What Happened in Vegas...

And hot. Don’t forget very hot.

“What time are your dinner plans?”

“My—” She stopped, remembering suddenly that she’d told him she had previous plans to avoid having dinner with him. A lot of good that did. She’d hoped to avoid the intimacy of a restaurant, the implication of any kind of relationship. But they’d been pretty cozy for the past hour at the bar, and nobody looking at them would mistake them for strangers. The chemistry between them still existed. Maybe even stronger than before because they both knew how good they were together.

That idea should send her scrambling for cover. She was supposed to be remembering that impulsive decisions led nowhere productive. She was supposed to be telling herself her job was at risk. She was supposed to be firmly on the side of the auction house.

Instead, she wanted Gideon.

Maybe it was the stories of his adventures. Maybe it was the reminder of the daring, sexually aware woman she’d been the last time she’d seen Gideon. He forced her to remember that she used to be outgoing. She used to have fun.

These days she was always paranoid about doing or saying the right thing. She focused on advancing her career, on networking with guys instead of appreciating their smile or noticing the breadth of their shoulders in their expensive suits.

In fact, she couldn’t remember the last date she’d been on. Why did doing her job well mean seriously neglecting her personal life?

She’d had relationships with a whopping two guys since leaving Vegas. There were a few itches that a woman needed to scratch every so often and so few men able to oblige.

At least not in the way she wanted.

Most of the guys she met either wanted one night of Playboy-quality sex—complete with toys and video cameras—or they wanted a wife and mother to their children as of yesterday. The typical guy who had partied and screwed around, and now he had the big corner office and important partnership. He wanted the picket fence in Connecticut, complete with a lovely, amiable wife, who’d give dinner parties and laugh at his boss’s jokes.

A lot of women with her background would leap over tall buildings in a single bound in order to get security like that. But the idea of letting somebody else guide her emotional and financial future scared the crap out of Jacinda. The idea of being a trophy wife, spending her life doing charity work and playing tennis, made her want to dart into the speeding traffic down Fifth Avenue.

With Gideon, she knew the sex would satisfy—and then some. But could the sex stay simple and fun? Could she keep him away from her job, and her job away from her past? Sure, he was going to complicate life at work with his emerald ownership claims.

But she wasn’t talking about a relationship. After his claims were either proven or discredited, he’d be gone again.

She’d already blurred the boundaries with him. Back in Vegas she’d slept with Gideon when any personal involvement with a customer could have gotten her fired. The temptation to do it again was palpable…Still, when he’d walked into her office today, she’d gone into a cold sweat worrying her past had caught up with her. Could she live with the constant threat of exposure?

He’d be at the office to launch his emerald claims whether they were involved or not. And maybe those discussions wouldn’t be quite so hostile if—

“That’s some pretty deep thinking going on,” he said, leaning close and breaking in to her argument with herself. “You don’t have dinner plans, do you?”

The no-strings-attached, itch-scratching moments with him were definitely numbered. The ownership issue would be resolved and Gideon would leave.

And she had a really sensitive spot just behind her ear….

She turned her head, relishing the heat of his stare, the interest and honesty in his eyes. “I do if you want to take me somewhere.”

THEY DECIDED to stay at the restaurant.

Within a couple of minutes of speaking to the maître d’, Gideon had arranged for an intimate table in the back corner, where they ordered shrimp and asparagus wraps, coconut soup and shrimp pad Thai.

Everything about tonight reminded him of why he’d been so attracted to her six years ago. Other than the obvious physical attributes—and those were certainly worth mentioning—she was witty, kind and smart as hell.

He loved watching her hair fall across her cheek when she leaned forward. He liked her directness and honesty—especially since he hadn’t been so truthful with her. And every time her eyes sparkled with laughter, he felt an answering tug of pleasure in his groin.

With each moment in her presence, he wanted her more. And with each moment that passed he forgot his mission, why he’d sought her out in the first place.

Emerald? Who needed a stinking emerald?

