The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) (13 page)

When the lights went up, Luke stood. “Let’s get a drink.”

As they joined the stream of people heading out of the theater and toward the lobby bar, Miranda caught the telltale glance and whisper of recognition from a couple beside them. She blessed the city mind-set that required sophisticated New Yorkers to be too cool to bother celebrities.

Luke escorted her to the bar on the promenade, took one look at the champagne on offer, and handed the bartender a folded bill. “Is there someplace we can get the good stuff?” he asked.

The bartender pocketed the bill and deserted his colleague behind the busy bar. “Follow me.”

As they wove through the crowd to a door set in the hallway that gave access to the orchestra seats, Miranda said under her breath, “That must have been a heck of a tip.”

“If you’re going to poison your body with alcohol, you should only do it with the best,” Luke said.

Their guide swiped his ID card through a slot beside the door and led them into a lounge with a sleek black bar at one end and plush, modern furniture at the other. Several clumps of expensively dressed patrons were scattered around the room. The bartender led Miranda and Luke to the bar, murmured a few words to his counterpart, and turned. “Matt will take good care of you, Mr. Archer.”

So he’d recognized Luke, too.

Luke shook hands with the young man, who practically bowed his way out of the room. By that time, the VIP bartender had poured them two flutes from a bottle of Krug Vintage Brut champagne.

Luke took a swallow. “Now this is worth drinking.”

Miranda sipped it and had to admit that it tasted like heaven.

Luke picked up the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries the bartender offered and led her to two chairs tucked in a corner.

“How did you know they would have ‘good stuff’ somewhere else?” Miranda asked. “You’ve never been to the ballet.”

“Where donations are needed, there’s always a VIP room.” Luke pushed the strawberries toward her on the low table.

Miranda took a bite of a strawberry, enjoying the pleasure of ripe fruit and rich chocolate on her tongue. Luke lounged back in the chair, his eyes disconcertingly fixed on her face. That blue flame flared in them again. She took another bite of the strawberry and felt awareness ripple through her when she realized he was staring at her mouth.

Luke raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to you eating strawberries.”

There was something different in the air between them that made her shift in her chair. Maybe it was the fire in his eyes scorching over her body. “You should have a strawberry,” she said. “They’re yummy.”

“I can tell by the way you’re enjoying them.”

She cleared her throat and left the rest of the strawberries on the plate. “Yes, um, the next ballet—”

He shook his head and stood up. “It’s time for a different kind of dancing. Wait here.”

He strode over to the bar and had a short conversation with the bartender, who nodded. Luke passed him money again before he pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen.

Miranda couldn’t help feeling a small thrill when a couple of designer-clad women cast her an envious glance as Luke sat down next to her. “This time there’s going to be audience participation,” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m not getting onstage.”

He laughed and tossed back the rest of his champagne before standing up and holding out his hand to her. “We’re leaving.”

“To go where?” He pulled her to her feet like she weighed nothing. She noticed his brief grimace of pain and flinched in empathy.

“A friend’s,” Luke said, taking the large shopping bag the bartender brought over.

He led her out onto the promenade, where the ballet-goers were streaming back to their seats. The crowd seemed to part magically for him as he plowed through them going the wrong way. “Too bad your opponents aren’t as easily cowed,” she said, following the path he cleared.

He glanced back to lift an eyebrow at her but kept going all the way out to the waiting limousine. The driver opened the door, and Miranda scrambled in while Luke gave instructions that she couldn’t hear.

Then Luke was sliding onto the seat beside her and plunking the shopping bag down on the carpeted floor between his cowboy boots.

“Why the rush?” Miranda asked.

“Because it’s my day off.” Luke’s eyes lit up. “And I’m damned well going to take advantage of every single minute.”

Chapter 11

Luke shrugged out of his jacket and reached into the shopping bag, allowing Miranda to survey the beautiful musculature of his arms. His skin was dusted with golden blond hair that glinted in the passing lights, and the muscles and tendons flexed and shifted as he pulled out a bottle of the same Krug they’d been drinking. He twisted off the cork with a subdued pop, not spilling a drop. “Flip open that compartment and there should be some champagne glasses,” he said to Miranda, nodding to a padded console on her side of the big car.

She found them, neatly packed into the compartment, along with various other barware. “You keep a well-stocked limo.”

“My teammates sometimes join me,” he said, filling the glasses she held. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a plastic container of chocolate-covered strawberries and flicked open the top. Instead of offering the box to Miranda, he picked one up by its leaves and held it in front of her mouth. “For you.”

She started to put down a flute to take it, but he shook his head. “From me.”

Miranda looked from the strawberry to his face and found his eyes blazing with an intention that was not anywhere near friendship. Heat spiraled through her, and she shifted her gaze back to the proffered treat.

“Take it, sugar.” His drawl went rich and slow.

