Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me. Jo Leigh
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body merely thinking about what was next moved her out of the bathroom and into seeing dinner through. It was only her heart at risk, after all. And hadn’t she admitted, to him of all people, that she wanted her heart broken by callous men who wore gorgeous suits?
CHARLIE GRINNED AGAIN. “So you’re a black sheep, too?”
Bree swallowed her mouthful of noodles and took a sip of soda before she could answer him. “Oh, yeah. I was supposed to marry Eliot. My high school boyfriend. It was a thing. Big. Tons of teeth gnashing and hand wringing. Comfort food played a big role. In particular, fried chicken.”
At the mention, they both ate for a bit in silence, which gave her time to go over what Charlie had told her about his struggles with his family. How was it possible for them not to be proud of his accomplishments? Maybe they were proud, but the family was crappy at communication. Rebecca had said that was an issue between her and her folks, and Charlie’s parents were cut from the same cloth. But then again, Charlie was driven. He put the implementation of his goals above everything else. As did Bree. “You know what I can’t figure?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“How come you’re nice.”
“Me? Nice?”
“Very much so. I expected you to be on the conceited side of horrible. You’ve been great.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Thanks. I’m glad you think so.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“There was absolutely no agreement in that response. To be clear, I meant nice in an Ohio sense. It wasn’t a dig.”
“Well, then. I appreciate it even more. Nice can go either way around here.”
“I gathered. How would you describe yourself?”
“Oh, that’s a scary question.”
“I’m not frightened.”
“I’m not referring to you.”
Bree grinned. “Come on. I’m already prejudiced in your favor.”
“That’s what’s got me worried. I like that you think I’m nice.”
“But …”
“I’m … focused. Extremely focused.”
She ate a bit, trying on the word to see how it fit. “Is that all you are?”
His wince was extravagant for him. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the whole deal.”
“You’re funny. That’s not an opinion. That’s fact. You make me laugh a lot.”
“Hey, no fair talking about my looks.”
“See? Cute. Very cute.”
He put down the carton and picked up the beer, but he didn’t drink. “What else?”
She almost teased him, but the look in his eyes stopped her. “You’re thoughtful. You see who’s around you and you don’t take advantage of them. I’m not terribly experienced but I have the feeling that not everyone feeds the makeup and hair crew. Or even notices the building’s security staff.”
“That’s manners.”
Bree shook her head. “Nope. It goes beyond that. Most people in your position wouldn’t give a damn about anyone around them. It would be easy to be horrible. Expected. But you don’t need to be ruthless and evil to be a powerful presence because you’re already a powerful presence. People get it. You don’t have to shove their faces in it.”
“I like that. Not sure I agree, but it’s something to ponder. Of course, I don’t want to completely disregard the whole ruthless and evil thing. That has a lot of appeal.”
She gave a quick nod. “Yes. It does.”
He drank some more, then reached for the rice container, but as he did so, he managed to move himself over until they were close enough to touch. The carton stayed in his hand as he leaned into her.
Bree held her breath. Warning bells went off in the distance, muted but not silent. “I should call for a taxi,” she said. “Get home. Take advantage of the night off.”
Charlie put the rice down, but his leg, his hip, his side were pressed warm against her. He smelled like spice and beer and her eyes closed as she inhaled. “I don’t like beer. To drink. But I really like how it tastes when—”
He waited, not five inches between them, maybe not even three. “When …?”
“When I do this,” she whispered right before their lips touched.
CHARLIE WANTED TO PULL her into his arms and kiss her until she cried uncle, but he held himself back, every muscle in his body on a hair trigger. Her lips were soft against his, brushing, teasing. Her breath came in gentle puffs, scented with galangal and heat, and no matter how fervently he thought now, now, now, he let her call it, let her make this decision. What the hell was wrong with him?
The whole night had been one bizarre thing after another. He didn’t miss premieres. He didn’t sit still for three goddamn hours just so he wouldn’t disturb someone’s sleep. He wasn’t nice. Nice wasn’t even a part of the equation, so what was happening? What was he doing?
A touch, fingers, small, cool, delicate on the back of his neck, and he became very aware of his cock. Not for the first time since they’d landed on the couch together. In another bid to make this the weirdest night ever, he’d found himself cycling through stages of hardness. From that first moment she’d leaned into him all sleepy and mumbling, he hadn’t been completely soft. Not hard as a rock, either. Which was fine. He’d only touched himself the one time, and that was an adjustment. Even though this whole scenario was as close to an erotic dream as he’d ever had without sleeping.
She tugged his hair, pulled him closer, deepened the kiss. Little licks against his bottom lip, then the top, as if he were ice cream, a caramel apple. His cock filled, pressed against his fly. He should have taken off the tux, but it was too late to worry about that now. Not when she slipped her tongue inside and he tasted her for the first time since the party at Chelsea Piers.
Instantly he realized it was a mistake. A hormone driven error that would come back and bite him in the ass. He’d known better, but had he pulled away? Hell no.
He adjusted his head so they fit together better, then started his own exploration. He was not delicate or tentative. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself from showing her just how ruthless he could be.
He opened his mouth and claimed her, sucked on her tongue, thrust with his own, and the sound she made, holy god … now he was getting the kind of hard that meant business. With determination and the endgame in sight, he pulled back. “Bedroom?” he asked. Hoped.
She blinked at him. Charlie realized he’d abandoned his beer and taken hold of her upper arms, the silk of the kimono warm beneath his fingers. She was virtually naked under that kimono; he knew that. He could see the push of her hard nipples against the silk. Maybe he’d been hit in the head or something, because this was not his style. This felt reckless, and he hadn’t been reckless since his teens.
Her nod let him breathe again. He kissed her once more. It started out thankful and turned desperate with one slick of his tongue against hers.
They stood as they’d been sitting, his hands lifting her up, their mouths working together to remember, relearn, discover.
He had them halfway across the room before they had to take a real breath.
One of Bree’s hands was in his hair, the other under his tuxedo