Macy Beckett - Make You Mine

Pay the drink pimp or suffer the consequences . “Got it.”

“Once we stop in Natchez,” Nick said, “we’ll begin the Texas Hold’em tourney. Same rules apply, but don’t be surprised if the pros refuse liquor.”

“Because they’ll want to keep a clear head.”

“Exactly.”

“But I’ll be able to get off the boat for a while, right?” she asked. “I want to visit the fire department and have them inspect Regale’s phone.”

Nick offered a condescending grin, stopping just short of patting her on the head. “Sure thing. You just do what you gotta do.”

Allie scowled at him, half wishing she could cast spells, then stalked off toward the bar. Once there, she met Christy, who outfitted her with a waist apron, serving tray, and an order pad. The girl had horrible taste in lipstick, but a generous smile that made Allie like her immediately.

“You take the nickel slots,” Christy said, pointing to a dimly lit portion of the casino near the side wall. “It’s the worst zone for tips, but I rotate the waitstaff to keep it fair. Tomorrow I’ll give you the high-dollar blackjack tables.” She grinned and nudged Allie with her pencil eraser. “Those are the big tippers.”

Allie thanked her, trying to catch a bit of the woman’s infectious enthusiasm, but without success. She tucked the round tray beneath one arm and strode toward the nickel-plunking, slot-pulling seniors. But just as she passed the first craps table, a hand reached out and snagged her by the wrist.

Allie paused in front of a man so pretty she had to fight the urge to flip her hair and bat her lashes. He was the living spit of that actor from the big vampire franchise. Allie squinted at his face to see if he sparkled, feeling a mixture of disappointment and stupidity when he didn’t.

“Need somethin’ to drink?” she asked him. A vial of blood, maybe?

He shook his head while his gaze took a leisurely stroll up and down the length of her body. Then he held out one hand. “I need a beautiful woman to kiss my dice. How about it?” The dance of amusement in his eyes led her to believe he wasn’t referring to the white tossers.

Allie decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and play it friendly. “No way, baby. I don’t know where your dice have been.”

“Touché,” he said, lifting his palm. “How about a blow, then?” He laughed in an easy, rolling chortle that saved him from being whacked upside the head with her serving tray.

Allie bent at the knees and blew on his dice, then shook her head teasingly. “And you didn’t even buy me dinner.”

“I can fix that,” he said, tossing his dice without bothering to see what he’d rolled. “We could sneak off for a few hours when we stop in Natchez. What do you say?”

The question caught her off guard. If he’d asked last month, she might have said yes. He had a witty edge about him that she liked. But unfortunately for the both of them, a pair of soft lips and wicked hands had given her heart a case of tunnel vision. There was only one man on her mind now, and he was approaching from the bar, glaring at the back of the gambler’s head hard enough to drill a hole into his brain.

“Afternoon,” Marc greeted the man while pressing a possessive hand to Allie’s lower back. “You’ll have to excuse us. I need a word with Miss Mauvais.” It wasn’t a request, and he didn’t seek the other man’s permission.

With a stiff nod good-bye, Marc steered Allie away from the craps table. He led her behind the bar into the storage room, then kicked aside the doorstop and let the oak door swish shut.

Allie didn’t know what to expect. Marc seemed angry with her, and the tension between them made the small storage space shrink by a few square feet. But she stood her ground, refusing to back against a row of beer kegs like her feet wanted.

One hand on her hip, she lifted her face to his and tried to ignore the intoxicating scents of aftershave and raw sex appeal that clung to the collar of Marc’s dress shirt. If the Secret Service could bottle that smell, they’d scramble minds without lifting a finger.

Marc’s mood shifted from irate to something resembling unease. He loosened the tie knotted at his throat. “Listen, Allie,” he began, his gaze never fully connecting with hers. “We need to talk about what happened.”

A cold weight settled in Allie’s stomach. She knew where this was going. He was giving her the brush-off.

“When I came to your suite,” Marc said, “it wasn’t to take advantage of you. I didn’t mean for anything to happen, and I’m—”

“Stop.” Allie dropped her serving tray and whipped a finger in front of his nose. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!”

Immediately, he started backpedaling. “Now, don’t go gettin’ upset. It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” she demanded.

“It’s just . . . I only . . . We didn’t . . .” He sputtered and stammered until he finally hung his head and muttered, “Shit. This isn’t going how I planned.”

Allie folded her arms. “Please tell me this isn’t about some curse.”

“Of course it’s not. You know I don’t believe in that mess.”

But that was the problem—deep down in the recesses of Marc’s subconscious mind, he did believe in that mess. She had to show him nothing catastrophic would happen if he let himself go. She released her frustration and stepped toward Marc, stopping when the tips of her breasts brushed his jacket lapels. His gaze widened and darted to the points of contact, but he made no move to separate himself.

That was a good sign. At least he wasn’t afraid to touch her.

“Listen, baby,” she said as she ran a finger down the length of his tie, “you didn’t take advantage of me.”

Marc swallowed hard enough to shift his Adam’s apple. “Still, I—”

“Let me finish.” Allie skimmed a thumb over his lips, choking back a surge of desire when his mouth parted to release a hot breath. “I asked you to kiss me, remember?”

He nodded slowly and licked his lips as if he could taste her there.

“And if you came to my room to make me feel better . . .” Allie straightened his tie and walked her fingers up the side of his neck to brush back his hair. “Well, it worked.” She inched closer, near enough to feel the gradual thickening of his arousal pressed to her belly. Standing on tiptoe, she whispered against the edge of his jaw, “You made me feel real good, Marc.”

He groaned and grasped her hips.

“And nothing big happened.”

“Except this.” He pushed his erection against her while nuzzling her temple.

“Except that,” she agreed. She reached down and used a fingernail to trace the length of him. He hardened fully by the time she finished one rotation, his grip on her body tight, his breathing choppy. “But that doesn’t scare me. And when you’re ready to face your fears,” she murmured, “I want to make you feel real good, too.”

“Damn, Allie,” he swore, thrusting against her palm.

“But . . .” She stepped back and put a few cold inches of space between them. “Not until then.”

The lust-filled look he gave her sent wet heat pooling between her thighs. “That ain’t fair, sugar.”

A grin tipped one corner of Allie’s mouth. Who said she played fair? “When you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

She turned and bent over—nice and slow, of course—to pick up her tray, then sashayed out the door, leaving Marc with something spectacularly long and hard to think about.

By sunset, Marc had a residual cramp in his gut and balls the size of coconuts. If it was possible to die from sexual frustration, he’d be rocking a toe tag before dawn. He could barely walk upright as he climbed the stairs to the captain’s suite, which of course was all the way on the top level.