Amanda's Guide to Love (3 page)

“Gitan men are typically itinerant
vendors or metalworkers,” he said. “My dad, for example, deals in scrap metal.
Some are lumbermen. The women are usually artisans or peddlers. In the fall,
everyone is a grape picker. We don’t engage in the trades you mentioned.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize Gitans were
the Gypsy elite. Please forgive my ignorance.”

He moved a little closer and
flashed her a toothy smile. “I see you’re determined to insult me. But here’s
the thing—I’m not easily insulted.”

“Is that so?”

“We Gypsies are a thick-skinned
lot.” He shrugged. “Can’t afford to be touchy.”

She blushed, suddenly embarrassed.
Had she been too rude? She had, but not out of prejudice. Well, not only out of
prejudice. She was trying to drive him away so she wouldn’t have to make tough
decisions when they finished their drinks.

Still, he didn’t deserve her
spite—he
had
just saved her from aggravating her already precarious
financial situation.

“I was impressed with your memory
and your mental arithmetic,” she said, offering him the olive branch of a
sincere compliment.

“At school, I was good at math.”

“Did you go to college?”

He shook his head. “I hadn’t even
considered it.”

“Why not?”

“For one,
a
college education isn’t something my family believes in. And then . . .
I stumbled on this book at a flea market when I was seventeen.”

“What book?”

“
The Blackjack System.
I
read it in one day, reread it three more times, and then practiced with my
cousin.”

“Couldn’t you practice online?”

“I did that, too. But the system
works only with a finite number of decks on the table and a human dealer.”

“I see.”

“I couldn’t wait to turn eighteen
so I could go to a casino and put my skills to the test.”

“And it worked?”

“Not immediately, but with time I
got better. You see, the beauty of blackjack is that luck isn’t the decisive
factor. Luck determines the cards you’re dealt. But it’s your knowledge and
skill that determine how you play them.”

“Are you really making money on
this?” She narrowed her eyes. “Like, regularly?”

“I’ve made a good profit in
al
most every casino I’ve played in. Except the ones
that figure out too quickly I’m counting cards.”

“So what happens once Deauville
Casino figures you out?”

“They’ll ban me, and I’ll move on
to play elsewhere.”

“And when every casino in France
has banned you?”

“I’ll play in Belgium, Switzerland,
Italy, Germany, Spain, Portugal . . . Or I’ll go to Vegas and
then to Asia. The world is big.”

“So that’s your life plan?”

“You could say that.”

She drained her mojito.

He beckoned to the bartender and
then turned to Amanda. “Any food allergies or diet restrictions?”

“No. Why?”

“We’ll have two cold cuts and
cheese plates, please,” he said to the barman.

When they swallowed the last slices
of spicy chorizo, Kes asked matter-of-factly, “My hotel or yours?”

Oh Lord.
There it was—decision time. But
wait a minute. Why was she even considering it? She didn’t do one-night stands.
She wasn’t that kind of girl. What she needed to do was wish him good night in
her poshest accent and leave.

It was the only reasonable move.

Except . . . she
wasn’t being reasonable tonight. Right now, she was curious and thrilled. Her
heart fluttered with anticipation. She all but drooled over the juicy exotic
fruit that was this man. Just this once she itched to be wanton. After all, her
reputation in that department was so unnaturally pristine it was begging for a
stain.

And just like that, Amanda made up
her mind: she was going to bed with Kes, the gambler she’d met a few hours ago.

He bit into his last pickle. “Do
you have a boyfriend?”

“No. Do you?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve never had
a boyfriend.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. “I’m a virgin that way.”

She chuckled.

He broke into an infectious grin
before adding in a more serious tone, “No girlfriend at the moment, either.”

“Do you have a condom?” she heard
herself ask.

He blinked and then nodded. “Yep—in
my room. My hotel then?”

“Only if it’s decent.”

“As decent as it gets in this town.
I’m staying at Royal Barrière—it’s the building next door.”

Was his being at the same hotel as
she was
a sign, a green light of sorts? She could
sneak out and go to her room as soon as the deed was done—a perfect setup for a
hassle-free, controlled bit of fun. If she were ever going to have her first
one-night stand, there wouldn’t be a better occasion.

He must have seen the
outcome of her expeditious debate on her face because he took her hand and led
her from the bar.

* * *

What Happens in
Deauville

~ ~ ~

A Woman’s Guide to Perfection

Guideline # 2

The Perfect Woman always wears silk
lingerie.

Rationale
: Silk is natural, classy, and high
maintenance. Which is exactly the image you want to project.

Word
of caution
: If on
a budget, purchase good-quality polyester that imitates silk. Some lace is
acceptable
,
too.

Permissible
exception
: Wear
cotton for workouts and hiking trips.

Damage
control
: If,
during a hiking trip
,
sparks fly between you
and your guy-friend, you’re in a tricky situation. If you’re wearing silk
because you were planning on ending up in said friend’s sleeping bag, you may
come across as calculating. Which the Perfect Woman obviously is, but no one
needs to know. Your best option is probably to wear your sexiest Calvin Klein
cottons.

Pitfalls
to avoid:
(a) too
much lace, (b) poor quality polyester, (c) one-size-fits-all grandma briefs
(make sure you don’t even own a pair of those, otherwise you’ll inevitably run
out of clean underwear and find yourself wearing them the day you get a chance
to seduce the man of your dreams).

