Page 8 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
She drops her face into her hands and groans. “Mon Dieu, please stop talking.”
From the pool comes a shout. “Whatever he just said, he meant, sweetheart!”
It’s Connor. Over my shoulder, I casually flip him the bird. His booming laugh echoes across the pool and through the bar.
“Listen,” I say.
Angeline looks at me warily.
“We’re havin’ dinner tonight in the hotel restaurant, the six of us.” I jerk my thumb in the direction of the pool and the gang of misfits I call friends. “Now seven, including you. After dinner, you and I will go up to my room, we’ll talk, we’ll have a drink, we’ll pretend like you’re not already madly in love with me and wild to have my babies.”
She interrupts me before I’ve got the last word out of my mouth. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Ryan McLean. Are you aware of that?”
“Yeah, but you still think I’m cute. Which means there’s somethin’ seriously wrong with you. Which makes us a perfect match.”
She starts to laugh and can’t stop. I go right on talking.
“Then you’ll decide if your one-night stand rule applies to the beginning of a long-distance relationship with the man of your dreams. And I’m just pointin’ out here that it wouldn’t be a one-night stand if it’s at the start of a relationship. Anyway. Whatever you decide, we’ll spend some time, get to know each other better, share a few stories, make out. Probably mostly make out.”
She continues to laugh. I’m having a hard time keeping a straight face.
“So whaddya say, Angel?”
When she finally catches her breath, her eyes are alight, her cheeks are pink, and her smile is as brilliant as the sun. “Okay, cowboy,” she says. “You’re on. But don’t even think about stepping out of line with me, because I’m a knife-fencing expert. Put a hand where it isn’t wanted, and you’ll lose it.”
Now I’m the one laughing, but not because I don’t believe her. I do. And this is major progress.
It’s the first thing she’s told me about herself that’s the truth.
Three
Mariana
There’s a part of me that’s thrilled about the way things are going. Ryan’s making this all extremely easy on me, that’s for sure. But there’s another part of me—a bigger part—that’s worried.
I like him.
For someone in my line of work, that can be deadly.
It’s not just the way Ryan looks or kisses, or his straightforward, no-bullshit style. It’s not only his wacky sense of humor or his obvious intelligence. It’s all that, plus he’s this big, macho Marine with a cocky swagger who’s strong enough to survive gunshots but touches me with true gentleness, both with his hands and his eyes.
The man has a sensitive side.
There’s nothing more irresistible to my cynical heart than rugged masculinity paired with tenderness. Every other man I know is ruthless to his core.
It’s times like these I wish I weren’t so observant.
“Dinner’s at eight,” Ryan says, smiling his signature cocksure smile. “What room you in, Angel? I’ll pick you up.”
No matter how much I like him, the odds of me letting this man into my room are about as good as the odds that lightning will strike me dead where I sit. “Let’s meet in the lobby.”
Before he can ask why, I lean forward and kiss him.
It proves an effective distraction.
He takes my face in his hands—another thing I like more than I should—and softly groans into my mouth as our tongues sweep together. Dangerous adrenaline floods my veins. I try to maintain intellectual distance, like an outside observer, but the man is a champion kisser. His lips are filled with mind-altering chemicals. They must be, because within seconds, I’m lost, clinging to him like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing that can save me from going under the next big wave.
“I dig the little noises you make,” he whispers, gently biting my lower lip as he cradles my head.
