Never Gamble With a Caffarelli (Those Scandalous Caffarellis 3)

He grabbed at the back of his cashmere sweater and tugged it over his head. Next came his shirt, which lost a button or two in the process. ‘Now let’s start on you.’

She gave him a seductive look as she undid the tiny pearl buttons of her designer cardigan. She was wearing a black lacy camisole underneath that showed the shadow of her cleavage and the perfect globes of her breasts. ‘I’m not wearing a bra.’

His groin tightened another notch. ‘I can see that.’

She peeled the shoestring straps over her shoulders, one by one, lowering the lacy garment slowly, like a high-class stripper. ‘You want to touch me, don’t you?’

I want to do more than touch you. ‘What gives you that idea?’ Remy did his deadpan face.

Her lips curved upwards in a siren’s smile. ‘I’m not going to let you touch me until I’m good and ready. You have to be a good boy and wait.’ She lowered her camisole a little further, revealing a tightly budded pink nipple. ‘Do you think you can do that?’

Remy had to count backwards to stop himself from jumping the gun. His need was pulsating with such relentless force it was painful. ‘I’ll wait, but you do realise at some point in the future you’re going to pay for this, don’t you?’

She gave a little mock shiver. ‘Ooh! Is that supposed to scare me?’

‘Be scared,’ he growled. ‘Be very scared.’

She exposed her other breast, all the while holding his gaze with the dancing, mischievous heat of hers. She glided her hand down over her belly to the waistband of her pencil-thin designer jeans. ‘I’m wet. I bet you want to feel how wet, don’t you?’

Remy had never been so turned on. He was fighting to keep his hands off her. He couldn’t think about anything but the need to thrust into her to the hilt and explode. ‘I’m hard. I bet you want to feel how hard, huh?’

Her eyes sparkled as she traced a fingertip down the ridge of his erection through the fabric of his trousers. ‘Mmm; impressive.’ She took the same fingertip and traced it down the denim-covered seam of her body. ‘I guess I should get out of my jeans. Would you like that?’

I would love that. ‘Take your time.’

She slithered down off the bench, pushing him back with a fingertip. ‘Not so close, big boy. You don’t get to touch until I give the go ahead.’

Remy mentally gulped. This was going to end badly if she didn’t speed things up a bit. He could feel his erection straining against his jeans. He just hoped the fabric was strong enough to hold him in.

She was definitely going to pay for this.

And it would involve a leather whip and handcuffs.

Angelique locked gazes with him and slowly undid her zipper. The sound of it going down was magnified in the throbbing silence. She stepped out of her heels and then she peeled the jeans off her legs. Once they were off she stepped back into her heels, leaving just the black lace of her knickers on. ‘So...’ She ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip leaving it wet and glistening. ‘Are you getting excited?’

Way, way beyond that. ‘What do you think?’

She traced his erection again, her eyes still holding his in a sexy little lock that made his blood heat to boiling. ‘How badly do you want me?’

Off the scale. ‘Let’s put it this way. Right now I could do you in five seconds flat.’

Her eyes flared and then her lips pushed forwards in a pout. ‘That sounds like I would be left high and dry.’

‘Don’t worry. I’d take you along for the ride.’

She put that teasing fingertip to work again. ‘What if I was to strike up a little deal with you?’

Remy marvelled at her self-control. He’d always thought he was a master at keeping his desire under his command but she had pushed him to the very limit. His body was a mass of twitching nerve endings and primal urgings. But he was still in enough control—only just—to recognise manipulation when he saw it. ‘What sort of deal?’

She slowly lowered his zipper. ‘A deal where we both get what we want.’

He sucked in a breath as her fingers tugged his underwear aside. It was hard to think straight when she was touching him, stroking him to the very edge, but he was not going to be tricked or manoeuvred into giving away what he had spent years fighting to gain.

Besides, he hadn’t just done it for himself: he had done it for his brothers. It wasn’t his prize to give away. It represented far more than a victory over a double-crossing enemy. Takin

g ownership of Tarrantloch was finally setting right the wrongs of the past. Handing it over to the sole heir of the man who had almost destroyed his family’s fortune was the very last thing he would consider doing, no matter what his relationship with Angelique was. Or wasn’t.

He pushed her hand away and stepped back from her. ‘Game over, ma belle. I’m not giving you Tarrantloch in exchange for a quick screw up against the kitchen bench. I’m not that desperate.’