Read Online The Winning Hand by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nora Roberts
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His mouth was just as she’d imagined it would be. Hot and firm and clever. But now it was on hers, luring her into some exciting airless space where everything shimmered and shook. Colors brightened, blurring around the edges before they melted together and turned as liquid as her bones.
His tongue swept over hers, teasing, inviting, mixing his dark, intimate taste with her own. Smooth, so smooth, that glide of tongue, that slide of lips, that she seemed to coast bonelessly down the long chute of sensation toward a spreading pool of liquid heat.
Her hands had come up to clutch at his arms for balance. He could feel the pressure of her short nails through his jacket, a contrasting signal of anxiety even as her lips opened and gave. Nerves and surrender, a dangerous mix, punctuated by the helpless little whimpers of pleasure that sounded in her throat, combined to take him deeper than he’d intended, to make him want more, much more than he’d expected.
What he’d begun churned through him and demanded he finish—his way. Then and there, and thoroughly. She was aroused. So was he. However innocent, she wasn’t a child. And he wanted her. God, he wanted her.
Her eyes remained closed as he drew her away. He watched the tip of her tongue trace her curvy, unpainted lips before she pressed those lips together, like a woman lingering over a particularly lush taste. Even as her lashes fluttered, a hot fist of need balled in his gut.
Her eyes were dark and clouded, fixed now on his. A flush glowed on her cheeks. A swallow rippled her throat.
Damn, he wanted, desperately wanted, to take her in one greedy gulp until nothing was left but the sighs.
“Why …” Her breath was coming too fast for the words to be steady. “Why did you do that?”
Be careful with her, he reminded himself. Very careful. “Because I wanted to. Is that a problem?”
She stared at him for a long moment. “No,” she answered with such weighty seriousness he nearly smiled. “I don’t think so.”
“Good. Because I’m not finished yet.”
“Oh.” His arms were tightening, easing her close again. Bodies met again. “Well …” Her eyes drifted shut. “Take your time.”
Her innocence was as bright as a beacon, and outrageously arousing. No, not a child, he thought again, but the odds were weighted heavily against her. And he had no right to use that as leverage. Grappling for control, he rested his forehead on hers. Slow down, he ordered himself. Better yet, stop.
“Darcy, you’re a dangerous woman.”
Her eyes flew open. “Me?”
The shock in her voice did nothing to relieve the tension centered in his gut. The tension was a bad sign, he decided, a signal not just of desire, but of desire for her. Very specific, very exact and completely inappropriate. “Lethal,” he murmured, then stepped back.
But he kept his hands on her shoulders, not quite able to break all contact. She was searching his face now, her big gold eyes still blurred from the first kiss, her mouth pursed in anticipation of the next. He could have lapped her up like cream.
“Have you ever had a lover?”
She blinked, then her gaze lowered to stare at the buttons of his shirt. The shirt was black and silky. It had felt warm and smooth under her hands. She wanted to touch it again. To touch him. “Not exactly.”
His brow lifted again. “Despite its infinite and entertaining varieties, sex remains a fairly exact pastime.”
She had the distinct impression he didn’t intend to kiss her again after all. Sexual frustration was a new, and not entirely pleasant, sensation. Vaguely insulted, she frowned up at him. “I know what sex is.”
No, he thought, she didn’t. She didn’t have a clue what he wanted to do with her, to her. If she did, he imagined she’d run as far and as fast as her pretty fairy legs would carry her. “You don’t know me, Darcy. You don’t know the rules around here, or the pitfalls.”
“I know how to learn,” she said
His tongue swept over hers, teasing, inviting, mixing his dark, intimate taste with her own. Smooth, so smooth, that glide of tongue, that slide of lips, that she seemed to coast bonelessly down the long chute of sensation toward a spreading pool of liquid heat.
Her hands had come up to clutch at his arms for balance. He could feel the pressure of her short nails through his jacket, a contrasting signal of anxiety even as her lips opened and gave. Nerves and surrender, a dangerous mix, punctuated by the helpless little whimpers of pleasure that sounded in her throat, combined to take him deeper than he’d intended, to make him want more, much more than he’d expected.
What he’d begun churned through him and demanded he finish—his way. Then and there, and thoroughly. She was aroused. So was he. However innocent, she wasn’t a child. And he wanted her. God, he wanted her.
Her eyes remained closed as he drew her away. He watched the tip of her tongue trace her curvy, unpainted lips before she pressed those lips together, like a woman lingering over a particularly lush taste. Even as her lashes fluttered, a hot fist of need balled in his gut.
Her eyes were dark and clouded, fixed now on his. A flush glowed on her cheeks. A swallow rippled her throat.
Damn, he wanted, desperately wanted, to take her in one greedy gulp until nothing was left but the sighs.
“Why …” Her breath was coming too fast for the words to be steady. “Why did you do that?”
Be careful with her, he reminded himself. Very careful. “Because I wanted to. Is that a problem?”
She stared at him for a long moment. “No,” she answered with such weighty seriousness he nearly smiled. “I don’t think so.”
“Good. Because I’m not finished yet.”
“Oh.” His arms were tightening, easing her close again. Bodies met again. “Well …” Her eyes drifted shut. “Take your time.”
Her innocence was as bright as a beacon, and outrageously arousing. No, not a child, he thought again, but the odds were weighted heavily against her. And he had no right to use that as leverage. Grappling for control, he rested his forehead on hers. Slow down, he ordered himself. Better yet, stop.
“Darcy, you’re a dangerous woman.”
Her eyes flew open. “Me?”
The shock in her voice did nothing to relieve the tension centered in his gut. The tension was a bad sign, he decided, a signal not just of desire, but of desire for her. Very specific, very exact and completely inappropriate. “Lethal,” he murmured, then stepped back.
But he kept his hands on her shoulders, not quite able to break all contact. She was searching his face now, her big gold eyes still blurred from the first kiss, her mouth pursed in anticipation of the next. He could have lapped her up like cream.
“Have you ever had a lover?”
She blinked, then her gaze lowered to stare at the buttons of his shirt. The shirt was black and silky. It had felt warm and smooth under her hands. She wanted to touch it again. To touch him. “Not exactly.”
His brow lifted again. “Despite its infinite and entertaining varieties, sex remains a fairly exact pastime.”
She had the distinct impression he didn’t intend to kiss her again after all. Sexual frustration was a new, and not entirely pleasant, sensation. Vaguely insulted, she frowned up at him. “I know what sex is.”
No, he thought, she didn’t. She didn’t have a clue what he wanted to do with her, to her. If she did, he imagined she’d run as far and as fast as her pretty fairy legs would carry her. “You don’t know me, Darcy. You don’t know the rules around here, or the pitfalls.”
“I know how to learn,” she said
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