Luck Is No Lady(51)

His voice flowed with temptation, and his gaze flashed with the kind of knowledge Emma knew nothing about. She was so far out of her depth, it was ridiculous, but again, she felt that internal urging to wade out a bit deeper.

“I take my responsibilities seriously,” she explained, even as she wondered at how easily he held her captive by the pressure of his thumb in the center of her palm.

It had to be the wine that made her feel so languid and relaxed despite the intimate nature of the moment.

“Of course you do,” he said with an understanding nod, “but that does not mean you must deny yourself a few moments of selfish enjoyment.”

Her pulse sped at the suggestion in his tone. Somehow he must have known, because he shifted his hold to sweep his thumb across the rushing veins at her wrist. The gentle pressure of his touch on the sensitive spot cause heat to bloom fiercely in Emma’s belly, and she experienced a slight tilting of her axis.

“There is no rule saying we must wager for money,” he added.

“What are you proposing?”

He smiled, and the pleasure in his expression made her limbs go weak. A frightening and exhilarating anticipation claimed her.

“A simple wager.” As he spoke, he released her. She immediately reached for her wineglass and took a bracing sip. “For each round I win, I place a kiss on your hand.”

Emma frowned. It seemed an odd request. Men kissed women’s hands all the time. It was such a common thing. By the wickedness in his eyes, she had expected him to request something more risqué. More dangerous.

She was disappointed he had not. “And what shall I get if I win?” she asked.

His smile was wide and confident. “What would you like?”

Emma swallowed hard against the words that pushed up through her throat. “I cannot think of anything,” she lied.

He leaned back in his chair. Spreading his knees wide, he relaxed his arms and rested his hands on the surface of his strong thighs. Flashing a rakish grin, he looked the epitome of the reckless rogue. “Come now, there must be something you want from me.”

Did she dare admit it?

Emma stared at him while her heart beat faster and faster and her blood warmed with the thoughts swirling in her head. From the moment she had walked into his office the day of her interview, there had been one thing she had wanted from him: another kiss.

Not on the hand, but on the mouth. She wanted to know if it would be as consuming as she recalled so often when she lay in bed at night.

And why should she deny herself? It was just a kiss.

There was no one she need worry about offending or betraying. No husband in her future, no one to call her out for the indiscretion. In truth, if she were ever to experience such a thing again, now would be the opportune time. Ensconced in the privacy of the club, she was far removed from the society that would condemn her for such impropriety.

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, she forced aside any remaining reluctance. He was right. She did have a recklessness burning deep within, and right now, she wanted to explore it.

“All right, Roderick,” she began with a slow smile, “for each round I win, you will kiss me. On the mouth.”

She waited for his grin to turn to an expression of shock and disbelief at her brazen response. But it didn’t. The only change was a slight lowering of his eyelids and what she thought was a flare of heat in the depths of his gaze.

The man was exceptionally good at controlling his reactions.

But so was she. She kept her smile steady as she waited, determined not to show just how wildly her insides were rioting at the possibility of what might come.

After what seemed like an eternity of staring across the table at each other, he slowly leaned forward and swept his cards up in his hand. “Agreed.”

The game began again and there was no escaping the new air of intensity hovering about the table. Every glance was filled with expectation, every card tossed onto the felt brought them closer to some undetermined fate. It was frighteningly close, but in the end, Roderick took the first round.

Without preamble, he reached across the table with his palm up.

Emma took a breath and placed her hand in his. His fingers curled in a gentle grip, but he didn’t lift her fingers toward his mouth as she expected. She watched curiously as he first ran his thumb over the back of her hand, tracing the path of the veins that ran from her wrist to her knuckles. His movements were unhurried and purposeful, as though he needed to complete the task before he could go any further.

Each pass of his thumb increased the tingle of expectancy in her blood.

Then he shifted his hold. Emma thought he would kiss her then, but he carefully turned her hand over so her palm faced up.