Page 17 of Wild Card

Sam jerked out a reluctant nod. He came from a land where fairies, brownies, and spirits for everything from water to horse poop were still considered real. Her talk about fate didn’t freak him by a single syllable. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“Oh, don’t go takin’ on sass about it, now.” His gaze skated hungrily down her body. “We’re still not at work. And I’d still love an opportunity to turn your gorgeous arse a lovely shade of pink.”

Too late to prevent her face from flushing that exact shade. As Jen battled to maintain the rest of her composure, she snatched her bra from the counter. “Why don’t we step off the path of temptation? I could use some food and a cocktail.” She turned to the mirror and gave his reflection a wink. “Not to mention the chance to fulfill another teeny fantasy.”

He straightened a twisted strap on her shoulder. “And what fantasy would that be?”

“Being seen with the hottest Highlander in the hotel, of course.”

“Jenny.” He chastised it into her ear. “I’m probably the only Highlander in the hotel.”

“Pssshhh.” She threw her dress back on. Thank God for the designer who’d created one-piece sheaths. “Semantics.”

She almost face-palmed herself when spying her panties, still in a lump on the counter—but the moment she grabbed them, Sam clutched her wrist and clucked wickedly. “Not so fast, missie.”

“Sam.” Her turn for the soft rebuke. Hadn’t they just talked about pushing fate’s good mood?

“What? I don’t get to have a fantasy fulfilled?”

She glared via the mirror. “You’ve had a fantasy about me without panties?”

“In a bright red dress,” he filled in.

“This sheath is burgundy.”

“Psssshh. Semantics.”

His hold didn’t dissipate. She bit her lip again, trying not to reveal that if she actually wore the lingerie now, they’d be soaked.

“Fine, then.” Surprisingly, he let go. Moved back a few steps. “Let’s call it a show of solidarity. I’ll be a proper Scot and wear everything just like this, but you have to do the same.”

Jen peered at the wad of fabric in her fist. Back up at Sam. She tried a little grin. He squared his shoulders and re-secured his feet.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“And you’re astute. But I already knew that.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

He finally grinned. Just a little. “First times are fun to share with friends.”

“But I’m in a skirt!”

He glanced down at his kilt. “That so?”

Shit, shit, shit.

Jen pulled in a breath and frowned.

Sam drew in a breath and smiled. Then extended a hand. His fingers were long and beautiful and mesmerizing. Jen watched them beckon, curling inward but then straightening again. Expectant…dominant. “Panties, darlin’. Don’t worry. I’ll keep them safe. For now.”

If she had a shred of resistance left, he demolished it with that line. And in that moment, she wondered how it was that the man had ended up a pilot. His ability to push a jet at mach five was nothing compared to his ninja mind trick of disguising a command as conversation. And if that was the case, what would he be like without the camouflage, but in a public setting?

As Jen watched him pocket her panties, a polite smile on his lips but silver fire blazing in his eyes, she had a feeling she was about to find out.

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