Read Online Perfecting the Odds by Brenna St. Clare - Free Book Online

love of horny widows, say your name. She slow-blinked as she stared at his mouth, fully regretting the four drinks. Damn, if she would have known he’d be here…No, Karis. Focus.
    “ Of course I do, sweetheart.”
    Evasive bastard.
    His lips quirked up. Damn him and all his stupid sexy expressions. Karis quickly made a decision based upon intoxication and burning sexual tension. She would tempt him, push him to the point where he would have to de-mask and stop the act. Two could definitely play at this game. And then for the first time in a very long time, a rare mood emerged: excitement. And damn did it feel good. She smiled impishly and lifted her hand to stroke the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip. She watched his eyes pulse and his nostrils flare just a bit. He shifted on the barstool. Well , now.
    “What a kissable mouth you have,” she purred. His lips parted slowly as she traced her index finger along the tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt. Chill bumps rose on his tanned skin. “Semper Fidelis. You must be a Marine,” she asked, continuing to trace figure-eights along his sinewy forearm.
    “ Not active,” he answered quickly.
    “Ah, never former .” She winked. “What are you drinking, Marine? Vodka?”
    “Mm-hmm.”
    “Me, too. Do you prefer it hard?” He shot out a choke-laugh, and Karis bit down on her lip. Jesus, Karis. Revise and rewrite! You’re teasing, not propositioning him for sex . “I mean, do you prefer it straight up?” Nope, not any better. She blinked rapidly, not quite believing what had just came out of her mouth.
    “ Most women do, yes?” He smirked then covered her hand to stop her finger play. He brought her hand to his lips, nipped the tip of her pinky finger, and her pussy pulsed. Holy erogenous zone. 
    Frantic to regain control, she pulled her hand away and laid it on his thigh. She felt his hard muscle stiffen beneath her hand. Michael was pure gristle, hard in a way only a man could be. The only soft spot on Michael were those damn lips that she couldn’t pull her gaze from.
    “I suppose they do,” she said before lifting her glass in the air. “Bebere humanun est, ergo bibamus. To drink is human, let us therefore drink.” She clumsily gulped the remaining vodka before slamming her glass down on the bar top.
    Michael lifted his glass for the toast and took a long drag of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. He gripped his glass, rolling it between his hands. God, his hands were sexy. Strong , masculine hands with long fingers she desperately wanted all over her. Spending equal time gazing at his eyes, his mouth…back and forth…she debated whether to walk away now. He wasn’t making a move. That’s good, right? He would fight his urges. Goddamn superhuman man. So teasing him was no better than his deceiving her, right?
    How many times had she shot down Rebecca’s attempt to get her to date?  And look at her now--attempting a drunken dance of seduction with Michael, the man who already knew too much. And she was scared shitless, not only because of what he knew, but that she was jetting through a tunnel of needy arousal that she knew he could, no doubt, fulfill.
    Just walk away. The warning trilled through her vodka-soaked judgment.
    But then… the sexy bastard brought that damn glass to his lips, gently licking a drop of vodka hanging from the rim. Her pussy wept again, rhythmic zings firing to all her girly bits. Her entire body shivered, and she prayed he hadn’t noticed. But when she met his eyes for what felt like the millionth time, his restraint had throttled into a dark gaze of possession that nearly pulled her from her seat onto his lap.
    Her body loved that look. Fighting it was futile.
    It’s not like he’s a complete stranger , she rationalized. She had fantasized about kissing Michael, woke up panting and soaked after a dream that felt way too real. So why not indulge? What would a kiss hurt? Then she would go on her merry way. So