Susan Connell - Reese - The Untamed

“I believe we broke two rules that time, Miss Langdon.”

“I believe we did, Mr. Marchand,” she said, as her body absorbed the vibration of his rumbling whisper. Was she supposed to fit so snugly, so comfortably against his solid flesh? Was the seduction of Reese Marchand supposed to feel this good?

Reaching up, he looped a lock of her hair around his finger, then stroked it across his cheek. “Shall we try for three?”

Was it necessary to indulge him this one more kiss? Was it wise to indulge herself? More questions were tumbling in, but she put them all out of her mind. As she brought her face close to his, the words rolled off her tongue. “I was just going to suggest that.”

Her brushing kisses melted into one long and sumptuous move that left her mind spinning. Lifting her lips from his, she began to pull back. She was becoming entirely too pleased with herself and that had to stop. Now. Because there was such a thing as too much—

“Four?” he whispered.

“Four,” she whispered, dipping her head again to swirl her tongue over his lips and into his mouth. Feeling the ridge of arousal pressing against her bottom, she twisted in his embrace and boldly deepened the kiss. As he began to squirm beneath her, any doubts about the wiseness of her act scattered in a hot haze of wanting and needing.

Without warning, a masculine voice sounded beside the car.

“If you two would quit making a spectacle of yourselves…”

Their eyes slowly opened to each other’s. In a mirrored move, their foreheads touched before they turned their gazes toward the speaker. Beth recognized the tall, good-looking man as Reese’s friend from the casino.

“This is Duncan Vanos, Beth,” Reese said. “A good friend with bad timing.”

“Hello, Duncan.” She tried for an inconspicuous tug at her hem, but only succeeded in bringing both men’s attention to her bare thigh. Playing the femme fatale in private was one thing, but cavorting like a human pretzel in a public parking lot was insane. Her spirits sank as she looked for an easy and modest way to return to the driver’s seat. Putting toothpaste back into a tube would be easier. She was stuck in Reese’s lap for the duration.

“No need to get up,” Duncan said, as a goodhumored smile spread across his face.

Without missing a beat, Reese continued. “And the lovely lady standing several discreet meters behind him is his business associate, Isabella Minelli.”

Beth managed a small wave that ended in a casual rearrangement of her hair. “Hello.” If she’d been caught sitting in anyone’s lap other than Reese’s, she would be speechless with embarrassment. Perhaps it was his humor or the relaxed way his hand rested on her hip, but his very nearness reassured her. Or did it? Perhaps she was slipping into her role more easily than she ever thought she could.

“Isabella. Duncan. This is Beth Langdon.”

“Ah, this must be your misery lady,” Isabella said, her face lighting as she came toward the car.

Duncan leaned into the car and in a stage whisper announced, “I think she means mystery.”

“Yes, of course that is what I meant,” she said. “So you must tell me, Reese. Have you solved her mystery?”

“I’m working on it, Isabella,” he said, arching his brow when Beth turned his way again. He shook his finger. “Be warned, mon ange polisson, Duncan doesn’t pay Isabella those exorbitant fees because she backs off.”

“I see,” Beth said, nodding. “Well, there’s really no mystery. I was having some fun with Reese and I think he was having some fun with me. Of course, once I realized that he’d seen my entire collection of scarves and sunglasses, I decided to step up to the roulette table and, uh…start the ball rolling on our introduction.”

Both men gave a friendly duet of loud groaning.

“So now there is no mystery? And I don’t know why this is funny. I am disappointed,” Isabella said, with a teasing pout.

“I’m not,” Reese said, giving Beth a hot, secret look before turning to his friends. “Well, have you two turned into voyeurs or are we late?”

“None of your business and you’re actually early. But we do have a problem,” Duncan said, pointing over his shoulder to the fish mosaic decorating the entrance to the restaurant. “Isabella’s just informed me she’s allergic to seafood.”

“Yes. Please forgive me for ruining this evening,” Isabella said. “But I do not wish to…” Grimacing, she made a circle with her outstretched arms. “How do you say it? Blow up like a balloon and die.”

“Isabella, what creative imagery! You must remember to tell your English teacher,” Duncan said. His dramatic delivery had the dark-haired woman frowning suspiciously, until all four of them were laughing.

Reese looked at the couple beside his car and then at Beth as he gave her hip a secret squeeze. “Let’s forget about trying to book another restaurant reservation and order in at my place. We’ll catch the fireworks from the balcony.”

“Sounds good to me,” Duncan said, holding up both hands, “but never mind about calling in an order. We’ll pick up something at Le Mah-Jong on the way. Meanwhile you and Beth can work on untangling yourselves. By the way, friend, Isabella and I expect a bottle of Château Beaumont’s finest with dinner tonight.”

As the two men staged a loud and good-tempered debate about what vintage would go best with beef and snow peas, Beth shared a smile with Isabella. The down-to-earth manner of Reese’s smart-set friends had been a pleasant surprise and she began imagining the rest of the evening with them. With her next thought, she looked away. Guilt began picking at her insides. How quickly their smiles would disappear if they knew what she was up to with their friend. She shifted in Reese’s lap. This cozy moment had to end. She had more important things to do than make memories that would one day plague her with shame.

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