screen. He glanced back at her, and her brows raised above the glasses in an unspoken question. “Nope. Not a movie buff. But I love Kathleen Turner.”
“Really?” she said, surprised to learn his taste ran toward the curvy, smoky-voiced actress.
Nick lowered his chin and shot her a look that said, Are you kidding me? “Young Kathleen Turner in that lacy nightgown with the strap halfway down.” His mischievous gaze drifted to the neckline of her sheer cotton nightie before returning to catch hers. “A sexual goddess.”
Marianne swallowed hard. “A sexual goddess?” Right now, she wanted to be a sexual goddess more than anything in the world. Anything.
“But that’s not the only reason I think she’s great in this movie.” With an air of casual ease and comfort, he reached across her body to grab the bag of popcorn. “She’s downright sexy, sure, but she’s got this air of bold confidence, too.” He peeked inside the bag and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “She’s the one running the game. Kind of like you tonight.”
She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “Like me?”
A knowing smile creased his handsome face. “Honey, don’t even try to pretend you weren’t running the blackjack table tonight. I’ve been around enough gamblers to know when someone’s managing the game.” He tossed a few pieces of popcorn into the air and caught them in his mouth, consecutively, one, two, three. “Where’d you learn to count cards?”
Interesting. She’d been bold and stepped up her game with the nightgown, but he was holding back, playing it cool and casual and attorney-like. Like she was about to get busted.
Smoothing out the line of her nightie with her palm, she looked over at him and feigned innocence. “I don’t count cards.”
Another smile. “Honey, you ran the table like a Monte Carlo showgirl conning the sharks out of their cash. Don’t pretend you didn’t read the cards.”
Honey? Oh, he was angling for information, all right, but she took the bait and tilted closer, drawn into the orbit of his smile, unable to deny the thrill of an endearment on his lips. “I was not like some sexy Monte Carlo showgirl.”
He slipped a few more pieces of popcorn into his mouth and chewed. Her gaze locked onto his lips. “But you were reading the cards.” The don’t-even-try-to-play look on his face made her bare toes curl into the soft leather cushions. “C’mon, tell me your secrets.”
“My secrets?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t keep secrets.”
“No?” For a long moment he held her eyes, one corner of his lips pulled up in mischief.
“Tell me your secrets,” he said in a voice that turned her inside out. “All your secrets.”
No sense even trying to resist the pull of that voice, not when he was talking about secrets and sitting so close and wearing low-riders she wanted to ease off with her teeth. The confession tumbled out of her in a rush. “I counted the cards.”
Nick made a victorious sound at the back of his throat and pointed at her with the popcorn bag. “I knew it.”
She snuggled deeper into the cushions. “There’s nothing sexy about counting cards.”
“A girl who can count cards—are you kidding me?” He dropped another smile on her and tossed the bag onto the coffee table. “Sexier than a showgirl.” Empty now, his hands moved along the edge of the cushion, inches away from the hem of her nightgown. “Any other equally hot secrets?”
“I told you I don’t keep secrets.”
He looped a strand of her hair around his index finger and tilted forward until he was close enough to whisper. “Are you sure about that, Cake Girl?” Her eyes widened as his gaze took a southern detour from her lips. “Whisper ‘Happy Birthday’ in my ear.” He reached for the half-tied strap at her neckline and tugged her forward. “I dare you.”
She shook her head. “I never played Truth or Dare.”
“Well, then, let me teach you.”
With a smile that in all probability was going to cost her way more than her secrets, he inched even closer, his perfectly shaped mouth just a breath away. “Truth or dare, you are the girl who jumped out of my birthday cake in that silver dress.”
“But the movie…” she said in a low, husky voice.
“Truth or dare.”
Eyes locked onto his, a dizzying buzz ran through her system, and she dared to whisper, “Truth.”
“You want to kiss me again. Truth or dare?”
Tell him the truth, her inner temptress beckoned, tell him the truth. “Better take the dare.”
In a movement so sweet, so seductively tender, she almost forgot about the game as he brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. “I dare you to kiss me.”
The challenge in his voice made her dizzier still, and a play-by-the-rules kind of girl, she offered up a brief kiss—enough to satisfy his dare, but no more than his birthday kiss.
His eyes half closed, his lips clung to hers, unwilling to let go. “God, you are so sexy.”
She shook her head in slow, heartfelt denial. “I’m so not sexy.”
“Marianne, I don’t know why you feel that way, but I could not disagree more.” He bent to kiss the edge of her collarbone, and the feel of his lips on her skin sent her senses reeling way past probabilities and correlations. “Why did you run from my birthday party?” His gaze sought hers, and she looked into his midnight blue eyes. “Didn’t you know how badly I wanted to kiss you again? The girl in the cake, the perfect birthday gift.”
Any second the spell would end, but until then, she breathed in the warmth of his skin, his deep, masculine scent, as fresh and thrilling as Central Park in spring. “I don’t know…maybe I thought if you knew it was me, the ‘quintessential good girl,’ you wouldn’t want me.” There. She’d said it. Her emotional moment of truth.
“Oh honey, trust me, I want you.” His hands reached up to frame her face, and his mouth moved toward her lips to kiss her. The kind of kiss she’d wanted all along. She didn’t move. She didn’t think she was breathing. She was simply suspended in the moment, waiting for his kiss, knowing that this kiss would change everything. Maybe not for Nick, but for her. And she wanted it, wanted it more than anything. Her lips parted in an invitation he readily accepted, diving in to kiss her, gently at first, increasing the depth and pressure with each soft moan of encouragement.
He pulled his lips away slowly, his thumbs caressing their edges. “God, I love those little sounds you make…drive…me…crazy.”
That voice.
Drive…me…crazy. Oh, she knew the feeling. Her hands twisted in the hair at the back of his neck, dragging him closer, returning his kiss with unfamiliar need. She loved the feel of his rumpled, less-than-tidy hair threaded through her fingers, the rough texture of his five-o’clock shadow against her skin.
He pulled away slightly, but stayed close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, the soft cotton of his T-shirt tickling the skin at her open neckline. He edged her glasses away from her face and eased her back against the soft leather, reaching past her to set her glasses on an end table. The spectacular play of muscles in his forearms and biceps sent heat racing through her body. “I wanted you that first night.” He reached into the pocket of his low-riders and withdrew the turquoise mask she’d left behind in the bar. “And I want you right now.”
She gasped at the sight of her disguise and fisted his T-shirt in her hands.
“Close your eyes and let me show you just how incredibly sexy you are.”
“Nick…”
“Close. Your. Eyes.” His gaze locked onto hers, he unfolded the mask…slowly…like a seduction, and her eyes drifted shut. He slipped the mask on her face and tied the ribbon at the back of her neck. Every fiber of her body pulsated in anticipation, aware of the gentle movement of his strong hands as they caressed her shoulders, skimming the outside of her arms, detouring into the subtle inlet of her waist. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
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