by Julie Miller
It was only a matter of seconds before she’d captured his first pawn. Logan laughed. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Take off your shoes.”
“My shoes?”
“I want you to be completely relaxed.”
Obeying the lady’s command, he reached down and tugged off his boots.
Two minutes later a second pawn was gone. Grace’s lips pursed with amusement. “The belt.”
“Huh?”
“Get comfy, remember?”
When his first knight disappeared at the hands of her bishop, Logan’s competitive streak fired up. He saw pure calculation behind the laughter in her eyes. “Take off your shirt.”
She was beating the pants off him. And while that wasn’t an entirely disagreeable idea, he wanted to have some fun, too. If he wanted to see something interesting, he’d better step up to the plate. A little underhanded distraction should help his cause.
Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, Logan stood. He untucked the tails of his shirt and unbuttoned it at the neck. He watched her gaze dart to follow each movement of his hands. With her full attention, he pulled the shirt up his torso, and watched her gaze slide over his stomach. He hitched the shirt over his chest and shoulders, losing her eyes as he pulled it over his head, but noting the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her bottom lip once he was naked from the waist up.
Good. His body hummed a little tune of its own, knowing a beautiful woman was looking at him and liking what she saw.
He sat and resumed the game.
Finally. He had one of her pawns. Where to begin?
“Well?” Her breathy tone betrayed a hint of nerves. For her sake, he’d take this slow.
“Give me a glimpse of what you’ve got on under that robe.”
“Just a glimpse?”
“Yeah.”
He watched with unblinking fascination as she loosened the sash and slowly peeled the fuzzy white material off one shoulder. He followed the path of her hand as it slid across bare skin. Lots of pale, rose-tinted skin. Oh God, was she…?
Her hand stopped as soon as it uncovered a whisper of dark blue lace rising above the curve of her breast. Ladylike. Mysterious. Pure temptation. His own knight strained to attention. He knew what he was asking for next time. He was playing to win.
But Grace was no dough brain, as she had claimed that morning. Three moves later, Logan was sitting in his black briefs, his arousal jutting up beneath the cotton knit, aching to become part of the game.
He studied the pieces on the board, glanced up at Grace’s watchful eyes, then moved his queen and knocked her bishop to the floor.
“The robe goes.”
Inclining her head in a deferential nod, Grace shrugged her shoulders. The fuzzy, white, cozy, homey, virginal robe slipped off her arms and pooled at her waist.
Logan’s breath hissed between his teeth. That wasn’t warm and fuzzy he was feeling right now. And there was nothing virginal about the stark contrast of fair skin and dark lace. He looked straight through the paisley-patterned holes and saw her rose-colored areolae and taut nipples tipping her full, firm breasts like strawberries on cream.
“All of it.”
He was a greedy bastard, all right, but when Logan played, he played to win.
And, oh, what a prize there was to be won.
Grace stood and wiggled her hips. His straining shaft wiggled in response as the robe fell to the floor. A small triangle of navy lace played peek-a-boo with the thatch of golden curls that crowned her thighs.
The bustier ended above the indention of her belly button, and several inches of bare skin passed before his gaze reached the ribbon-thin straps that held the thong in place.
“Are you liking this game?” she asked.
Logan nodded. “It’s a wonder more people don’t play.”
When she sat, her breasts jiggled, and twin half moons of rosy pink peeked out above the top line of dark blue lace.
Thus distracted, Grace made her move.
“Check.”
He blinked and brought his gaze down to the board. Her rook was in a straight line with his king. “You’re not playing fair, Gracie.”
“I’m playing smart.” Oh, yeah. Smart women were sexy. Logan could hardly wait to fulfill her next demand. “Kiss me.”
Game, set and match! Logan reached across the board for Grace’s hand. When he stood, he pulled her up and away from the table. Standing barefoot in front of him, with that shy downturned face and those sweet green eyes looking up to anticipate his every move, he remembered how vulnerable and inexperienced she was.
