Page 23 of Luck of the Draw

Skye stepped into the room and perched coquettishly on the edge of one couch, crossed her legs, and then arched an eyebrow at him. “I think I want you to fuck me on every piece of beautiful furniture you own.”

6

FRENCH QUARTER, NEW ORLEANS

Wellshit.

This beautiful, leggy redhead with her beautiful, hypnotic blue eyes appeared to have a naughty streak. One that she hid from him until they’d reached the privacy of Brennan’s home, and that was utter fucking perfection.

She was absolutely perfect for everything he needed in life.

Or at least, for everything he’d realized he had to settle for in life:

One-night stands that served as a distraction and a powerful, yet temporary analgesic for the ache of unrequited love.

That had been the purpose of every single fling he’d had since the tender age of eighteen, and it was now the bittersweet reality of Brennan’s life. Flings were just a means to distract him from all of it.

The disappointment of loving and losing his first love.

Secretly loving someone he’d felt an instant, soulish connection to, only to find out in an hour’s time that she was destined for someone else.

But it was fine. After all, Brennan had the delicious distraction of regularly entertaining beautiful women who were perfectly yet discreetly naughty as fuck.

An intensely satisfied smile tipped up the corners of his mouth while he and Skye held each other’s heated gazes for a beat or two.

Still perching on the arm of the sofa in his formal living room, legs crossed, her big blue eyes now lidded with sultry anticipation, Skye gazed at him and tilted her head to one side. Her long, red ponytail fell over her shoulder. She gathered her hair into her fist, sliding her palm down the length of it before throwing it back behind her neck. “How does that sound, Brennan?”

His cock gave a small twitch at the mental picture of ten thousand things he intended to do her, including exactly what she just suggested. With his hands still in his pockets, he discreetly adjusted his dick so it would calm down until the moment was right, and then he approached her.

He picked up her hand and then dipped his face to press a lingering kiss to the side of her neck. “We’ll get to that, baby doll,” he murmured into her ear before meeting her eyes. “Let me fix you a drink first.”

The smile Skye offered him was far sweeter and more wholesome than what they both knew would be going down shortly—him going down on her while she screamed his name and clawed his scalp. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

Lovely indeed.

Lady in the streets; freak in the sheets.

Just how he liked it.

This was going to be a great couple of days.

Skye stood up from the arm of the sofa, and Brennan led her with his hand on the small of her back down the hall to a less-formal den that looked out over the courtyard.

He gestured at a leather Chesterfield sofa while he opened a glass cabinet door on an ancient mahogany bar positioned against the wall. “What would you like? I can make almost anything.”

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

He picked up a bottle of single malt scotch and turned it so the label faced her. “Glenlivet.”

She nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“Ice? Water?”

“A splash of water would be nice.”

Nice indeed.

He retrieved two Waterford crystal tumblers and filled both with two fingers and a little water, then carried them to the sofa, where he sat next to her—close, but not too close. Not yet.

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