Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me

He drank some more, then reached for the rice container, but as he did so, he managed to move himself over until they were close enough to touch. The carton stayed in his hand as he leaned into her.

Bree held her breath. Warning bells went off in the distance, muted but not silent. “I should call for a taxi,” she said. “Get home. Take advantage of the night off.”

Charlie put the rice down, but his leg, his hip, his side were pressed warm against her. He smelled like spice and beer and her eyes closed as she inhaled. “I don’t like beer. To drink. But I really like how it tastes when—”

He waited, not five inches between them, maybe not even three. “When …?”

“When I do this,” she whispered right before their lips touched.

CHARLIE WANTED TO PULL her into his arms and kiss her until she cried uncle, but he held himself back, every muscle in his body on a hair trigger. Her lips were soft against his, brushing, teasing. Her breath came in gentle puffs, scented with galangal and heat, and no matter how fervently he thought now, now, now, he let her call it, let her make this decision. What the hell was wrong with him?

The whole night had been one bizarre thing after another. He didn’t miss premieres. He didn’t sit still for three goddamn hours just so he wouldn’t disturb someone’s sleep. He wasn’t nice. Nice wasn’t even a part of the equation, so what was happening? What was he doing?

A touch, fingers, small, cool, delicate on the back of his neck, and he became very aware of his cock. Not for the first time since they’d landed on the couch together. In another bid to make this the weirdest night ever, he’d found himself cycling through stages of hardness. From that first moment she’d leaned into him all sleepy and mumbling, he hadn’t been completely soft. Not hard as a rock, either. Which was fine. He’d only touched himself the one time, and that was an adjustment. Even though this whole scenario was as close to an erotic dream as he’d ever had without sleeping.

She tugged his hair, pulled him closer, deepened the kiss. Little licks against his bottom lip, then the top, as if he were ice cream, a caramel apple. His cock filled, pressed against his fly. He should have taken off the tux, but it was too late to worry about that now. Not when she slipped her tongue inside and he tasted her for the first time since the party at Chelsea Piers.

Instantly he realized it was a mistake. A hormone driven error that would come back and bite him in the ass. He’d known better, but had he pulled away? Hell no.

He adjusted his head so they fit together better, then started his own exploration. He was not delicate or tentative. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself from showing her just how ruthless he could be.

He opened his mouth and claimed her, sucked on her tongue, thrust with his own, and the sound she made, holy god … now he was getting the kind of hard that meant business. With determination and the endgame in sight, he pulled back. “Bedroom?” he asked. Hoped.

She blinked at him. Charlie realized he’d abandoned his beer and taken hold of her upper arms, the silk of the kimono warm beneath his fingers. She was virtually naked under that kimono; he knew that. He could see the push of her hard nipples against the silk. Maybe he’d been hit in the head or something, because this was not his style. This felt reckless, and he hadn’t been reckless since his teens.

Her nod let him breathe again. He kissed her once more. It started out thankful and turned desperate with one slick of his tongue against hers.

They stood as they’d been sitting, his hands lifting her up, their mouths working together to remember, relearn, discover.

He had them halfway across the room before they had to take a real breath.

One of Bree’s hands was in his hair, the other under his tuxedo jacket on the small of his back, as if they were doing some crazy waltz. “This is a bad idea,” she said before she kissed his chin.

“Terrible. We decided.” He captured her mouth again, amazed at how she let him guide her, backward, through the space. How, even with the height difference, the important parts matched, like her breasts against his chest and her lips within his reach. He only had to move a single muscle for her to react exactly as she needed to. It was a dance, not crazy, just theirs.

“Five years,” she said, in a rush of air and half a moan.

“What’s five years?” The hallway was coming, so they shifted slightly to the left.

“My plan.” Her hand moved down right over his ass as they maneuvered the turn, and he pushed her back into the wall. Her “umph” made him swing her around as he stood straighter, the graceful equilibrium between them going down the drain.

“You okay?”

“Where’s the damn bedroom?”

“Close,” he said. Speeding them there would have been the smart move. He kissed her instead. The pull was too much, knowing he shouldn’t, they shouldn’t.

The hand that had been in his hair was now on his chest, rubbing in vague circles.

“What plan?” he said, his voice as husky as a pack-a-day smoker’s. “To take over the world? To bring me to my knees? You don’t need five years for either.”

She laughed, stepped on his toe with her bare foot. It didn’t hurt. “I’m going to be a cross between Tim Gunn and Tina Brown,” she said, stumbling on the kimono.

If they didn’t kill each other before they made it to the bedroom, it would be a miracle. “Good for you. You’ll be great.”

“Not if I can’t say no to you.”

He looked at her then, at her darkened eyes filled with a heat that could burn a house down. “You can.”

She breathed in, then there was silence. Only his heartbeat loud in his ears.

“Please don’t make me,” she whispered.

A dark sound came out of his throat as he bent over and lifted her into his arms. It was ridiculous, something he never did, would never do, but he’d had enough walking, enough of everything but stripping her bare, burying himself inside her for as long as he could, as deeply as he could.

“Charlie,” she said, working her arm around his neck. “We’re insane.”

“I know.” The door was there, right there, and it was open. He had her inside in a flash, over the bed in two, but he had to kiss her one more time before he let her go.

She pulled back from the kiss first, but she barely moved. Her breath brushed his face, soft panting, a faint-as-a-whisper tremor.

He lowered her slowly, head on the pillow, the shoulder of the kimono slipping down enough for him to see the crease where her arm pressed next to her side. It made his cock jerk and he wanted her so badly he didn’t know what to do.

“It’s my turn,” she said.

“What?” He pulled his gaze from that patch of heretofore ordinary skin. “Your turn?”

Her normally very sweet smile and her big innocent eyes turned wicked as she looked him over. “Strip for me. Slowly.”

He had to grin. She’d said the words like a crime boss, like a vixen. And then she shrugged that partially bared shoulder until the kimono … He could see the edge of her hardened nipple. Only the edge.

BREE BIT HER LOWER LIP hard as Charlie took off his jacket. He’d taken her at her word, so his movements were unhurried, but his technique? Bless his heart, he had no clue how to do a sexy striptease. He kept checking to make sure he wasn’t going to trip and he tried to take both arms out of his sleeves at once and that made him cuss, and start again. She didn’t want to laugh because, oh, God, he was trying so hard. Her whole body ached with how adorable he was, how the normally smooth, completely controlled internet mogul looked exactly like a seventeen-year-old virgin trying to impress the prom queen. They both relaxed when the jacket hit the floor. She wasn’t about to put him through it again with his shirt and trousers.

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