Free California Royale by Deborah Smith Page B

it, then. Your bra against my jeans.”
    She shook her head. “My jeans against your jeans. I think my lungs are doing just fine for the time being.”
    “So be it. I’m a patient man.”
    When she laid down four of a kind in the next hand, Duke simply threw his cards on the table and groaned. “It’s your lucky night,” he grumbled, and began undoing his jeans.
    Shea swallowed with difficulty and sat in rigid silence, wondering just what brand of insanity she’d created. Duke kicked off his loafers, shoved his jeans to his ankles, then held up each bare foot as he finished the duty. He folded the jeans carefully and presented them to her. The coffee table hid his lower half.
    “Have you got anything left to bet?” she asked with more courage than she felt.
    He arched one brow at her. “Just my briefs.” He nodded toward her bra. “My briefs for your bra. You owe me one chance to win back my dignity. Come on, one more hand.”
    “I wasn’t aware that a bra equaled dignity.”
    Duke smiled languorously. “It’ll do.”
    Her heart pounding, she murmured a word of agreement. One more hand. He dealt the cards, and when Shea had all hers, she bent her forehead to the table and tossed them down. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “I don’t have anything.” She heard his low chuckle.
    “And I have three of a kind.”
    Shea raised her chin slightly and peered up at him. “What will you do with it? My bra?”
    “Put it under my pillow for good luck. Or hang it from the antenna of the Ferrari.”
    “You wouldn’t!”
    “Give it here,
querida
. We’re both honorable people, and a bet’s a bet.”
    His eyes were too gentle for her to feel very embarrassed. Besides, Shea reminded herself, he’d seen herbreasts before. She sat stiffly erect, trying to ignore the thudding of her pulse and the languid heat inside her. She had never before behaved this way. He seemed to sense her amazement.
    “It’s only a game,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go on. I don’t want you to resent me or feel awkward.”
    Shea absorbed his concern, and all her resistance went slack. Her maverick rancher was the dearest kind of man. “I want to do it,” she whispered. With one swift, quick movement. Shea reached behind her and undid the garment. Her chin up, she slipped the bra off and handed it to Duke with a formal little gesture of her hand.
    He grasped her hand and his prize, then bent his head and nibbled her fingers. “You lose with grace,” he said in a low, husky voice. “It’s a sign of great character.”
    Shea withdrew her hand and sat very still, looking straight at his dark eyes. They flickered down to her exposed breasts, and he smiled in such a tender way that she smiled back.
    “All my life,” he said softly, “I’ve been waiting for you. Rich girl, poor girl, debutante, waitress’s daughter—whatever you are or were doesn’t matter. I don’t care about those things. I love the way you talk back to me. I love your gracefulness. I love the way you care about this silly place and its guests. And I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
    Shea exhaled a long, trembling breath. “Oh, Alejandro, you make it very easy to forget. Today in the mud bath, it was so easy. And now.” She pulled a pillow from the couch behind her and, turning toward him again, lightly hugged it to her breasts. It made her feel less vulnerable.
    “Forget what?” he asked, puzzled.
    Her voice held sorrow, not rebuke. “That you own this estate and might decide to change everything about it. This place is my life. To you it’s just something youwon in a game. Can’t you leave it as is and be happy with the money it makes for you?”
    After a moment his eyes darkened with regret, and he shook his head slowly. “No,
querida
, I can’t leave it alone. No more than I can leave you alone.”
    “It’s not the elegance that bothers you,” she said in a low, even tone, “it’s the serenity. You can’t