by Katy Evans
He motions to someone behind me, and a chef appears. “Food is one of the highlights of my days. And I suspect, after dating a chef, it might be the same for you.”
A short, stout man in a white chef uniform and hat bows slightly in greeting. “Miss Watson, a pleasure. I’m Henri, your chef for the night. May I tell you my specialties?”
I nod and feel Cullen’s gaze on my profile as Henri recites a half dozen dishes. All of them sound mouth-watering.
When I hesitate, thinking that the salmon in rosemary, seared chateaubriand, parmesan-crusted lemon sole, and grapefruit and butter sea scallops all sound divine, Cullen intervenes.
“Why don’t you bring us one of each, Henri? That way the lady will know for certain where her tastes run. She’ll never know until she tries.” A glance in my direction. “Will she?”
“Absolutely, sir. My pleasure.” He bows before leaving, and I’m feeling Cullen’s stare everywhere in my body.
Thinking, I’m definitely getting wooed.
He smiles mysteriously. “I would have loved to dazzle you with my kitchen talents, but I don’t have a lot of those. I decided a dinner out of the hotel would be a nice alternative.”
“I haven’t practiced cooking in a while either. Emmett wanted to cook all the time. He’d almost chase me out of my own kitchen.”
He smiles, then his eyebrows lower and he shakes his head. “I don’t blame him for wanting to chase you. In my case, I’m doing the opposite. I’m chasing you toward my kitchen, it seems.”
I laugh. “No. Not at all.” I tip my face up. “But I’d be happy to help the chefs. See how it’s all done.”
His eyes sparkle, and he sets his napkin aside and pushes his chair back. He extends his hand, and I bite back a giggle as I slide my fingers into his. “Let’s go then,” he says.
“Really?”
“Of course. Who am I to keep a willing woman out of my kitchen?”
“How gentlemanly. Do you feel the same way about your bed?” I tease.
He laughs and it’s pure gold to my ears when he bends closer and whispers, “I want you in my bed, Red. After that comment, I may drag you upstairs and show you how much.”
I like that train of thought but know better than to pick him up on it.
When we wander into the kitchen, it’s a bustle of activity.
“Mr. Carmichael.” A woman in a white apron seems stunned to see him there.
“Miss Watson would like us to help.” He grabs an apron from a hook behind the kitchen door and flips me around, putting it on me. His fingers graze along the back of my hair as he knots it behind my neck, and my knees almost buckle from that tiny, searing touch.
The kitchen staff sidesteps to make room for us by the kitchen island.
“Please. My pleasure, Mr. Carmichael. Would you like to cut the grapefruit into slices?” I get the feeling that they’re being nice but would’ve preferred to keep the kitchen as a designated staff area. Still, it’s nice to be welcomed into a full service kitchen.
“Of course.”
I smile as Henri sets a pair of grapefruits in front of us. I take a cutting board and knife and begin cutting, carefully. Feeling a little awkward, and a lot happy.
I watch Cullen’s fingers move beside me as he peels the grapefruit first, and a part of me feels cheated. “Liar,” I whisper, part laughing, part groaning.
“What?” He’s laughing in silence too.
“You do know how to cook.”
“Single for the most part—not always financially secure. Not until recently. Of course I know,” he whispers, in my ear. I close my eyes—dating a chef, almost married to him, and not once did I ever stand beside him, chopping our dinner.
I think Cullen planned to woo me with a fancy meal. His gorgeous house. Of course it’s all mesmerizing. But what really makes my heart squeeze in my chest is the way he teases me over my awkwardness as I cut, his breath in the back of my ear, and the way his hand brushes mine when he sets down his perfectly peeled grapefruit. He comes to stand behind me and helps me chop mine. And suddenly I’m acutely aware of how easy it would be to fall head over heels for this man, this hot gambler, this Carmichael god. How irresistible this evening is making him out to be.
After we enjoy a feast that would’ve fed a small community, Cullen leads me to the patio where sparks are flying from a nearby firepit. Wood splinters and crackles.
