Читать книгу Nothing But The Best - Kristin Hardy, Kristin Hardy - Страница 9

CILLA LAY ON HER STOMACH on the poolside chaise lounge and dealt the cards for yet another game of solitaire, stifling a sigh. She’d woken late, savoring the sensation of a day without appointments. Her first stop had been the spa, for a massage and facial, then a manicure and pedicure. Lying around on a chaise by the pool was the perfect way to spend the rest of the afternoon, just enjoying the sun. Relaxation, that was the theme for her weekend.

Being bored wasn’t.

It made her feel inadequate. If she’d been Paige, she’d have been quite content to lie there and contemplate the universe. If she’d been Trish or Thea, books would have been company enough. But she was herself and she needed something more. Not scheduled meetings and swank party something mores, but company, conversation, fun. Solitaire wasn’t cutting it.

She needed a man.

Like that gorgeous specimen who’d changed her tire, for example. If he were lying here beside her, that would be just perfect. They could laugh together, have a few drinks, do some dancing. Maybe even give each other a run through in bed, considering that here it was April and she’d yet to have sex in the new year. Playing hard was the perfect antidote to working hard.

In retrospect, she felt silly for having been so cautious with him, especially when he’d turned out to be such a good guy. Not that she’d talked with him much, of course. In that sense, he’d been the perfect fantasy: tall, dark and handsome, a blank slate for her to color as she would. He’d be her kind of guy, the kind of guy who could make her laugh, who was just a bit unpredictable, who knew what he wanted and was ready to go after it.

Especially in bed.

Now there was a thought, much more interesting than cards. She closed her eyes, imagining how he would be. Sexy in that take charge, I’ve-got-to-have-you-now way. Fabulous body, that went without saying, and hands to die for. Hands that would know just how to touch her, hands that would make her shiver and moan.

Cilla sighed and opened her eyes. She wasn’t quite ready to go on the prowl, even if she was on a mini-getaway, but the thought of sex—good sex—made her weak.

Oh, well. She sighed again and put the red queen on the black king. Woman on top, her favorite position.

The waitress stopped at her chaise. “Can I get anything for you?”

What the hell, Cilla thought, it was close to cocktail hour, just a couple of time zones over. She looked out toward the palm-shaded bar across the pool and considered her options. The bartender set a margarita down on the bar. Now there was an idea, something frosty and tangy tart to cut the heat. She’d have a drink and then she’d go mingle a bit and see what kind of entertainment she could scare up. “I’ll have a margarita on the rocks,” she began, watching the guy at the bar pick up his drink. “Ask the bartender to please use a lot of lime and add a shot of—”

Cilla broke off, eyes widening. The guy with the margarita had turned toward her enough that she saw his profile, and then his full face. What were the chances, she asked herself as the corners of her mouth began to tug up. It couldn’t possibly be her Samaritan from the night before, showing up here of all places. It couldn’t be.

It was.

“Scratch that order,” she told the waitress. “I’ll go to the bar myself.”

He wore turquoise trunks, his blue-green Hawaiian shirt hanging open over them. As near as she could tell, she’d been right the night before: his body was prime stuff, washboard abs, sinewy legs, pecs that suggested he had more than a passing acquaintance with a weight room. But it was his face that captivated her.

He stared out toward the green of the golf course, nodding to the music as the breeze stirred his hair. He wore it long enough on top to be hip, short enough in the back to be tidy. The five o’clock shadow from the day before was gone, which was a pity. The gorgeous lines of cheekbone and jaw were not. Dark glasses hid his eyes.

Cilla sat up and scooped up her deck of cards. She was done with solitaire, she thought, finger-combing her hair and rising to tie on her sarong. The game she wanted to play now was deuces.

RAND STARED OUT at the arc of mountains that rose high and sudden beyond the resort. He’d seen a lot of Europe in the past few months, but when it came to drama, the desert had it hands down.

He stifled a yawn. By dint of heroic struggle, he’d managed to stay awake the night before until about eight o’clock, then nodded off into dreams of his roadside maiden in distress, dreams in which he’d jacked up her car—and she’d jacked him up. None of which prevented him, predictably, from waking at a ridiculous hour. Even taking time to work out and linger over breakfast had still seen him on the golf course before eight. He’d practiced his driving a bit to get the rust off and then took on the full eighteen-hole course.

