Chapter 8
EIGHT
Reese felt a surge of triumph. Listening to his wasted-time marriage woes, she’d been afraid she was actually going to have to admit defeat. “Hah! I’ve definitely got you beat. It’s been fourteen months since I’ve had sex!”
It came to her a split second later that maybe that wasn’t something she should be bragging about.
But she’d suck it up for the sake of winning.
Only he didn’t look impressed. “Yeah, but you forgot about my ulcer, plus I’m ten years older than you. I think that makes us even.”
She was about to argue, just on principle, when he spoke again in a voice that made her wish she was still sitting with her legs crossed. Tightly.
He sat there, legs straight out in front of him, arms across his chest as he flicked his gaze over her. “Besides, I’m sure you’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
Yeah, they were just dropping at her feet left and right, begging for it. Please. The only men interested in getting their hands on her were her boss and the eighteen-year-old guy who worked the register at her grocery store.
“Not a one.”
“I have a hard time believing that.”
“You want to bet?” Her social life was nonexistent. Women in nursing homes got more action than she did.
“We haven’t settled our first bet, I’m not entering another one.”
Reese paced back and forth, slowly, next to the table. She lifted her hair off her shoulders and tossed it back. It was still damp and heavy, and she knew it was probably doing a Chia Pet imitation.
Knight was right. They were running about head to head in the Whose Life Sucks Royally competition. There was only one thing to do.
“Let’s arm wrestle.”
His relaxed slouch disappeared. He gaped at her. “What?”
“Yeah. It’s a great idea. That’s the way my brothers and I always decided a tie.”
“Reese.” He shook his head. “It would be pointless because there’s no way you can beat me.”
Typical male arrogance. “You think so?”
Yes, obviously. Gross. He was flexing his muscles and she suspected he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He just squeezed his wrists and popped out his elbows as he studied her, certain of his strength superiority.
“You can’t beat me.”
“You’re ten years older than me,” she taunted, enjoying the sudden irritated flare to his nostrils. “And that chicken wing ought to be kicking your ulcer in gear right about now.”
With an expression of disgust, he shoved their dirty dishes to the very edge of the table and slapped his elbow down. “Alright. Give it your best shot, tough girl.”
Reese sauntered over to the table, planning her strategy. It was true there was probably no way she could beat him on strength alone. Especially since she hadn’t seen the inside of a gym…ever. But it wasn’t hopeless or she wouldn’t have suggested it.
As a kid, she had always provoked her brothers during the match by making faces at them.
Ryan had laughed and lost his grip on her hand every single time, allowing her to take advantage and win.
Riley had run about fifty-fifty, and with Rick, her oldest brother, she had soon learned not to challenge him at all. He had never even blinked.
Sticking her tongue up into her nostril was probably out of the question in front of Knight, but the theory still applied. She just needed a different tactic.
One that didn’t require her to taste snot.
Rolling up the sleeve of her robe, she eyed him.
He looked amused. “Oh, are we that serious then? Maybe I should take my sweatshirt off.”
Now there was an unexpected perk. Trying not to pant, she said, “Suit yourself.”
“Not that I think I need it.” Knight leaned back and crossed his arms, grabbed his sweatshirt, and ripped it over his head in one motion.
Dammit, he had a T-shirt on under there. Reese sucked her breath in and swallowed hard. It was still a mighty nice view, full of tight cotton, rippling muscles, and a holster strapped across his shoulder with his gun tucked into it. Which should alarm her, but somehow didn’t.
Fourteen months was too long to go without an orgasm. She was turned on by a flipping white T-shirt. If he showed her any skin, there was no telling what she might do. Whimpering was coming to mind.
As he casually tossed his sweatshirt onto her bed—her bed, for hell’s sake—she took the seat across from him. His elbow was back on the table, he was leaning forward, his fingers stretched up and fidgeting.
“Ready when you are.”
She put her own right elbow on the table and lined it up with his. He didn’t wait. Strong fingers enveloped hers, clasping her tightly with a warm naked squeeze. The gasp she’d been planning to fake wasn’t fake at all, but painfully real. Deep, gut-wrenching, tingling, mushy real.
Knight was doing an extended version of the previous nostril flare.
