Susan Connell - Reese - The Untamed

A slow smile spread across Duncan’s face. “She hasn’t,” he said, subtly gesturing with his chin toward the person on the other side of Reese.

Reese turned his head for a quick confirmation, but once he locked onto her profile he couldn’t bring himself to turn away. Close up, she was breathtaking, living up in every way to Duncan’s designation. The mass of white blond curls tumbling loosely around her face befitted an angel, not the aloof, sophisticated woman she was trying to be. Her lovely, long-fingered, soft hands fidgeted mercilessly with the clasp on her evening bag until she’d snapped it open. He knew his blatant staring wasn’t helping her nerves, but if she pulled out her lipstick and starting doing those sexy things with her mouth, he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

As the croupier called for bets, he continued drinking in the details of her face. Her clear, luminous complexion, thick, curved lashes, perfectly sculpted nose…and her mouth. He swallowed. Her incredible mouth with its unspoken promises of pleasures to share.

Breathing softly through his lips, he stood his ground when several players tried slipping in to place their bets. He wasn’t giving an inch. After three days of trailing him, she’d mustered her courage to rub elbows and hips with him and he didn’t want her bolting. Besides, he’d made a bet with himself that he would get close enough tonight to enjoy her fragrance. The blended scents of spring flowers and her feminine warmth were keeping him content.

But not for long.

The moment she started stroking one of her ribbony curls and biting softly on her lip, the sensations of her actions began replicating themselves along the length of his body. Her simple gestures were bringing to mind every erotic fantasy he’d had since puberty. As a mercy to both of them, he turned his eyes toward the roulette table. The empty square marked with a black two caught his eye, and without pausing, he set his stack of chips there. Discreet murmurs of approval buzzed around him.

Duncan leaned in. “Everything?” he whispered. “I hope your luck is better than mine.”

From the corner of his eye, Reese could see her lifting her gaze from inside her bag to steal a glance at the numbered squares. The moment she located his wager she blinked, then widened her eyes in surprise.

“Well, Duncan,” he said, loudly enough for all three of them to hear, “someone’s bound to get lucky tonight. I wonder who it will be?”

Duncan smiled as the croupier spun the wheel, then tossed in the little ball. “Just find out if she has a sister,” he said quietly before slipping into the crowd behind them.

She took out her chips, gave them a quick visual count, then bit down on her lip again. This time the guileless gesture tugged at a different organ. His heart. As the crowd around the table pulled closer to the action, she started to return the chips to her bag.

Don’t be afraid, he wanted to tell her. Take a chance.

Hesitating, she looked up at him as if she’d heard his thoughts. Smiling and shaking his head, he focused on the wheel. “You’ll never know the thrill until you’ve risked it all.” If he’d known her name he would have said that, too, but in the end it didn’t matter. She’d heard him.

She set her stack of chips on red three, the square next to his, a second before the croupier waved his hand to end the betting. Tapping her fingertips against her pearl choker, she raised her chin toward the wheel and held her breath. As her lashes began fluttering like little fans, a tiny line of concentration formed between her brows. For the moment the mystery surrounding her vanished, replaced by the kind of excitement that made her eyes shine and his heart pound. He understood this moment, this feeling, this fusion of fear and freedom, of letting go of the world that ruled you to wrap yourself in the thrill of danger. There was nothing quite like it, he thought, watching her.

As the ball tumbled down she braced her hands on the table edge and leaned toward the wheel, offering him a clue as to what she was like when a sense of urgency overtook her. And the game she didn’t know he was playing with her became more meaningful to him than he’d ever expected.

As temptation poked and prodded him, he shifted his weight, first to one foot and then to the other. The impulse to touch her had him cupping his chin, then rubbing his hand against his cheek. If he leaned forward he could bury his nose in those blond curls to breathe in more of her scent. And make a fool of himself in the process.

She pushed up from the table edge, but the croupier ’s call didn’t register with Reese until he saw her eyes light with surprise.

“I won?”

“Oui, mademoiselle.”

Squeezing her hands into fists, she jerked them toward her shoulders and whispered an impassioned “Yyyeesss!” Without looking at him, she wrapped her hands around Reese’s arm and shook him. “I won! I—I—”

“Congratulations.”

Her head snapped in his direction. For one rich, rare moment, Reese focused on the only two things moving: her drop pearl earrings, his thudding heart. He smiled. He was one giant step closer to finding out who she was and what she wanted. And she couldn’t do a thing about it. Then her unquenchable brandy-colored gaze turned from merely startled to purely panicked.

This is happening too fast, she seemed to say as she released his arm. Please don’t make me do this. I’m not ready.

Before he could react, someone bumped into her, sending her against his chest. The next few seconds blurred into a heavenly tangle of blond hair and bilingual apologies. With her breasts pressed against his chest and her lips temptingly close to his, it was all he could do not to sink his fingers into her hair and pull her even closer for a kiss. The only thing stopping him was a whisper in the back of his brain telling him that he’d read her thoughts correctly. Now wasn’t the time. But as she struggled to free herself from the forced intimacy, he could feel himself becoming more and more aroused.

“Careful there,” he warned, curving his hands around her waist. He wanted to settle her hips away from his until he’d regained control, but she arched against him when his fingers touched the bare skin near the base of her spine. With commendable restraint, he forced himself not to massage the satiny depression. Because if he did, the situation threatened to become a lot worse. Or better. Clearing his throat he gently removed his hands and slipped into the crowd.

His exit was less than seamless, but more important, it was what she’d wanted—an end to their embarrassing situation. From the corner of his eye he saw her reaching for her necklace as her lips parted in alarm. He hesitated. Had she wanted him to stay or go? Her fingers were wrapping around her pearl choker as she strained to keep him in view. The next moment pearls were slipping through her splayed fingers and spilling down her breasts, bouncing off the table edge and arcing left and right. Half a dozen men made a mad, inelegant scramble with her to retrieve the pearls. He was several yards away when he turned for a better look. Already on her hands and knees, she didn’t see him looking. Didn’t see him smiling. And didn’t see him stoop to pick up a pearl and slip it into his pocket.

Beth Langdon paced back and forth on the private beach below the Cap Ferrat villa. Hugging the cellular phone to her ear, she responded to Eugene Sprague’s greeting with a rush of emotion. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked me to do.”

“Beth, you give me this same spiel every time you call. Why don’t you fast-forward to the good stuff. What have you been doing?”