Page 48 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
“Oh. Uh…okay. I see we’re changin’ gears.” He sounds surprised, then suspicious. “Or are you about to offer me some orange juice?”
I shake my head and burrow closer. His arms wind around me again, this time with infinite gentleness.
Trembling with adrenaline, I blurt, “I’m sorry.”
The chuckle again. “For what? Lyin’ to me? Usin’ me? Seducin’ me?”
I answer truthfully. “Everything but the last part.”
Ryan laughs. He takes my face in his hands. In the shadows, his smiling face is so handsome, my breath catches. “Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi yourself. How did you find me?”
“Told you I would. I keep my word. You’ll learn. By the way, do you always sleep fully dressed?”
The answer is yes, but I ignore the question and ask one of my own. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?”
“Ninety-four. You got a lotta makin’ up to do.”
The innuendo in his voice sends a shiver of delight down my spine, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. He could be about to put me in handcuffs.
“Are you going to turn me in to the police?”
“Do I seem like I’m in a big rush to do that?”
I narrow my eyes and inspect his face, then admit, “Not really.”
“There you go.”
We stare at each other. He brushes a knuckle over the rise of my cheek. “So you’re a thief.”
“And you’re a mercenary.”
“Not my preferred term, but yes. Gotta say I like your voice even better without the fake French accent. Tell me your real name.”
“Um…Elizabeth.”
He sighs.
“Lauren?”
“Cut it out,” he says flatly.
I make a calculated gamble, because I know he’ll be able to tell if I’m lying. Besides, he can’t get far without a last name. There must be millions of women with my first name.
“Mariana.”
He examines my expression, then nods. “Pretty. And unusual. Suits you. Mariana what?”
“Let’s not get carried away, cowboy. This is only our second date.”
“Yeah, but look how good the first one went. Except the end,” he adds sourly. “That sucked big-time.”
The staring recommences. I can tell he really wants to kiss me. He also wants to take me over his knee and spank my ass.
And not in the good way.
“You have every right to be angry,” I admit sheepishly.
