(possible sequel to Strip Search)
“How about a friendly bet?”
Lucia hesitated. Ashley’s mind worked in mysterious, devious ways. There was a trap here somewhere.
“Meaning…?”
“Take your Mr. Bocelli there,” Ashley indicated with a toss of her head.
Oh, she’d like to take him, all right. Any way he was willing to dish it out. Not that he was willing or seriously interested or ever would be. He was not only a major hunk of the month, but her uncle’s eyes and ears in all things that were none of Pietro’s business. Blade wanting to steam up the sheets with her was a lovely fantasy, however.
But she sighed, playing along. “All right. What about him?”
“The man has been watching you since you walked through the door. He greeted you; you wouldn’t meet his gaze, mumbled something blandly polite, then flashed a big smile to some guy you barely know and don’t want in the least.”
Gnawing at her bottom lip, Lucia acknowledged that she had done all those things. But Blade Bocelli made her heart race, her tongue tie into tight knots, and her… Better just to say he made her nervous and very aware of the fact she was female and leave it there.
“He’s not interested.”
Ashley issued a decidedly unladylike snort. “I say otherwise. Next time he talks to you, you have to engage in conversation with him, flirt, give him the green-light vibe. If he backs away after that, I’ll promise to proofread your latest research article. Deal?”
Oh, tempting offer. Ashley was killer with copyediting marks and a red pen. And this last article she’d finished was so, so important to her—both professionally and personally.
“Okay, it’s a deal. But I’m telling you, he’s only staring to let me know my uncle disapproves of this dress.”
“Honey, there is nothing remotely uncle-like about that stare. His gaze has been glued to your ass since you arrived, like he’s trying discern what kind of underwear you’re wearing beneath that dress so he can decide how best to take it off.”
“Well, so far, according to you, he’s stared at my breasts and my ass. Maybe he’s just trying to figure out why I squeezed something so big into a dress that’s so small. Last time I listen to you for fashion advice, by the way.”
“Or maybe he genuinely likes you, is hard as hell, and is trying to figure out how to get you to recognize both of those facts.”
Lucia sighed. She wanted to believe Ashley. Would love to believe her, in fact. Blade Bocelli had been her non-stop fantasy since she’d met him two months ago. But, despite being a librarian, Ashley’s existence often centered around choosing among multiple hunky admirers, so she couldn’t imagine life otherwise. Lucia didn’t didn’t fault her best friend for not understanding. Clearly, she just had to work around her point of view.
“Oh, of course every scrumptious bad boy in Vegas has been spending hours—no, days—trying to figure out how to get me into bed.” She rolled her eyes.
“If there is a secret, Doc, let me in on it,” murmured an all-too-familiar gravelly, Jersey-accented voice that went straight to her belly and bloomed into a wild, sensual ache.
Blade Bocelli.
Oh my God! She gasped. He’d heard her?
Lucia could feel him now, hot at her back, mere inches away. The musky spice unique to him alone wrapped around her, intensifying the ache in her gut into something with claws that had dug in deep long ago and refused to let go.
She zipped her gaze over her shoulder, hoping somehow that her senses had deceived her, that she was wrong. But no. There he stood, all six plus feet of him, clad in a midnight blue shirt, black slacks and his signature black leather jacket.
“Would you?” he cajoled softly. “I’ve been looking for a way to get you into bed for two months.”