Page 6 of Getting Lucky in London

I smiled and my pulse raced. Our game of cat and mouse was as intoxicating as the alcohol.

I stepped toward the next painting that allowed me to face him at an angle. His gaze finally found me, taking me in from head to toe and back again. Someone blocked my view of him though—another woman vying for his attention, this one younger, closer to twenty-five, and blonde…and gorgeous…and flirting with him.

I frowned when the woman looped her arm through his. Was she his girlfriend? She seemed to think so. He sure had a type.

And you’re nowhere near it.

I was about to turn away when his gaze cut in my direction and slid over me again, lingering on my breasts. My nipples pebbled, and I bit my lip to keep from shivering as heat curled low in my belly. If he could do that with just one look…

Oh God, I’m toast.

Our eyes met again, and I held my breath. Despite wanting him to make the first move, I lifted a hand in greeting. He smiled and returned my wave.

Never once breaking eye contact, he slipped out of the woman’s grasp, said something to her, and grabbed two glasses from a passing tray. Without a backward glance, he headed straight for me, his long, casual stride eating up the distance between us.

The closer he got, his grin grew wider, making my pulse thump faster. He certainly didn’t look like he had babysitting on his mind. In fact, it seemed the cat was about to catch the mouse, and I looked forward to letting him eat me.

Yes, please.

Practically salivating at the idea and a little too jittery, I slowed my breathing. In, then out, in rhythm with his steps. Almost here. This was it.

He stopped in front of me in all his sexy, magnificent godliness.

“Hello, luv.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek and whispered, “Pretend to be my girlfriend.”

“Yourwhat?” My heart lurched as he straightened but remained close, too close, not close enough. I stared up at him, half tipsy but accepting the glass he handed me and half swooning at the heat of his words in my ear.

I’d heard him interviewed several times as the star wide receiver. His lilt, at the time, had been a lusty Texas drawl, mixed with the occasional slip into an oh-so sexy hint of British. He’d explained once that he’d grown up in Dallas but spent summers with his “mum” in England. But now, he seemed to have lost a lot of his drawl, sounding more clipped, more English.

“Is she following me?” He indicated with a slight jut of his chin toward the woman he’d been talking to.

I sipped from the glass absent-mindedly, burning my two-glass rule to ashes. How could I say no when—

Wait.What had he just asked? My brain catching up with my ears, I cocked my head to one side to peek over his shoulder. Whoever the blonde was, she remained where he’d left her, though she certainly looked pissed. “No.”

“Good.” He took a drink of his champagne.

Was she his girlfriend and had he just dumped her? I almost felt sorry for the woman, but his request of pretense fit right into my plans.

Knowing I shouldn’t, I tipped my glass to my mouth and emptied it, then blindly set it aside, not the least concerned that it rested next to a precious piece of art. I took his glass and placed it beside mine, then laid a hand on his chest and looked up at him from under my lashes. “What kind of girlfriend would you like me to be?”

He quirked a brow. “What are my options?”

“Well, there’s the serious, clingy, totally in love girlfriend.” I swiveled to his side and looped my arm through his as the blonde had done. Leaning into him, I laid my head on his shoulder as I pretended to study the painting. Yet I could only think about the hard grooves of his biceps under my hand, his purely masculine scent, and how to control my jagged breathing.

I let the moment last as long as possible, savoring his closeness, in case the next step in my plan failed, then said, “Or…”

I pivoted to stand in front of him again, closer than he’d allowed moments ago, my body flush against his from chest to thighs. My palms rested just under the lapels of his shirt. The heels I wore put my eyes even with his stubbled chin and my throbbing pussy against his lengthening dick. Meeting his stormy gray eyes, I turned loose all the desire I’d felt for him as a teen. All the lust now dancing like flames in my core.

He blinked in surprise even as one hand settled on my waist, the other on my lower back to draw me tighter against him. Then his eyes darkened, and the hard length nestled perfectly at my center flexed. “Or?”

His reaction boosted my confidence. This was it, my first, last, and only chance to act on my fantasy of Michael Winters.

I shoved aside my insecurities and shifted one thigh, just enough to straddle his without being too blatant in the crowded room. Fingering the silky golden-brown hair at the back of his neck, I said, “I could be the girlfriend who’s only in London to get lucky, and all I can think about is getting you alone and naked and fucking you until it’s time to catch my flight home.”

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Michael

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