Page 8 of Wild Card

“Look at me.”

She had no choice. He controlled her then, his voice like velvet strings, tugging her sights up. Over his taut jaw. Across the defined curves of his lips. Into his quicksilver eyes, fixed on her.

“What happened in the bathroom?”

She gulped. Holy shit, he was beautiful. An angel’s flawless face atop a demon’s perfect body. His stance pulled his shirt tight across his chest. Every molded mound of muscle was outlined for her gawking pleasure.

Don’t think of pleasure. Not here, not now. Don’t think of how amazing he’d feel if you just reached up a few inches and—

“It was about—”

She huffed.

And that was going to make him back off?

“You. It was about you. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Me?” His stance didn’t falter despite the confusion crumpling his face. “Why?”

It felt good to laugh. “You’re kidding, right?” When he glowered, she retorted, “You’re not a dumb guy, Sam. That woman wants you—and intends to have you.”

“A couple of hours after meeting me?”

“It’s called a one-night fling, bucky. I’m sure you’ve heard of them? Perhaps even indulged?”

Sam snorted. “Not with someone I barely know.”

Her brow tightened. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Is that an issue?”

“Not here.” She held up her hands. “Just a little surprising.”

“Because you just expected we were all like Caleb and Dirk.”

A new laugh sprang up. That usually happened when anyone mentioned the inseparable pals from the Scottish team. The pair had really enjoyed their down time in Las Vegas—as well as half the city’s single female population.

Sam shifted closer. Locked his stare down harder. “If I had to entrust my life to either of those men, I would in an instant. But the social life of my tadger is a different story.”

“Your what?” She got her answer via his knowing grin—and the press of his lower body against hers. Hell. His shoulders, abs, and thighs weren’t the only…impressive…parts of him. “I—” she stammered. “I think—” She didn’t know what the bloody hell she thought. “So what does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going anywhere with Mattie Lesange tonight.”

“Thank God. Holy shit.” The last half escaped as soon as she realized the first had been spilled. “That’s not—I only meant that—” She wetted her lips. Instantly regretted it, as the move flared Sam’s eyes and nostrils at once. Damn. Damn. He was no longer her sweet, charming schoolgirl crush from the office. He was a looming, hungry saber tooth, rippling with power, only missing a pair of fangs to complete his primeval effect on her blood, her nerves, her skin.

“I know what you meant, Jenny.”

His voice tumbled through her like gravel in an hourglass. Every surface it touched was left with a scratch, freshly in danger of shattering. She trembled—

Then, as the elevators doors opened, gasped in gratitude.

Okay, she was three floors off. Not the time for beggars to be choosers. Or for women with burning blood and throbbing nerves to be concerned about burning off tension by trudging up some stairs.

Make that a lot of tension.

Except that—she took one step off the lift, and suddenly couldn’t move again. An iron grip latched around her elbow, halting her escape before it became one. She only wished that when she looked down at Sam’s hand, digging into her skin with blatant possessiveness, she hadn’t turned into an instant ball of molten mush.

“What the hell—”

She choked into silence as he pulled her down the hall to the guest suites. After passing two doors, he stopped. A key card somehow appeared in his other hand. Swiping it fast, he opened the door. With an equally swift tick of his head, he commanded her inside.

With her nerves racing, her heart exploding, and her brain screaming, Jen immediately, silently complied.

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