The Player's Club: Lincoln by Cathy Yardley Page A

you want the wine?” she asked stupidly.
    He nodded, his face getting closer to hers. “Yeah. But it can wait.”
    With that, he leaned down and kissed her…softly at first, his lips just brushing hers, as if he had all the time in the world and nothing more he’d rather do to kill a few hours. She sighed against him.
    What this man could do with his mouth…
    All their previous kisses had been fast, furious, almost violent—an explosion of passion, almost against their respective wills. This time, he’d obviously made a deliberate choice. He was courting her, giving her plenty of time and space to pull back, if she wanted to.
    She didn’t want to, she decided, as her hands smoothed up his shirt and her fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer. And she was going to make a choice of her own.
    As she pressed herself against him, the kiss went deeper. She parted her lips for his tongue, advancing with the same gentle relentlessness that had opened the kiss to start with. It was like a sigh, soft and sweet and comforting. Then, by degrees, it went hotter, a steeping simmer that was working its way to a boil.
    She worked her fingers into his hair, tugging his head to hers…rubbing her body against his as a way to somehow balm the unholy tension that was slowly building in her system. He groaned against her mouth, and she felt his body go hard against her stomach. Shamelessly, she rubbed against his fly as her nipples hardened against her bra and she felt herself go wet.
    “Lincoln,” she gasped, pulling away to draw a deep, fortifying breath. “Lincoln…”
    He tugged her up, lifting her as if she were weightless and putting her down on the countertop. He stood between her legs—the difference in height was negligible now, and she could feel his hardness between her thighs, against her core. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her taut against him, and her nails scored his shirt as she wound her legs around his waist.
    They were boiling over. He tugged at her blouse, and she found herself yanking at it, vaguely recognizing the plinking sounds of buttons as they hit the hardwood floor. She nipped at his lower lip, her body shivering at the deliciously erotic growl that he emitted as a result. His hands moved up to cup her breasts, and she arched her back…
    And promptly hit her head on one of the cabinets.
    “Ow,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her head.
    He laughed, and in that moment, he looked ten years younger. “Maybe the kitchen’s not the right place for this.”
    “Oh? And where’s the right place?” As if she didn’t know.
    Without another word, he scooped her up, her legs still anchored around his waist. He carried her the short distance to her bedroom, nibbling on her neck the entire time until she was trembling with desire.
    Do I really want to sleep with this man?
    Oh, yes, she reassured herself, as he placed her gently on her brocade comforter and stretched out next to her. Yes, I really, really do.
    They resumed kissing, and he helped her shrug out of the remnants of her ruined, buttonless blouse. When he leaned down and started suckling her through the lace of her bra, she made a little mewling sound of pleasure. “Don’t stop. Don’t…”
    She felt him tug up the hem of her skirt, pushing the small barrier of the thong out of the way. Slowly, delicately, he parted her already damp flesh, pressing first one, then two fingers into her. She moaned, her hips rising up to meet him as he went deeper.
    The feeling of his mouth latched on to her, making deep, pulling sucks on her breast as his fingers delved deep inside her, blindsided her. She came in a quick, surprised burst, shuddering against him as she flooded him with wetness.
    When the tremors stopped, she glanced at him. He was smiling at her, a wonderful, carefree, pleased smile.
    “That was one hell of an appetizer,” she whispered, reaching for him. “Now, let’s see what you do with dinner.”
    He took a deep