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Mace grinned sourly and shut the door. Well, hell. It was killing him after four days to keep his hands off Sierra. The team had gelled with one another, and she was like a kid sister to everyone except him. Mace couldn’t think of Sierra except in terms of the woman he wanted in his bed, wanted to love, to share that heat he saw burning sometimes in her eyes.
He’d thrown on a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans but had remained barefoot as he wandered into her room. Good to her word, Sierra had pulled out the small, rectangular mahogany desk. She had set the two chairs on either side of it. The board fit perfectly. He saw the excitement in her eyes, that look of challenge he always saw in a sniper’s expression. “You’re out for blood,” he drawled, sitting down.
“Does it show?” and she laughed and sat opposite him. “Here, pick one tile. Whoever has the letter closest to Z, gets to go first.”
“Are there any rules?” he asked, taking the black fabric bag from her.
“Well, the normal ones that come with Scrabble. Why?”
“Because when I played, we always had pennies on the side and for whatever the person named their price, we could buy a tile.”
She gave him a horrified look. “Oh, no. No, we play by official Scrabble rules.”
He chuckled and put the tile he’d drawn from the bag on the board. “Well, well,” he murmured. “I got a Z. How about that?”
“Geeze,” Sierra muttered darkly, “I can see where the energy on this round is going. You must have Irish luck, Kilmer.”
“Hasn’t Nate or Cale told you yet never to play poker with me?” he inquired mildly, blindly selecting seven tiles from the pouch. He handed it back to her. She dove her hand into the bag and drew her own seven tiles. They both started to switch around their tiles on the wooden racks in front of them into an order known only to themselves.
“No,” she grumped, giving him a worried look.
“Do you play poker?”
“No.”
“Do you want to bet money on this game?” he asked, watching Sierra closely.
“No way.”
“Okay,” he said as he watched her daintily rearrange the tiles on the rack, “I have to bet something.” He saw her eyes widen. And he also saw how happy she was. It made him feel good inside.
“Why do you have to bet, Kilmer? Why can’t you just enjoy the challenge of the game? Isn’t that enough?”
“No,” he said, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Okay, so you don’t like to bet with money. How about we bet on some THING?”
Frowning, she stared at him. “Like what?”
“Oh,” he murmured, giving a lazy shrug, “how about something like the winner gets to kiss the other person?”
Shocked, she stared at him, her lips parting. “Mace!”
“What?” he asked innocently. His grin grew and he saw her cheeks flame a deep pink. “I’d like that bet.”
Nervously, she moved around in the chair, her scowl deepening. “Well…,” and she chewed on her lower lip. Her arms wrapped around her chest, and she stared hard at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack,” he said, keeping his voice little more than a growl. Mace had seen her wanting to kiss him a number of times. Now, this was a way to strategically get her in a corner and have her do just that. It gave Sierra a reason that she could live with.
“It would be just one kiss,” he said, trying to look innocent.
“That’s if YOU win,” she accused.
“Right. What do you want if you win?” She looked like she was about to come out of her skin, and he laughed inwardly. The constantly, cool, calm Sierracouldbe shaken up. And he saw her thinking about it.
“Notto kiss you,” she said defiantly. “And I WILL win.”
He chuckled indulgently. “Okay, then it should be easy for you to make that kind of deal with me.” He thrust his hand out to her. “Deal?” He saw Sierra freeze for a moment. One way or another, he was going to kiss her. Mace felt he knew her well enough by now that, out on duty, Sierra would be fine.
Sierra grabbed his hand and shook it. “Okay,” she muttered darkly, “deal.”
