Page 29 of Devious Eyes
“You’re damn near illegal in this,” I mutter into her neck, lips brushing the curve to her ear. Her neck stretches, forcing my mouth across the cool bump of diamonds as her hand comes back to my hair. “This,” I tighten my grip further on her hips, “is fucking scandalous.”
She twists in my hold, the silk of the dress running under my fingers until she’s facing me. “Well, good evening to you, too.” I reel back at the look of her. She’s changed. Precision make up highlights each angle to a level way above average beauty. Lush red lips. More diamonds dripping in long falls from her ears. “Are you ready to lose some money?” Lose? I doubt it. I smile at the thought. “How are you at gambling?”
If only she knew.
Perhaps she should find out.
“You’re missing something, Gabby.” She smirks at me, checking herself over and then looking back. I hold the gardenia up and slip it into her hair above her left ear. “Taken.”
“What?”
“Right ear means single and available. Both ears—married but still available. Kinky.” She smirks again and moves her hand to the flower. I knock her fingers away and replace what she was beginning to take out. “Backward behind ear—available immediately. Left ear,” I stall and tuck it precisely where it should be again, gazing at her damn mouth. I’m so fucking screwed. “Married, engaged or taken. I’m choosing taken.”
“Are you? And what about my choice?”
“You don’t have one. Not ‘til we’re done here.”
“Masterful.”
“Mmm.”
We gaze at each other for a while until the crowd around us roars with excitement about something. It makes her swing back to the wheel, fingers reaching for her chips with a frown on her face. I notice them for the first time, several hundred thousand piled up.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, surprised by her stack of chips.
“Not long. You?” She looks to my hands. “You’re lacking funds.”
I nod and flag a runner down, asking him to bring the manager to the craps table. He scurries away as I gather up her chips and guide her away from the wheel, barely able to control the thought of just pulling her into a store cupboard.
The hustle through the crowds tests all my patience. We’re bumped and barged, normal damn procedure getting in my way. I huff, knocking people sideways when they come at her, eyes leering at what doesn’t damn well belong to them. All I really want is out of this suit and back into a bed with her. That’s it. I want her hand in mine, her eyes looking at me, her lips wrapped around anything I choose. Fuck, the thought infuriates me as much as it makes me smile and keep watching her ass sway.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asks as we arrive. My hand shuffles more gatherers out of the way, making the space she deserves. “You’re agitated about something.”
“People.”
She giggles lightly and runs a hand over my shoulder, attempting soothing. I’m not soothed. I’m screwed up with the feelings I’m having about her and irritated about my life outside of this adventure. Not that anyone should be able to notice that with my normally cool exterior, but all these people remind me of it as they batter us around. Guns, villains, murder. The unending need to protect my back, check everything constantly rattles me. It’s this place, the bustle of it, and for some damn reason, I want her away from every part of it.
Protected from it.
Her lips land on mine before I’ve tried to counter the topics in my head, and the relief is instant. It all melts away within seconds, causing me to tighten the last of my frustration around her waist rather than let it invade my mind any more.
“Sir?” A man coughs behind us. I let my lips slowly peel from hers, part annoyed this dick’s interfered, and turn towards him. “You asked for me.” I look him over, noting the two guards hovering behind as the crowd screams a celebratory cheer.
“What’s your stake limit?”
“That depends, Sir.” I nod, knowing exactly what that means. They don’t know me. What fool would give money over to someone they don’t know?
“Call the Four Seasons. Ask for details on Villa Oriata.”
He does, walking away a little and signalling for a runner. It gives me time to look at the one thing worth looking at. She smirks and picks up two thousand-dollar chips, one of them flung to the table, another offered at me.
“I could lend you some if you’re a bit short?” I snort at that and smile, grazing my finger along her face as the revellers keep shouting their odds and winnings. Jesus, I could look at her all day. Night too. What the hell am I going to do when this is over?
“Thanks. I don’t need the support, though.”
“Sir?”
“Hmm?”