“So what are your plans, Gideon Nash?” Jacinda asked, holding her wineglass as she leaned back in the booth and the waiter whisked away the plates. “Other than the emerald, why are you in New York?”

“My plans are to recover the emerald. That’s the only reason I’m in the city.”

“And say you get it. What then?”

“Off to the next adventure.”

She snapped her fingers. “Like that.”

“My bag is always packed, just like I told you in Vegas. That hasn’t changed.” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t lie about everything.”

“You just lied about the money.”

He winced. Being reminded he’d been an ass wasn’t exactly normal date conversation.

Is that what this is? A date?

If so, where was it going from here? He knew where he’d like it to go, but jumping into bed again was chemical and instinctive. And fun. Tempting. Wildly satisfying.

But was it wise?

“Your family is here,” she said, breaking in to his thoughts. “You don’t live here?”

He shrugged, feeling the familiar weight of family obligations and opinions on his shoulders. “I live on the road. But I do own a brownstone in Midtown. I’m staying there while I’m here. It won’t be long.”

She ran her finger around the rim of her crystal glass, her relaxed posture opposing the tension that had jumped between them. “Confident you’ll get back the emerald?”

“It’s mine,” he said simply.

“Mmm. So you say.”

“You think I’d try to swindle you?” He narrowed his eyes. “To take something that’s not mine? You think I’d lie to benefit—” He stopped when her eyebrows rose into her hairline.

“Yourself?” She gave him a confident, half smile. “Especially since you’ve never lied before.”

He bowed his head. No escaping that one. “I was a jerk before. I should have told you the truth. I apologize again. I didn’t put any faith in you. Or in us. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to go away with me.”

“When would you have told me?”

Laying his hands on the table, he linked his fingers. He felt ashamed and unsure, two emotions he rarely experienced. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“I don’t think either of us thought beyond the moment that weekend.”

“A big part of the problem.”

She nodded. “We jumped over several steps in the dating game.”

He slid closer, then drew his finger down her thigh. “True. But fast isn’t always bad.” He grinned. “Not that I’m opposed to slow and easy.”

Her eyes widened, then she smiled. “I remember.”

“And I recall developing a taste for champagne that I hadn’t had before.”

“You licked it off nearly every inch of my body. I assumed you loved the stuff.”

He slid his hand over her knee, then drew it up, along her thigh and under her skirt. “I loved the taste of it on your skin.”

Her breathing hitched. She set her wineglass on the table.

His heart hammering, he leaned closer. His forehead brushed her hair as he spoke softly into her ear. “You have the softest skin.”

“You think so?” she asked, her voice high and strained.

His pulse jumped. The wild attraction he still felt was reciprocated. He wasn’t the only one veering way off his professional path and reliving their sensual history.

He glided his fingers up and down her thigh. Her skin heated beneath his touch. Her breathing quickened. He remembered those long, lean legs wrapped around his hips. He remembered them glistening with sweat, twitching in sensual need.

Drawing his hand higher on her leg, he moved closer to the juncture between her thighs. With the tip of his finger, he teased the edge of her panties. “I could make you forget your stress at work, even the conflict between us.” He slid his finger into her warmth, finding the button that would send her soaring easily and quickly.

She gripped the edge of the table. “Gideon…”

“Is that a warning or encouragement?” He stroked his finger up, then down. He moved so slowly he hoped her eyes were crossed. He couldn’t tell, of course, because she’d closed her lids.

To shut him out, or to better concentrate on the pleasure he was giving her?

The heat spilling off her body, pulsing against his fingers, had him holding his breath, anticipating her next sigh.

They were in a busy restaurant, staff and other customers just feet away, but that all fell away. There was only her. The woman he couldn’t seem to forget. The woman he, again, couldn’t resist.

“I think we should pick up where we left off,” he said quietly in her ear.

She gasped, her thighs clenching around his hand. “Wh—where was that?”

“Naked and horizontal.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.