Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me

“Oh, that’s a scary question.”

“I’m not frightened.”

“I’m not referring to you.”

Bree grinned. “Come on. I’m already prejudiced in your favor.”

“That’s what’s got me worried. I like that you think I’m nice.”

“But …”

“I’m … focused. Extremely focused.”

She ate a bit, trying on the word to see how it fit. “Is that all you are?”

His wince was extravagant for him. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the whole deal.”

“You’re funny. That’s not an opinion. That’s fact. You make me laugh a lot.”

“Hey, no fair talking about my looks.”

“See? Cute. Very cute.”

He put down the carton and picked up the beer, but he didn’t drink. “What else?”

She almost teased him, but the look in his eyes stopped her. “You’re thoughtful. You see who’s around you and you don’t take advantage of them. I’m not terribly experienced but I have the feeling that not everyone feeds the makeup and hair crew. Or even notices the building’s security staff.”

“That’s manners.”

Bree shook her head. “Nope. It goes beyond that. Most people in your position wouldn’t give a damn about anyone around them. It would be easy to be horrible. Expected. But you don’t need to be ruthless and evil to be a powerful presence because you’re already a powerful presence. People get it. You don’t have to shove their faces in it.”

“I like that. Not sure I agree, but it’s something to ponder. Of course, I don’t want to completely disregard the whole ruthless and evil thing. That has a lot of appeal.”

She gave a quick nod. “Yes. It does.”

He drank some more, then reached for the rice container, but as he did so, he managed to move himself over until they were close enough to touch. The carton stayed in his hand as he leaned into her.

Bree held her breath. Warning bells went off in the distance, muted but not silent. “I should call for a taxi,” she said. “Get home. Take advantage of the night off.”

Charlie put the rice down, but his leg, his hip, his side were pressed warm against her. He smelled like spice and beer and her eyes closed as she inhaled. “I don’t like beer. To drink. But I really like how it tastes when—”

He waited, not five inches between them, maybe not even three. “When …?”

“When I do this,” she whispered right before their lips touched.

CHARLIE WANTED TO PULL her into his arms and kiss her until she cried uncle, but he held himself back, every muscle in his body on a hair trigger. Her lips were soft against his, brushing, teasing. Her breath came in gentle puffs, scented with galangal and heat, and no matter how fervently he thought now, now, now, he let her call it, let her make this decision. What the hell was wrong with him?

The whole night had been one bizarre thing after another. He didn’t miss premieres. He didn’t sit still for three goddamn hours just so he wouldn’t disturb someone’s sleep. He wasn’t nice. Nice wasn’t even a part of the equation, so what was happening? What was he doing?

A touch, fingers, small, cool, delicate on the back of his neck, and he became very aware of his cock. Not for the first time since they’d landed on the couch together. In another bid to make this the weirdest night ever, he’d found himself cycling through stages of hardness. From that first moment she’d leaned into him all sleepy and mumbling, he hadn’t been completely soft. Not hard as a rock, either. Which was fine. He’d only touched himself the one time, and that was an adjustment. Even though this whole scenario was as close to an erotic dream as he’d ever had without sleeping.

She tugged his hair, pulled him closer, deepened the kiss. Little licks against his bottom lip, then the top, as if he were ice cream, a caramel apple. His cock filled, pressed against his fly. He should have taken off the tux, but it was too late to worry about that now. Not when she slipped her tongue inside and he tasted her for the first time since the party at Chelsea Piers.

Instantly he realized it was a mistake. A hormone driven error that would come back and bite him in the ass. He’d known better, but had he pulled away? Hell no.

He adjusted his head so they fit together better, then started his own exploration. He was not delicate or tentative. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself from showing her just how ruthless he could be.

He opened his mouth and claimed her, sucked on her tongue, thrust with his own, and the sound she made, holy god … now he was getting the kind of hard that meant business. With determination and the endgame in sight, he pulled back. “Bedroom?” he asked. Hoped.

She blinked at him. Charlie realized he’d abandoned his beer and taken hold of her upper arms, the silk of the kimono warm beneath his fingers. She was virtually naked under that kimono; he knew that. He could see the push of her hard nipples against the silk. Maybe he’d been hit in the head or something, because this was not his style. This felt reckless, and he hadn’t been reckless since his teens.

Her nod let him breathe again. He kissed her once more. It started out thankful and turned desperate with one slick of his tongue against hers.

They stood as they’d been sitting, his hands lifting her up, their mouths working together to remember, relearn, discover.

He had them halfway across the room before they had to take a real breath.

One of Bree’s hands was in his hair, the other under his tuxedo jacket on the small of his back, as if they were doing some crazy waltz. “This is a bad idea,” she said before she kissed his chin.

“Terrible. We decided.” He captured her mouth again, amazed at how she let him guide her, backward, through the space. How, even with the height difference, the important parts matched, like her breasts against his chest and her lips within his reach. He only had to move a single muscle for her to react exactly as she needed to. It was a dance, not crazy, just theirs.

“Five years,” she said, in a rush of air and half a moan.

“What’s five years?” The hallway was coming, so they shifted slightly to the left.

“My plan.” Her hand moved down right over his ass as they maneuvered the turn, and he pushed her back into the wall. Her “umph” made him swing her around as he stood straighter, the graceful equilibrium between them going down the drain.

“You okay?”

“Where’s the damn bedroom?”

“Close,” he said. Speeding them there would have been the smart move. He kissed her instead. The pull was too much, knowing he shouldn’t, they shouldn’t.

The hand that had been in his hair was now on his chest, rubbing in vague circles.

“What plan?” he said, his voice as husky as a pack-a-day smoker’s. “To take over the world? To bring me to my knees? You don’t need five years for either.”

She laughed, stepped on his toe with her bare foot. It didn’t hurt. “I’m going to be a cross between Tim Gunn and Tina Brown,” she said, stumbling on the kimono.

If they didn’t kill each other before they made it to the bedroom, it would be a miracle. “Good for you. You’ll be great.”

“Not if I can’t say no to you.”

He looked at her then, at her darkened eyes filled with a heat that could burn a house down. “You can.”

She breathed in, then there was silence. Only his heartbeat loud in his ears.

“Please don’t make me,” she whispered.