Page 8 of Between the Lines

“Well,” he says, and the pause makes my heart stutter. “I find myself very invested in your orgasms.”

I have a ten and a five. They bleed together in front of my eyes, but I try to focus on them anyway. Blood rushes into my cheeks. It might not be enough. But drawing another card… would likely bring me over 21. So I don’t.

We lay down our cards, and I’m the one who’s lost. He’s got twenty.

Aiden leans back in his chair, and a small bottle of whiskey dangles from his fingers. It looks tiny in his hand.

“That’s very kind of you,” I say and reach for the hem of my sweater. I pull it over my head, knowing there’s nothing but a bra underneath. I hadn’t bothered digging around for a T-shirt or a camisole earlier.

I toss the garment away, letting it land on the bed. I sit back in the chair, bare from the waist up, aside from my plain black bra.

Aiden is very still across from me. Only his eyes roam over my body.

“Damn,” he mutters, and there’s wry amusement in his voice. “What a shame you lost.”

I swallow hard and reach for my cards. He’s handsome. Maybe not my usual type. Those guys are usually a bit younger, with messy lives and messier cars. Sharp tongues and nothing going for them.

This isn’t a guy. He’s a man, and he’s hardened and tall and broad in a way that I’m not used to. Speaks with command of both himself and others.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says and lifts his own cards. “I’ll make sure to lose and even the playing field.”

My eyes snap to his. “I’m not nervous, and you’re not throwing the game!”

His smile widens. “I knew I liked you, Chaos. All right, I won’t.”

But he loses anyway. I know it’s fair and square, though, because I play well. And he rolls his eyes as he reaches for the buttons of his flannel. He undoes them quickly, efficiently, and shrugs out of that piece of clothing, too.

I try my best not to ogle him.

I don’t succeed.

There’s an expanse of broad chest, hair in the center, and the outline of muscle in his pecs and stomach. Thick muscle, the kind that amplifies a man and speaks of years, if not decades, of good health. No vanity abs, but the hint of them, of true strength beneath.

He’s tan, too, and it’s only spring. This man likes to spend time outdoors. Expensive watch, though. Expensive taste in whiskey. And a penchant for poker.

“Hey,” he says. “My eyes are up here.”

I look away immediately, my cheeks burning.

Aiden chuckles darkly, and I roll my eyes. He’s got me. “Only fair,” he repeats and reaches for his cards. “Now we’re even.”

“We’re nowhere near even,” I grumble.

He chuckles again. This time, the deep rumble of his voice sends shivers down my spine. “That can be arranged.”

By the end of the next two games, neither of us has won two in a row. The room is still unclaimed, and both of us are insignificantly less clothes. I opted for shimmying out of my pants, revealing my black panties. He watched me do it.

I’ve never been particularly shy about my body. Not for the last few years, anyway. I’d accepted my flaws and my strengths, and that it was my home, one worth taking care of.

But I still feel a frisson of unease, standing in nothing but my bra and panties in front of a man and knowing nothing other than his first name. Fear… and something else.

Excitement.

Aiden’s eyes move over me, his gaze darkening. For a few moments, neither of us speaks. The air has drawn tighter around us until it feels like it can be cut with a knife.

He looks at me for a long time and then, slowly, demonstratively, puts his cards down. I sink back onto the sofa across from him. There’s so much skin now. Less on him than on me, and I need to win another round to get him out of those pants.

“Charlotte,” he says.

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