Blind Luck Bride. Laura Altom Marie
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with nickels to the point that he’d had to get one of the jumbo-sized SlotWorld coin cups to hold his overflow. And wouldn’t you know it? Just as she looked his way, his machine hit triple blue sevens again.
“Awesome!” he shouted. “That’s twenty more bucks! I’m rich!”
Great. You’re rich and the chink, chink, chink of nickels spewing out of your machine is giving me a headache. As were the dinging bells of other winning machines—not to mention the cigar cloud haze from the old guy on the next row.
Sighing, Lilly reached into her wallet for another five-dollar bill to slip into the change portion of the machine.
“You know, beautiful,” Dallas said with an annoyingly warm smile, “you’re welcome to grab a handful of my nickels.”
“Thanks, but I’ve never been too keen on accepting charity.”
“We’re married. What’s mine is yours.” Before she could stop him, he dumped his coin cup into the base of her machine.
“Hey, what’d you do that for?” He was still leaning into her personal space and suddenly she was far more disturbed by his oh-so-male scent than his nickels.
“I did that,” he said, leaving his stool to straddle her knees, “because you need to loosen up. This is our honeymoon for heaven’s sake and here you are worrying more about beating a stupid slot machine than getting to know your husband.”
Lilly gulped. She’d only imagined the heat of his breath on her chest, right? “Um, Dallas…” she managed to say though her lungs felt strangely weak. “I, ah, think you should get back to your own stool. Someone might take your machine.”
He flashed her a wicked grin before glancing down one way, then the other of their dead-end aisle. “Looks to me like we’ve got the whole place to ourselves. Hmm, whatever shall we do with all this privacy?” He slipped his hands to her waist, shocking her with a sudden turn of the tables that put him back on his own stool, landing with her on his lap.
She took a long time drawing her next breath, praying the additional air might still her frenzied pulse. Rats. No such luck. “Dallas, please…”
“Please what?” he said, his breath hot against her neck, her right ear. “Please, kiss you? Please slide my hands up your shirt? Please take you back to our poor, lonely suite?”
Without waiting for her reply, he did slip his hands under her shirt, and such was her shock—not to mention secret, aching delight—she froze, allowing him to skim his open palms up her torso until finally reaching her silk-covered breasts. The heat of his palms caused her nipples to traitorously swell, and she deeply, honestly searched for a reason to push him away. But in the end, the only dizzying thought that sprang to mind was that Dallas was now her husband. She was his wife. And if they stayed their current course, no matter how impossible it seemed, every dream she’d ever had would be well on its way to coming true.
Skimming her hands to his back, she arched into him, licking her lips before darting her gaze to make one last check they were alone. However wary she might have been about ever again opening her heart, the attraction drawing her ever-closer to her husband was a powerful thing. Two seconds later, when Dallas still hadn’t crushed his lips to hers, she decided to live life on the edge by cupping the back of his head and drawing him to her, finishing the job herself.
Dear Lord, Finn thought on the heels of a groan. Had he ever partaken of a woman so sweet? Lilly’s kisses tasted like ice cream and cotton candy. Bubble gum and red hots. She was the most honeyed, most indescribably delicious thing he’d ever tasted and he couldn’t wait for more. Damn Mitch. Finn had won his part of the bet fair and square. Whatever happened between Lilly and him from this point on was gravy—or maybe that should have been chocolate sauce!
“Oh, Dallas,” she softly crooned. “You have such a way with kisses.”
Screech. There went those damned mental brakes.
Like fingernails on a chalkboard, Lilly’s calling him Dallas grated his nerves. That’s it. Once and for all, they had to establish the perimeters of their relationship—not that they even had a relationship—but before he made love to her, which he fully planned to do by the end of the day, Finn wanted to hear his name spilled from those full, pouty lips.
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