Page 12 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
When they stop beside me, Darcy huffs and gives me a side-eyed look. “What’re you doing over here lurking by the plants?”
“I’m not lurking. I’m waiting.”
Darcy looks at Kai and waggles her eyebrows salaciously. “For Miss Thang.”
Kai grins at her. “Love is a cruel master, mein kleines Häschen.”
I don’t allow myself to react to him calling her his little bunny rabbit in German. These are my friends, after all
. It would be impolite to fall down laughing.
But then the conversation comes to a screeching halt because the elevator doors open again. Angeline steps into the room, and all the air goes out.
I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the gut. “Holy shit,” I say faintly.
Darcy and Kai turn to look in the direction I’m looking. When Darcy sees Angeline, she turns back to me, cackling. “This bitch ain’t playin’! Good luck, sucker. We’ll be at the bar.”
She pats me on the shoulder, then drags Kai off toward the restaurant, leaving me standing alone with my mouth open like I’m trying to catch flies.
Angeline is a supermodel, and the lobby is her runway. Scarlet lips, scarlet dress with a slit from ankle to hip, long legs flashing in slow motion. Glossy hair tumbling over her shoulders. Dangerous eyes. A radiant smile. Impressions hit me one after another as she moves toward me. The long skirt of her dress billows behind her like a sail.
Her waist is narrow, her hips are round, and my dick and my brain are in total agreement: she’s a fucking knockout.
When she reaches me, she rests her hands on my shoulders and kisses me lightly on both cheeks. I’m wrapped in the scent of her skin, fresh and peppery, like watercress.
“You look wonderful,” she says softly, holding my gaze. “Have you been waiting long?”
Against impossible odds, I regain the power of speech. “Only my whole life.”
She laughs, thinking I’m joking.
I make a motion with my index finger, indicating she should turn around. I have to see this masterpiece from all angles. She takes a step back and twirls. It looks professional, like she’s been performing spins in front of a camera for years. Two guys near the front desk who are watching look like they’re having heart attacks.
“That’s some dress, Angel.”
“This old thing?” She bats her lashes at me. It’s my turn to laugh.
I grab her, pull her against my chest, bury my face in her hair, and inhale deeply. “Have you been rolling around in a clover field?” I murmur against her neck. “You smell like spring. And spices.”
“That’s my perfume. It’s Caron’s Poivre. You like it?”
I lightly bite her neck. “It’s edible. Like you.”
A little shudder runs through her body. She pulls away and tilts her head toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”
“Yes. But don’t be surprised if I drag you off halfway through dinner. This dress is testing the limits of my self-control.”
Her smile is pleased. Apparently, devastation of the male population was her goal when she dressed. Nailed it.
She takes my arm. We stroll toward the restaurant while I enjoy the unexpected pleasure of being the envy of every man in sight. Even some of the women look like they’d like to take my place. The rest look like they’re hoping Angeline will trip.
“So, did you finish your article?”
There’s not a quiver in her voice when she answers. “I did.”
“How’d it go?”
From the corner of my eye, I see her mysterious smile. “There are always some unexpected difficulties near the end, but nothing insurmountable. I think my editor will be very pleased with how it turns out.”