His voice vibrated straight into her bones. She leaned forward and bit into the juicy sweetness. A piece of chocolate broke off and started to fall, but he raised his other hand to catch it in a lightning reflex. He popped the stray piece into his own mouth, bringing her gaze to his lips and their clean, sculpted lines.

She leaned back abruptly, splashing a few drops of champagne on her trousers.

“Champagne doesn’t stain,” he said with a slantwise smile as he dropped the top of the strawberry onto the plastic lid. “I’ve had enough of it sprayed on me to know.”

Her laugh came out with a nervous edge. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body and smell the citrus of his cologne clinging to his T-shirt. It made her want to rub her face against his chest to feel the soft cotton on her cheek, to inhale the insanely male scent of him, and to hear his heart beating through the wall of skin and muscle. She lifted her glass and drank half the champagne in one gulp.

But the champagne couldn’t douse the skyrocketing heat in her body. She put down her glass and started to shrug out of her jacket. The backs of Luke’s fingers brushed against her neck as he helped her slide it off her arms. It was a surprisingly sensual touch for such a simple gesture. Tiny shivers arrowed along her spine as she pivoted forward again.

He tossed her jacket on the seat across from them before he refilled her half-empty flute. “Another strawberry?” His tone was soft, but his gaze was a challenge.

“S-sure,” Miranda said.

He chose the largest berry and shifted on the seat, bringing him even closer to her. He brushed her lips with the chocolate-covered tip before she could open them, watching with his eyelids half-lowered. She took a bite and closed her eyes to shut out the intensity of his gaze while she chewed and swallowed.

When she opened them, he smiled as he brought the juicy berry to her mouth again. “You don’t need lipstick when you’re wearing strawberry juice,” he said, touching it to her lips. “I’ll bet it tastes as good as it looks on you.”

She had enough time to stop it, but not enough willpower. He moved closer, and she let her head fall back to meet him. When his lips brushed hers, she forgot about who he was and just let the sensation of his mouth on hers take over. He leaned in, so she flattened her palm against his chest, feeling the fabric, the muscle, and the heat, as she’d wanted. Then he flicked at her lips with the tip of his tongue and made a low humming sound in his throat, as though he liked the taste.

The warmth and slight roughness of his tongue sent flickers of delight dancing through her veins. One of his hands slid up the back of her head, his fingers twining into her hair and angling her head so he could bring his mouth down at a more demanding angle. She was caught between the solid barrier of his chest in front and the iron bar of his arm behind her, and she reveled in it. Her hand holding the flute was curled against his chest, the cool glass chilling her palm while the heat of his body warmed the back of her fingers. The contrast added to the sensations ricocheting through her.

But it was his mouth that was the focal point, slanting against hers, his lips hard one moment, softer the next, his breath with the fizz of champagne on it. He didn’t force, he persuaded, and she tilted in to him to taste and feel more when she allowed his tongue between her lips.

He slid his other arm around to pull her in closer, and suddenly a sluice of cold wetness ran down her back.

Luke swore and released her, righting the glass of champagne he’d just tipped down her blouse. “Smooth move, Archer.” He dug around in another compartment of the limo to produce a white linen napkin. “Turn around and I’ll dry you off. My apologies.”

“It doesn’t stain,” she parroted. As she pivoted on the smooth leather seat, Miranda didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated by the interruption. With her back to Luke, she raised a hand to her mouth, touching her swollen lips in wonder, while her body fizzed and sparked with longing. Luke Archer had kissed her. Like he meant it. She could feel the outline of his big hand against her back as he carefully blotted the champagne from her blouse.

“I’m sorry, sugar. I forgot I had a drink in my hand.” He moved the napkin to press against a different spot. “You should take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, I will,” she said. Wherever he touched her, those dancing ripples of pleasure radiated over her skin.

“I hope it’s okay if I do this, but it’s going to be a mite sticky if I don’t.” He slipped one hand under the back of her blouse to swipe the napkin over her damp skin.

She closed her eyes and shivered in delight when the rough tips of his fingers brushed over her shoulder blade. “It’s fine,” she breathed in a husky voice.

“All cleaned up,” he said, withdrawing his hand. She could feel him pull her blouse away from her back and flap the fabric slightly to dry it.

“It’s fine,” she repeated, turning so he would let go of the blouse.

“Where were we, sugar?” he said, reaching for the glass in her hand.

She clasped it against her chest. “We were someplace we shouldn’t have been.”

He’d spooked her, going too fast, but her mouth had tasted of sweet berries, rich dark chocolate, and sparkling champagne. And innocence. He wanted to taste more. But he had learned the virtue of patience on the playing field. So he settled back in the seat and gave her an inch of extra space. “Sugar, I was happy with our destination.”

“Friends, Luke,” she said firmly, but he saw the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under that pretty silky top.

