been wearing these since yesterday morning.”
She glanced over and seriously wished she hadn’t. Were those...yeah. He was a black boxer brief man. No tighty-whities for this alpha male...and seeing his underwear made it crystal clear he was commando beneath that terry cloth.
Braden cleared his throat, and she realized he’d turned and was staring at her. Great. Way to really hold her ground about not getting intimate when she’s caught staring at the man’s underwear.
“What’s this?” he asked, motioning down to her stash.
She ignored the items she’d brought up from the kitchen and continued to stare up at him as if having a conversation wearing only a towel were perfectly normal.
“So you’re going to be like this until your clothes dry?” She motioned with her finger up and down his body.
Clutching one side of the towel over one very muscular, very exposed thigh, Braden shrugged. “I can lose the towel, but I thought you’d be more comfortable like this.”
Zara rolled her eyes. The man was proving to be impossible to resist, and she truly didn’t know how much longer she could hold out.
“I’m comfortable with your clothes on,” she muttered. “Anyway, I thought we could play cards, and since I’m not one to gamble, I brought up pretzel sticks we can use instead.”
He quirked a brow. “You play poker?”
Zara laughed. “You didn’t know my grandmother. That woman could outwit the best of the best when it came to seven-card stud. She taught me how to play when I was still learning how to write my name.”
Braden quirked his brow, then headed over to the chaise and pulled off the blanket she used to sleep with. He wrapped it around his waist and sank to the floor in front of her.
That bare chest with dark hair and just a bit of ink showing over his shoulder held her captive, and she would have to concentrate on this game if she wanted to control her urge to rip that blanket and towel from his deliciously sculpted body.
“Can you play?” she asked, pulling the cards from the box.
Piercing eyes held hers. “I can play whatever game you want.”
Of course he could, and he could make everything sound sexual with that low, intense tone that had her stomach doing flips.
When she offered the cards to him to shuffle, he waved a hand. “Ladies first.”
Shuffling them with quick, precise movements, Zara finally felt comfortable. Cards was something she could handle, something she could somewhat control. A hobby of hers from long ago, she hadn’t played for a while, but she needed the distraction, and there was only so much they could do stuck in this room.
“What’s the ante?” he asked, tearing open the bag of pretzels.
“Your choice.”
“Ten.”
Zara dealt their first hand while he counted out twenty pretzel sticks for each of them. As soon as she laid down the door card, she smiled when his was lower than hers.
“Your bet,” she told him.
He smirked. “I’m aware of the rules.”
“Just making sure you know you’re dealing with a professional.”
There. Maybe if she kept throwing verbiage out like that, he wouldn’t be so determined to cross territory they could never return from.
Braden raised the bet, but Zara didn’t think he had anything worth raising for. She’d call him on his bluff. He had a poker face, that was for sure. No doubt he’d used that same straight, stoic look in the business world. As the oldest son of the late Patrick O’Shea, Braden had big shoes to fill, and being the powerful man he was, he’d have no problem at all, Zara knew.
By the time the last card was dealt, Zara was looking at a full house with aces on top. Not the best hand, but still better than whatever he was lying about.
“I’ll raise you,” she told him, throwing in three more sticks.
When he flipped his cards over, Zara gripped her cards and simply stared. Seriously? She’d dealt him a flush? There hadn’t been a gleam in his eye one time during the entire game,
She glanced over and seriously wished she hadn’t. Were those...yeah. He was a black boxer brief man. No tighty-whities for this alpha male...and seeing his underwear made it crystal clear he was commando beneath that terry cloth.
Braden cleared his throat, and she realized he’d turned and was staring at her. Great. Way to really hold her ground about not getting intimate when she’s caught staring at the man’s underwear.
“What’s this?” he asked, motioning down to her stash.
She ignored the items she’d brought up from the kitchen and continued to stare up at him as if having a conversation wearing only a towel were perfectly normal.
“So you’re going to be like this until your clothes dry?” She motioned with her finger up and down his body.
Clutching one side of the towel over one very muscular, very exposed thigh, Braden shrugged. “I can lose the towel, but I thought you’d be more comfortable like this.”
Zara rolled her eyes. The man was proving to be impossible to resist, and she truly didn’t know how much longer she could hold out.
“I’m comfortable with your clothes on,” she muttered. “Anyway, I thought we could play cards, and since I’m not one to gamble, I brought up pretzel sticks we can use instead.”
He quirked a brow. “You play poker?”
Zara laughed. “You didn’t know my grandmother. That woman could outwit the best of the best when it came to seven-card stud. She taught me how to play when I was still learning how to write my name.”
Braden quirked his brow, then headed over to the chaise and pulled off the blanket she used to sleep with. He wrapped it around his waist and sank to the floor in front of her.
That bare chest with dark hair and just a bit of ink showing over his shoulder held her captive, and she would have to concentrate on this game if she wanted to control her urge to rip that blanket and towel from his deliciously sculpted body.
“Can you play?” she asked, pulling the cards from the box.
Piercing eyes held hers. “I can play whatever game you want.”
Of course he could, and he could make everything sound sexual with that low, intense tone that had her stomach doing flips.
When she offered the cards to him to shuffle, he waved a hand. “Ladies first.”
Shuffling them with quick, precise movements, Zara finally felt comfortable. Cards was something she could handle, something she could somewhat control. A hobby of hers from long ago, she hadn’t played for a while, but she needed the distraction, and there was only so much they could do stuck in this room.
“What’s the ante?” he asked, tearing open the bag of pretzels.
“Your choice.”
“Ten.”
Zara dealt their first hand while he counted out twenty pretzel sticks for each of them. As soon as she laid down the door card, she smiled when his was lower than hers.
“Your bet,” she told him.
He smirked. “I’m aware of the rules.”
“Just making sure you know you’re dealing with a professional.”
There. Maybe if she kept throwing verbiage out like that, he wouldn’t be so determined to cross territory they could never return from.
Braden raised the bet, but Zara didn’t think he had anything worth raising for. She’d call him on his bluff. He had a poker face, that was for sure. No doubt he’d used that same straight, stoic look in the business world. As the oldest son of the late Patrick O’Shea, Braden had big shoes to fill, and being the powerful man he was, he’d have no problem at all, Zara knew.
By the time the last card was dealt, Zara was looking at a full house with aces on top. Not the best hand, but still better than whatever he was lying about.
“I’ll raise you,” she told him, throwing in three more sticks.
When he flipped his cards over, Zara gripped her cards and simply stared. Seriously? She’d dealt him a flush? There hadn’t been a gleam in his eye one time during the entire game,
Similar Books
