Sarah arched a brow. “Why play poker, then? Why not a nice round of Go Fish?”
His answering grin was lightning-quick. “Oh, we’ll still be gambling.” The fingers that had tucked the money back into her pocket rose to press against her mouth, and she had to fight the uncharacteristic urge to flick her tongue over them.
“What’s at stake?” Stop it! She knew exactly what was at stake here—her self-respect.
With his fingers stroking her lips teasingly, she wasn’t entirely sure that she cared.
Don’t lick him. She felt herself struggling for air.
“If I win, I get another kiss.”
He wants another kiss?
“And if I win?” Her voice sounded as though she’d just taken a hike through the desert.
Slowly, so slowly, Cian let his gaze trail up her body. When his stare again met hers, his lips curved in a smile that made her toes curl.
“If you win, I’ll kiss you anywhere you want.”
Holy. Shit.
Heat pulsed between her legs, and her arousal sizzled through her veins.
I’ll kiss you anywhere you want.
There was no mistaking what he meant, and the scorching image of her lying on her back on the bed in her new flat, legs wrapped around Cian’s neck, burned itself into her brain before she could suck in another breath. Ross had never spoken to her like that—and if they’d stayed together, he never would have.
And despite all the voices in her head screaming at her to run out the door and save herself, she couldn’t deny that she liked it.
Not what I’m here for.
“So you’ll give me a kiss on the cheek?” She meant the question to sound as though she was pulling back from their flirtation. Instead, it sounded as though she was challenging him.
Cian arched an eyebrow, the silver ring reflecting the light of the fire.
“I’ll kiss you anywhere you really want.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a single finger, and Sarah’s stomach fluttered when she realized that he was tattooed even there. “Sound agreeable?”
She took only a brief moment to consider. They were in the middle of a crowded pub. If she lost, she doubted that Cian’s winnings would be anywhere near as intimate as the kiss they shared the previous night. She was pretty sure that if she insisted, he would give her nothing more than that peck on the cheek.
Those pale eyes of his were fixed on her as she considered, regarding her with a gleam that told her he didn’t believe what she was saying. Hell, she didn’t believe it. There were places she wanted him to kiss her, all right, but if she focused on them right now, she might just go up in flames.
It’s just a kiss, Sarah. For God’s sake, why are you always so uptight?
Something surged inside of her—something unfamiliar and very, very loud. It overrode the need to be cautious, to be practical, to not kiss the man who looked like he could do wicked things with his tongue, just because he wasn’t her type, or because she might, maybe, probably get hurt. “Let’s do it.” She surprised even herself when she agreed, blurting out the words as she slid back into her seat across from him, the tiniest ghost of a smile rising to her lips. “Deal.”
“Wonderful.” Cian looked as if she had made his entire year. Immediately, his long, dexterous fingers began to shuffle the cards.
And Sarah wondered what on earth she’d gotten herself into.
Chapter Four
He’d watched her silently debate with herself for a good minute before she’d decided to stay, and he’d had to hide his grin when she finally agreed. This was the woman who’d caught his attention online, practical and sweet until provoked. That was when the kitten turned into a wildcat.
He wanted to make that wildcat purr. The notion made certain parts of his anatomy sit up and take more notice than he wanted them to right now.
Later. He figured no matter if he or Sarah won, he’d come out on top.
When Ainsley told him that Sarah was by the fire, he’d been a bit surprised. He hadn’t thought she’d be able to recover from her jet lag so quickly. He was out for a full twenty-four hours every time he made a dramatic change in time zones. But despite her delicate appearance, Sarah seemed to be made of sterner stuff.
Today, the only damp part of her was her hair, freshly washed, teasing him with the sweet smell he’d noticed the night before. It took no small amount of effort on his part to keep from imagining Sarah in the shower. He’d already seen enough of her bare skin that it was a mere trifle to rip away her underwear in his mind—but it would be better for him to concentrate on the task at hand.
He didn’t want to imagine her bare beneath him. He wanted the real thing.
After shuffling the cards thoroughly, he dealt them each a starting hand. When Sarah reached out to take hers, he remembered how soft her fingers felt beneath his—how she flushed and jerked away the moment he paid her a compliment. He’d pay her many more if he got his way.
“Aces high. That suit you?”
“Okay.” Drawing her cards to her, she raised them to look hesitantly through her hand. Cian didn’t consider himself a master of the game, but he’d won a few high-stakes matches in his life. Surprisingly, she didn’t have any obvious tells that he could see.
She rearranged a few cards in her hand, shuffling through while muttering to herself before finally looking up expectantly. “What are we using for poker chips?”
Chips. Right. He’d been so intent on finding something that would make her stay, he’d forgotten that rather necessary part of the equation.
“Hang on.” Thinking quickly, he raised his hand, gesturing to his sister behind the bar. Ainsley finished pouring elderly Seamus McNair a beer before making her way over to their table. When she saw the cards clasped in both of their hands, she arched an eyebrow. With a teasing smile, she addressed him. “What’s going on here?”
“Just a friendly card game.” He nodded in Sarah’s direction, and the blonde smiled, shy but friendly, up at his sister. “We need some chips.”
