outfit.”

He opened one eye. “You messing with me again?”

She took another sip of the tropical drink. “I’m merely entertaining myself while we pose for the photographers.”

“By playing mind games with me?”

“Afraid I’ll win?”

He snorted and closed his eyes again. “Afraid you might sprain something trying.”

Emma glanced at his slacks, then she glanced at her slushy drink.

He made a show of settling back to a more comfortable position. “But, go ahead and give it your best shot.”

“Really?” she simpered. “Can I?”

He grinned, and she upended her drink in his lap.

He shot up straight, his roar loud enough to attract attention from the dancers directly below them. Then he turned to stare at her in horror.

“That was my best shot,” she explained, scrambling for the courage to hold her ground. Dousing him had seemed like a good idea about ten seconds ago. Now…

“I can’t believe you did that.” He gritted his teeth as the sticky peach-colored mixture trickled between his thighs.

“You might want to make it look like we’re having fun,” she suggested with a quick glance at the crowd below.

Alex curved his mouth into a pained grin. “You asked for this.”

Without further warning, he scooped her up, and sat her square in the middle of the mess on his lap.

“It’s Katie’s dress,” she shrieked. Then she cringed as the ice seeped through her panties.

His fingertips went to her ribs, and she shrieked a second time when he started tickling. “Don’t,” she gasped. “Stop.”

“Don’t stop?”

“No. Stop!”

“Try to sound like you’re having fun,” he advised.

“No.” But she kept laughing. She couldn’t help it. She wasn’t sure where he’d learned to tickle, but he was definitely a master.

“Help,” she called weakly to the crowd below.

But they couldn’t hear her over the music.

Alex’s hands suddenly stilled, but it was only to lift her from the lounger and carry her unceremoniously back through the French doors.

He set her down and closed it to the whoops and hollers of those below.

“What did I tell you?” he asked, eyes flashing dark and purposeful in the dusky suite.

“About what?” She took an involuntary step backward.

He matched her pace, keeping the distance constant between them. “About messing with me, that’s about what.”

His meaning hit, and she scooted up against the wall. “Oh, no.” She shook her head.

He moved forward, trapping her between the sofa and the wet bar. “Oh, yes,” he said menacingly. “It’s a matter of pride now.”

Her glance darted to his ruined trousers. “You already got me back.” Her dress was just as wet as his pants.

He shook his head. “Not good enough. Admit I turn you on, Emma.”

She knew she should say it. She should say it and get it over with. He’d make good on his threat, that was for sure. And ten kisses from now, she’d be admitting the earth was flat and that she was a witch, never mind that he turned her on.

But she shook her head anyway. She couldn’t bring herself to go down without a fight. He might get her admission, but he was going to have to work for it.

He moved even closer, his voice instantly seductive. “You know I’ll do it.”

She nodded.

“You want me to do it?”

She shook.

He raised his hand and tenderly stroked his palm over her cheek, tangling his fingers into the hair behind her temple. “You think you have a hope in hell?”

She stared defiantly up at him. “I know I have a hope in hell.”

He cracked a half smile. “Just one?”

“Maybe two.”

“I do like those odds.”

She almost smiled in return and wondered why she wasn’t more wary of the situation. Maybe it was his soothing tone, or his reassuring strength or his comforting scent. Or maybe it was because she was looking forward to his kiss.

His kiss? Who was she kidding?

She was looking forward to anything and everything he’d do before she said uncle. Confidence mounting, she stared directly into his slate dark eyes. “Go ahead, Alex. Give it your best shot.”

Eight

Alex went still, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at Emma. “Are we playing chicken?” he asked her. “Because it feels like we’re playing chicken.”

She forced herself to hold her ground. “Are you all talk and no action? Because it feels like you’re-”

He swooped down and enveloped her mouth in a hot, passionate kiss. His strong arms held her protectively, lovingly. Sensations racked her body as the damp of his slacks seeped through to her dress. His tongue flicked out, and his fingers anchored firmly at the base of her neck.

The room spun, even as her world came to a full stop.

Okay. Now that was action.

“Say it,” he rumbled.

She shook her head, no.

His hand moved to her rib cage, stroking upward to engulf her breast. Through the thin cotton fabric, his thumb unerringly zeroed in on her nipple, circling it once then abrading the tip.

Her body was instantly flooded with desire.

“Say you want me,” he tried again.

She locked her knees to keep them from buckling but refused to concede the test of wills.

“Have it your way,” he muttered, kissing her once more.

She tasted the mellow, nutty flavor of his scotch, inhaled the heady scent of his musk then felt his warm fingertips creep beneath her neckline. He inched his way closer, closer, closer still. Until she arched her back, pushing her aching breast into his hot hand.

He groaned in response, assuaging her nipple with an expert motion. Goose bumps rose on her skin. Her body clamored for more.

What was he doing?

He did it again, and she cried out loud.

“Say it,” he hissed, his mouth brushing against hers.

She whimpered a no.

He swore under his breath.

Then he scooped her up into his arms and carried her through the narrow doorway, depositing her on the thick comforter of the king-sized bed.

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