reached up to undo the top button of her waistcoat. Adam Baswich actually sat forward, his gaze on her hands. “Oh, wait a moment. I nearly forgot,” she continued, and reached up to untie the ribbon holding her hair in its long ponytail. “Now the field is level.”
Brief surprise and appreciation crossed his expression. “Well done, chit.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Shake out your hair.”
Deeper arousal spread through her, down to her most intimate place. She slowly shook out her hair, drawing her fingers through the red waves to settle the mass down her back and across her shoulders. “Like that?”
“Yes. Very like that.”
Her hands shaking even more noticeably, she gathered the aces and shuffled them back into the deck. “You first,” she said, placing the cards back on the table.
Adam reached out, brushing a finger across her knuckle, and turned over the two of clubs. “Don’t even bother,” he said as she went to pick up a card of her own, and he bent down to pull off his last stocking. Straightening, he dropped it to the polished floor.
“Next hand?” she asked.
When he gave a brusque nod, Sophia took a breath and cut the deck. This time she turned over the four of clubs.
“Thank Lucifer,” he muttered, and quickly reached over to select his card. “Eight,” he said, at the same time showing her the eight of diamonds. “The waistcoat.”
The low, intimate rumble made her damp. Her mouth abruptly dry, she took a large swallow of brandy and then went to work on the quintet of buttons running down her front.
“Slower.”
Evidently he’d lost the ability to speak in full sentences. Then again, so had she. Slowing her fumbling with the wrong-sided buttons, Sophia kept her gaze on Adam’s face, watching his expression as intense gray eyes followed every motion of her fingers. It made her feel … powerful. In some things, it didn’t matter if a man was a duke or a groom. Desire was desire, and it was all intoxicating. She could practically feel the heat and weight of him on her already, his warm breath in her ear, the pounding of their hearts.
Finally the last button came free, and she shrugged out of the garment, letting it fall behind her in the chair. The buds of her nipples showed plainly through the thin white shirt covering them, and she heard his intake of breath.
“Pick a card,” he said, his tone making it more an order than a suggestion.
Not bothering to shuffle first, she went into the middle of the deck and selected a card. Lowering her gaze from his, she looked at the card. Good heavens . Someone had a sense of humor, she decided as she showed it to him. The eight of clubs. Right in the middle. Even odds as to whether he or she was about to remove a very important piece of clothing. “Well, this is interesting,” he murmured, clearly making the same assessment she had. Then he turned the top card remaining on the deck and flipped it faceup so they could both see it at the same time.
The king of hearts gazed up at her.
FIVE
As a gambling man Adam reckoned the odds favored Sophia pulling off that damned shirt, but she’d already surprised him so many times over the course of the evening that he couldn’t be certain. Likely some witty comment was called for, but all the blood had left his brain half an hour ago. “Well?” was the best he could manage.
Women didn’t discomfit him like this. They didn’t arouse him to the degree that he wasn’t entirely certain he could shift in his chair without ruining both his trousers and very likely the evening. He was the definition of jaded, and had even had a female or two tell him that to his face. Yes, he enjoyed sex, and he engaged in the act frequently. But he didn’t lose all cognitive abilities while the chit still had her clothes on.
He could admit that this was a slightly different experience, in that Sophia White was neither an actress or opera singer who relied on the good graces of her gentleman
Brief surprise and appreciation crossed his expression. “Well done, chit.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Shake out your hair.”
Deeper arousal spread through her, down to her most intimate place. She slowly shook out her hair, drawing her fingers through the red waves to settle the mass down her back and across her shoulders. “Like that?”
“Yes. Very like that.”
Her hands shaking even more noticeably, she gathered the aces and shuffled them back into the deck. “You first,” she said, placing the cards back on the table.
Adam reached out, brushing a finger across her knuckle, and turned over the two of clubs. “Don’t even bother,” he said as she went to pick up a card of her own, and he bent down to pull off his last stocking. Straightening, he dropped it to the polished floor.
“Next hand?” she asked.
When he gave a brusque nod, Sophia took a breath and cut the deck. This time she turned over the four of clubs.
“Thank Lucifer,” he muttered, and quickly reached over to select his card. “Eight,” he said, at the same time showing her the eight of diamonds. “The waistcoat.”
The low, intimate rumble made her damp. Her mouth abruptly dry, she took a large swallow of brandy and then went to work on the quintet of buttons running down her front.
“Slower.”
Evidently he’d lost the ability to speak in full sentences. Then again, so had she. Slowing her fumbling with the wrong-sided buttons, Sophia kept her gaze on Adam’s face, watching his expression as intense gray eyes followed every motion of her fingers. It made her feel … powerful. In some things, it didn’t matter if a man was a duke or a groom. Desire was desire, and it was all intoxicating. She could practically feel the heat and weight of him on her already, his warm breath in her ear, the pounding of their hearts.
Finally the last button came free, and she shrugged out of the garment, letting it fall behind her in the chair. The buds of her nipples showed plainly through the thin white shirt covering them, and she heard his intake of breath.
“Pick a card,” he said, his tone making it more an order than a suggestion.
Not bothering to shuffle first, she went into the middle of the deck and selected a card. Lowering her gaze from his, she looked at the card. Good heavens . Someone had a sense of humor, she decided as she showed it to him. The eight of clubs. Right in the middle. Even odds as to whether he or she was about to remove a very important piece of clothing. “Well, this is interesting,” he murmured, clearly making the same assessment she had. Then he turned the top card remaining on the deck and flipped it faceup so they could both see it at the same time.
The king of hearts gazed up at her.
FIVE
As a gambling man Adam reckoned the odds favored Sophia pulling off that damned shirt, but she’d already surprised him so many times over the course of the evening that he couldn’t be certain. Likely some witty comment was called for, but all the blood had left his brain half an hour ago. “Well?” was the best he could manage.
Women didn’t discomfit him like this. They didn’t arouse him to the degree that he wasn’t entirely certain he could shift in his chair without ruining both his trousers and very likely the evening. He was the definition of jaded, and had even had a female or two tell him that to his face. Yes, he enjoyed sex, and he engaged in the act frequently. But he didn’t lose all cognitive abilities while the chit still had her clothes on.
He could admit that this was a slightly different experience, in that Sophia White was neither an actress or opera singer who relied on the good graces of her gentleman
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