Ainsley stared at him for a moment as though he’d gone daft, not an uncommon expression to see on her face. Sighing with exasperation, he jerked his head toward the kitchen.
“Chips, Ainsley. Some chips.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Smacking him lightly on the back of the head, she disappeared into the kitchen and came back a moment later with what he’d asked for—the deep-fried pieces of potato that Americans called French fries. He watched Sarah’s eyes widen as he popped one into his mouth to chew with relish, hissing when it scalded his tongue.
“Now, we’ll divide these in half.” He took half the amount onto a napkin on the table in front of him before transferring the plate to her side of the table. “How’s that?”
Sarah hesitated, then tasted one of her own chips and sighed in bliss. “I just had a huge meal. I can’t.”
“No obligation to eat all of them.” He grinned. “Only to win them.”
Which she wouldn’t be doing. He’d played a lot of poker in his travels, and he was good. There wasn’t going to be any sweet kiss on the cheek at the end of this—no, he fully planned to claim his prize.
“Hmm.” Lifting another chip, she sank her teeth into it and moaned softly at the taste. Cian found his stare riveted to her plump lips, and the way she licked at the grains of the salt that remained after she’d swallowed.
“What?” Noticing his stare, she swiped her tongue over her lips, catching the last hint of salt. “Better?”
Holy shit. The woman had no idea what a siren she was.
“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. If she was going to be eating those chips, maybe he’d have to pay a bit more attention to the cards than he’d anticipated.
“Okay. Cincinnati, no blinds.” He shuffled through his hand. Sarah hesitated, then picked hers up and started to do the same.
He watched, amused, as an excited smile curved her lips before she realized what she was doing and scho
oled her face into blank lines.
“What?” she asked innocently when she looked up and caught him staring. The corners of her mouth twitched, and she snuck another chip from the ones still on the plate.
“Your poker face needs a bit of work, darlin’.” He transferred some of his designated chips to the napkin that they’d placed in the center of the table for just this purpose. “But that’s okay. I look forward to claiming my winnings.”
She smiled that sweet smile again, then placed her chips out on the napkin.
A lot of them. He cocked his head, and she simply blinked at him, the picture of innocence.
Three minutes later, he was staring at her with his mouth hanging open.
“What just happened?” Handing over his chips, he nudged her hand with his own. She sucked in a breath at the contact.
“Sorry, what?”
To hear that breathy sound again, he deliberately placed his hand on top of hers. This time he hissed in his own breath—he’d have to have taken leave of all his senses not to feel the jolt.
“I’m wondering how you just snookered me when everything you think shows on your face.”
“Oh, that.” Pulling her hand from under his, she slid her cards back into the deck before slyly smiling up at him. “I don’t have that much experience playing poker. But I understand the concept of the poker face. And how to use that to my advantage.”
Sweet baby Jesus. This woman’s brain was even hotter than the rest of her. He was done for.
In the middle of their fifth hand, he glanced over to find Ainsley half on top of the bar in an attempt to discern how things were going. When she caught his gaze, she grinned innocently at him, and he scowled at her, waving her off with a minute gesture. That was his sister. He teased her mercilessly, and she pried into his personal affairs.
Of course, he’d do the exact same once she showed the slightest sign of keeping a man around for longer than a month.
Not surprisingly, his lack of attention caused him to lose the hand. It was the fourth he’d mucked up that evening, and he was down to his last ten chips.
But Cian refused to fail. At Sarah’s surprised look of triumph as she popped one of his chips into her mouth, he settled in to play seriously.
As they continued into the evening, pub-goers came and went. As it was Sunday, they closed up a few hours earlier than normal, but Ainsley knew better than to disturb their game. By the time eight o’clock rolled around, he was finally gaining an edge over his opponent. Sarah only had four or five chips left, and, even without knowing her tell, he suspected that her final hand was rubbish.
Ainsley was nowhere to be seen, probably taking her break in the kitchen, and the crush of bodies in the pub had thinned considerably—he could hear the crackling fire accompanying their intense competition. He discarded two cards before drawing from the deck—and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He’d just obtained the two cards he needed for a straight flush.
His gaze darted to Sarah, who discarded three cards and drew after him. She rearranged her hand with a stone face before her blue gaze rose to his.
Completely unreadable this time.
He admired her drive.
“All right, I call.” He arched a brow in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to give in so easily—especially with the fight she had put on up to his point.
“I call as well, then.” He hid his smile, and she merely spread her cards out on the table before him.
Both of Cian’s brows shot to his hairline. She had two pairs, and he would never have known.
She kept surprising him. But her two pair wasn’t enough to beat his straight flush.
When he revealed his cards to her, she cursed. Actually cursed. Mind you, it wasn’t any profound obscenity, just a quiet “damn” that slipped from her lips before she could stop it, but it didn’t help the situation below his waist in the slightest.
He supposed that it was all for the best. After all, he’d won. “Sorry, love. Guess your luck finally ran out.”
