AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Disappointment sinks in my gut.
Then a low voice murmurs in my ear. “Patience. Good things come to those who wait.”
My breath catches at the masculine purr. It feels like sex surrounding me, sensual cashmere that makes my eyes close. “I’ve been waiting a long time.”
I’m not sure where the words come from. I didn’t feel like I was waiting. I’m not Aurora sleeping in a forest, dreaming of a kiss from Prince Charming.
I have no interest in kisses.
And Finn Hughes is no Prince Charming.
He puts his hand on my hip. His thumb brushes my skin through the silk of my dress, back and forth, back and forth. It’s startling. Intimate. It could be excused as a casual gesture between friends. The natural result of close proximity. Almost.
Except that it’s faintly possessive.
I don’t feel like a possession to be bought and sold. I don’t even feel like a head of cattle to be bargained for. No, I feel like a jewel. Something to be coveted.
Something to hold close so that no one else steals it.
He caresses me through the bids, through the flop and the turn cards. I’m left with a single pair of eights. Not exactly auspicious, but better than nothing.
The dealer waits for the round of bidding before the river.
This is the last card, the one that determines my hand for good.
So far none of the other players seem like they have incredible cards, but maybe they’re hiding it well. Then again, two of the men seem enamored with the women who surround them. Three women for two men. And while the men wear suits, the women wear barely-there dresses that are more like glittering swimsuits. Not that I’m judging.
It just makes me feel old in my Dior ballgown.
It’s not the ballgown. No, it’s my actual age that makes me feel old.
Thirty-three is ancient for an unmarried woman in our social set.
We’re waiting for the couple beside us to place their bet. They have to confer over every decision, using the opportunity to feel each other up.
They look deeply in love. Or deeply in lust. I’m not sure I even know the difference.
I glance back at the man who watches me.
His hazel eyes deepen to emerald as he looks back. “Go all in.”
A startled laugh escapes me, but with our faces this close, my amusement dries up. It’s replaced with whatever that couple has—not love, then. Lust. I feel my body become liquid and heavy, as if I’m readying myself. I’m in a room full of people, but my body doesn’t care about that. It wants to take this man. “You’re insane.”
“I’m interesting,” he counters, his lip curling up.
“You’re reckless.”
“I’m interested,” he says, and I know what he means. His tone makes it clear. His gaze does, too. He’s interested in me, the same way the man is interested in the woman he’s practically fingering on the stool next to us.
The dealer clears his throat so that they’ll make their bid.
“You’re young,” I tell him, because it’s the reason we can’t be together. Not the real reason, but one that’s socially acceptable. I’m not some aging widow who has a fling with the pool boy. Men his age don’t hook up with women my age.
“Bullshit,” he says.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
