He looked amused. “Oh, are we that serious then? Maybe I should take my sweatshirt off.”
Now there was an unexpected perk. Trying not to pant, she said, “Suit yourself.”
“Not that I think I need it.” Knight leaned back and crossed his arms, grabbed his sweatshirt, and ripped it over his head in one motion.
Dammit, he had a T-shirt on under there. Reese sucked her breath in and swallowed hard. It was still a mighty nice view, full of tight cotton, rippling muscles, and a holster strapped across his shoulder with his gun tucked into it. Which should alarm her, but somehow didn’t.
Fourteen months was too long to go without an orgasm. She was turned on by a flipping white T-shirt. If he showed her any skin, there was no telling what she might do. Whimpering was coming to mind.
As he casually tossed his sweatshirt onto her bed—her bed, for hell’s sake—she took the seat across from him. His elbow was back on the table, he was leaning forward, his fingers stretched up and fidgeting.
“Ready when you are.”
She put her own right elbow on the table and lined it up with his. He didn’t wait. Strong fingers enveloped hers, clasping her tightly with a warm naked squeeze. The gasp she’d been planning to fake wasn’t fake at all, but painfully real. Deep, gut-wrenching, tingling, mushy real.
Knight was doing an extended version of the previous nostril flare.
“On the count of three,” she managed to say, her voice coming out husky and laced with fuck-me tones she hadn’t even known she was capable of making.
His thumb wrapped tight, but his fingers drummed across her knuckles. Reese leaned closer, shifting in her chair. He had a little bit of chin stubble, not noticeable until she was this close because it was lighter than his hair. The rough fawn colored beard made her want to reach out and scratch it, digging her soft fingertips into that masculine hardness.
“One.” As she shifted her shoulder forward, her robe split open, offering a hint of cleavage.
“Two.” She slid her tongue out and moistened her lips, with deliberation and agonizing slowness.
Knight’s hand relaxed as he watched her, his jaw clenched.
Reese sighed a little, drawing her breath quickly back in, causing her chest to rise and fall. She gave a deep lean. A sharp hiss came from Knight, his eyes plastered to her chest.
She tossed her hair back and caught a flash of the top of her breast through the corner of her eye. He had to see it, too, since his gaze hadn’t moved a quarter of an inch.
“Three.” Reese squeezed hard, pushed with everything she had in her, and dropped his arm to the table before he could even react.
She pulled her hand out of his slack grip and indulged in a little gloating as he sat there stunned. “Ha, ha! Told you I could beat you.”
“Hey, I wasn’t ready.”
“Oh, don’t give me that. It’s not just about strength, it’s about reflexes. I was obviously quicker.” She grinned at him, enjoying the sour look on his face.
“You cheated,” he accused.
“How?” she asked innocently.
“By flashing me.”
“What? What are you talking about?” She sat back and crossed her leg over her knee, swinging it up and down.
“Your robe gaped and it distracted me.”
“I’m not responsible for your being distracted. If you can’t keep your mind on the game, it’s not my fault.” Reese stood up and pulled the belt on her robe tighter, trying not to grin in triumph and probably not succeeding.
“So I win the bet and I get the scoop on the drug story.”
“I want a rematch.”
“Yeah, because you lost. I’m not falling for that.”
Knight ran his fingers through his caramel colored hair and shook his head. “You’re nothing but a con artist.”