Oh, she was ready to take a risk. So ready.
During his turn, Troy was able to get rid of a couple of cards out of his hand, but unable to play that last card on his pile. After picking up more cards, Michaela studied each stack in the center of the table. There was no way she could play the last card in her pile either, but she could play all the cards in her hand and pick up another five. If she didn’t get the cards she needed, though, she would be giving the win to him.
Michaela drew it out, playing a couple of cards, thinking, playing another, thinking again.
“I know you’ve got the card you need,” he said. “And you’re just trying to draw out my defeat.”
She smiled, hoping it was a little wicked, and played one more card, leaving one in her hand.
He cocked his head, scrutinized what she’d done, and said, “I don’t get it.”
Then she played the last card and said with a big smile, “I get to pick up five more.”
He laughed. “Okay, a really big risk-taker now.”
All she needed was one card to block him. She studied the new hand, examined the stacks, checked his final card. Then she sighed heavily. “Sometimes a risk doesn’t pan out.” And she discarded.
He crowed, picked up enough cards to fill his hand, then slammed a couple down into play and threw his last card on top. “I win,” he said in a roar of triumph.
She gathered the cards closest to her, mixing the ones in her hand into them.
Including the card that would have blocked him.
Chapter Eighteen
Troy collected the rest of the cards, shuffling as he asked, “Do you want me to separate them back into two packs?” Then he winked. “Before I claim my prize?”
“You are so cocky.” But he saw that gleam in her eye. Anticipation? Maybe she wanted this kiss as badly as he did.
She shrugged almost nonchalantly, although he wondered if it was as offhand as it appeared. “We might as well get the kiss over with,” she drawled.
He slapped the cards onto the table, then patted the seat beside him. “Come over here.”
“We could lean forward and do it over the table.”
Christ, she was a tease. “My win. My terms.” He patted the sofa again. She rose slowly, and his mouth watered over her beautiful breasts, her long legs in those tight leggings that revealed how shapely she was. She strolled around the coffee table, then sat two feet away from him, closed her eyes, and puckered up.
He laughed. “Oh no, you’re not getting away with that. Get over here.”
Hand on her hip, he dragged her across the couch until she was right beside him, their hips touching. Then he cupped her cheek, holding her like that for a moment, gazing into her beautiful, sensual eyes. He wanted this kiss to last. Maybe all night long.
“Now you can pucker up,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes again, puckering up like Popeye’s Olive Oyl. And he kissed those puckered lips, not raising his mouth from hers in case she said that counted as a kiss. Licking along her closed lips, he wanted to groan at her taste. He kissed and tasted and lost himself in her.
The stiff pucker she’d offered him softened beneath his kiss. As he again ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, she parted them slightly. He was sure the sound rising from her throat was a moan.
He didn’t let her go, slipping his arm across her back, molding her against him as he eased his tongue into her mouth. Then she opened for him, almost begging him to come in. She tasted like cheesecake and the sweet curaçao in the Blue Hawaii. And hot, sexy woman. He was sure he could smell her pheromones swirling around them, combining with his, creating a miasma of desire. He plundered her mouth until he couldn’t breathe.
There’d never been a woman who tasted as good, who smelled as sweet, who felt as soft against him. Their tongues flitted together, whirling, sucking, and then she was in his mouth, too, a groan of pleasure rising up from deep within her. She wound her arms around his neck, held him tight.
Christ, yes, she wanted this as much as he did. His hand moved almost on its own, dropping to her hip, pulling her up and over until she straddled him.
And the kiss ignited, her arms around his neck, his across her back, his hard ridge between her legs. As she moved on him, his hard body caressed her sweet center. She angled her head, her tongue going deep again. They took each other—one moment she was the aggressor, the next he was. Slipping his hands beneath her sweater, he rode her smooth skin up to her breasts. She backed off enough to let him get his hands on the tight beads beneath her lacy bra. He squeezed, rubbed, pinched lightly, sure the lace created an even greater friction as she moaned into his mouth and moved on him, mimicking the moves he craved.
Then she backed off, breathing hard, looking down at him. “I can’t breathe.”
“I’ll breathe for both of us.”
