Page 18 of Wild Card

Chapter Four

‡

“Sam?”

“Hmmm?”

“We promised we’d leave it at the wonderful.”

She stole a glance up at him. His profile was given more definition by the bar’s dim lighting against the ginger stubble along his jaw. His face was open and congenial, even exchanging an approving smile with a guy who’d ordered the same dark Scottish ale as him.

“I remember,” he murmured.

“So squeezing my knee under the table—”

“Isn’t wonderful?”

“Of course it’s wonderful. But now it’s getting to be more than that, and we promised—” Her own sharp gasp cut her short. “We—we promised each other that—”

“Well, I’m not squeezin’ your knee. Not anymore, at least.”

He was right. He sure as hell wasn’t. It was her lower thigh then the middle of her thigh. If he didn’t stop, it’d be her upper thigh and then—

“Sam.”

He set down his beer and laughed softly, as if she’d just told him a private little joke. The gleam in his eyes was brilliant; the focus on his face was indisputable. “Still wonderful?”

She pushed her legs together to keep his hand from sliding higher. He chuckled quietly again, finally withdrawing it—

Only to replace it with the other one, meaning he was now fully turned, nearly blocking her view with his shoulders. Not that she could see much of the room in the first place. Of all the Nyte’s renowned restaurants and bars, he’d picked this one: a place meshed of old Hollywood glam with a Marrakesh brothel, not skimping on the red leather, gold tassels and nuanced dimness.

Sam smiled down into her face, gaze hooded. Jen attempted to glower back, pressing her legs harder. For a moment, he looked adorably nonplussed, as if they were standing in her office and she’d cut him off in the middle of a one-liner, ordering him to sign off on flight assignments. She refused to remember that in most of those moments, she’d yearned to have him in this kind of a moment.

Different times, different circumstances.

Muchdifferent.

“Stop. It.” She would’ve attempted to squirm free but where did that take her crotch except closer to his fingers? Her utterly naked pussy…his completely determined hand…

To her shock, he acquiesced. “You win, sweet mouse.” Dutifully, he even tugged her skirt back into place. “For now, at least.” One swig of his drink later, he added, patting his pocket, “But only because I’ve got the bargaining chip.”

She sipped at her wine, a winter Pinot Gris, before returning coyly, “One more fantasy come true? My panties in your pocket?”

“I’ve tried not to dwell too much on my fantasies about you, mouse.” Though he grated it close enough to ruffle her hair, his gaze struck out across the room again. “Mistakin’ one’s cock for the control stick can be a fatal mistake in sixteen tons of speedin’ steel.”

She clutched her wine glass. Gulped hard. “So…your fantasies really did start before tonight?”

His throat vibrated with his own swallow. “Fairly soon after the first moment I met you.” He dipped his head, peering more closely. “That’s fashin’ you fiercely. Why?”

“Why?” She arched both brows. “Seriously? Because I’m a dweeb, Sam. I walk around with my nose in books and my head in the clouds.”

“But I like you that way.”

“I like me that way too—except when I’m yanked out and have to be reminded that I can’t take three steps in dress shoes without falling flat on my face. That I have the social grace of an orangutan. And that I can’t stop babbling stupid shit like this, around someone like you, and—”

He borrowed her move from the room, flattening fingers across her lips. “Slow that roll, darlin’. Someone like me? What the bloody hell does that mean?”

She jerked her mouth free. “You’re a smart man. Don’t you dare try to tell me that you’re unaware of it.” She arced a finger, encompassing the room. “You turned every woman’s head—and half the men’s—just by striding in here.”

---