Free Triple Score by Regina Kyle Page A

to circus. “I don’t want you to go.”
    He stared down at the hand on his arm. Pale, delicate, her pink-tipped fingers trembling with nervous excitement. Or maybe it was fear. She was out of her comfort zone, that was for sure. Hell, so was he. Not that he cared.
    “Don’t worry,” he reassured her, covering her hand with his own. “I’m not going far.”
    “You’re not?”
    She blinked, her long lashes sweeping her cheeks. Damn, her eyes were hypnotizing.
    “Hell, no.” He chuckled. “This is my room.”
    “Oh. Right.” Her cheeks flushed with red but those hypnotic eyes never left his. “Well, I don’t want to go, either.”
    “Then what do you want, Duchess?”
    “You.” She stepped closer to him, moving between his thighs. “I want you.”
    Reluctantly, he released her, but only to cross the room and lock the door. “Last chance to back out.”
    She lifted her chin. “I’m not backing out.”
    “You sure?” He crossed back to her, letting his hands rest on her shoulders, barely covered by the thin straps of her tank top. Was her skin that soft everywhere? “I’m not a one-and-done kind of guy. We’re talking a whole night of debauchery here. You on top of me. Me on top of you. And any other position I can interest you in.”
    She glanced at his injured arm, not in the brace now since he’d been sleeping but still tender, his tattoos—and the scars from his surgery—clearly visible. “What about your arm? And my leg?”
    “We’ll just have to get creative. I’m well versed in the Kama Sutra.” Thanks to Reid and Cooper, who’d included a copy in his care package. It beat the heck out of anything on the shelves in Spaulding’s pathetic excuse for a library. “Any other objections?”
    He watched, transfixed, as she took a step back and reached for the hem of her shirt. This time, instead of balling it in her fists, she lifted it so slowly and deliberately he thought his cock was going to explode. Inch by creamy inch, she revealed her flat stomach and toned abs until the shirt was over her head and on the floor, leaving her in yoga pants that hugged her hips and a lacy lavender bra that didn’t leave a whole hell of a lot to the imagination.
    “Does that answer your question?”

7
    T OM P ETTY WAS RIGHT .
    Waiting was the hardest part.
    Like right now, as Noelle stood half naked in Jace’s room, most of her breasts and all of her intentions bared to him, waiting for him to goddamn do—or say—something. Anything. Hell, at this point she’d take him picking up her shirt and throwing it at her. At least then she’d know what was going on in that all-too-handsome head of his.
    She started to reach for it herself, convinced he’d changed his mind about the whole thing, when his deep, rough whisper stopped her.
    “Don’t. I was enjoying the view.”
    She straightened. “I thought...”
    “Don’t do that, either.” He folded his arms across his impressive chest.
    “Then what should I do?”
    One corner of his mouth lifted. “First time at the rodeo?”
    “Hardly.” She blew a hair off her face. “Let’s just say I’m not used to being the aggressor.”
    “Oh, so that’s how you want to play it. Fine by me.” In two strides, he was at the bed. Without warning, he flopped onto it and stretched out, crossing his arms behind his head. “Here I am, sweetness. All yours. Just do what comes naturally and promise you’ll still respect me in the morning.”
    “Still?” She matched his half smile with one of her own. “Wouldn’t that imply I already respect you?”
    “Good point. Forget about the respect and have your wicked way with me.”
    He crossed his ankles and wiggled his toes at her. Damn, even the man’s bare feet were sexy. A far cry from hers, toes constantly bruised, bleeding and bandaged from dancing on pointe.
    She shook her head to jar her rambling thoughts loose. Idiot . He’d just offered her free rein over his entire body, and there she was mooning