“I swear I just heard a coyote.”
“You’re safe here.”
Of course I am. It’s a gated community. I’m with him.
To feed his ego, I say, “Of course I am. I have you.” I tuck my arm under his as we walk.
“Sometime I’ll take you to the Grand Canyon.”
I stare up at him and think, Is he planning for a future date? Maybe another Las Vegas visit?
It’s nice to hear him plan. Emmett never wanted to plan, which should’ve been my first clue.
We reach the cozy outdoor area and I kick off my sandals before climbing onto a comfy sunbrella daybed. It’s easy to make myself at home when I’m with Cullen.
Maybe because we’re ‘just’ friends.
He stretches out on his back and it’s the most natural thing in the world to lie there facing him. His fingers curl over my hip and he brings me closer.
And oh my. His shirt smells woodsy, earthy, and I’m easily reminded of the alpha male who owns the sexy smile, the hands that know where to touch and how to make me feel desired.
“Cullen.” I discreetly point to the house staff clearing the table behind us. “We’re not alone.”
“They’re used to it.”
“Oh are they?” I laugh. “That, I believe.”
He watches me curiously before he says, “I don’t entertain here but they have their hands full with other private parties.”
“Oh. Right. Well . . . I’m—”
“Surprised that your player isn’t the wild and crazy guy you’d hoped?”
Surprised, of course, but happy is the better word for it. And suddenly I want to kiss his smile a little wider. “I’m kissing you now, Mr. Carmichael.”
“Come and get it,” he rasps, pulling back to make me work for it.
I use his shoulder to steady myself and slant my lips over his, easing into an explosive kiss. He tastes like salt and wine, a mix of honey and fruit and spice.
His tongue briefly swirls with mine before he releases me and slips his arm around my shoulders. “Did you have a good time today? Did Mike take care of everything you need?” He brushes my hair out of my face.
His touch . . . spins me, particularly now when he seems unhurried, relaxed.
“He was great,” I say.
“Any plans for tomorrow?”
I shoot him a heated glance and enjoy it even more when he returns one of the same.
“Mike said he would set up a tee time.”
“He’d like that,” Cullen says tightly. “Lucky for me, you don’t play golf.”
Catching his meaning, I say, “But I’ve always wanted to learn.”
“Have you?” He scoffs. “Then I guess I’ll find time away from the tables so I can take you.”
“But isn’t that why you have Mike?”
“Mike earns a percentage of my play. He doesn’t need the added perk of having your company.”
“Ah . . . I like it when you’re jealous.”
“Then I’m so damn jealous.”
I laugh but his lips are there to devour the sound. His eyes look like chrome as he ignites several fires in me with one smoldering kiss. His palm rests against my head as his tongue parts my lips and invites me to experience him, to taste him.
When we part, he says, “So you’re having a manicure, maybe an updo tomorrow, some more shopping, the concert the day after?”
“If that’s what you want to do.”
He stills. “Anything you’d rather do?”
“I think you know what that is.”
“Are you talking about the bet?�
�� he says.
I wasn’t talking about the bet, but probably it’s best that I pretend I was. “Yes.” I flush and glance away.
He narrows his eyes, as if trying to determine if I’m lying or not. “You’ve watched me play. Tomorrow I’ll take you somewhere you can show me about what you do,” Cullen says, his voice low and unreadable.
My heart skips a beat in surprise. “That sounds fun.” I look at him cheekily, his expression unreadable while I know that mine is a blank page; I’m too excited at the idea of going around and looking at art. “I’m going to win our bet,” I saucily promise.
I smile.
He smiles back at me and chucks my chin, indulging me.
* * *
On our way back to the hotel, I’m sleepy from the biggest meal I’ve ever had in my life. I groan, giggling when I remember the way I tasted every plate we helped make, and every one we didn’t. “I won’t fit in my lucky black dress tomorrow,” I worry in a whisper out loud.
Cullen eyes me and partly smiles, lifting his hand to stroke his thumb along the underside of my cheek. “Not a problem. You’re my lucky charm, not that dress of yours.”
