Page 15 of Wild Card

Not tonight.

Not in this lifetime.

It was best to get it through her head—and her heart—right now.

Easier said than done. Much easier. She’d never been the one playing this part. The whole pulling-away-with-fake-regret thing…it was about as comfortable as a mammogram, especially when there was nothing feigned about the emotion. She wanted nothing more than to be apart from Sam long enough to let him discard the condom, then come back and get tangled with her again. Maybe they’d even get under the covers and see what developed from there. The tension across his face, also defined in his chest as he propped on an elbow, spoke his own approval of that plan.

“I need to pee.” She forced out the words. They lent the strength she needed to push off the bed. Maybe locking herself in the bathroom, far away from his body and his eyes and his scent, would give her more. She grabbed up her clothes, just in case. Please, God. I just need to get out of here. Once Sam was three stories away, she could sort through everything. She had to. There was still the wedding to get through. Real social time near the man, not situations she could avoid by pretending there was work on her desk or files to get to. She had to determine what feelings were safe to keep out on the mental shelves, and which ones to lock deep inside the emotional cabinets.

But the ambient lights in the bathroom, flickering to life as she entered, shattered those shelves to pieces.

No. Not the lights.

What they illuminated.

His dress clothes for the wedding tomorrow, arranged perfectly on the bathroom’s garment rack.

A dress blazer in dark gray. A white silk shirt to go beneath it, along with a brocade vest in hunter green. The same green was woven with red and white to form the plaid design of the pressed wool kilt. Lined up on the floor beneath was a pair of black leather boots, shined to perfection. They’d probably hit Sam at mid-calf. The muscles would push at the leather, emphasizing his physical power…

Ohhhh, God.

She had no idea she’d also groaned it aloud, until Sam’s urgent call came through the door. “Mouse? Everything awrite?”

She yanked the door back open.

To surrender her breath to shock once again.

Viewing him now, standing at full height, just made his nudity more glorious. The only icing that could perfect this cake could’ve been his erect—

Damn.

Looked like the flesh between his thighs wanted to rise to that standard, as well.

“Okay. I finally get it.”

Sam frowned. “Huh?”

“Fate has shown its ultimate purpose.”

“Truly?” One more justification for adoring him. What she’d blurted wasn’t weird to him. He simply rolled with it as a new direction in the conversation. “And what purpose would that be?”

He leaned against the jamb, arms folded, indulgent grin forming. The pose emphasized his incredible pecs, his beautiful quads…and yeah, that beautiful, hard ridge, right at the center of things…continuing to tempt her gaze into his unique Sam sin…

Thank God she had something else to focus on. His outfit was gorgeous, like a costume created for a Highland book boyfriend. If the vest was replaced by a sash and the kilt secured by a sword belt instead of snap closures, she could even turn that setting into something from hundreds of years ago, where he was the laird of his own clan. If they lived four hundred years ago, could she have been his lady? Lairds were a lot less picky in the 1600’s. Curves, curls and a talent for rocking high heels was a lot less important than leadership, business sense, and the ability to reload a spring-action stapler in less than thirty seconds. Surely a flintlock pistol wasn’t so different.

She pushed the fantasy—make that a few new fantasies—aside, in order to answer his query. “Every event of the night,” she said. “Every step we’ve taken and move we’ve made—all the way up to here.”

“Here?”

“This.” She jabbed a finger at his clothes. “Thank God I’m prepared for it now.”

His brow furrowed. “You don’t fancy plaid?”

“Oh, I fancy.” She managed a little laugh. “To the point that if I walked in and saw you in that tomorrow morning, without any notice, Tess would be stepping over my unconscious body on the way to the altar.”

His brows still crunched but his eyes began to tease. “Ooohhh. No unconsciousness. Not for that reason, at least.” His gaze thickened with sultry meaning. “I can think of better ways to make you faint. Or at least try.”

Her breath snatched again, especially as he unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. Sensual intent surrounded him like the glow around a candle flame—only with bulging muscles, burnished hair, and—

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