The Gambler (29 page)

The man started to push the cart into the room, but Noah blocked his path, saying with more force than he intended, “I’ll take it from here.” There was no way this man was coming into the room where Libby lay naked in their bed.

The employee snickered and Noah had an unexpected urge to throttle him, though he had no idea where in the hell
that
feeling had come from. But he realized it was just another manifestation of his need to protect her from every possible threat, realistic or not. Still, this pervert would have to come through him first to get to her.

The employee had the good judgment to relinquish the cart. “Just set it outside your door when you’re done, Mr. McMillan.”

“Thanks.”

He rolled the cart into the room and stopped short when he saw Libby sitting upright, her legs curled to the side . . . completely naked.

He realized he probably looked like a fool staring at her like that, but not finding it in him to care. “You’re so gorgeous, Libby.”

“You’re not so bad yourself. If they’d sent a woman up with that tray, the sight of those abs and pecs would have melted her.”

“You didn’t melt,” he reminded her.

“Ha! Only because you were already holding me up.” Her gaze moved to the cart.

“More champagne?” she asked with a laugh. “If we tour the country with my wedding dress, we’ll get all the champagne we want.”

“I’ll get you champagne every day if you want it.”

She laughed again and he reveled in the knowledge he’d get to hear it every day for the rest of his life. “We need to make a toast.”

He grabbed the bottle and started working on the wrapper and the cork. “As long as we aren’t toasting to you not kicking me in either of my balls, I’m all for it.” The cork popped off and he held the bottle over the cart in case it spilled out.

Her laughter filled the room and his heart and in that moment he was absolutely certain this was what he’d been waiting for his entire life. Her. “So . . .” he said with a sly grin as he poured a glass and handed it to her. “About those delusions of grandeur you mentioned . . .”

She took the glass. “Are you referring to the foot-long remark at the hotel in Junction City or the little shake insult in the bathroom at the Golden Cowboy Café?”

He poured himself a glass and she patted the mattress next to her. He sat down next to her and leaned in for a kiss. “Both.”

A sparkle filled her eyes. “Let’s just say I have nothing to be disappointed about.”

He held up his glass, his heart filled with more happiness than he knew he deserved.

She lifted her glass to his. “It only seems appropriate that we toast your manhood.”

He burst out laughing, nearly spilling the champagne.

“It’s not nearly as huge as Tito’s but . . . Hey.” She shrugged. “It’s no small thing.” She winked and he grabbed the back of her head and kissed her, deep and passionate. Then she leaned back and hoisted her glass. “It’s not officially a toast until we drink the champagne, you know?”

“Then by all means, let’s finish the toast.” But she didn’t drink when he did. He didn’t have time to ask her about it because she slowly straddled his lap and took the flute from his hand and set it on the nightstand.

He got hard again in an instant and a Cheshire cat grin spread across her face.

“I thought you said we needed to drink the champagne for the toast to be complete?”

She lifted a delicate eyebrow. “Oh, I intend to drink it.” She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back on the bed while she still straddled his legs.

His heartbeat ratcheted up and his breath became shallow as he anticipated what she might be planning. She held her glass over his abdomen and poured a small dribble of the cold liquid on his chest, making him suck in his breath as it spread across the hollows of the muscles of his abdomen.

Libby leaned over and pressed her mouth to his stomach, licking and sucking up the liquid.

“So we’ve completed the toast?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Oh, no,” she purred, her mouth continuing its task. “We’re drinking to your manhood, remember?” She sat up and poured more champagne on his erection, then set the glass on the table. His erection jolted in response as her lips covered the head and took him into her mouth.

“Oh God, Lib.” He grabbed handfuls of her hair as her tongue and lips sucked and licked, her hand cupping his balls. Within half a minute he was dangerously close to coming again. “My turn.”

He pulled her off him and rolled her onto her back in one fluid movement. Laughing, she started to sit up, but he pushed her back down and knelt between her legs. After picking up his flute of champagne, he poured the liquid on her right breast, letting it dribble down to the hollow of her cleavage.

She gasped and her nipple hardened the instant before his mouth covered it, licking and nipping. She moaned as he licked the sticky liquid down to the pool.

“If we’re toasting my manhood, we need to toast your glorious breasts.”

She smiled. “They’re glorious, are they?”

“You have no idea, do you?” He poured more champagne on the left nipple, his erection throbbing as her nipple pebbled. His tongue lapped at the pool between her breasts and then worked its way up the peak to her nipple. “They’re perfect. Not too small, not too big. They fit in my hand with a little bit left over. They’re soft.” His lips skimmed her creamy skin. “And they are so responsive.” He took her nipple between his teeth and she gasped, her hips lifting on the bed.

“Your observation is based on very little hands-on experience,” she teased as his mouth worked its way down the crest.

“How many times do you have to look upon a beautiful painting to know it’s glorious?” he asked in mock disbelief. “You see it and you know. Your breasts are exactly the same. Perfection brought to life. If I could sculpt, I’d make a statue of your beautiful breasts. Now I have a lifetime to enjoy their perfection.”

He leaned up and kissed her, the taste of champagne on both their lips. She pushed on his shoulders to sit up, but he guided her back down.

“I’m not done toasting yet.”

“I don’t see how you could toast my breasts any more than you have.”

His eyebrows rose playfully. “It’s not your breasts I’m toasting this time.”

Her eyes darkened with desire and anticipation as he picked up the flute and slid down her body. He held the glass over the V of her legs and released a slow drizzle, watching as the trickle flowed over her folds and then leaning down to clean it up with his mouth.

“Noah.”

