Perfecting the Odds (7 page)

So why not flirt a bit? See what all the fuss was about and enjoy this carefree Karis.

Plopping right down beside her wolf man, she blurted over the music, “My name’s Karis…uh…just Karis. Would you mind standing?” Height mattered. She’d be damned to flirt with someone she had to look down at. Surprising her, he actually stood, whirling an aroma of tropical male right up her nostrils. She inhaled deeply and immediately felt a surge of arousal dampen her panties. Her lower lip swelled; her clit throbbed.
Well, well, well. Everything seems to be in working order
, she quipped inwardly. She nodded; he winked, and in one smooth motion, sat back down while sliding his stool a bit closer to hers.

Karis leaned over and whispered into his ear, “That girl over there--.” She pointed toward naughty nurse “--who, if I’m being honest, needs a good shagging—said you’re the hottest man in here. That’s quite a compliment.” She smiled at him, and he grinned. Holy Hell.  That smile nearly knocked her
ass sober. But it wasn’t just those full lips, although spectacular, his smile glittered in his dark eyes, crinkling the corners, lowering his lashes so that they fanned out. Devastating yet full of wicked promise. And wasn’t that just perfect considering current condition of her panties?

Still, he offered no retort to her brazen comment as the seconds ticked by. This flirting thing
was more difficult than it looked. Eve always made it seem effortless. Karis would have to credit her for her mad skills later.

“So, it’s convenient that there’s one seat right next to you, Mr. Wolf.  Kinda lends itself to the irony of our costumes, huh? Just think, if I was dressed up as the grandmother, I’d be in a heap of crap right now! But then again, once you ate me, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to fit into the grandma nightgown with your being so big and--” she ended, waving her hand to dismiss the image. His eyes widened and then he belted out a laugh, and,
mercy
, how yummy was that sound. Yep, she just implied she wanted him to eat her. Not that she’d mind at this point. Dear Lord, she was in trouble. Karis dug deep for some sobriety. And as much as she could with three and a half very strong drinks obscuring logical intentions, she really tried to collect her thoughts. Really, she did.

  Big fat fail.

Why? Because the sexy bastard took another swig of his drink, leaving a shiny wetness on his lower lip that had her gripping the edge of the bar before she lapped it up like a dog in heat.  The heat that had managed to maintain a steady burn throughout her neglected pussy and create shamelessly erect nipples…which, now he was currently noticing. Of course he did. The whole frickin’ bar probably did. They were all but on display beneath the almost-see-through lace bustier. She managed to place her arms across her chest before inadvertantly dropping her eyes to his lap and --.

Ho boy.
Wetting her dry lips, she cleared her throat again and considered her odd situation. This quiet mass of male sex certainly wasn’t rejecting her. His heated stare and substantial bulge between his legs begging her eyes to take another gander clearly said he was interested in her. Flirting sucked. She felt like a goddamn dentist. Extracting a word from that sexy mouth of his was now her mission. Decision made.

She propped her elbow on the bar and her chin on her fist. “I saw you watching me from over here
. What big eyes you have, Mr. Wolf. They’re the color of smooth toffee, by the way.” She paused to lean closer than any sober person would have and pointed at one eye, drawing little circles with her index finger. She moaned. “But they have a dark chocolate border around them, like nummy little desserts.” Her body jolted backward as the comment tumbled from her mouth. Decadent eyes. She darted her eyes between all his features as recollection forged split-second lucidity. There was something about him. Oddly familiar.

Tall.

That smile.

Those decadent eyes.

“Thank you, Karis,” he said quietly, arresting her analysis. She shut her eyes to catalog the sound. When vertigo forced them open again, his eyes were slowly trailing over her red hood down to her breasts, scorching every inch of her skin with his inspection. She flushed and hated herself for it. “You look sexy as hell tonight, sweetheart. Everyone was watching you.”

It registered loud and clear. That unmistakable timbre brought all the memories and fantasies into Technicolored sobriety.

