Page 55 of My Kind of Scoundel
He sat beside her, shuffled the cards and dealt four each.
“Highest card wins,” he said, before sipping his wine. “Look at your hand. Decide which one will win a confession.”
The urge to win would see her using her best cards first.
Like a miser clutching gold, she held them close to her chest, giggling with excitement as she scanned them twice.
“Place your card face down on the table.” He threw down his lowest card, the four of clubs. “Remember what you’re playing for. You want to know why I’m sure we’ll kiss again.”
She pursed her lips as she studied the cards. Then she drew one and slapped it on the baize. “Who will turn first?”
“A lady always goes first.”
She turned over her card, an eight of spades. Interesting. He suspected that wasn’t her highest card. This woman knew how to mess with his mind.
“You beat my four of clubs.” He held her gaze and hit her with the truth. “Something happened the first time we kissed. Something indescribable. The second kiss ignited a blazing fire of passion between us. We’re both longing to see what would happen a third time.”
The lady gulped. “Yes, it’s like a terrible addiction.”
“Terrible?” he scoffed. “Your mouth is glorious.”
“Terrible in that we might ruin a friendship if we pursue these romantic urges.”
“Not if we’re honest about our feelings.” It sounded simple, yet he grew more needy by the day. “It’s my turn to play for a confession. Why come if you know I had an ulterior motive for inviting you?”
They placed their cards.
He won, his nine of hearts beating her seven.
“Confess, Eleanor.”
“Because I want to kiss you, but you’ll have to earn it. You need to give me a reason why I should.”
He relaxed back in the chair. He had solid reasons for every decision he’d ever made, until he kissed her at the Olympic. His mind had not been his own since.
“The truth is, you should avoid me. I cannot leave Aaron here alone.” The thought was more than he could bear. “I can offer companionship and stolen moments of pleasure. You deserve more than I could ever give.”
He expected to witness the chill of recognition in her eyes, to watch her physically withdraw. To feel the ache of loss. The opposite was true. She smiled as if he’d given her the greatest compliment.
“Don’t underestimate the attraction of stolen moments. No one can say what tomorrow will bring. One should live for today.”
“Are they not the words of a scoundrel?” he teased.
“We’re kindred spirits. Two people trying to escape the pain of the past. Life is precarious. We both know that.”
The words hit a nerve. But the body he pictured at the bottom of the stairs wasn’t his mother’s. Miss Darrow might not have woken from her stupor. Was that the reason for herdevil-may-care attitude? Did it account for his urgent need to bed her, too?
“The next question is yours,” he said.
She reached for her wine and took a large gulp, shaking visibly from its potency. “It’s late. Shall we skip to dessert? I know you’re keen to prove your point.”
His pulse rose more than a notch. “Perhaps you’ll permit me to pay my forfeit and act your servant. Let me feed you, Eleanor.”
He moved to the console table to retrieve the plum pie, his cock already swelling in his trousers, lust drumming a potent beat in his blood.
Eleanor stood, taking the napkins and cutlery from him. “Where shall we eat? I wouldn’t want to get plum juice on the green baize.”
“Here. Stand still. Close your eyes.” The pie was cold, but it didn’t matter. He scooped a tiny amount of stewed plum onto a spoon. “Open your mouth, Eleanor.”