He looked up at her, his erection getting harder at the sight of her—her head thrown back, her fists gripping the pillow beneath her head, her nipples peaked on her full breasts. He brought her to the edge of an orgasm before she pulled him up and rolled him over onto his back.

“Condom?” she asked breathlessly.

“My toiletries bag,” he answered just as breathlessly.

She left him to get the bag, and it seemed like an eternity before she straddled his legs and ripped open the package. “You need to be more prepared, Noah McMillan. This is your last one.”

“Jesus,” he mumbled in panic. “That will never do.”

She rolled it on him, poised over him. “No. It won’t.” Then she lowered down and took the length of him inside her, moving slowly and purposely, the evil grin on her face telling him that she intended to torture him.

He sat up and scooted them to the edge of the bed. He cupped her delicious ass and lifted her up before bringing her firmly down on top of him again. “I want to kiss this next time. Your ass and so many other places.”

“Yes, next time,” she murmured, her eyes closed and her head thrown back, as she rode him, her movements letting him know she was close to coming. He was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life—his Libby, unhinged and wild, taking what she wanted from him. Then she released a cry and moaned his name as her fingers dug into his shoulders and her climax washed over her. He pulled her close and she sagged against him, her forehead resting against his.

He kissed her, gently, softly. Wanting to show her how much he loved her. Adored her. Worshiped her.

He scooted backward on the bed, still inside her as he rolled her onto her back. Moving in and out, slowly . . . all the way in and nearly all the way out, again and again.

He reached his hand between her legs, rubbing her. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

“As much as I want you?” Her breath hitched, her eyes on his.

Her words triggered something inside him, unleashing a tidal wave of passion and desire.

She locked her legs behind his back as he pounded into her with an intensity that caught him by surprise. Worried he was hurting her, he slowed down.

“Don’t . . . stop!” she gasped out.

Instinct took over and he lifted her hips to drive deeper, inflamed by the feeling of her tightening around him.

She cried out and lifted her hips to take him as deep as she could. No longer able to hold back, Noah came hard and fast. After he caught his breath, he rolled her to her side, facing him.

“You’re going to kill me,” she murmured, her eyes closed.

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and finally placed a gentle kiss on her mouth. “You are everything I could have ever hoped for.”

“I love you,” she whispered, drifting off to sleep.

Noah held her in his arms, overcome by the knowledge that he had never fathomed what love could be like until he’d held this woman in his arms.

Libby awoke on her side, Noah’s stomach pressed to her back. Their nakedness was proof enough that last night hadn’t been a dream.

She was married to Noah. Never in her wildest dreams could she hope to have what she’d shared with him last night. And this was only the beginning of so much more.

She shifted and freed her left arm from underneath his, wanting a better look at the wedding ring.

“We can get you another if you don’t like it,” he murmured, sounding like his mouth was buried in his pillow.

“I love it. It’s perfect. What does yours look like?”

He placed his left palm on top of hers and splayed his fingers so she could see their rings together. “They match.”

“I never took you as a matchy-matchy guy,” she teased.

“Ordinarily I’m not, so don’t expect me to wear matching T-shirts.”

“How about wearing matching shirts with Tortoise?”

“Maybe . . .”

“What about matching Halloween costumes? We can go as Fred and Wilma Flintstone.”

“Only if I get to be Wilma.”

She laughed and rolled over to face him as he propped himself on his elbow to look at her. “Good morning, Mrs. McMillan.”

Happiness flooded her heart. “Good morning, Mr. McMillan.” Then she covered her mouth. “Oh, God. I have morning breath.”

He pulled her hand down. “So do I.” He kissed her, making her forget all about morning breath.

When he lifted his head, she grinned. “Does this mean I can use your toothbrush now?”

“No.”

“We’ve done much more intimate things that have involved the exchange of just as many germs as me using your toothbrush,” she said in a sultry voice.

“Enough of your vixen ways,” he chuckled. “You’re tempting me when you know we’re out of condoms.”

She turned serious. “We don’t have to use a condom, Noah. I have an IUD. I was with Mitch for five months and no one at all for three months before him.”

He shook his head. “I want to get tested first to be safe. I’d never forgive myself if I have something and gave it to you.”

“Have you really been with that many women?”

Some of the happiness left his eyes. “Yes. I’m not proud of it, but I realize now I was searching for this—for what we have. Only I went about it the wrong way. Not one of those women meant even a fraction of what you mean to me.”

“What about Donna?”

He brushed a stray hair from her forehead. “Donna was a very poor substitute for what I thought I couldn’t have. You.”

“But why were you so sure you couldn’t have me?”

“You shot me down, Lib. Remember? Right before you proposed to Mitch.”

Her face grew hot. “We had both been drinking and I thought . . .”

“That I was just hitting on you. Yeah, I know. To be fair, I wasn’t really sure what I was doing. Only that I craved you in a way I didn’t understand.” He tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes. “Honestly, if we had hooked up then, I don’t think it would be this. What we have now. I wasn’t ready yet. Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly. I don’t think I was ready yet either. You’ve inspired me.”

He laughed. “Are you going to photograph me naked?”

“That’s not what I was talking about, but hold that thought.” She climbed out of bed and dug through the bag Gram had brought her, emerging with her camera bag.

His eyes widened. “You’re serious.”

She unpacked the camera and gave him a mischievous grin. “We can swaddle you like Tito if you’d like.”

“No fucking way.”

She laughed again and attached a lens. “I won’t take photos of your celebrated manhood . . . or at least not many photos. After all, we’ve toasted it, so we should capture it in its glory. But those will be just for me.”