He ran his fingertips, across the delicate bones of her wrists, across the fit strength of her upper arms, across the satiny smooth skin of her naked shoulders. His fingers left a trail of goose bumps in their wake and Logan smiled.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Grace.” He cupped his hands on either side of her face and let his fingers catch in the silky curls of her hair. He gently tilted her head, bending closer, zeroing in on her parted lips. “Absolutely beautiful.”
It was a gentle kiss. He pressed his lips against hers and savored their soft texture and shape. He angled his mouth the opposite way, catching sight of those big green eyes looking deeply into his own. He nipped at the corner this time, slid his tongue along the sensitive rim. He kissed her again. Harder. And her lips moved in a quiet response.
Logan tunneled his fingers into her hair and pulled her up onto her toes, demanding more from her kiss. His breathing jerked as her warm hands touched his waist.
Inexperienced, yes, but not without imagination.
With a husky moan deep in her throat, Grace leaned into him, slipping her hands around his waist and flattening those bounteous breasts against his chest. Her mouth opened wide and her tongue slipped into his mouth to mate with his.
The hair on his chest caught in the lace of her bustier as he ran his hands up and down her back, pulling her closer while he buried himself in their kiss. He stroked the soft skin inside her lip, playing a daring game of tag with their tongues. He caught hers and sucked on it, tasting the sweet bite of the grape juice.
Logan’s palms skidded across the rough, fine texture of lace that enclosed her and kept her most precious treasures from him. He struggled with the top hooks at the back of the bustier and cursed the man who had invented the thing. Conceding an impatient defeat for the moment, he slipped his hands lower, finding her bare bottom, exposed by the thong. The smooth, firm curves fit perfectly in the grip of his palms and fingers. He cupped and squeezed her, then lifted her up to his aching loins.
He wanted to carry her to the bed. He wanted to lay her down on the floor. Take her up against the wall. He wanted her. Period.
“Gracie.” He licked and nibbled his way along her jaw. “Sweetheart.”
She ran her tongue along the arch of his neck, using her wicked mouth to follow the sound in his throat. Logan pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling the rich scent of vanilla. The game was forgotten and he was consumed by Grace, her taste, her feel, her scent, her sounds, her beauty.
But she hadn’t forgotten the game.
In a feat of self-control that left him panting for breath, Grace unwound her arms and pushed away. Once her feet touched the floor, she stepped back.
He nipped at the consoling fingers she stroked across his lips. The smile on her kiss-swollen lips was pure vamp. “You haven’t won yet, Logan.” She sat back down in her chair.
Resuming his own seat, he prayed he had the strength to see this game into overtime.
Determined to make the winning move, Logan bent to the game board, captured her last knight and cornered her king. “Check. Now I think that deserves something special.” He leaned back in his chair, adjusted the straining bulge in his briefs in a blatant display of his ultimate intention and gave his command. “Strip.”
Her hand slipped up to her shoulder in that familiar, self-conscious habit she had of hiding her bounty from the world. B
ut Logan wouldn’t allow her to give up on this perfect seduction now. “This is your game, Grace. It’s too late to change the rules.”
“There’s no music. I need to change the CD.”
“I’m not interested in the music.”
Just as she had taken his dare and run with it last night on the phone, she accepted this challenge.
With his hand resting lightly at the base of his shaft, he watched his best fantasy become reality.
She reached behind her and unfastened the remaining hooks of the bustier. His hand jerked with each little pop as the navy lace crept forward, revealing millimeter by tantalizing millimeter of smooth, pale skin as each hook was released. Finally, as the back sprang free, she cupped her hands over her breasts. He watched her thumbs and forefingers press together, squeezing her distended nipples through the lace. Her eyes drifted shut and her lips parted on a breathy sigh.
She was pleasing herself. Logan’s thumb and forefinger mimicked the act on his distended penis. She pleased herself again. Pleasing him.
Then she opened her eyes and dropped her top.