All things considered, he figured he’d more than made up for sitting on a plane for fourteen hours. His muscles felt pleasantly tired. Raising the margarita, he took a swallow and thought again about the woman at the side of the road. He wondered where she was, what she was doing now.

He wondered if she’d given him even a thought once he was gone.

“So how are the margaritas?”

He looked up.

It was as though his mind had conjured her up. All tropical color and silky bare skin, she stood before him, fragrant and frisky, eyes alight with the promise of fun.

And all his hormones started doing the happy dance.

Her lips curved. “The polite thing would be to invite me to sit down.”

“Absolutely,” he said, snapping out of it and gesturing to the stool next to him. It wasn’t often that he was at a loss for words. Then again, it wasn’t often just looking at a woman could make him feel sucker punched. He watched her order a drink from the bartender who had appeared immediately in that magical way they did for beautiful women. “I guess you got to where you were going.”

“Thanks to you,” she agreed, turning back to him. Her smile was sunbeam bright, her hair a hundred shades of blond and golden brown as it shifted with every shake of her head. She wore it chin length so that it focused attention on her face, on that full mouth, those green eyes with their mischievous tilt. A faint whisper of her scent drifted across to him. He wondered if her skin was as smooth as it looked.

“You know, if I’d guessed you were headed to the resort, I could just have given you a ride.”

“Bad planning on my part.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, just enjoying watching her. “I suppose if you weren’t ready to get out of a car with me nearby, you probably wouldn’t have gotten into one, either.”

“I had your best interests at heart. What if I’d have turned out to be some wacko and there you were, stuck with me at the side of the road? You were safer with me in the car.”

“You did have a tire iron,” he recalled.

“Exactly.”

“In that case, I guess I owe you one.”

“It was the least I could do.” Laughter bubbled in her voice. The bartender set down Cilla’s drink and she held it up for a toast. “To good deeds and good Samaritans. Thank you again for stopping. You were very chivalrous. Your mama raised you right.”

The margarita tasted tart and cool on his tongue, the tequila a faint bite underneath. “She’ll be happy to hear it. You could write and tell her so. It’ll make her day.”

“I’ll write your mother if you write mine and tell her what a cautious citizen I was,” she bargained. “She’s forever wailing that I’m not careful enough and I don’t have the sense God gave a goat.”

Rand considered her. “You look smarter than a goat.”

“Thank you.” She inclined her head.

“Better looking, too.”

Her laugh was husky with delight. “I like to think so.”

Her bikini reminded him of a dish of sherbet, all bright pink and lime-green and orange. The top of it was one of those twisted bands that seemed to stay in place magically. The whys and hows, of course, were far less interesting than what was beneath.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked, watching him.

“I was heading to Vegas and made a wrong turn at Albuquerque,” he said blandly.

“What a disappointment.”

“Not even remotely.”

She stared at him for a beat, then blinked. “Well, just in case, I do have a deck of cards. I’ll be the house and we can play a few hands,” she offered.

“You’re too kind.”

“You can give me all your money and it’ll feel just like being there.”

“That would be much too kind.”

“That’s the way I am.” The amusement was back.

“So what are you doing here, meeting friends?”

“Flying solo.” She glanced around. “Where are your friends, Vegas?”

The palm fronds cast patterned shadows over her shoulders. Rand dragged his gaze away from her skin. “No friends.”

“Not any?” She raised an eyebrow. “But you seem like such a nice person. I’ll be your friend,” she decided. “Didn’t you tell me I owed a favor to the next person who needed one?”

“Generous of you,” he said dryly.

“Isn’t it just. Of course, I can afford to be generous. I’m here playing hooky from the world for a couple of days.”

“Hooky works for me.”

“Really?” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice like a coconspirator. “Want to play hooky together?”

“Only if you promise not to talk about anything remotely serious.”

“No politics?”

“Nope.”

“No economy?”

He shook his head.

“No ‘So, what do you do?’”

“Absolutely not. You start down that road, I’ll go find someone else’s tire to change.”

“Oh, now I get it,” she nodded wisely, “that was your pickup move.”

“You know it. I wait around the highway for gorgeous babes to have blowouts that they can’t change. It’s the ultimate icebreaker.”

“You are smooth.”

“Oh, I can ratchet up a jack with the best of ’em,” he assured her.

Her eyes were bright with amusement. “I thought you looked like a man who knew his way around a lug nut.”

“Just handy with tools.”

She raised her glass. “Well, here’s to being handy.”

