Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(66)

And grinned.

“You’re right. Two,” she said.




HE CHUCKLED AGAINST her lips. He knew she was smiling. He could feel the curve of her lips under his own, but the sensation of her wide, soft lips curving against his fought for supremacy in a riot of sensations from the rasp of her jeans against his thigh, to the surge of desire pulsing through his veins.

He had no idea how they’d gone from contemplating pizza to practically sprawling on the kitchen table, but it was beyond his capacity to think about anything other than that wicked gleam in her hazel eyes or the light nip she’d just given him.

He didn’t know this Liz. The Liz he’d known was lovely, appealing. Predictable.

This Liz was sensual. Passionate. Focused in a way that was uniquely Liz but bowling him over with heat and intensity.

She was a fire in his hands, in his blood, and he struggled to keep up with the need that flashed hot and bright within him, seemed matched by her own breathless assault.

His lips hovered over hers. “What are we doing?” he gasped between kisses. “I’m covered in paint.”

“Me, too.” She giggled and squirmed and Carter lost the will to protest as she pulled off his battered, paint-spattered ball cap and tossed it in the corner.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Somehow taking Liz Beacon on her kitchen table didn’t seem right. Didn’t seem real. He looked around for a slightly more padded surface. “We should stop. Or pause...”

“No.”

He laughed then, relishing the give of her body as he pressed himself into her soft curves. Just no. She didn’t ask why they should stop. She didn’t agree with him. She’d simply stated in that firm, business-like, Liz Beacon way, ‘no.’ And, how could he argue with that?

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered hoarsely, fumbling with his fly.

His eyebrow arched at her command, but he grinned, too. Picking her up despite her squeal of surprise, he sat her on the edge of the table, toed off his sneakers and pulled his T-shirt over his head. He was still half-dressed, but he felt more naked than he ever had in his life.

She was quiet, her lips full and pink and well-kissed as she stared at the bulge in his shorts. Then her eyes flashed up to his and he saw the moment of uncertainty there.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said.

Christ, could they? Suddenly he realized heavy petting was all they’d be doing if she wasn’t prepared. And why would she be? It wasn’t as if she’d been expecting him to jump her bones on the kitchen table while the paint dried on their brushes.

Great. Now, he was a half-naked horny guy with an obvious erection, and she was probably wondering how she got herself into this. He bent to rebutton his cargo shorts.

She reached out a hand to stop him. “Don’t.”

“I don’t have anything on me,” he said. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something.

“Are you clean?”

“I beg your pardon?”

She blushed furiously, her cheeks brilliant as she repeated the question. “I know you tend to be fairly popular with women. I just...”

“I’m clean,” he said. “And the rumors of my popularity are highly inflated.” He gave her a look. “I’m careful,” he said, when he saw she wasn’t amused.

“I’m sorry, but these days you have to ask.”

He tipped her chin until she’d meet his eyes again. “You?”

She laughed, a self-conscious burst. “Are you kidding? I’d have to have sex—” but she cut herself off before finishing the sentence. “I mean, it’s not that I’m— I mean, I’ve had sex…”

Carter stroked her arm with his fingertips and chuckled. “I’m not thinking you’re frigid if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m more thinking I’m standing here thinking thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking because I’ve got no way to follow through on them.”

“I have protection,” she blurted. “In my purse.” They looked at her purse on the window sill. “So we can. If you want to.”

“You have to ask?”

But, she didn’t laugh. Instead she let out a long breath and glanced out the slider, her arms across her chest. “I’m sorry. This is so awkward now.”

Carter nodded. “You’ve changed your mind. That’s cool.” He reached for his shirt.

“No!” She protested. “It’s just... the whole responsible conversation kind of takes the wind out of the sails of being irresponsible, doesn’t it?” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

“You want to be irresponsible.”

“Responsibly, yes.”

He grinned. “Strangely, I think I understood that. Okay, how about we do something to put us back in the mood?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. A game?”

“A game.”

“Isn’t that what horny teenagers do? Truth or Dare? Spin the Bottle?”

“We’re not thirteen.”

“Don’t look so skeptical. It’ll work. Truth or Dare. Have you ever played?”

“No.”

“Then it’s about time.” He winked. “But I’ll be nice. I’ll let you go first.”