Holy Shitbrick. Michael Finn. She was certain. Her mind scrambled to make a decision. Stay focused. Stay logical, Karis. Yes, he was a key player in the most embarrassing moment of her life, and yes, dammit, he was the same sexy bastard who invaded her dreams and gave her more orgasms than her damn vibrator, but what if it wasn’t him? And what if it was?

Wouldn’t he remember me?  Should I ask him to take off his mask? The questions whirled in her brain, answers lost in the haze.  God, I want to kiss him.

Crap!

Okay. Just go with it for a while longer, her conscience encouraged. Just to be sure. Karis turned her entire body to face him and narrowed her eyes.

She knew. Yes, it had crossed Michael’s mind--or rather last night’s fantasy--that she would show up tonight, but he and Scott had come to this bar numerous times since that night more than three years ago, and she’d never shown. And here she was. He still couldn’t believe it. Michael ran his eyes over her again and inhaled. Hints of orange and honey dizzied his brain.
She’s so damn gorgeous
. From her black patent-leather fuck-me shoes, those impossibly long black fishnet-covered legs, to the too-short mini skirt, she sure-as-shit commanded every hetero cock in the room to stand at attention. Michael clenched his jaw, noticing the bustier allowed the shadow of her nipples to bounce off the lace lining of her bodice. Her russet hair fell a bit longer than before, brushing the tops of her breasts. A crimson hood crowned her head, making her creamy complexion flawless. His perusal ended and lingered on those emerald eyes smiling in unison with her fuckable red-stained lips.

Michael stole a moment to mull over her behavior. Did he like horny Karis? Fuck yeah
, he did. But now he wavered between being completely pissed off and cursing the clothing separating him from her luscious body. But, for all intents and purposes, Karis was seducing a stranger. Michael would have never taken her for the type to pick up men in bars, so what the hell was she doing?

His breath stunted in his chest as he dropped his eyes to her left hand. No ring. From her reaction before, he knew she wouldn’t have forgotten it again. He knew many widows, his mother included, who continued to wear their wedding rings years after their husbands’ death. Michael couldn’t stop from pondering Karis’s reasoning. Perhaps she had grieved enough? Perhaps she was ready to move on? She had lost her husband, a man Michael new she loved; she had told him herself, but the man had also deceived her and she carried a wealth of anger.

So, was she ready to move on? More importantly, was she ready for Michael?

So how the hell would he start the conversation?

“Hey, remember me? I’m the guy who’s been bored with my life until the moment I saw you. Oh, and that happened to be the night you confessed your inner most feelings about your dying husband. ” Yeah, she’d snack on that little desperate statement for a nanosecond and then spit it back at him. 

Fuck, even “so, how have you been” sounded insensitive.

If he had half a brain, he would just leave the bar. But he knew exactly why he wouldn’t. That night branded his memory with what-ifs. What if he had kissed her? What if he had sought her out? What if he did anything besides allow her to walk out that door without a way to contact each other? But now all he was left with was when should I take off this goddamn mask because, frankly, she embodied the classic fairy tale heroine--a heady mix of naughty and nice—and Michael was fully cocked and set to villainize the shit out of her…

A
s soon as he figured out how to pull that off.

***

B
ut what if it wasn’t him.
You have to be sure.

Wouldn’t he remember me?
Definitely not acting like it. Should I ask him to take off his mask?
The questions whirled in her brain, answers lost in the haze. 
Just go with it for a while longer
, her conscience encouraged. Just to be sure. Karis narrowed her eyes a bit and turned her entire body to face him.

“Do you have a name
, Mr. Wolf?” Please, for the love of horny widows, say your name. She slow-blinked as she stared at his mouth, fully regretting the four drinks. Damn, if she would have known he’d be here…No, Karis. Focus.

“
Of course I do, sweetheart.”

Evasive bastard.

His lips quirked up. Damn him and all his stupid sexy expressions. Karis quickly made a decision based upon intoxication and burning sexual tension. She would tempt him, push him to the point where he would have to de-mask and stop the act. Two could definitely play at this game. And then for the first time in a very long time, a rare mood emerged: excitement. And damn did it feel good. She smiled impishly and lifted her hand to stroke the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip. She watched his eyes pulse and his nostrils flare just a bit. He shifted on the barstool.
Well
, now.