They grinned at each other. He’d forgotten the pleasure of banter with a clever woman, not to mention a sexy little dish like her. It had definitely been too long. “My name’s Rand, by the way.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your parents wanted you to be a mapmaker?”

“Positive reinforcement,” he agreed. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated an instant. “Danni.”

“Let me guess, your parents wanted a boy? Doesn’t look like it was too successful to me.”

“Au contraire. I was quite the tomboy growing up,” she informed him.

He looked down to where her long, tanned legs peeked out of the wraparound sarong. “I bet you climbed trees with the best of them.”

“You’d better believe it,” she returned. “Played softball, too. I had a mean curveball.”

“I’ll remember to watch for that.” He didn’t know about curveballs, but she was definitely curvy enough in all the right places. “So have you been hanging out around the pool all morning?”

“Of course. Like I said, I’m playing hooky. How about you?”

“Did a quick run, played a round of golf.” Didn’t get down to the pool nearly soon enough.

She shook her head pityingly. “No wonder you were yawning. I’d be tired, too.”

“Are you kidding? I’m just getting revved up. A dip in the water and I’ll be good to go.”

Invitation replaced amusement in those green eyes. “And here I thought you were pretty good already.”

“Stick around. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

A JAZZ TUNE COURTESY OF A PIANIST nearby, floated out into the evening. Cilla sat in the terrace bar of the restaurant’s fusion restaurant, waiting for Rand. She wasn’t usually the one to wait, but when they’d parted ways to go dress for dinner, she’d found herself in a minimalist mood. Slipping into her pale gold silk shift and sandals took only a moment. The sun had taken care of her need for bronzer. All she had to do was darken her eyes a bit, slick on some lip gloss and presto, she was ready.

Staying on the grounds had seemed easiest. Neither of them had felt like dealing with the drive into Palm Springs. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the point at which dinner together had become a given. As to what might happen after that, well, the long, lazy afternoon of flirting and playing like otters in the pool made that seem like a given, also.

Cilla turned her head to look at the arched entrance just as Rand came through. He stood for a moment, searching the room for her and she caught her breath. She’d watched that face for hours at poolside, but somehow the time they’d spent apart had rendered the impact of him fresh. The afternoon sun had touched his skin with gold. Against the breezy white linen of his shirt, his hair was dark, his eyes a luminous silver. When he caught sight of her, the power of it sang through her. For a moment, he just stood, watching. Then he began to walk toward her.

And unaccountably, the breath began to clog up in her lungs.

He took his time moving across the room, as though he were savoring the spectacle. When he reached her side, he raised her fingers to his lips. “You’re lovely,” he said simply, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

And Cilla could only stare.

She’d been prepared for banter, for something cocky or ironic. She should have known he wouldn’t be so predictable. A man who knew what he wanted and went after it.

“I think our table is waiting,” she said.

CILLA FOLLOWED Rand off the floor in the nightclub and back to their booth, leaning back against him for a moment in mock exhaustion. Drinks to dinner, dinner to dancing. Like silent conspirators, they’d stretched the evening out, neither of them ready to see it end. With the passing hours, they moved into each other’s space, as casual touches that held nothing casual within them became commonplace.

But they had yet to bridge that critical gap between possibility and certainty.

Rand’s chest was hard and solid behind her and desire bubbled in her veins. When he reached out to toy with her hair, she very nearly purred. She wanted more of this man, this lovely man with the smooth voice and the bedroom eyes and the hands that promised all sorts of decadence.

She wanted more, period. So she didn’t move away, only sighed when he slid an arm around her.

“You’re quite a dancer,” Cilla murmured.

“You inspire me.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Then lights came up abruptly, bleaching the club from dim intimacy to hard reality. Was it really that late, she wondered in surprise, and straightened.

“Cinderella time, I guess,” Rand said.

“I’m not ready to call it a night,” Cilla objected. “It’s too soon.” Whether it was the wee hours of morning or not, she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. Instead, breathless anticipation ran through her.

“You could go get your cards and we could play poker,” Rand suggested.

“There’s an idea. We can be like Vegas, all night, all right.”

“There you go.”

They walked out into the lobby of the resort, with its soaring ceilings and marble arches. Terraces ran around the edges of the atrium, the overhead lattices wound with vines to give the illusion that they were outdoors instead of in air-conditioned comfort. Rand stopped in front of a pillow-strewn brocade couch. “Go get your cards. I can wait here.”