“On the count of three,” she managed to say, her voice coming out husky and laced with fuck-me tones she hadn’t even known she was capable of making.
His thumb wrapped tight, but his fingers drummed across her knuckles.
Reese leaned closer, shifting in her chair.
He had a little bit of chin stubble, not noticeable until she was this close because it was lighter than his hair.
The rough fawn colored beard made her want to reach out and scratch it, digging her soft fingertips into that masculine hardness.
“One.” As she shifted her shoulder forward, her robe split open, offering a hint of cleavage.
“Two.” She slid her tongue out and moistened her lips, with deliberation and agonizing slowness.
Knight’s hand relaxed as he watched her, his jaw clenched.
Reese sighed a little, drawing her breath quickly back in, causing her chest to rise and fall. She gave a deep lean. A sharp hiss came from Knight, his eyes plastered to her chest.
She tossed her hair back and caught a flash of the top of her breast through the corner of her eye. He had to see it, too, since his gaze hadn’t moved a quarter of an inch.
“Three.” Reese squeezed hard, pushed with everything she had in her, and dropped his arm to the table before he could even react.
She pulled her hand out of his slack grip and indulged in a little gloating as he sat there stunned. “Ha, ha! Told you I could beat you.”
“Hey, I wasn’t ready.”
“Oh, don’t give me that. It’s not just about strength, it’s about reflexes. I was obviously quicker.” She grinned at him, enjoying the sour look on his face.
“You cheated,” he accused.
“How?” she asked innocently.
“By flashing me.”
“What? What are you talking about?” She sat back and crossed her leg over her knee, swinging it up and down.
“Your robe gaped and it distracted me.”
“I’m not responsible for your being distracted. If you can’t keep your mind on the game, it’s not my fault.” Reese stood up and pulled the belt on her robe tighter, trying not to grin in triumph and probably not succeeding.
“So I win the bet and I get the scoop on the drug story.”
“I want a rematch.”
“Yeah, because you lost. I’m not falling for that.”
Knight ran his fingers through his caramel colored hair and shook his head. “You’re nothing but a con artist.”
She leaned over him, propping herself up on the table. “That’s the risk you take. That’s why they call it gambling, Knight.”
It was meant to be fun, additional rubbing of his face in the loss. She expected him to persist in a rematch. Or to laugh. But more likely to protest, argue, and further amuse her with his annoyance.
Instead, he said, “I knew you weren’t wearing a bra. And there isn’t a stitch of flannel on you anywhere.”
Then his finger reached out and hooked around the trim of her robe. One little tug and he had pulled it back until the swell of her breast was showing, his eyes dark and edgy.
She blushed. From surprise, a hint of embarrassment, and most of all from hot jolting desire that reached deeper inside that robe than his finger was. All the way inside, snaking everywhere until her body pulsed and throbbed and burned with it.
“What the hell are you doing?” she said, with forced indignation.
“Confirming that I can’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”
“Given that lackluster display of arm wrestling, I guess that wouldn’t be too far.” She held on to her control with a great deal of effort. It was tempting to just tumble herself into his lap, which was so inviting, hard, and denim.
With a bulge that wasn’t a gun.
Oh, damn, she wanted that.
“You’re a real comedienne. You want to see how strong I am?” He stood up fast, surprising her, his thighs coming awe-inspiringly close to her mouth.
His chest brushed her arm as he stretched to his full height, which was a good eight inches more than her five foot six. He filled the space around her, smothering her with his largeness, his broad chest eye level.
She stayed bent over, refusing to admit how flustered she was. And hot. Was terry cloth flammable? If it was, she was dead because any second now a fire was about to ignite between them.
“I’m not interested, Knight. All I want to know is how much information you’re going to give me about Delco Pharmaceutical.” It just about cost her her soul to spit out those words that were nothing more than total bullshit.
His mouth was next to her ear, his fingers brushing her hair back off her cheek as he drew her to a standing position. She shivered as he said, “Uh-uh-uh. You’re doing it again. Lying to me.”
“You can’t prove it.”
Lips grazed along her jaw, forcing her to gasp against her will, her eyes fluttering shut like some newly awakened virgin. Reese completely, one hundred percent appreciated the fact that she was a woman, despite what her father wanted to think.
“Want to bet?”
Then he shifted and kissed her.