MacLain knocked on the bathroom door, interrupting her anxiety attack. She met her gaze in the mirror and saw the little girl who woke alone in a seedy Las Vegas motel, her mom turning tricks to buy crack. She’d been helpless, at the mercy of anyone willing to hurt her. “Screw you,” Marnie whispered, giving her reflection the finger. That little girl didn’t exist anymore. In her place was a badass.
She opened the door and walked past MacLain. When he wolf-whistled, she stopped and rewarded him with a smile. He liked the dress. It made her anxiety ratchet down a few pegs.
“Be still, my heart.” His invitation was clear.
“Thank you.” She struck a pose, testing the power of the dress, allowing the bodice to gape a bit, her skirt to ride up. He reacted as hoped, a bit startled and impressed. “I can’t watch my back when I’m playing, so you’re going to stand behind me and keep everyone at a distance. I don’t expect any trouble, but I don’t know who’s going to be there. It will be one less thing I need to worry about while I play.”
“Yeah, like I said, I think I should be slaying them at the table and you can distract them with your beauty.” It was his turn to get ready. “I’m willing to do my part. I’ll show up naked, distract whoever your dress misses.”
His fingers unbuttoning his shirt distracted her enough to miss the content of his words until her brain caught up with her hearing. She frowned. “I thought we were clear. I’m playing tonight. These are my people.”
“I’m the better player.”
She put her hand on her hip and struck a pose. “Excuse me? How could you possibly know that without having played me?”
“Back at you. I’m good.” He said it like they weren’t talking about poker anymore, and it made her want to call him on his brag. Instead, she blushed and hated herself for it.
“I played on the circuit my senior year in high school,” she said. “It paid for college.”
“Sweetheart,” he drawled, “I played with trained killers in bunkers in the mountains of Afghanistan. Two tours. I think I have you beat.”
Blatant sexism. “Try to see past this.” She used her hands to indicate her skimpy dress and all the makeup. “I’m a damn good poker player. You could ruin this chance to get the money.”
MacLain indicated her body and face. “I might as well be dead if I ever find myself seeing past your smoking-hot legs and…” He stared at them and then up the dress to her breasts, her neck, her lips, and then met her gaze. His shirt hung open as he tugged his T-shirt from his waistband. “Kill me now.”
“MacLain.” This was serious.
“And let’s say you lose—how’s that gonna sit on your shoulders?”
He was trying to protect her. Butterflies frolicked in her belly. He really was the sweetest person she’d ever met. Still. “I know how good a player I am. It’s why I chose this game as our moneymaker. What if you’re not good enough?” MacLain folded his arms over his chest, seemingly unconcerned. She had no idea how he pulled it off. She was out-of-her-mind worried about the game.
“So we play each other. Winner plays for the money.”
She couldn’t have approved more. It was the perfect solution. When he lost, he’d back off and she could continue psyching herself up. The glint in his eye made her suspicious. “What’s the catch?”
He smiled now, all slow and sexy. “Strip poker. Five-card draw. If you’re not standing there naked by game’s end, you get to play tonight.”
“MacLain, stop fooling around!” She stomped her foot. “The tournament is Texas Hold’em. There’s no equivalent game we could play. It will prove nothing.”
“Poker is about reading the other players. I think you’ll be surprised how similar the experience is.” He paused, allowing the silence to hover. Just when she thought he was giving up on the idea, he twisted the knife. “You can always say no and admit I’m the better player.” Oh, he was enjoying himself.
“I’m good, MacLain. Better than most. Maybe better than the people there tonight. Winning isn’t guaranteed with me, but I’ve a good chance.”
“Prove it. Play me.”
He tempted her. She wasn’t a fool—strip poker with MacLain would be glorious! She’d get him down to his skin, have the game as an excuse, and she wouldn’t have to risk her heart with intimacy. There’d be no commitment, no guilt, just pure pleasure. She’d kissed the guy, straddled him, and come close to begging him to finish the job. She didn’t need to be told he was a perfect specimen of manhood. His suggestion exposed the weakness of her argument. Yeah, she wanted him naked. The game—that he suggested—would be a perfect excuse. But, well…
“I don’t have a deck,” she said, feeling lame. It wasn’t as if she could jump up and down and proclaim she’d love to play strip poker with the guy. Such enthusiasm would be unseemly and not normal. Right? She wasn’t sure.