“Maybe we’ve gotten to know each other as friends and we like what we’ve found out.”

She scooted six inches away from him, and he sighed.

“That was unprofessional of me,” she said, her voice tight.

He turned on the seat and skewered her with a look. He wasn’t going to have her job dragged into this. “You are officially off the clock. I’m
your
tour guide from here on out, so just sit back and relax.”

He demonstrated what he wanted her to do by stretching out his legs and crossing them at his booted ankles before he swallowed the rest of his champagne. Grabbing the bottle for a refill, he offered it to her, and she nodded.

But she didn’t change her position. “I’m not used to sitting back and relaxing.”

“Truth is, I’m not, either.” That’s why he’d decided to make this a memorable day off.

She looked thoughtful, although her cheeks still held the flush of their kiss. He didn’t want her thinking. He wanted her feeling like he was. Hot. Bothered. Needing more of that sexy body pressed against him.

“Don’t you relax in the summer at the ranch?” she asked, the movement of her berry-stained lips pulling at his gut.

He forced himself to think about the twice-a-day workouts in the ranch’s gym, the early-morning runs, the hundreds of laps in the pool. “The older I get, the harder I have to work to stay in shape. It’s a year-round project.”

He felt her gaze like a physical touch as she skimmed it down his body. “Well, you’re doing a good job of it,” she said, her flush intensifying.

His groin tightened. “Thanks, sugar.”

So she felt what he did, even though she tried to hold on to her professional persona. Must be something about the code of concierges.

He nudged the strawberries toward her. “Don’t let them go to waste.”

She picked one up and bit into it. She did that thing again where her eyelids fluttered closed for a split second as she savored the taste. She liked sensual pleasures, whether she wanted to give in to them or not.

The limo glided to a halt, and she swallowed the bite of berry.

“Okay, time for audience participation.” He boosted her toward the door, although it was really an excuse to fold his hands around the curve of her waist. The flash of pain in his side didn’t dampen his pleasure one iota. She grabbed for her tote, but he kept moving her. “You won’t need that or your jacket. We’re going straight in the door, and everything’s on me.”

She squeaked a protest, but he knew how to use leverage and momentum, so she was out before she could stop herself. His bruises grabbed at his ribs when he followed her, but he ignored the hurt. They stood in an alley in front of a stainless-steel door lit by a single purple light.

She eyed the blank door. “Where are we?”

“A friend’s place.” He knocked and looked straight up at the security camera that was concealed in the light fixture.

The door swung open, releasing the pounding sound of dance music into the night. “Mr. Archer, a pleasure to welcome you to Cleats. Mr. Greene will be delighted to see you.” The bouncer waved Luke and Miranda into the back foyer.

Luke took Miranda’s hand and started down the dark hallway toward the music. She pulled him to a stop. “This is a friend’s place?” she said, her gaze accusing.

“The club belongs to my friend Larry Greene. He played on the Empire for a few years before he retired and bought the club.” Luke had financed his teammate’s purchase and been repaid with more interest than he’d asked for or wanted. Larry welcomed all football players, former or still in the game, and gave them a break on the drinks but demanded that they behave. It turned out to be a winning combination, because the football players drew fans . . . and beautiful women.

Tonight, though, Luke was here for the music. On the dance floor, he could hold Miranda close to him again. He might pay for it in pain, but he’d played with worse.

“I’m not much of a club person,” Miranda said.

“I went to the ballet. You can go to a club.”

She absorbed that and squared her shoulders, almost as though she were bracing for a tackle. He grinned at her. “A little dancing never hurt anyone.”

“It might hurt
you
,” she pointed out.

“You dance. I’ll watch.”

She started to protest.

“Just joking, darlin’. This will be easier than a pirouette.”

“Okay, Baryshnikov,” she said with a wry smile.

As they walked into the VIP room, the full volume of the music crashed into them, and he felt her hesitate. Putting his arm around her waist, he swept her through the crowd to the dance floor. Taking her fragile little wrist in one hand, he pulled her arm up over her head and twirled her around to face him.

That motion cost him a burn of agony. He placed her hand on his shoulder and moved her close as he picked up the beat of the music. A slow dance. Luck was with him.

She stood on tiptoe and spoke over the music. “I don’t want to hurt you by moving the wrong way.”

“Follow my lead and it won’t be a problem,” he said, drawing her in closer.

For the first time in his life, being injured paid off.

Miranda had a hard time finding the flow of the music with Luke’s nearness and touch setting off little explosions of sensation all through her body. His hands were wrapped around her waist, holding her so close that the fabric of her trousers and his jeans brushed every time they moved. He had lifted her hand onto his shoulder, where she could feel the ridge of muscle shifting under his T-shirt. She held her other hand awkwardly at her side. If she tried to put it on his shoulder, she would have to move even nearer to him because of his height.