Page 40 of One Night with a Prince
Her deliberate echoing of his earlier words tempted him, but he suddenly had a better idea. “I’d rather have you take them off me yourself, once I win.”
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“If you win, then you won’t have to—” It suddenly dawned on her what he meant. “Oh.” She pursed her lips as she gathered up the cards. “I assure you, sir, that the only way you’ll be naked tonight is if you lose. In which case, you alone will be removing your drawers.”
“We’ll see.” Unable to suppress a smile, he removed his garters and stockings and tossed them across the table at her. “Your deal.”
Her deal gave him abysmal cards. He eyed her speculatively. Could the chit have cheated? Surely no random deal could give him a hand so full of nothing.
But judging from her earnest concentration, her hand wasn’t that grand either…which meant that all the good cards were in the stock. Damn.
The first thirteen tricks were a battle royal—both of them fighting to gain the best cards for their respective hands. She kept him on his toes, and he didn’t know whether to be pleased at her improved playing—or annoyed that he’d actually have to work at winning. And work, it was. He could steel himself to ignore her tousled hair, or the translucent fabric of her chemise that allowed him to see her nipples plain as day whenever she leaned forward to gain a card. What he couldn’t blot out was the flare of excitement in her face when she gained a good card, or the satisfied purr she uttered every time she won a trick. Did she know how seductive that tiny little sound was? That he imagined her making it as he sucked those succulent breasts or thrust deeply into her—
“Stop dawdling, Byrne,” she broke in.
He jerked his attention back to the table. “What?”
Her smile was self-satisfied. “The game. Don’t be a sore loser. Play your last card, so I can claim my winnings.”
Startled, he glanced at her tricks. Bloody hell. While he’d been salivating over having her in his bed, she’d managed to win most of the thirteen tricks. Even if he won this one, she’d win the hand by three points.
And only his cravat and his drawers were left. And the knife he kept strapped to his calf. Which didn’t count.
He stared at her. She’d beaten him. The bloody chit had beaten him! He couldn’t believe it. If it got out that Bonny Byrne had let a female distract him into playing badly, he’d never be able to hold his head up at his club again.
Damn her. That’s what he got for giving her a lead at the beginning. If he hadn’t, he’d have another chance at getting her chemise.
No, that’s not what had sunk him. He’d broken one of his own rules—never start tasting the fruit of success before you’ve actually plucked it from the tree. And now he wouldn’t get to taste it—or her—at all.
The hell he wouldn’t.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlHe trumped her card and won the last trick, but that didn’t dampen her enthusiasm. She sat back, triumph lending a fetching glow to her features that sent hot need thundering through his veins. “Take it off, Byrne.” He reached for his cravat, and she said, “Wait! Not here.”
He raised one eyebrow.
With a decided smirk, she pointed to the dais where she’d been measured earlier. “Over there. Stand up there to take your clothes off.”
The way she’d done earlier today. He rose, smothering a laugh. She was so transparent. “Turnabout is fair play, is that it?”
Her gloating smile was her only answer.
He strolled to the dais, his mind racing. She thought to sit there safely distant while she watched him undress. That way she could dash from the room as soon as he was done, before he got any amorous ideas.
But he had an ace up his sleeve.
“Have you always had this flair for the dramatic?” He mounted the dais, then faced her. “Or do I just happen to bring it out in you?”
“My winnings, sir.” She snapped her fingers. “I want them now.”
Hiding his smile, he untied his cravat and held it out. “Come and get it.”
“Leave it there,” she said smoothly. “I’ll gather it later.”
“As you wish.” He dropped it on the floor. Clever girl. She knew exactly what she was about. But so did he.
He bent to his knife, and she said, “What are you doing?”
“You won by three points. The cravat is one, the knife is another, and the sheath a third. I’m giving you your winnings.”