MacLain held up a cellophane-wrapped deck of cards and sat on the bed. “I called down to the concierge while you were in the shower. Thought it would be good to have a few practice hands before I had to play the real thing.”
“I just got dressed. It’s not a good idea.” He shrugged, as if unconcerned, as if he’d known she’d say no.
“There’s no shame in admitting defeat.”
Now he’d gone too far. She could use his hubris as an excuse to give in without revealing her enthusiasm. That MacLain needed his ass handed to him was a perk. She was in the mood to do it. Anyway, she thought, a practice hand would be good for her confidence when she walked into the game. Loosen her up a bit. Seeing MacLain naked, eating crow, well, that was a valuable memory she could take with her when he went his way and she went hers. The images popping into her head made it difficult to breathe regular, and she felt herself flushing as her imagination went into detail.
“Deal.” She was relieved she didn’t stammer.
MacLain’s eyes lit up. “Yes, ma’am.” He peeled the cellophane off the deck and handed it to Marnie. “Ladies first.”
He was too confident. Marnie’s instinct told her she was being conned, but like he said, poker was about reading the other players. Maybe MacLain was acting more confident than he deserved, trying to unnerve her. Well, she was unnerved. Strip poker. An excited little shiver ran the length of her. She was going to crush him.
Marnie dragged the desk’s chair to the bed and decided a simple “I told you so” was punishment enough for doubting her expertise. She wouldn’t belabor the point when he was stripped bare. “If we’re doing this—”
“Oh, we’re doing this.” His rakish smile unnerved her.
“Then you need to strip.” Yes, she just said that. Yes, her blush was painfully hot. “I’m wearing a dress and shoes. You need to strip down to two items.” She swallowed hard. “What items I leave to your discretion.” Dane’s laugh burst out of him, as if he’d been trying to keep it in. It almost made her laugh, too, but she kept her game face on. They were negotiating terms. This was not a joke.
“This will be a short game, then.” He stood and stripped down to his pants. His glorious chest and muscular arms rippled as he went about the mundane task of taking off his boots, socks, and drawing his T-shirt over his head. The man was a physical paragon. How was she supposed to focus with that much magnificence feet away?
“Two practice hands?” he said. “Then we start?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Sitting, uncomfortable with the amount of leg she was showing, especially since she wasn’t wearing panties, Marnie turned her hips in such a way that both her legs were to the left as she was dealing forward. It was awkward, and distracting. His ranger tattoo over his right pec was distracting also. The skull and crossbones with a black beret seemed to mock her as it moved when he picked up a card or shifted on the bed.
Five cards each were dealt; they both discarded two, receiving two new cards from the deck. Dane showed his hand. Two pair, tens high. He won. Marnie only had one pair.
“I lost. Do you want to deal?” Marnie said.
“This is only practice. Keep dealing.” He seemed comfortable on the bed, half naked, playing cards with the payoff being a naked girl. Marnie suspected he’d done this before. Many times. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t. They played hand after hand, neither suggesting they start the real game. Each was searching for tells, sizing the other up for overconfidence or anxiety. It was tough for Marnie, because she wasn’t sure how much of the emotion roiling about them was card related or anticipation of seeing each other naked. When she felt comfortable she’d learned all she could, she gave the signal it was time.
“One more practice hand and then we play. We need to be upstairs in forty minutes.” Marnie was impressed with how professional she sounded, as if they were signing paperwork or doing something equally mundane. If Dane wasn’t looking at her like she was steak and he was starving, she might even have convinced herself it were true.
“Deal.” His tone was clipped, and maybe a bit impatient. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit his confidence was unnerving.