“What a kissable mouth you have,” she purred. His
lips parted slowly as she traced her index finger along the tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt. Chill bumps rose on his tanned skin. “Semper Fidelis. You must be a Marine,” she asked, continuing to trace figure-eights along his sinewy forearm.

“
Not active,” he answered quickly.

“Ah, never former
.” She winked. “What are you drinking, Marine? Vodka?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Me, too. Do you prefer it hard?” He shot out a choke-laugh, and Karis bit down on her lip.
Jesus, Karis. Revise and rewrite! You’re teasing, not propositioning him for sex
. “I mean, do you prefer it straight up?” Nope, not any better. She blinked rapidly, not quite believing what had just came out of her mouth.

“
Most women do, yes?” He smirked then covered her hand to stop her finger play. He brought her hand to his lips, nipped the tip of her pinky finger, and her pussy pulsed. Holy erogenous zone. 

Frantic to regain control, she pulled her hand away and laid it on his thigh. She felt his hard muscle stiffen beneath her hand. Michael was pure gristle, hard in a way only a man could be. The only soft spot on Michael were those damn lips that she couldn’t pull her gaze from.

“I suppose they do,” she said before lifting her glass in the air. “Bebere humanun est, ergo bibamus. To drink is human, let us therefore drink.” She clumsily gulped the remaining vodka before slamming her glass down on the bar top.

Michael lifted his glass for the toast and took a long drag of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. He gripped his glass, rolling it between his hands. God, his hands were sexy. Strong
, masculine hands with long fingers she desperately wanted all over her. Spending equal time gazing at his eyes, his mouth…back and forth…she debated whether to walk away now. He wasn’t making a move. That’s good, right? He would fight his urges. Goddamn superhuman man. So teasing him was no better than his deceiving her, right?

How many times had she shot down Rebecca’s attempt to get her to date?  And look at her now--attempting a drunken dance of seduction with Michael, the man who already knew too much. And she was scared shitless, not only because of what he knew, but that she was jetting through a tunnel of needy arousal that she knew he could, no doubt, fulfill.

Just walk away. The warning trilled through her vodka-soaked judgment.

But then… the sexy bastard brought that damn glass to his lips, gently licking a drop of vodka hanging from the rim. Her
pussy wept again, rhythmic zings firing to all her girly bits. Her entire body shivered, and she prayed he hadn’t noticed. But when she met his eyes for what felt like the millionth time, his restraint had throttled into a dark gaze of possession that nearly pulled her from her seat onto his lap.

Her body loved that look. Fighting it was futile.

It’s not like he’s a complete stranger
, she rationalized. She had fantasized about kissing Michael, woke up panting and soaked after a dream that felt way too real. So why not indulge? What would a kiss hurt? Then she would go on her merry way. So what if she woke up tomorrow hung over and kicking herself for losing self-control. And who cares if she would have never attempted it sober? Damn it, she deserved a bit of pleasure with a man she trusted.

Trusted
? Yes, she trusted him, but she had no clue why or how it had happened. He couldn’t hurt her. She stared at him as his toffee eyes seemed to flash black. Her luck, the damn man would kiss her right into toe-curling orgasm…right here in front of a bar full of people. And she’d take it. God, yes, she needed it. It’s just a little kiss.

Still searing her gaze back and forth across his mouth, she slid off her barstool. She nudged his knees open and stepped between his
thighs. He dropped his glass on the bar with thud.
Didn’t expect that, did you Michael?
Her body palpitated in symphony with her heart. Their breathing synched inhale to exhale, they gazed at each other with clandestine recognition. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and his hands seared the curve of her waist. He tugged her toward him and the thick line of his massive erection hard pulsed hard between her legs. His tongue slid out and lined a gleam along his lips, and his eyes flickered with anticipation. That familiar current between them crackled and pulled. And all that remained hung like a dense fog of pressure between them: Who dared make the next move?