With a sigh, Sarah merely finished the last of the juice she’d been nursing all evening then met his gaze. “You’re too good at this. You’ve played before. For high stakes, I’d imagine.”
He merely chuckled at her astute assessment. “And you gave me a run for my money. Chips, rather. But I’m definitely interested in collecting my winnings.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, and he could all but taste the tension that suddenly radiated from her body. She was nervous.
He planned to make her feel all kinds of things, but nervous wasn’t one.
Standing, he made his way over to her side of the table to pull her to her feet. She nibbled apprehensively on her lower lip, gasping when with one sharp tug he pulled her flush against him.
“You want your prize now?” She stared up at him with a curious mixture of anticipation and anxiety.
The first time they’d shared a kiss, it had been she who came on to him. She’d been half asleep, murmuring about how gorgeous a dream he was. Now that she was fully awake, he wanted her to remember every detail.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind?” His pulse quickened with need as he twined his fingers through hers, pausing a moment to give her a chance to back out.
She hesitated, and his entire body clenched. She wanted him, that was plain enough, but maybe she really couldn’t get over… What was it she’d said? How much he wasn’t her type.
She surprised him yet again when she rose on her tiptoes and pressed those soft lips to the line of his jaw, brushing them over his stubble. He turned his head, letting her trail the kiss down the side of his throat, and with a groan he let one hand stray down over the curve of her hip.
“Cian!” As he’d expected, she tugged at their twined hands, looking around the room skittishly. She was so easy to shock—and he could think of far more delicious ways to do it. “If you don’t want this, tell me now.” Putting even a whisper of space between their bodies was torture. “Otherwise I’m taking you to my office.”
“Everyone will know!” Her voice was a scandalized whisper.
“Everyone will know what?” Slowly, he pulled her just a little bit closer—not touching, but enough that he could feel the heat emanating from her skin. “Know that I’m…kissing you?”
She inhaled sharply, then nodded, her movements almost frantic.
He decided to take a chance, to push her a little bit more.
“I could always give you your kiss right here.” Smiling wickedly, he rubbed his thumb over the heel of her hand. “Of course, in a town of this size, rumors have already started flying about that bad Murphy boy corrupting the sweet Yank.”
His words seemed to spark something in her—he would have paid a dear penny to know what. Her pretty brows knit in a frown, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were narrowed.
“Maybe I’m the one who’ll do the corrupting.” Her tone was…hurt? “I don’t always have to be what people expect me to be.”
“Darlin’, you can corrupt me anytime you’ve a mind to.” He barely got the words out when she took a step closer, something dangerous glinting in her eyes.
For a moment, they simply stood, nothing but a slender ribbon of space between them. Cian felt his breath start to come faster. More than anything, he wanted to put his hands on her, to fill his touch with those gorgeous curves, but somehow…
Somehow he sensed that she needed to make the first move.
“Where’s your office?” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the low afternoon chatter of the pub, but shot straight to his cock regardless.
He was tempted to simply haul her up over his shoulder and carry her there, but even though she was feeling brave, he was sure that that would embarrass her, never mind that there were only a handful of patrons scattered amongst the tables. So instead, wordlessly, he led her to the bar and behind it.
Sarah was pressed against him, squeezing into his tiny office in front of him. And then the door was shut
behind them, the sounds outside the room muffled, the air inside the small space thick with possibility.
He could almost taste her. He loved watching her lick her lips, her thick eyelashes fluttering. He was absolutely not expecting her to gasp, and then again, nor to plant her hands on her knees as though she couldn’t get her breath.
“Sarah! What is it?” Sweet baby Jesus, the promise of his kiss had scared the woman into a heart attack. “Speak to me. What can I do?”
Shaking her head, she sucked in a few more deep breaths, then another one that seemed a little bit more relaxed, and one more. Eyes on her, he grabbed a bottle of water from his desk and handed it to her after unscrewing the cap.
Tilting her head back, she took a long sip, then ran her tongue over her lips. Wordlessly she handed the bottle back to him, then looked up at him with unhappiness written in every line of her face.
“Might as well run while you can.” Her voice was bitter. “All I could think of during that game was that you wanted to kiss me again. But surprise, surprise, I’m wound so tight that I can’t have a steamy kiss with a sexy Irishman without having a freaking panic attack.”
He wondered if she had panic attacks regularly, and what about her life in America to bring them on, but the unhappiness on her face told him that now wasn’t the time.
“You think I’m sexy, do you?” He arched a brow, watching her flush as she eyed the ring through it.
“I would have thought that was clear after I attacked you at my door last night.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
What had brought this on?
“You say that you’re wound up all tight.” Pulling the water bottle from her hand, he set it on his desk, then perched on the edge of the wide piece of furniture. “I can think of a few ways that we can loosen you up.”
He held out his hands. Slowly, with her eyes on his, she placed her palms on his, letting out a startled gasp when he tugged sharply.
The soft curves of her stomach slammed into the V of his spread thighs. When she exhaled on a low moan, his cock went from merely interested in the proceedings to solid and thick, pressing uncomfortably against the thick denim of his jeans.
Kiss of the Irish (Foreign Fling) Page 5