~
~ ~

Amanda looked around. Kes’s room
was very similar to hers—recently refurbished and cozy though smallish. Her
gaze fell on the bed. You couldn’t miss it if you tried, considering it
occupied the lion’s share of the room. She grew a little panicky.

Calm and composed, Kes stood next
to her, letting her find her bearings. He didn’t touch or kiss her. Was this
normal behavior? Was this how men handled the preliminaries of casual sex,
letting women take the initiative?

Her panic level went up a notch.

How did a woman tell a stranger
she was
about to have sex with that
she was
out of practice? Had Amanda been more drunk,
she might have been able to go with the flow
—
or
she might have barfed and passed out. Had she been less drunk, she wouldn’t
have been here in the first place.

But as it was, she had drunk just
the right amount to get herself into a delicate situation without thinking of
an exit strategy. For all she knew, her gorgeous gambler
would
turn out to be a serial killer. Or a big
-
toe worshipper.

Hmm
. Something told her he was
neither. If the way he’d played blackjack and helped her earlier tonight was
any indication, he’d be a good lover—skilled and generous.

Amanda lowered her gaze and
silently thanked her
Guide to Perfection
for ensuring she wore silk
lingerie.

Kes switched off the harsh ceiling
fixture and lit the bedside lamp.

Good.

He stepped behind her and put his
arms around her waist. The gesture was more friendly than passionate, and
Amanda was glad for it. She wasn’t feeling very passionate right now. Her body
was so tense it needed a good massage more than sex. Could Kes sense that?

He kissed the side of her neck. “I
want you to enjoy yourself tonight.”

She said nothing, her muscles
tensing up a little more.

He pushed her blonde strands to the
side and pressed soft kisses to the back of her neck. It was pleasant, but she
couldn’t relax enough to savor his ministrations. He pushed the right strap of
her dress down and kissed her shoulder, sliding his hands up and down her arms.
She enjoyed it, but her brain kept churning. What would he do next? He’d
probably push her dress farther down to reveal her breasts.

She stiffened.

He released her from his embrace
and stepped in front of her.

Still avoiding his gaze, she waited
for his next move. When none came, she finally looked into his eyes.

He smiled. “How about I take
everything off and you keep your clothes on for as long as you’d like?”

Really?

That sounded like a great idea. She
looked him over—the delicious, tall, broad-shouldered whole of him—and licked
her lips.

“Would you like that?” he asked
with a crooked smile on his face.

“Now you’re talking,” she said,
recovering her aplomb.

He shrugged off his fine linen
jacket. One by one, he undid the buttons on the front of his shirt and removed
the cufflinks. Then he pulled the shirt off. His torso was a work of art—a
broad chest tapering to a six-pack stomach and narrow hips. Amanda held her
breath as he unzipped his pants. With a tiny smile, he pushed them down
together with his boxers, and then took off his shoes and socks in a quick
,
fluid movement.

And she watched.

He reminded her of Michelangelo’s
David
.
His body was hard everywhere—yes, including
there
—and yet he was
uncannily graceful and comfortable in his nudity.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Oh yes.”

Something feral flickered in his
eyes, and a second later he was invading her space and pulling her into him. He
fondled her in a delightfully indecent way. She let out a ragged sigh and
gripped his strong neck. His mouth descended on hers: hungry, unapologetic.

Covering her lips with his, he ran
his tongue over them. It felt wonderful. He pulled her lower lip between his
teeth and bit it lightly. She gasped and closed her eyes to savor his sensual
onslaught. When his tongue pushed inside her mouth, she welcomed it with a
caress of her own. All her tension was gone, replaced by molten need. It
coursed through her veins and made her weak and crazed with lust.

Suddenly, he wasn’t close enough.
She wanted his stomach against hers and his chest crushing her breasts. She
needed his hands on her bare backside.

Skin to feverish skin.

How shocking to feel that way. How
crude . . . and invigorating.

She broke the kiss and drew away
just enough to run her hands over his shoulders and press them against his
chest. He tugged at the other strap of her gown
,
which
was still resting on her shoulder. It fell down, limp. He pulled
both straps farther down, and she slid her arms out to help him undress her.

When the top of her dress pooled
around her hips, he cupped her breasts and fondled them gently. It was pure
bliss. His fingers rolled and softly pinched her hardened nipples and then slid
down to stroke her between her legs through the satiny fabric.

She moaned and threw back her head.
Heaven knew she wasn’t in the habit of letting strangers touch her in the most
intimate way, but this was too good to deny herself.

The dress had to go. Everything
that stood between his fingers and her body had to go
.

Amanda pushed the dress all the way
down and was about to remove her panties when he kneeled before her and pressed
his lips to her abdomen. As he kissed it, he lowered her underwear a little,
caressing the bared skin. His touch was soft and unhurried. When he rolled her
panties down her thighs, she trembled in anticipation, her knees going so
wobbly she had to grip his shoulders for support as she stepped out of them.

He put his hands on her waist and
backed her to the bed. When she felt the duvet against the backs of her thighs,
he nudged her and spread her knees. And then he kissed her—
down there
.

She moaned. No one had ever done
this to her, not even the man she’d hoped to spend the rest of her life with.
She knew herself to be slow on the uptake, needing at least half an hour of
foreplay to reach the degree of arousal that removed the discomfort from
penetration. More often than not, she failed to reach that coveted state and
had to put up with the discomfort.