Pink and pert. Big and beautiful.
If the Olympics ever offered a medal for sheer perfection of feminine pulchritude, Grace would earn gold.
The thong went next. Slipping her index fingers beneath the straps, she slid them around to her back. Turning around, she slid her fingers along the strap that curled into the seam of her buttocks. Logan’s gaze traced the path of her fingers and lingered. When she stepped out of the thong and tossed it into his lap, he barely noticed.
She was naked. Completely, gloriously naked.
Logan’s eyes narrowed in a passion-drugged stupor.
“A perfect ten.” That hoarse whisper of desire didn’t sound like his own voice. “Now get back here and finish the game.”
His queen was the last defensive piece to go. Grace handed him a condom from the box. “Sheathe yourself.”
“I’ll have to take off my pants to do that.”
“If you insist.”
She braced her elbows on the table, propped her chin in her hand and leaned forward to watch him. Her right nipple nearly touched her king. Man, he had to capture that piece! He had to win.
When they both sat naked, except for one strategic piece of latex, Grace made her move. She slid her queen across the board.
“Check.”
Logan didn’t wait for her command.
He circled the table and picked her up bodily from her chair. With one hand at her back and the other beneath her thigh, he carried her to the bed. She wound her legs around his hips and gripped him tight. Logan ravaged her lips, her earlobe, her neck—anything he could reach with his mouth.
When his knees hit the edge of the bed, he tumbled forward, splitting her legs wide apart as he fell on top of her.
This was a race to the finish now, a head-to-head competition that required more speed than style.
Logan guided one glorious breast to his mouth, licking and sucking. He rolled the nipple with a rasp of his tongue and nipped a gentle bite on the rosy pucker of skin surrounding the beaded tip. At her urgent moan, he opened wide, taking her into his mouth and pulling hard.
Her fingertips stroked through his hair and clutched at his scalp, guiding him to the other breast, demanding his attention there.
While his mouth feasted on her rosy globes, he moved his hands lower, to the juncture of her splayed legs. She was slick and hot as he stroked his thumb along her feminine crevice. He ran both thumbs along the slit, bending his knuckles and pressing them against that willful nub of passion. She twisted and buckled beneath his tender assault, alternately pushing into and pulling away from his kneading hands.
“Logan—” Her voice alone left him quivering with explosive need.
He slipped his thumbs inside her and pulled her open.
“Mmm—” Her incoherent plea matched his own.
The scent of potent female honey teased his nose and turned his brain to one blinding purpose. To consume her. To possess her. To claim Grace Lockhart as his rightful prize.
He left a damp trail along her thighs as he pushed her legs apart and plunged inside her.
He abandoned her breasts only to capture her mouth beneath his. He thrust his tongue in and out, copying the same hammering action of his rocking hips. She tried to close her legs around him, but he forced her knees apart, plunging deeper, faster.
When the spasms of her own release erupted around him, Logan buried himself to the hilt, grinding into her, swallowing her keening cries of rapture deep in his throat.
After Grace was spent, he followed her over in the most amazing finish of his life.
The game done, he crawled farther up onto the bed, pulling Grace with him. Once under the covers, he cradled her in his arms and nuzzled his nose in the vanilla scent of her hair. He kissed her gently on the cheek. And then beside her ear, he whispered, “Checkmate.”
10
GRACE HAD SEDUCED HIM on her own terms.
A game of chess. Who’d have suspected?
Logan chuckled to himself, his body supremely satisfied and his mind at peace. Savoring the good feeling, he slowly opened his eyes to the dim glow of candlelight that still flickered in the darkness of the wee hours.
He’d never be able to flip past the International Chess Federation Tournament on the public broadcasting station again.
He was going to have to alter his list of things he found sexy and add “playing board games.” Or maybe it all depended on who he was playing with.
