Page 25 of Wild Card

She laughed once more. Still couldn’t be helped, though nerves were more the motivation now. “Sayeth the high laird Mackenna?

“Officially, my name’s more Irish, if you must know. But when the famine hit in the eighteen hundreds, someone hopped on a boat somewhere, then stuck his banger where it didn’t belong.”

She grinned. “Imagine that.”

He didn’t emulate her look. “You’re tryin’ to change the subject again.” Silent as a ninja, he grabbed up her hands. “Why?”

She glanced away. Because I’m in love with you. Because I can’t deny it or ignore it any longer. Because every time you fulfill one of my fantasies, it’s better than what I ever thought or imagined it could be. And because if you do it again, I might not be able to keep any of this inside anymore—and I’ll ruin not just tonight, but everything we’ve built before now.

“Sam.” She gently twisted her hands free. Without his to surround them, they were cold…lost. Stop it. Put on your big girl panties and get the hell over this. Now. “Okay, look—”

“I am. With pleasure.”

She could resist the seduction in his tone—but the rough burr he gave the final syllable? Dammit. Her gaze lifted like ions to a rain cloud. And wasn’t that the scarily perfect comparison? His eyes were combinations of silver and black that could only be described as perfect tempests. Like helpless leaves in those storms, everything inside swirled and tumbled before fluttering lower…even lower.

“All right, knock it off.”

“Knock what off?” he smoothly countered. “The lookin’ part? Or the ‘with pleasure’ part?”

God. She didn’t believe the let’s-just-be-buddies-again thing any more than he did. But it wasn’t a storm they could dance in any longer. It was time for reality. Past time.

“Both.” She was proud of herself. The big girl tone was very convincing.

“Why?”

She steeled her chin along with her resolve. Doing great. Just a few minutes more. “It’s late, Sam.”

Though his hands stayed on his thighs, he leaned in by several inches, using his torso. “Which means what?”

Damn. He still smelled as good as he had three hours ago. Maybe better. Lust suited the man—all too well. “That my best friend’s getting married in about twelve hours, and I owe it to her to be fully rested.”

He pushed even closer. The resolve in his eyes, carrying the force of polished steel, sucked her breath away. “That one’s weak. You know that, right?” Before she could fume out a comeback, he pushed on, “You’d give Tess your all even if you had to tromp ten miles over glass in the snow.”

She scowled. “Thanks for the imagery.”

The expression didn’t last long. She had to abandon it for more enchantment, as he once more braced her face and yanked up her chin. “You’re mine for at least eight of those twelve hours…and I intend to use them well.”

A rickety breath soughed down her throat. So much for him having the corner on lust here. “Sam—”

“You have more fantasies about me, Jenny.” His head tilted. His fingers flowed against her hairline. “A lot more. Don’t lie about that one, either.”

“Who says I’m lying?” Pure need returned to her voice in a rasp. Her lips were dry as sawdust. It made her shiver again. She combatted the fear by lifting a hand, clutching him in return. Her fingers slid into the thick ginger strands at the edge of his face. “Who says I even want to try?” She swallowed, letting her senses tumble in the storms of his gaze. Only for a moment. Just let me have this moment. “Oh, Captain Mackenna. If you only knew.”

“Miss Thorne, if it’s anythin’ like my fantasies of you, then I do know.”

He pulled her hand forward.

Turned his face to press a kiss into the center of her palm.

A quaver coursed through her. Rather than risk the chance of another, she slammed her eyes shut. “You have to stop doing this, Sam. Please. It’s already going to be hell to go back to real life after this—”

The press of his lips, fervent and hot, didn’t just snag the words in her throat. The thoughts in her head, like shredded paper on the wind, became chaos. A sob ripped through her. What had she done? What could she do now? Even opening her eyes, hoping to break his spell, only allowed her to see the breathtaking concentration on his face. His gaze, hooded yet heated, focused on her so fully, so sensually…damn. That stare could seduce the underwear off a nun—and probably a priest, too. His dark gold lashes against his rugged skin. The furrows in his brow, deepening by the moment. The warrior’s angle of his jaw, more deeply defined by his tawny stubble, all but begging her to touch it…

Too good to be real. Too good to even be a possibility.

She had to keep remembering that. She had to.

He dragged away, breathing harder than before. His fingertips shook against her cheek. “Hell won’t be even the start of it, lass. But why fight the chance to grasp heaven while we still can?”

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