Free Plotting to Win by Tara Chevrestt Page A

this guy. If she could capture the moment and bottle it, she would. She’d dab the feeling all over her body every day.
    She cleared her throat as his finger left her face. “Why are you helping me?”
    “I don’t know.” His voice was strained, tired. His expression was one of bewilderment. What was going on behind the brown depths of his gaze? “But I’m not in cahoots with Tiffani. I want to just get that out of your pretty head right now.”
    He thinks I’m pretty? Aloud, she said, “Then what was that about? Yesterday? What Tiffani said?” She crossed her arms over her chest, the only barrier she had at the moment, but what was she protecting? Her pride? Her heart?
    He sighed and stared at the floor next to her bed. “I was a fool and ended up hurting myself more than you. The extent of our corroboration is switching beds. I thought my nearness — yes, arrogant ass, I know — would throw you off your game, ‘cause, frankly, I see you as the biggest threat.”
    “Um…” He’d managed to insult her and compliment her at the same time. Felicity couldn’t stop the wrinkle marring her brow. “Okay, well, ‘thank you’ and ‘what the fuck’ both come to mind.” She released an uncomfortable laugh and fingered the pages of her novel. They’d all be dog-eared by the time she was done. Hopefully, Ms. Roberts wouldn’t see it.
    He offered a sheepish grin.
    “So you thought my game could be thrown off as easily as that? I’m not some high school girl. I’m a grown-ass thirty-year-old woman, and I’m not easily sidetracked.” Well … she bit her lips to stop the smile that threatened to emerge.
    His t-shirt pulled against taut muscles as he pushed himself off the bed. The urge to reach out and grab him, to pull him down until his long body covered hers almost overwhelmed her. Hot fire built in her lower belly, and she was grateful for her dark skin. If she’d been a pale woman, the heat and desire within her would be evident as it burned through her flesh.
    “I realize that now.” His voice was low and husky. He had his hands in his pockets as he turned away from her bed.
    “Wait,” she called after him. “How did you end up hurting yourself?”
    “You snore,” he said over his shoulder. “I can’t sleep a wink with all that racket.”
    “What?” Felicity gaped at his retreating back and before he got too far away, she hefted her pillow and threw it in his direction. It landed on the floor next to him, and he laughed all the way out of the room, great, shoulder-moving gusts of laughter.
    “Before we go on to the second round of challenges, does anyone wish to compete for Arnold’s writing cave?” Nicole Roberts stood in front of them, near the lone vacant dining chair, hands clasped in front of her, patiently waiting.
    Oooh, the room with the fireplace … dare she? Felicity was doing just fine where she was though. Would she change her luck if she moved?
    “Me. I want it,” Tiffani rushed to get her name in.
    “Oh, hell yea.” Dez stuck a finger in the air. “I could use a change of scenery.”
    “What happened to ‘I can write anywhere, I’m just that good?’” Carmen snickered.
    “Thought about it,” Roy said, “but thanks to the sunscreen, I’m all right. It’s a nice spot. There’s even a tape or something that plays the sounds of birds.”
    “Anyone else?” Nicole glanced around, waiting, giving them — giving her — a chance. Felicity bit her lip. She did want the room, but, really, Dez had to sit on the toilet, and while she wouldn’t mind beating Tiffani, she didn’t want to stir up more trouble. The woman was glaring at her from across the room.
    There were six more rounds to go, and she didn’t want to worry about being murdered in her sleep.
    Victor caught her eye, and she shook her head.
    “All right then. Tiffani and Dez, come on downstairs and get the official instructions on your writing challenge for the cozy fireplace room.”
    Tiffani and Dez