Marnie dealt them five more cards. This time, she had a good hand: a pair of queens, a jack, ten, and an eight. She discarded the ten and eight and picked up two more cards. Bingo. Another queen. Impatient to get to their real game, Marnie showed her hand. “Three of a kind.”
“You beat me.” Dane threw down two pair. A good hand, but not good enough to win. “Okay, so now we play.” He studied her as she gathered up the cards. “Just so we’re clear, we’re playing because you need to be reassured I’m good enough to play tonight.”
Confidence. This guy had it in spades. She liked it. “The stakes are who will play tonight.” She shuffled the cards.
“Same thing.” He grinned.
She refused to be baited. “Does it bother you that I’m not taking your skill for granted? Irk you a little?” She shuffled them again.
“Nothing wrong with a little foreplay.”
She swallowed hard and separated the deck to begin the final shuffle. MacLain was enjoying the hell out of himself, and Marnie had to admit she was stoked. Life was pretty good at the moment. She got to look at his chest while they played, and it was enough to make her hot and bothered, wiggling on the chair. She fought a blush as she shuffled and screwed it up, losing a few cards in the process. MacLain reached down, muscles rippling, staring at her legs as he came back up and put the wayward cards in front of her.
Marnie acted like nothing had happened, dealt, keeping her game face on, studying him as he perused his cards, giving nothing away. Might as well be looking at the phone book for all he indicated the value of his hand. It was reassuring. Marnie wondered if knowledge of her own skill was getting in the way of acknowledging his.
She lost the first hand. Not because she did anything wrong, she assured herself. It was a shitty hand. Small consolation as she kicked off her heels.
She handed MacLain the deck. “Your deal.”
He shuffled like an expert. He wasn’t fancy about it, or showy, but rather his strong, manly hands controlled the cards as if they were his bitch. Huge turn-on. She licked her suddenly dry lips and couldn’t help but remember how those hands felt on her skin, how he’d cupped her breasts, how they’d nearly had sex at the farmhouse.
This hand lasted longer than the previous, mostly because Marnie knew this was her last chance to see any cracks in MacLain’s game face. He met her gaze, gave her no indication of what he was thinking. Reassuring. As she laid down her discards and watched him deal her two new cards, she saw something in his expression. It made her pause. Careful to keep her expression clear, her body loose and her breathing even, Marnie studied him. What had she seen? Were his cards that good? There it was again.
He wanted her.
The realization sent a thrill through her. It happened so quickly, she didn’t have a chance to control her body’s response to MacLain’s message. And it was a message. He’d sent that signal on purpose. The man was good. He’d just played her.
Marnie revealed her cards. She had nothing. Ace high. MacLain’s expression never changed as he laid his cards on the bed. One pair. Sevens. Marnie lost. But only in the most liberal use of the word.
MacLain had game, and now the weight of winning the thirty thousand was on his shoulders. She’d never been so relieved in her life. Her relief reminded her of who might be at that game, and how hard they would be to beat. “Damn.” The ten-thousand-dollar loan from Pinhead, their buy-in, was their only reasonably legal shot to get the money without tipping off Whitman Enterprises. What if MacLain lost? She broke out into a sweat. “Are you sure?” Marnie searched him for any wavering of confidence. All she saw was his desire for her to take off her dress.
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” His eyes were fevered and his smile hesitant. If he was breathing, she couldn’t see it. MacLain was poised to strike but making a great effort to appear cool about it.
A bet was a bet. He’d earned the show. Marnie stood, unsnapped the halter dress, and allowed it to flow down her curves to her ankles. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Charm was gone, and in its place was hunger. His eyes paused a moment on the butterfly bandages at her waist. The gunshot wound had left her marked, scarred, and it wasn’t pretty. An allegory for her life. He didn’t know everything about her, but he knew enough to guess what might be lurking in the nooks and crannies of her past, and still he wanted her. She lifted her chin, waiting for him to indicate he was done looking, that she should dress again. Instead, he surprised her.
