Page 25 of Play for Keeps

This time, her laughter carried a sharp edge. “Wow. I know I’m a little older than you, but I’m not that old.”

“You aren’t old at all.” Whoa. The comment didn’t come out sounding like the compliment he intended. He took a breath and tried again. “I mean it suits your personality—a sharpshooter who’s not afraid to be flirty.”

“Like Annie Oakley.”

“Like you,” he retorted. “All woman. And a little all-knowing.”

He could almost hear the smile in her voice. “You mean Cassandra?”

“Stop trying to distract me.”

“As I said, you can ask me anything you want.” The unmistakable sound of bedsheets rustling sent his heart rate soaring, but her breathy chuckle kicked down the last of his defenses. “Make sure you ask me in your superhot voice though. Oh, and say my name. A lot,” she added as if he’d need the extra coaching. “I like the way you say it.”

“Do you want me, Millie?”

“I think we both already know the answer.”

“No deflecting,” he admonished. “I want to hear you say you do.”

“You’ve heard me say so before. I like you. I want you. When you come back with those precious divorce papers in hand, I’m going to do things to you. I’m gonna make you cross-eyed.”

“You’re a big talker.”

“The biggest,” she boasted. “Now, ask what you really want to ask.”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Of course.” She panted softly. “Are you?”

Her unabashed answer coupled with the hitch in her voice turned his dick hard as titanium. He wrapped his hand around the stiff length and groaned out loud. “God, I haven’t let myself. Not while we were talking.” He ran his palm lightly over the head of his cock, then gave himself a hard stroke. “I wanted to, but I didn’t want to make things…weird.”

“But you are now,” she coaxed.

“Yes.”

He hissed the word, torn between pleasure and the strange impulse to deny himself, just to prove he could withstand the force of wanting her.

“You remember when you were telling me about going to Greece?”

His stroke faltered. For the love of everything holy, he had no idea why she would bring this up now. Closing his eyes, he moved his hand faster, setting the ruthless pace he liked. “Yes, I remember telling you about Greece.”

“I came when you were telling me about the lagoon,” she whispered. “I kept picturing you swimming. The clear turquoise water. White sand. You, brown as a nut and bare naked. All long and lean and…wet.”

“Jesus.” He gritted his teeth and slowed his strokes as he searched his lust-hazed memory. “I never told you I swam naked.”

“Hey, my fantasy. I want you naked, I get you naked.”

He’d also told her about the day he’d tried to outswim his grief over the end of his career, and she winnowed it down to him frolicking naked in the ocean. “Swimming naked. That’s what you took from that story?”

“I understood the larger picture, but I have to admit, the image stuck with me.”

“I was. I did.” Frustrated by his stammering, he cleared his throat and tried again. “I did swim naked.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes.”

The shush of fabric brushing over the phone muffled her voice. “Too bad. I was hoping for pictures.”

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