I smile and want to reach out and kiss him, devour him—I just had the whole contents of his fridge for dinner, but suddenly, the pulsing ache inside me thrums even more mercilessly than any other hunger. This is a hunger I cannot seem to satiate. I’m afraid to even begin to try.
I’m aching, but I don’t throw myself at him, and I’m pretty damn proud of that. I used to be so easy before. One nice dinner and a guy would already have gained access to every part of me: body, mind, heart. Life has taught me different. Now I’ve spent the most memorable day of my life getting wooed and I’m amazed that I have the willpower to withhold my body and heart from him.
I must have learned my lesson. And yet . . . it must be because he’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever dated. He can make Emmett and the way he hurt me look like child’s play. And every moment I feel myself slip deeper and deeper into this dark whirlwind called Cullen Carmichael, I’m aware of this. Plus there’s something about this man that pricks my pride out to the surface, that challenges me to prove my worth, my value, my best. And I have a bet to win.
Now that I’ve seen all the things Las Vegas has offered me, I can’t even be sure that Cullen will find my job as exciting and adrenaline inducing. I secretly wish he’d learn to love art the way that I do, though.
That night, when we get in, I head to the restroom, and then find him on his laptop in the living room when I come back out. I head to the fridge for a bottle of water. I’m exhausted, physically, and yet a part of me doesn’t want to be alone in my room.
I waver, wondering if he’s tired too.
Then I decide we still have some days left—and I’ll need my energy for tomorrow.
“I’m hitting the bed,” I say. “Goodnight.”
“Wait.” Glancing up at me from whatever it is he was reading, he sets his laptop aside and walks over. “How much fun did you have today?”
“It was actually pretty fun.” I grin. “A lovely evening. Thank you.”
He squares his jaw thoughtfully as he looks at me. “Goodnight then,” he rasps as he reaches out to me. He cups the back of my neck and ducks his head and sets his mouth on mine. I open up instantly, needing this contact more than my next breath. We taste each other, and we taste the same. Like mint chocolate cake and coffee and raspberries. When he eases back, I lick my lips and I take a deep breath and I tell myself it’s one of those friendly kisses.
I don’t believe it anymore.
Cullen grabs his jacket and swings it past his shoulder as he heads to his bedroom. I watch him leave, sort of wanting him to kiss me goodnight again.
Wanting him to teach me how to bluff and call and raise again.
“Carmichael!” I call. “I bet you can’t kiss me goodnight again and walk away a second time.”
There. I’ve said it. He stops midstride. When he turns, I shiver at the sight of his gray eyes, his raw expression, his tense body. His stare, male and all-knowing. “Be careful when you call out a player to the new game on the hill,” he warns in a low, dominant rasp.
Why is this exciting me even more?
“I’m not scared.” But my heart is puttering wildly in my chest, my pulse skipping like crazy . . .
Cullen’s lip curls and he tosses aside his jacket before he closes the distance between us and locks his arm around my hips, reeling me toward him. “Baby, you should be.”
“With you? Never . . .” I chug in some air. “You can lead a man to temptation, doesn’t mean he’ll drink.”
“Oh, I’ll drink . . .” He peppers my neck with kisses. “Sip.” Pecks my forehead. My cheek. “Savor every taste.”
“Cullen.” I breathe out his name, shuddering wantonly.
He isn’t finished. His mouth hovers over mine. “You haven’t been paying attention, sweetheart.” His mouth slides up my jaw to my ear and he’s whispering, “Once I get between your legs, nothing’s going to stop me.”
“Let’s hope there’s not a big game that night.” I flirt, smiling up at him. I want him so much I can almost taste him, the sweetness and the spice. And when he rolls his eyes as if to say the biggest game in the world won’t stop him once he starts, I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted.
I want the hammering thrusts, the easing forward, the pulling back, the nibbling and teasing.
I want all of it. All. Of. Him.
Damn it, why did I make this bet? Do I want to win or lose?
