Page 18 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
The corners of his mouth tip up. I can tell he’s enjoying our strange little game as much as I am.
“Finished with your inspection yet?” he inquires, so casually he almost sounds bored.
I glance at the laptop on the coffee table.
“You said no work,” he reminds me. “And that”—he tips his head at the laptop—“is all work.”
I know exactly what I’ll be firing up as soon as he passes out. The urge to know more about him feels like the nail-biting habit I had when I was a kid. Irresistible. Obsessive. Something you know isn’t good for you, but you’re helpless to stop it.
“You’re right,” I say lightly. “No work. Take out your wallet.”
He chuckles. “It’s in my back pocket, Angel. You wanna snoop in it? Come and get it.”
I hesitate. I don’t believe he’ll harm me, but this is dangerous. Being physically close to him is dangerous. It makes me think of hot kisses and big, rough hands and the pulse between my legs like a little heartbeat when he touches my skin.
I take a moment to fortify myself with one last swig of bourbon, then cross to him and set the empty glass on the coffee table. I expect him to stand, but he just looks up at me, a glint of mischief shining in his blue eyes.
Son of a bitch.
I lift my skirt and straddle him.
Which of course is what he wanted, evidenced by the smug-as-shit smile he gives me.
“Well, howdy, sweetheart,” he drawls. He leaves the one arm stretched out over the back of the sofa, but settles his other hand on my bare thigh. It’s heavy and warm, and feels strangely possessive.
“Howdy yourself.” I reach around, trying to stuff my hand under his butt so I can get to his back pocket. It’s almost impossible. I can wriggle my fingers just past his hip, but he’s too heavy to make much headway otherwise.
Naturally, he doesn’t assist by adjusting his weight. He just smiles at me while I struggle.
“Never had a woman fondle my ass on the first date,” he muses.
“I’m not fondling, cowboy, I’m investigating. And you’re not helping, by the way.”
“Why on earth would I help when it’s so much fun watchin’ you work?”
His gaze drops to my chest.
My dress has a low neckline and spaghetti straps, and I’m not wearing a bra, so my breasts aren’t exactly hidden. In fact, they’re popping out all over, mere inches from his face.
He moistens his lips.
It’s such a simple thing, yet utterly seductive. I imagine those lips latching on to one of my nipples and drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth. Lust rips through me, razor sharp.
His gaze flashes up to mine. It’s blistering hot. “Your heartbeat just went all catawampus, darlin’.”
“Your lips are so—”
My face goes molten hot.
“So what?” he prompts, holding perfectly still.
I swallow. The heat between us is like a current on a circuit, cycling back and forth on a loop, growing hotter and brighter with every breath. My answer comes on the barest of whispers. “Sensual.”
His hand tightens on my thigh, but otherwise, he doesn’t react. Even his voice remains unruffled. “And you say I’m the one with a dirty mind.”
“I can’t help it if you have an abnormally pretty mouth,” I say, staring at the subject in question.
“Pretty?” he repeats, offended.