He stood, the bed between them, and shed his pants, his briefs, and was as naked as she. As glorious, as wanted, as anticipated as she. He waited as she reveled in the pleasure of viewing his strength, prowess, and beauty. His muscles were taut, sculpted from hard use, and his skin was flushed, as if his heart were racing, as hers raced. He was aroused and waiting for her. All it would take was a look, a nod maybe, and he’d take all her indecision away with a kiss. She knew that. She could tell he knew it also. Yet he waited, demanding she show more courage than that. If she wanted to touch him, she would have to reach out past her fears, past her fast rules designed to protect her life and heart. If she wanted him, she had to touch him.
“Ten thousand dollars.” She needed to think. Wanting him, getting what she wanted, scared the shit out of her. “If you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll step in, no questions asked. It’s our one shot to get the money under the radar.” Even she could hear the wobble of her voice. She felt panicky and couldn’t remember why this was a bad idea.
“Come to me.”
“This is a mistake.” She stepped to him and rested her hand over his heart, feeling it beat through his muscular chest. Something this good had to hurt.
“Then it’s a mistake I can’t wait to make.” MacLain kissed her, demanding she welcome him inside her mouth. Marnie moaned, taking his tongue in, tasting him, reveling in his warmth. His hand covered her breast, flicked her nipple. A shot of pleasure seared between her legs, buckling her knees. He caught her and laid her on the bed, never once breaking the kiss.
Marnie threaded her fingers through his hair, loving how his warm body felt up against hers. Desperate to stay in the moment, in the kiss, mind wiped of her damage and the rules that protected her heart, Marnie ignored her vulnerability, pretending there’d be no consequence. It was the only way she could kiss him and not be afraid.
“For the first time in a long time I feel alive.” He tasted her neck. “You make me feel alive.”
Marnie’s heart burst open, and in he went. Everything—every worry, every fear, every heartbreak—melted, and in its place she felt happy. It made no sense that her eyes welled with tears. She blinked them away, kissing him as he drew his hand down her belly to her curls, covering her and caressing her warmth. Her body responded by arching toward him, toward the pleasure he gave her. When she felt herself succumbing, drowning in his kisses, she grabbed his shoulders, broke the kiss. “Dane!”
She wanted to touch him, too.
“I’m here.” Dane pulled her thigh to his hip and settled between her legs, careful not to put pressure on her injury. “Tell me this is what you want.” His arousal pressed against her heat, rubbing; she couldn’t think, she wanted more. “Marnie. Honey.” He kissed her, devouring her mouth, breathing with her, one with her. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.” She ran her hands down his muscular chest and used her fingertips to rake his glorious six-pack as he positioned himself to enter her, pausing long enough to catch her gaze. She met his unasked question with a shy smile. She wanted this. “I really do.”
He shifted his weight and filled her completely, inhaling sharply as she gasped with pleasure, blinded by it. Then he moved, and she found herself more vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life, helpless, needing him. She hadn’t seen that coming. She’d allowed him to matter. Marnie forced her fear down, hiding in the passion, his heat, his scent. Running her teeth along the stubble of his chin, she nipped at him. Dane was glorious. Locking her legs around his hips, she egged him on, arching upward, meeting his movements as her anticipation built. All the while he kept his gaze on her face, reveling in her every reaction to his caresses, his kisses. He had her trembling and wild, clutching at him.
Hunger met hunger with equal abandon, until their kisses became a need that empowered rather than frightened her. His ragged breath bathed her temple as she pressed her cheek to his neck. She was cresting and wanted him with her.
“Stay with me! Dane, stay with me!” She orgasmed. Its strength left nothing behind, not pride, not modesty, not even hope. Just peace, suspending her, filling her, glorious peace. Dane’s arms locked on both sides of her head as he rode to his release, every muscle of his body clenched for her, for them. Then he dropped to his elbows, resting his forehead on hers, both of them spent. And smiling.
She couldn’t catch her breath. Touching him felt divine and tapped into a happiness she wasn’t accustomed to. Damn, he almost had her purring. This is what sex is supposed to be, she thought, and damn, she’d been wasting her time up until now. He laughed, and she was laughing, too, overwhelmed and happy.
Betrayed by a Kiss Page 13