Here I am, trembling. Standing on my tiptoes, I dare him to show me, beg for that kiss, saying his name. He leans his dark head, teasing my lips apart, then he leaves me, only to come back again, his mouth meeting and parting mine and then his strong, warm, plush lips are meeting mine all over again.
It’s exquisite torture, the most painful and wonderful kind. He nibbles on me, and I nibble back at him until, with one fluid move, he jerks me to him and I cop one hell of a feel as he crushes my mouth beneath his own. His kiss is filled with longing and hot as hell. His fingers knot in my hair and he holds me still as Cullen fucks my mouth like only he could.
We’re kissing, tasting, inhaling each other over and over again. In one sexy move, he leans over and sweeps me into his arms. He’s carrying me to the sofa and I’m already so turned on that I don’t know why he wants to start here. I doubt I’d pose any complaint if he carried me to his room. It makes me realize how ready I am to be there.
Instead, we’re here and he’s kissing me crazy, his body begging mine to act, his lips teaching me to want in ways I’ve never wanted any guy before.
His lips skim the shell of my ear as his body is flush against mine, his length pulsing against my thigh as he delivers kiss after kiss after kiss.
Oh this man. I could get used to this. Him.
I lift my chin and he trails his lips to my chest. His hands trap mine as he thrusts my arms way above my head, pinning my body under his.
“Cullen.” I’m breathless, blown away by the tantalizing promise of how good we’ll be together.
He pulls back then dips his head again for another peppering kiss. “Say the word and I stop, but you’d better come up with a way to stop me soon if you don’t do it now.”
I hesitate, breathless. High on him, on the power his desire gives me.
“I win,” I whisper in a lust-thickened voice, grinning, not because I care about a dumb bet. I don’t. I care about seducing the gambler. Luring the man. “You can’t walk away from me now, can you?” I whisper, praying that this is the case.
Narrowing his eyes at me, he sets his forehead against mine and sucks in a heady breath. “Wynn,” he growls in a low, dominant hiss, pressing one last kiss to my earlobe.
He eases back and I notice that he does it with great reluctance. He gradually rolls away from me and, even more gradually, I stand up, letting him help me to my feet while I can still walk away, and before I change my
mind and beg him not to stop.
“Never go to the new game on the hill unless you’re playing to win,” I tease him, leaning up to stroke the tip of my index finger along those lips I just can’t get enough of.
“You’re a tease.” But he likes the play, I know it because his smile gives everything away. “But you’re a gorgeous tease, Red.”
“I won. You like me beating you at your own game, don’t you?” I tease. I should pat myself on the back but suddenly, I don’t feel like a real winner, and I hate that I know why that is. I’m staring right at him, and he’s looking back at me with amused but hot eyes.
“I’ll make a gambler out of you yet.”
“You just like my poker face.”
He meaningfully sweeps me with his eyes. “I like everything I see, Miss Watson.”
I flush beet red.
He turns to go and I head to my room, making a solid effort not to turn around. It doesn’t work. I eventually glance back, and my stomach dips as if we’re in the middle of a wickedly fierce roller-coaster when I find that Cullen’s arms are spread wide. He’s gripping the doorframe, maybe debating the same, maybe deciding how far we should take our bets.
“See you tomorrow, Carmichael.”
His chin rests at his shoulder. He seems deep in thought. “This one is one I wouldn’t mind losing.”
“Part of being a good gambler is knowing when to walk away,” I remind him.
“This is one time when you should’ve stayed and played, baby.” That rasp and urgency and hunger in his voice makes me a little too melty. And my body is alive with the wicked reminder of his kisses. His touch. I know what I’m missing and I don’t know how I’ll bear denying myself for much longer.
I smile and watch him disappear with a pang of longing, then force myself to shower and slip into my silk pajama set. I lie down and try not to think of today, but I’m restless beneath the sheets. I toss and turn, consumed by the adrenaline of Vegas and his hotter-than-is-legal kisses. I want more of those kisses, more of Cullen Carmichael, but I don’t know how to go about it.
I wanted a distraction. Something to get me out of my head.
