Page 18 of The Trouble with Flings

He leans in, his hand warm on my thigh, and whispers, “You’ll tend to that later.”

A little thrill runs through me.

As we play, Lily and Dave whisper to each other, Katelyn and Marco are leaning over their cards like they’re strategizing a military campaign, and then there’s Fitz, as calm as a summer breeze, the heat of his hand on my upper thigh making it impossible to concentrate on anything other than wanting him to push those talented fingers under my dress, dignity be damned.

He slides me a coy smile and lifts his chin, as if to ask what I’m thinking about. But the devilish glint in his eyes tells me he already knows, which only makes me want it more.

Lily wins a round, and she jumps to her feet, doing a celebratory dance before throwing her arms around Dave and kissing the hell out of him. We all cheer her on, but a different type of jealousy rears up inside me with an ache to show my excitement like that with Fitz. It’s so outside of my norm to want that, I shove the thought away, writing it off as getting swept up in the excitement of the night.

Fitz and I share furtive looks and whisper innuendos as we play, while still trying to act like we’re part of the conversation with our friends, tossing in a laugh here and a comment there. But sometime during our heart-thrumming taunts, his fingertips have slipped beneath the hem of my dress, and every time I get excited over the game we’re bidding on, he strokes my bare thigh, stealing every bit of my attention. I receive his message as loud and clear as if he is saying Good girl every time I share my excitement.

I devour that praise, chasing more.

When Fitz wins a hand, Marco and Dave cheer him on, but his eyes land on me. “You’re my lucky charm.” He presses his smiling lips to mine in a far-too-appropriate kiss. Then he whispers, “I’ll thank you properly later,” sending rivers of anticipation flowing through me.

“If your luck lasts that long,” I tease.

Eventually Marco suggests trying our luck at the slot machines. We move in a chatty pack to the bar for more drinks, which Fitz declines, and then we buy cards to use at the slot machines, where more cheers and laughter ensue. When we make our way back to the tables, the bright roulette wheel reels us all in.

“Let’s go, Silver,” I say. “What’s your favorite color? Red or black?”

His gaze travels down my body, and he says, “Pink.”

“Great answer, but I’m serious. Should we bid on black or red?”

“Last night I was partial to black,” he says smoothly. “Let’s go with that.”

“Nicely played,” I tease. “What’s your favorite number?”

He cocks a grin. “It’s too high. It’s not on the wheel.”

The numbers on the wheel only go to thirty-eight. I bump him with my shoulder. “We have to pick a winning number. Close your eyes.”

“Is this your winning strategy?” he teases as he closes his eyes.

“Tonight it is. What do you see?”

His eyes open, and he loops an arm around my shoulders, tugging my ear to his mouth, rasping, “All I see are your legs wrapped around my neck.”

As that image sears into my mind, he nips my earlobe, sending stings of pleasure spiraling through me. He sits back with a satisfied expression. The bastard.

“How am I supposed to think about anything but that now?” I whisper sharply.

“You’re not,” he says arrogantly.

My pulse kicks hard, and I whisper, “How long do we have to pretend we wouldn’t rather be naked?”

“I’m just biding my time, trying not to cut your fun short,” he says evenly.

That tugs at that organ in my chest I’d rather not acknowledge. “What about your fun?”

“My fun is about to begin,” he says with a wolfish grin, and he pushes to his feet. “Hey, guys, this has been great, but we’re calling it a night.”

“Aw, come on,” Katelyn says.

“You haven’t lost enough chips yet,” Dave adds.

Fitz pushes our chips over to them and says, “Have at it.”