Free Calling His Bluff by Amy Jo Cousins Page A

started
     covering what was clearly a backside worth watching, it stopped again, leaving a mile
     of pale, shimmering leg between a hemline that would make a hooker blush and four-inch
     red spike heels that sculpted calves and thighs to perfection. When the woman stepped
     away from the door, her hip bumped into his.
    He jumped back into the middle of the hallway as if he’d been grazed by a branding
     iron.
    He certainly felt burned.
    As the woman turned to face him, the long dark waterfall of hair she’d pulled over
     one shoulder swung free, a curtain of silk that moved like india ink, strands sliding
     over each other slickly.
    She crossed herself, pressed a kiss to her fingertips and tapped them on her door
     over her shoulder.
    One thing was clear. He hadn’t lost Sarah, although it was still up for debate whether
     or not he’d lost his mind.
    She took his blank stare for one of inquiry, and looked back over her shoulder to
     where she’d tapped the door. The gesture did interesting things to the drape of the
     dress. He lifted his eyes from the chest of his best friend’s little sister and tried
     to tell himself he wasn’t going to hell.
    “Old gambling superstition.” She nodded at the door. “You pray you still have enough
     money to pay for the room by the time you come back to it.”
    “Ah. I see.” He willed the heat out of his eyes as he let his gaze run—platonically,
     he hoped—over her dress one more time, trying not to swallow his tongue. “Are you
     sure you don’t want to step back in that room for just a minute and grab something
     to wear over that dress? Like a sweater?”
    She started to turn toward him, eyes framed in gunmetal-gray liner and big dark fringes
     of lashes, when she dropped her little jeweled clutch. As she sank gracefully into
     a crouch to retrieve it, the skirt rode up even more and he felt himself get hard.
     He broke out in a sweat.
    “And maybe some pants.”
    “What?”
    Sarah was still kneeling at his feet, looking up at him in confusion as she adjusted
     a skinny, crystal-encrusted strap across the bridge of one foot. Her mouth was a slick
     of cherry-red gloss that shined like the paint on a newly waxed Corvette.
    Then she licked her lips, her face hovering around knee-level.
    “Will you get up?”
    He hauled her to her feet with a grip on one arm that he released the moment he didn’t
     think she’d fall down. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets. Took them out and
     buttoned his jacket, feeling grateful that it wouldn’t occur to Sarah to give him
     the same once-over he’d given her.
    Or, at least, the old Sarah wouldn’t even consider glancing at his crotch. Who knew
     what
this
Sarah would do?
    “Ready?” she asked and began stalking toward the elevators, smoothly shifting her
     weight with each long stride she took on those impossibly high heels.
    She’d already stabbed the elevator call button by the time he caught up with her.
    “Sarah, wait. Don’t you think you’re a little bit overdressed?”
    Which was the first time in his life he’d ever tried to get a woman out of a dress
     like that without trying to get his own pants off at the same time.
    “No way, baby. This is Vegas.”
    “Most of this town consists of retirees in velour tracksuits.”
    “Not in my Vegas.” The elevator doors slid open noiselessly in front of them. J.D.
     didn’t miss the appreciative twinkle in the eyes of the gentleman standing with his
     lady companion in the back of the car. The man was ninety if he was a day and had
     a pair of pants belted up over his round belly, but that didn’t mean he was blind.
     “In my Vegas, Dean-o or Frank could be waiting right around the corner, striking up
     a match just in time to light my cigarette.”
    He leaned away from her in shock.
    “You smoke?” Was the world coming to an end?
    “No.” She grinned up at him. “But in my Vegas, I just might. Thank you, sweetie, but
     it’s early times yet.” This