Nothing But The Best

“I’ll take three.”

Cilla raised an eyebrow. “Three cards for the desperate man in the corner,” she said, and tossed them to him, giving herself two new cards before picking up her hand. Jubilantly, she saw that she’d drawn a pair of aces. Full house. She kept her face wooden and looked at Rand.

“I’ll call,” he told her.

Cilla laid down her hand. “Full house, read it and weep.”

“Not quite.” He put his own cards down, revealing a hand full of tens. “Four of a kind.” His smile was impudent. “Looks like I win.”

She cursed.

“Pretty salty language for a lady.”

“That full house would have won me the last three hands.”

“Timing is everything.” Rand settled more comfortably on the couch, putting his hands behind his head. “Guess you should have worn a two-piece outfit.”

Cilla rose. “I wore exactly the right outfit,” she countered, sliding her fingers up her thighs. She heard his intake of breath as she reached the hem of her dress. Instead of pulling it up, though, she slid her hands up underneath and around to the back. The whole time she was hooking her fingers in the sides of her thong, she watched Rand. The naked hunger in his eyes made her weak. Slowly, she drew the thong down her thighs, bent over to draw it below her knees, then sat to pull it off entirely.

When she looked at him again, his chest was moving as though he’d just run up stairs. Holding the thong hooked around one finger, Cilla stretched out her arm and let the garment fall to the floor. “I believe it’s your deal.”

The first time Rand tried to deal, the cards slipped in his hands. He raked his hair back off his forehead and tried again.

Anticipation vaulted through her. Depending on what Rand wore beneath his linen slacks, one of them was going to be naked, more or less, when the hand was done. Certainly she would be if she lost, because she’d skipped the bra when she’d gotten dressed, thinking smugly how nice it was to be small enough that a bra was an option, not a requirement. Now, she could feel the brush of silk against her nipples.

The moment of truth, she told herself, picking up her hand to fan it out. Then she looked at the cards and swallowed. It wasn’t fair, not even remotely. The previous game she’d wound up with a strong, if ultimately useless, hand. This time around?

This time, she didn’t have a thing. Nothing. Nada. Not even a pair of measly twos.

Rand stared at his cards, face inscrutable, then he looked up at her.

“Discards?”

Cilla worked at breathing evenly. Maybe she could bluff. She didn’t mind being naked, but she didn’t want to be the first. “I’ll take three,” she said as casually as she could manage and hoped like hell Lady Luck would round out her hand.

Rand picked up the deck. “Nothing up my sleeves,” he observed, holding open imaginary cuffs. “The lady takes a nervous three, and three for the dealer.” He tossed out cards for them both as he spoke, then set the deck aside and gathered his hand.

Cilla fanned out the cards she held, then looked at them on a breath of hope.

She still had diddly. Fold, she telegraphed to him. Fold, fold, fold.

“Well, I don’t see any point in betting here. Call,” Rand said casually, glancing at her. Cilla felt the flush spread over her face and laid her hand down.

“Looks like I lose,” she said with a calm she didn’t feel.

“Or we both win, depending on how you look at it.”

She rose and shook back her hair, trying to ignore the skittering in her stomach. She’d been naked with plenty of guys in her lifetime. It had never been a big deal. She knew she looked sexy, she knew they’d liked what they saw. Taking off her clothes had never bothered her before. Why now?

Because it was different to get naked with someone than it was to get naked in front of them.

Cilla turned her back to him. “Can you help me with the zipper?”

Even if she’d been unable to hear him, she’d have known he’d stepped close to her by the heat that bridged the gap between them. But she could hear the little shudder in his breath as he leaned in to her, the whisper of silk as he laid his hands on her hips. His breath tickled the fine hairs on her skin. Then she felt the brush of his lips on the nape of her neck and she gave a little helpless sound.

Warm, soft, the touch of his lips made her shiver, made her stiffen.

Made her want.

Desire began to drum through her. She needed to taste him, she needed the feel of his mouth on hers. Weak with anticipation, Cilla let her head drop back. And oh, God, all the waiting was worth it. Pleasure bloomed as he pressed his mouth to hers. For an instant it was as though every nerve in her body was concentrated in her lips, the sensations overwhelming everything else.

Or not quite everything else, because she could feel his hands moving up her sides, tracing the dip in her waist, the line of her ribs. The featherlight strokes gave promise of what was to come when he was touching her, instead. He broke the kiss.

And she waited.

When his hands rose to her zipper, he drew it down slowly, touching only the fabric, not her. Cilla shuddered as the cool air touched the narrow stripe of exposed flesh. She knew when he’d dropped it low enough to realize that she had no bra on; she heard his helpless exhalation.

And with a sound of impatience she turned to him.

3

HIS HANDS SLID the dress off her shoulders. Cilla gave an absent shrug, releasing the fabric to pool around her feet even as she reached out for his waistband. After a day of temptation, a night of promise, here in the wee, wee hours it was finally happening. She unfastened his trousers and let them drop away.

When she stepped forward to press her body against his, the heat and hard muscle and smooth skin nearly made her swoon. Pleasure saturated her, the feel of his hands running down her back, molding her to him, the insistent pressure of his hard cock against her belly. She wanted him on her and in her, she wanted him—

Cilla broke their kiss and pressed her head to his chest with a groan.

“What?”

“Do you happen to have any condoms with you?” she asked, a little desperately.

His hands froze. “Shit.”

“Exactly.”

After a moment, he began exploring her again. “It’s not the end of the earth, you know,” he murmured, running a line of kisses over her shoulder as he slid one hand up to her breast. “There are other things we can do. We have the technology.”

Cilla laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Not that I’m not flattered that you think so highly of my hard-on.”

Cilla looked down to see it bobbing and jerking. “Looks like it thinks highly of me, too.”

RAND HAD SPENT the better part of the card game trying to ignore the tight coil of tension in his belly, trying to ignore the brush of skin and fabric as his cock lengthened under his clothes. Now, the pressure of her fingers, the motion of the thin skin over the hard column of flesh had his breath hissing in. It was too soon. He wanted to savor the feel of her taut, sleek body, listen to her pleasure, and then, only then, find his own release.

He reached down and stilled her hand, then pulled her to him. She tasted just as she sounded, tangy and sweet, with a complexity that made him linger over her mouth even as he sought his own pleasure by finding her breast. The slight curve of it against his palm gave him a pulse of arousal. He squeezed the hard nipple until she moaned.

And the sound only made him harder. Rand reached for the lamp.