Page 3 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
“Oh come on. Now you have to tell me.”
The dent in his cheek grows deeper. “Perry.”
My smile widens. Unfortunately for him and his ego, I’ve spent a lot of time in the American South. “Home to the annual Georgia National Fair. Cute little historic town center. There’s, what, ten thousand residents in Perry?”
Golden Boy watches me with blistering focus. “Fifteen. What did you say your name was?”
I let the silence stretch out between us before saying softly, “I didn’t.”
When his eyes flash with desire, I know how I’m going to play him. He likes a challenge. Which means Earth Mother, Girl Next Door, and Dumb and Bubbly are all out the window, and Smoldering Seductress is in the house. I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue, lower my chin, and look up at him from beneath my lashes.
He sets his empty beer bottle on the counter and slides onto the barstool next to me, all without taking his gaze from my face. His big thighs are spread open on either side of mine, effectively trapping me.
“So,” he says, “beautiful, nameless mademoiselle. Are we going to be friends or not?”
I can’t help myself. I laugh at his directness. “I don’t know, handsome American Marine. Perhaps we should take a moment to discuss your definition of ‘friends.’”
He leans closer. He’s bare chested, barefoot, and soaking wet from the waist down. The bulge in his black swim shorts is clearly visible, and impressively large. Five-o’clock shadow glints copper along his square jaw. If I were any other woman, this man would be devastating.
Into my ear, he says softly, “Anything you want it to be.”
Does he think I’m a prostitute? I’m not offended, but this is awfully forward, even for an American. Most men take a lot longer than five minutes to get to the propositioning.
Obviously he’s not like most men. I need to be careful with this one.
When he leans back, I tilt my head and consider him.
Up close, he’s even more handsome than he looked in the pool. Masculine and a little gritty, in spite of his sleepy Southern drawl and baby-blue eyes. He’s got big, rough hands, a superhero’s square jaw, an appealing cleft in his chin, and a lot of tattoos on his chest and arms that I’d like to trace with my fingers. Or tongue.
But I don’t ever sleep with a mark. It’s a policy I’ve never broken. If he takes me up to his room, I’ve got two potent pills to slip into his drink that will conveniently allow me to side step the minefield of sex with a stranger.
I might take a quick peek into his shorts while he’s passed out to check out that bulge he’s packing, but that’s as far as it will go.
“I already have a lot of friends.” I say it with just enough warmth that he knows it’s not a brush-off.
“I bet you do.” His voice is husky now. He lets his gaze drift to my lips, then to my cleavage, then down my legs, boldly and unapologetically eating me up with his eyes.
Under his admiring gaze, I feel like a cat that’s been stroked down its back. I wouldn’t be surprised if I started to purr. “And so do you.” I nod in the direction of his companions in the pool, who watch us with open interest.
“They can wait. I wanna get to know you better first.”
I stifle the urge to laugh again. He’s making this too easy. “Such an eager beaver!”
His eyes grow hotter. “A word of advice, darlin’,” he drawls, grinning. “Don’t say any words that are euphemisms for your lady parts unless you want me to think you’re flirtin’ with me.”
“I see. No mentions of muffins, cookies, secret gardens, or cockpits. Got it.”
His grin is so wide, it’s practically blinding. “You are flirtin’ with me.”
Bat, bat, bat go my eyelashes. “Would you mind if I were?”
His grin fades. He reaches out and gently strokes a lock of hair off my shoulder. He skims his fingertips slowly down my arm until he reaches my wrist. His touch leaves a trail of sparks in its wake.
He cuffs my wrist in his big hand, settles his index finger over my pulse point, and, after a moment of silence where I think he’s counting my heartbeat, says gruffly, “You know I wouldn’t. But I’ve got another warnin’ for you, beautiful mademoiselle. I don’t do small talk. When I want a woman, I go after her.”
He raises my wrist to his lips and brushes a sweet, soft kiss across the pulse pounding there. Electricity crackles through my body. All my nerve endings sit up and suck in a startled breath.
Looking into my eyes, my new friend Mr. McLean says, “So unless you tell me right now you don’t wanna play this game, I’m comin’ after you.”
