A woman like Quincy Wells could have any man she wants, but here I am sitting across from her. It’s a chance that I’ll never squander.
“You do look delectable tonight,” my voice is a gentle rumble, streaked with need.
She hears it from the way she shivers slightly and her brown eyes darken. I fucking love seeing that look on her face.
I love her.
Her eyes roam over my shoulders and the way my cut wraps around me. Her voice drops an octave, turning sultry, “You look pretty good yourself.”
Trying not to preen is fucking impossible. The way she smiles at me is worth it. Over dinner we talk about nothing. About everything.
I tell her stories about my brothers which make her laugh. She tells me about shooting in locations which left her exhausted, but inspired in new ways. I’m hanging on every word because it’s impossible not to.
“When I went out to the cliffs to shoot a scene,” her voice is wistful, “I felt so small. So insignificant when compared against something so massive, something that is beauty without trying and that simply exists.” Her mouth turns down and I hate it. “I think it’s when I really started to take stock of who I am and what I want.”
I make a humming sound, biting my tongue because I want to tell her right where she belongs. But that’s not the plan. I need time to show her; it’s the only way she’ll trust it.
And I know just how to get her to agree to a chance for this to be real.
I’ve already told her this is real, but I can almost feel her trying to justify what she thinks is coming next, before it’s happened, because she wants to guard her heart.
I get it, but I’m not letting her get away with it. Not today, not ever.
When we’re done, I pull her chair out and offer her my hand. The way she slips her hand into mine without hesitation now, like it’s natural, has my heart clenching.
She stands, her eyes freezing me in place. “Take me back to my room and fuck me until I forget my name and what it feels like to be under all of those lights,” she demands, but I can hear the plea underneath it.
The way she wants to forget.
Theway she wants it all to drift away.
I can give that to her.
As I lead her out of the restaurant and then up to her room, the tension builds between us with every breath we take. I don’t look away from her the entire time, my focus intent and filled with everything I’m afraid she won’t hear.
Not yet.
When we enter her room, I pull a pack of cards out of my cut and grin at her. “How about one more hand?”
I try, fucking try, to keep the question innocent.
Quincy’s eyebrow arches as she puts her hands on her hips. “What’s the bet? I can’t imagine you playing for chips.”
It’s not an accusation, not quite, but it’s damn close.
I can’t help but smirk, and the way my woman’s eyes heat is sexy as fuck. With a shrug of my shoulder, I offer, “You win, you go back to LA tomorrow like you planned.”
Somehow, her eyebrow manages to crawl even higher toward her hairline. “And if you win?” I can hear the suspicion in her question, but I’m not deterred.
“I win?” She nods slowly and then licks her lips. “You stay here.”
Her eyes widen as silence stretches between us. There’s the challenge of what I’ve just proposed, but there’s something more here too. She’s afraid of both outcomes. So am I, but I’m also confident the cards will fall on my side.
She pulls out a chair and sits at the small table while nodding to the other chair. “Okay, Ace,” she giggles at the glare I send her way with the use of my road name, “you deal.”
I take a deep breath while I sit. It’s hard not to look at her and only her while I shuffle and deal. When I look at my hole cards, I’m notthrilled, but hopefully I can work with them. Quincy gives nothing away and I fall a little deeper in love with her.
The flop helps, and at least I have something to show for all my bravado. It might win. It might not.
