Page 4 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
Mierde santa. This man must get laid a dozen times a week.
Suddenly I’m filled with longing so strong and bittersweet, it steals my breath. I wish I were a normal woman, a tourist on vacation with her friends who could indulge herself in a summer fling with a sexy stranger. I wish I could say yes to this beautiful man, let him make love to me, let myself go.
I wish I could forget all the sins that led me to this moment.
But I can’t. They follow me like a shadow, dogging my every step. My only path to freedom is repayment of my debts, and Prince Khalid’s new bride’s ruby necklace is next on my debtor’s list.
So I smile and toss my hair and pretend to be someone I’m not, stuffing my longing for a different life into a dark, abandoned corner of my heart where all my other useless yearnings go.
“I like to play games, Mr. McLean,” I say lightly. “But since you’ve warned me, I should warn you, too. I always win.”
When he smiles, he does it with his whole body. It’s like he lights up from the inside out. “It’s Ryan,” he says. “And damn, this is gonna be fun. Tell me your name.”
I use the fake name on my fake passport and say, “Angeline Lemaire.”
Ryan nods. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Angeline.”
Before I can say another word, he tugs me closer and crushes his mouth to mine.
Two
Ryan
She tastes like strawberries and sunshine and secrets that go deep, and kisses like it’s her last day alive. Whoever this siren calling herself Angeline really is, she’s sexy as fuck.
She’s also clearly dangerous.
If my cock were any harder, it would be titanium.
Her hands are balled to fists on my chest, the one sign of resistance to the otherwise total surrender her body melts into as we kiss. Along with everything else about her, it’s an intriguing contradiction. Like the sadness in her eyes that’s paired with cold calculation. The self-confidence paired with the vulnerability. The pounding pulse paired with the disinterested smile.
She makes a sound deep in her throat, a soft, feminine moan. It makes my cock twitch. I tighten my arms around her and pull her closer.
“Wait!” She gasps, breaking away. Her eyes are startled. She lets out a surprised little laugh. “Wait a minute!”
Breathing hard, we stare at each other, our noses inches apart. I give her five seconds to get her bearings. Then I growl, “That’s as long as I can stand,” and take her mouth again, fisting my hands in her hair to hold her head in place.
From somewhere far off, I hear catcalls and clapping.
Her hands flatten over my pecs. After a moment, she winds her arms around my shoulders. Then she gives me her weight, leaning into me with a little sigh as she goes slack against my body. The kiss softens but also deepens, so now it’s slower and less greedy, but somehow even more intense.
Judging by how hard her nipples are against my bare chest, how irregular her breathing is, and how she’s digging her nails into my skin, I’d say she’s just as turned on as I am.
When the kiss finally ends, a minute or a century later, I’m dizzy. I mutter, “Fuck.” My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed a handful of gravel.
Her laugh is low and throaty. “Well said.”
I open my eyes and look at her. She’s flushed. Her eyes are half-lidded. She has that hazy, satisfied look a woman gets after she comes.
The amount of blood leaving the rest of my body to boil in my cock can’t be healthy. Pretty soon I won’t be able to remain upright.
I grin at her. “This is already turning out to be a fantastic friendship.”
She stares at me for a second, then breaks into full-throated laughter, her head thrown back.
Goddamn. If I thought she was gorgeous before, watching her laugh is on a whole other level. She’s fucking stunning.
The waiter arrives with her conch croquettes. When he glares at me as he sets the plate down on the bar, I know he was hoping to be in the exact position I am now. You and every other guy in the place, buddy.