That’s when he realized that the bed beside him was empty, that his playmate had abandoned him. Moving beyond the unexpected twinge of disappointment, Logan listened for the sound of running water. Maybe Grace had slipped into the shower. He sat up in bed, suddenly fully awake after his short nap. He’d love to join her there, see if her chess-playing skills could be adapted to water sports.
But there was no running water. Logan frowned at the surrounding silence and his nagging sense of unease returned. Where was Grace? Had she abandoned him? Technically, they had agreed to a one-time seduction. They’d done the deed. But now he wanted more.
Did she?
He rarely had trouble reading women’s desires, but Agent Lockhart was an exceptional case who confounded the hell out of him.
Maybe she’d met his challenge, was satisfied with her success and was ready to move on. Or maybe he’d scared the hell out of her and she wanted nothing more to do with him.
A little frisson of fear quaked inside his body. Had he been too rough? He’d been wild with his need for her. Desire had overwhelmed consideration. Logan heaved a massive sigh. Great. More guilt. He had to know how she was feeling. He had to know the truth.
Logan threw back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. He wouldn’t find any answers just sitting on his duff.
Training his eyes and ears to his surroundings, Logan waited for something to seem out of place. There. He angled his ear toward the source of the sound. The crackle of paper. A page being turned. Was Grace reading a book?
He smoothed his fingers through his short, spiky hair and stood. Given that his clothes were strewn about the sofa in the sitting room, Logan walked out of the bedroom stark naked.
The first thing he noticed was that the chess board had been neatly put away. Next, he spotted his discarded clothes, folded and stacked in a pile on the chair he’d occupied during that memorable game. Sitting like a crown at the top of the pile was the box of condoms. Her lacy temptation outfit was nowhere to be seen.
So Grace had tidied up. Cleaned up any visual reminders of what they had shared. Her easy dismissal of something he would never forget ate up a little more of his good humor.
He followed the narrow beam of light coming through the crack between the bathroom door and its frame. Was she all right? Logan hurried his pace a step and knocked on the bathroom door. “Grace? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
Since the door was already ajar, it swu
ng open at the force of his knock. Inside he found Grace sitting on the toilet lid, wrapped from neck to toe in that fuzzy robe again, her black glasses hiding half her face.
As the door moved, so did she, scrambling to her feet, slamming shut her notebook and pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. “Logan!”
Her mechanical pencil clattered onto the tiled floor and skidded beneath the sink. Logan stooped to pick it up for her, but she was already there. She snatched up the pencil, stuffed it into her robe pocket and straightened. He stood more slowly, but not before seeing her catch sight of the notebook in her hands and quickly stuff it behind her back.
To say she wasn’t expecting to see him just then would be an understatement.
Logan didn’t know whether to be amused by her rumpled, frazzled appearance or irritated by her efforts to hide something from him.
“What are you doing? Is something wrong?”
“You’re naked.” Her gaze slid down to his privates, her cheeks stained with color, and then she looked up at him again, forcing a smile. He didn’t buy it.
“And you’re not in bed. I’ll ask again, is something wrong?”
“No. No, I, uh…” She slipped past him, sucking in her breath to avoid touching him, and hurried into the cooler, less confining dimensions of the sitting room. “I was just jotting down some notes.”
“About tonight?”
Should he be shocked or flattered or just weirded out by her continuing efforts to jot everything about life into that damned notebook of hers? He followed her and discovered her stuffing little bite-size cubes of cheese into her mouth.
“Yes,” she answered between nibbles. “I wanted to see how I measured up to what I’ve learned this week. Hungry?” She offered him a piece of sliced apple, blithely unaware of the symbolic temptation.
He decided to be irritated. He took the apple, set it back on the tray and reached for the steno pad. Since she seemed tardily determined to hold the front of her robe together, he easily overpowered her struggles and commandeered the notebook.
“Give that back.” She sounded genuinely worried. “Logan.”
He turned his back on her and flipped through the pages to her last entries. The nearest lamp was beside the couch, so he turned on the switch and sat to read.
