Page 13 of Deep Pockets


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“Underground gambling. Running from the cops. You’re a regular rebel.”

She gives a delicate snort. “For two hours, maybe.”

“For two hours, so far,” I amend. “The night isn’t over yet.”

One eyebrow rises. “Haven’t you ever heard of quitting while you’re ahead?”

“That’s not how I play, Eva. I’d rather double down.”

That earns me an eye roll. “You’re such a smooth talker.”

“Do you prefer it rough?” I ask, my tone innocent.

She gives me a glare across the stick shift that I assume is supposed to be intimidating. I just find it sexy. I want her to look at me that way while she rides me. I want her to challenge me to make her come while she tries her best not to.

God, victory will be sweet.

Except I’m not going to make her come.

She’s not going to ride me.

Not tonight. And probably not ever if she knows what’s good for her. It’s just as well that she’s not known for one-night stands. That way I won’t be tempted.

Right, Hughes. Keep telling yourself that.

Eva Morelli isn’t the kind of woman you fuck and walk away from.

She’s the kind of woman you keep.

And me? I’m a Hughes. Whether we love them or not, we sure as hell leave them.

One way or the other.

It takes her a couple blocks to realize we’re heading north instead of east.

Her gaze goes to me. “Your house?”

Something pangs in my heart. My house. She’s not asking if she’s going to take a tour of the Hughes estate. She’s asking whether I’m going to seduce her.

I don’t take women to my home.

The idea of Eva there makes my chest feel tight.

“My yacht.”

A smile twitches her lips. “Your yacht.”

“Surely you’ve heard of them. Your family owns several.”

“Is this how you impress the ladies?”

“I don’t need a large boat to impress the ladies. I already have a very large—”

“Thank you, Mr. Hughes. That will be all.”

“I was going to say very large jet skis,” I say, all innocence. “Though I do appreciate the way you got all hot schoolteacher on me. All prim and commanding. It will be that much more fun when I finally bend you over the desk.”

A gasp. And then a laugh. “You are a rascal.”

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