Big Shot(18)

“Are you going to let me in, or did you change your mind about needing me tonight?”

Amusement tinged Natalie’s voice, and why not, considering his jaw had been literally hanging open in shock. He shut his mouth and lifted his gaze back to her face, not missing the daring glint in her brilliant blue eyes that told him she was going to make his life hell tonight. He was supposed to be the one in charge and calling the shots with this bet, but he should have known that this minx would put her own special twist on tonight’s request to be a hostess at the poker game.

“No, I haven’t changed my mind,” he said, and opened the door wider for her to enter. Somehow, someway, he’d deal with her fantasy-inducing costume. “Come in and I’ll get you started on things in the kitchen.”

She sashayed past him into his house with a satisfied grin on those pink, glossy lips he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since their kiss two nights ago. Knowing the layout of his place since she’d been there before, she headed in the direction he’d indicated. He followed her, watching the luxurious fall of her dark, wavy hair bounce against her back with every step she took.

“What do you want me to do first?” she asked when they arrived in the kitchen and she turned around to face him.

How about getting on your knees, parting those soft, f*ckable lips and . . . Shit, shit, shit. Wes shut down that train of thought before it could fully form and forced his attention to the prep work he had waiting for her.

“You can put those bottles of beer in that steel tub and cover them with ice so they’re cold when the guys get here,” he said, pointing to the items he’d left on the counter, while trying not to let his gaze drop below her chin . . . and God, it was so f*cking hard not to give in to that male instinct to take another peek at the lush swell of those breasts that were taunting him. “And I bought some appetizers that you’ll need to put in the oven to heat up so they’ll be ready about eight. Everything is in the freezer drawer at the bottom of the fridge.”

“Okay.” She walked to the refrigerator in those f*ck-me heels, and with her legs deliberately locked straight, she bent at the waist to open the freezer drawer to retrieve the items.

He watched in fascination—God, he couldn’t look away even if someone was holding a gun to his head—as the hem of her skirt rode up, flashing him with the creamiest expanse of thigh and black silky panties smoothed over the curve of her luscious ass. His shaft throbbed relentlessly, and swallowing the groan rising in his throat, he made a quick executive decision to save what was left of his rapidly dwindling sanity.

“You can’t wear that outfit tonight,” he blurted out.

She set the prepackaged appetizers on the counter, her eyes wide with a feigned innocence. “Why not?”

He braced his hands on his hips. “Your brother is going to flip his shit if he sees you in that risqué costume.” Connor had always been protective of Natalie, even more so since that * ex of hers had cheated on her. This situation did not bode well for Wes at all. He could feel it in his gut.

“That’s your problem. Not mine,” she said without concern for his well-being when it came to her brother’s displeasure.

She bent at the waist again as she looked through the bottom cupboards until she came across his baking sheets, and thank God she straightened before he could give in to the urge to run his palm over her perfectly toned ass she was waving like a red flag in front of a horny bull and maybe slide his fingers between her thighs and along the silky crotch of her panties while he was at it . . .

He exhaled sharply, which did nothing to subdue the agitation building inside him or ease the sexual frustration tightening around his balls like a vise. “How do you figure it’s my problem?”

She turned his oven on to preheat, then opened a package of pizza rolls and dumped them onto one of the baking sheets. “You wanted a maid, so I’m going to look and act the part.” She shrugged her shoulders, causing her breasts to jiggle enticingly.

His jaw clenched so hard it hurt as he watched her casually cut open a bag of frozen buffalo wings and arrange them on another tray. “I said a hostess, not a f*cking French maid.”

She glanced at him, a dark brow arching derisively over those bewitching blue eyes. “Yeah, well, considering what you want me to do tonight—cook, serve you guys, clean up your messes afterward—being a maid is a more apt description. Besides, I didn’t bring anything else to wear.”

He was desperate enough to get her out of that distracting costume to offer up his own clothing. “I’ll give you one of my T-shirts and a pair of sweats.”

She added the jalape?o poppers to the last baking sheet and tried to hide what looked suspiciously like a devious smile as she looked his way again. “Since this costume has a built-in bra, I’m not wearing one, and I don’t want my breasts bouncing beneath a thin cotton T-shirt.”

Neither did he, and especially not in front of Max, Kyle, and her brother. Jesus, she was killing him. Daring him, as if she knew he couldn’t handle her traipsing around in that skimpy costume without thinking about all the filthy things he wanted to do to her while she wore the French maid dress.

He hated that she was winning this battle of wills, but since there was no changing her mind, or her outfit, he was forced to yield this round to her.

“Fine,” he said, though he did have one concession to add. “Just please stop bending over in that costume because it flashes your ass.”