"Why? I'm just trying to help." She shifts again in my lap, and I honestly can't tell if it's deliberate provocation or genuine obliviousness.
"Your deal, Marcello," Carlo says, his eyes fixed on Liana rather than the cards. Everyone's eyes are on Liana, drinking in the sight of her.
I try desperately to focus on the game. Try to think about strategy and probability and reading other players. Try to remember why I'm here and what's at stake.
It's completely impossible when she's wiggling restlessly in my lap, her body moving against mine with every small adjustment. Sweat is beginning to form on my forehead and my shirt is getting damp underneath my jacket.
I deal the cards with hands that are steady despite the chaos happening in the rest of my body. Years of practice allow me to go through the motions mechanically. The round continues around the table. I fold immediately, unable to concentrate enough to play the hand properly. The cards might as well be blank for all the attention I can give them.
Liana pouts prettily, her lower lip pushing out. "Why did you fold? You had good cards! I saw them."
"The cards weren't good enough to continue," I lie.
She shifts again, and I grit my teeth to keep from groaning. "Liana," I say very quietly, leaning close to her ear. "We need to talk. Outside. Right now."
"But the game just started—" she protests.
"Now," I repeat, my voice carrying an edge of desperation and anger and desire all mixed together.
She looks at me over her shoulder, and something flickers in her dark eyes. Recognition. Awareness. She knows exactlywhat she's doing to me, exactly what she's discovered when her ass shifted on my hard cock. She’s known the entire time.
"Okay," she says sweetly, all innocence.
But when she tries to stand up, I stop her with my hand on her hip. Because if she stands now, everyone at this table will get a clear and unobstructed view of what I just discovered. They'll see everything uncovered between her legs. Her dress has slid up in the back and there’s no way she can stand without flashing the men at the table.
"In a minute," I correct, pulling her dress down as far as the limited fabric will go, which isn't nearly far enough. "After this hand finishes."
"Okay!" She settles back against me with another shift of her weight, more pressure, more contact.
Goddamn.
My arm around her hip is the only thing covering her ass at this point. I'm going to completely lose my mind before this night is over. Or lose my control entirely.
Probably both.
The hand plays out with agonizing slowness. Dmitri wins the pot, gathering his chips with a satisfied smile. But he's watching Liana the entire time with an intensity that makes my fist clench involuntarily, makes my hands tighten on her possessively.
"Your fiancée is very... distracting, Marcello," he observes with barely concealed amusement.
"Yes. She's leaving now."
"What’s the hurry?" His eyes travel down deliberately to where my hand is gripping her thigh possessively, where the dress has ridden up to reveal far too much. "She seems quite comfortable where she is. She can stay as long as she wants."
"We're engaged," Liana says brightly, turning on the charm. "Of course I'm comfortable! Why wouldn't I be?"
She uncrosses her legs to stand up, and the movement reveals everything to everyone for a split-second.
Alexei's eyes go straight to the motion, tracking down to her thighs, to what's between them—or rather, what's conspicuously absent. His expression changes dramatically. Understanding and realization dawning across his face.
He looks directly at me and grins wolfishly, like he's won something. "Your fiancée is very bold, Marcello. Very adventurous."
"She's leaving right now," I repeat.
"Why? The game is just getting started." Dmitri is looking now too, both brothers staring at her with far too much interest, far too much appreciation.
My free hand moves toward my jacket, toward where my gun rests in its holster. A clear warning.
"Gentlemen," I say very calmly, in the tone that normally makes people nervous. "Eyes on the table."