Chivalrous, perhaps, but she didn’t want chivalry. She wanted much more. “How about if you just come on up, instead? That way we’ll get some quiet and we’ve got the minibar if we get thirsty.”

“From a tire iron on the highway to an invitation to your room? I think I’m making points.” His voice was light, as though he wanted her to know he wasn’t making any assumptions. It made her want him even more.

“You haven’t lost money to me yet,” she said with a grin and tugged at his sleeve. “Come on.”

CILLA TOSSED DOWN a handful of dimes and nickels. “I’ll see your quarter, raise you thirty cents and call.” They sat on the couch in her room, cards on the upholstery between them. The French doors that led to the atrium balcony were open, bringing in the tranquil sound of falling water from the indoor fountains. A ceiling fan stirred the air, making the silk at her neckline flutter just a bit.

For the hundredth time, Rand pulled his thoughts back to the game and laid his cards down. “Eights and fives.”

Cilla set down three jacks. “You are mine, baby, all mine,” she crowed, and her eyes held a hot look of triumph. “That’s five hands in a row.”

“You never told me you were a cardsharp. Are you sure you weren’t the one headed to Vegas?” If he was on a losing streak, it was because the way she’d curled those long legs underneath her, rucking up her dress just enough, played hell with his concentration. Of course, the remains of the vodka tonics on the coffee table might have a bit to do with it, as well.

And the fact that they were both wondering how and when and where they’d make the jump. Not if, though. Not if.

“A card hustler? Me? I’m just trying to give you the authentic experience,” she told him, scooping up the last of his small change.

“By cleaning me out?”

“Exactly, sugar.” She reached out to give his cheek a little pat. And in reflex, his hand came up to trap hers in place. Cilla froze, her eyes widening just a fraction. Surprise? Arousal? Rand curled his fingers around hers, moving them to his lips, watching her steadily. For a moment, they stared at each other, the question asked, the answer given, the knowledge of where they were going naked in their eyes.

When he released her hand, she stayed absolutely still, then she went back to shuffling the cards.

Rand looked at her in puzzlement. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to deal.” She split the deck in two and snapped the cards together. “You’re not afraid of another hand, are you?” Her eyes were bright with excitement.

“I’m out of change. You’ve broken me.”

“Good thing you didn’t make it to Vegas.”

“Consider yourself lucky that I’ve been on a down streak. I’m usually a winner.”

“Big talk,” she sniffed, snapping the cards together again. “Why don’t you prove it?”

“I told you, no more money.”

“We could keep a tally on paper.”

“That’s not poker.”

A smile lurked in her eyes. “You could put it on your credit card.”

“I’m sure you’d love that.”

Cilla spread her hands, and shrugged. “Well, the house doesn’t play for free. Of course, we do have one other option.”

“Yes?”

“You want stakes that mean something, I think we can arrange it.” She did smile then, a slow bloom of promise.

Something deep inside him began to thud in response. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Her eyes held a flare of recklessness. “Your clothes.”

CILLA SHUFFLED the cards, excitement making her hands tremble just a bit. Rand sat shirtless, his skin gleaming gold in the light. Even though she’d seen him that afternoon in just swim trunks, he somehow seemed more naked now, his skin all the more bare for the contrast with his wheat-colored linen slacks.

They’d gone past the easy pickings. Her Manolos had been off before they’d ever started, and now Rand’s Top-Siders lay nearby. Watches, jewelry, it was all on the coffee table. She’d done well the first few hands, but more recently Rand had been winning steadily.

She was beginning to run out of clothing.

Pushing the deck together, Cilla set it out for Rand to cut. When she reached out to pick up the stack, he captured her hand.

And heat zoomed up her arm.

“What are you doing?” she asked faintly.

“Just checking to see if you had any cards up your sleeve.”

Her heart began to beat again. “It’s a sleeveless shift.”

“Can’t be too careful.” He ran his fingertips up the fragile skin on the inside of her forearm. Arousal whispered through her.

“Five-card draw,” Cilla said, her voice a little shaky, and dealt.

Rand just watched her. He fanned his cards out and gave a small smile. It could mean he had something, it could mean he was bluffing, Cilla wasn’t sure. If he had tells, she’d yet to figure them out.

Then she looked at her own hand and very nearly sighed. Three queens, a nine, and a four. She’d hold on to her ladies and take her chances with the rest, Cilla thought, tossing the other two cards down. “Two for the dealer,” she said aloud. “And you, sir?”

“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.