couple days off. I wanted to get out of town.”
He watched her for a moment, his mouth curving in a way that suggested he could see more than she wanted. “Searching for people named Rennie?”
Gwen flushed. “No. I just wanted a break.”
“From what?”
“Oh, life.” That much was true. She thought of the restlessness that had plagued her of late. “You know, you get tired of being stuck at home.”
“Where’s home?”
“San Francisco.”
Genuine pleasure slid over his features. “No kidding? That’s my stomping grounds.”
“Really? Small world. What are you here for?”
“I’m doing a series on poker. I’m a sportswriter for the Globe.”
“You’re a journalist?” Gwen asked faintly. That was all she needed—a curious reporter around.
Again he gave her that look. “I don’t think I’d dignify it with that word necessarily. Let’s just say I can bang out twenty column inches on the Giants versus the Dodgers by deadline.”
“You don’t sound thrilled with it.” The waitress set their drinks down in front of them.
Del shrugged. “It’s a living. What about you?”
Gwen swirled her brandy glass to buy time. Lying wasn’t in her nature. Then again, the last thing she wanted to do was give any personal details to a reporter, especially to a reporter who was entirely too interested in her earlier gaffes already. Even if he was a sportswriter. “I’m an accountant,” she told him. It wasn’t really a lie. She did the books at Chastain Philatelic Investments. She just did a whole lot more.
“Seriously?” He grinned, sending a little flutter through her midsection. He was so close, she realized suddenly. Close enough to whisper. Close enough to kiss.
Gwen blinked. “Yes, seriously. Why, what did you think I did?”
“I don’t know. But I could have guessed a couple dozen possible occupations for you and none of them would have included accounting.”
She could just imagine. “So, what occupations were in your couple dozen?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said offhandedly, “neurosurgeon, astrophysicist, president of the World Bank…”
“You know, if you’d have said lingerie model, I’d have had to belt you.” She reached out a hand to mime slapping him. He caught it in his and held it to his face.
Heat bloomed through her. Sensation piled on sensation, the rough stubble of his day’s growth of beard, the strength of his fingers on hers, the slight calluses on his palm.
It lasted only a second or two and drove every thought out of her head except the desire for more.
Del released her hand, changing his hold to bring her fingers to his lips. Warm and soft enough to make her melt. “Whatever you do, I’m sure you’re very, very good,” he murmured.
Eyes wide, Gwen sat stock-still, forcing herself to breathe. “I…excuse me for a minute,” she managed to say and stood up on knees that trembled only a little.
DEL SAT WATCHING HER WALK away and waiting for the drumming in his head to stop. He hadn’t been able to resist the impulse to touch her. The sudden urge to have her had surprised him, though. He considered himself a civilized man, but there was nothing civilized about this overwhelming need to drive himself into her deep and hard.
Colorful fish circled lazily in the aquarium beyond. He’d sat down at the blackjack table for a change of pace, to kill a couple of hours, not to hook up with a woman. Then Nina had sat down, fragrant, silky and looking hot enough to melt wax.
It wasn’t completely outside his experience to have a woman hit on him, but it certainly wasn’t his normal style to bite. He’d learned from personal experience—in his relationships and in his professional life—that the easy pickings were generally not the way to satisfaction, they were just…easy.
There was something about her, though, more than the looks. The combination of the promise in that wide mouth and the sharp intelligence in those eyes had captured his attention utterly. But something else was going on, something more than blackjack, more than sexual jousting. What about the consternation over his name? And why had she pumped him so hard about his friends?
And how was it that he didn’t really give a damn about any of it, so long as he could have her?
He watched her cross the room toward him again, in her low-cut jeans and skimpy, fire-engine-red T-shirt. The confidence was back in her swagger, in the toss of her head. For a moment earlier she’d seemed like a high school girl, completely undone by his move. It seemed incongruous for a woman who looked the way Nina did, a woman who’d probably been romanced every way possible.
“Welcome back,” he said as she sat.
“Thanks. I’m happy to be here.”
He grinned and raised his beer. “Well, here’s to being here.” Her eyes watched him over the rim of her glass, the deep aqua of the Caribbean. Her scent drifted across to him, something that whispered of dark nights and forbidden passion. “So, how’d you get so good at blackjack?” he asked.
“My grandfather’s got a weekly game. Blackjack, poker, whatever. I usually sit in with them.”
“Win much?”
She shrugged. “I walk away with my share of pots.”
“That’s because you’ve got a genetic advantage.” He propped his chin in his hand. “They probably can’t concentrate a lick with someone who looks like you at the table, and on top of that you’re smart.”
He couldn’t be sure in the dim bar, but he’d swear she flushed. “I’ve known most of them since I was about ten. I’m sure they can ignore it.”
“You underestimate yourself. I don’t think any man who sees you can ignore it.”
She gave him a smoky look and propped her arms on the table herself. “Really?”
“Really.”
“And would that include you?”
He felt the stirring in his belly. “What do you think?”
HIS MOUTH. SHE COULDN’T STOP staring at his mouth. She couldn’t stop wondering how he tasted. The table had shrunk, or maybe she’d inadvertently moved her stool closer to him when she’d returned, because when he reached out to tangle his fingers in hers, it was only a small movement.
This time there was no shock, just the hot and sexy snap of connection. All the way to the bathroom and back—merely an excuse to get away and think for a minute—she’d thought about what it might be like with him. It wasn’t the sort of thing Gwen would do, but she wasn’t Gwen, was she? She was Nina. Nina wouldn’t just sit and wonder what it would be like to kiss this man. She wouldn’t wait for him to make the move. Nina would satisfy herself. Nina would just do it.
His eyes seemed darker, deeper as she leaned closer. She flicked a glance at his mouth and her tongue darted out to lick her own lips. She wanted this, she thought, tipping her head slightly. For tonight Jerry and the stamps could take a backseat. For tonight she just wanted.
And then their mouths came together and she didn’t have to want anymore.
Her fingers were still curled in his but she didn’t feel it. All her awareness was concentrated in the feel of his mouth on hers. He didn’t just kiss, he savored, feasting on her as though she were some rare delicacy. A shift, a nip, a quick slick of tongue. There was a sumptuousness in the slide of lip against lip, temptation in the taste. Her system began to buzz.
When