Escaping Vegas (The Inheritance Book 1) Read Free

the heat of his body when he leaned into her shoulder. A jolt rocketed through her at the contact, unexpected but not unpleasant. He stretched a long arm past her to set two chips once more on the double zeros. In that moment, with the contact spreading along the entire left side of her back, Madalina shivered in her seat. She reached for her drink, desperate to distract herself from the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen. He’d removed his blazer at some point, leaving him in the gray shirt.
    “You’re just destined to be in the way tonight, aren’t you, gypsy girl?” he said near her ear.
    He was so tall that she almost felt smothered by his looming presence. At the same time, the devil on her shoulder insisted she secretly loved it. Loved the brush of bodies, his forthright manner. That he knew what she was drinking shouldn’t have surprised her at all. Her confusion over whether he meant to stay rather than return to his seat vanished when he draped his blazer over the back of her seat. His stack of chips clattered lightly onto the green felt two inches from her own.
    “I aim to please, buddy.” He was drinking Budweiser from a bottle; she thought it suitable to return the namesake favor. Madalina couldn’t tell if the quick breath he released was from straightening up or from humor.
    She glanced discreetly down at her top, reassuring herself he wasn’t getting a bird’s-eye view of her breasts. The scooped neckline didn’t show anything more than the barest swell. Hardly worth hovering over.
    “What numbers are you playing? Your birthday? No, wait, don’t tell me. Your measurements,” he said.
    Madalina glanced at the 23, 34, 36 she’d chosen and scoffed. Rearranged into womanly measurements, it should read: 34, 23, 36. She wished her waist was a twenty-three.
    “Better than playing my IQ ,” she said with a smug look at his 8, 13, 15.
    That time, he laughed. The same sensuous sound as before. Maybe he always laughed like that. Madalina finished her second drink in record time. The effect of the first had started to settle in, adding a comfortable buzz to the swirl of thoughts in her head.
    “Feisty. I like it,” he said.
    “Are you going to stand behind my chair the whole night?”
    “I might.”
    “I don’t recall issuing an invitation.”
    “Sure you did. With every look you sent my way.”
    “You’re imagining things. How many beers have you had?” she asked.
    “If we’re measuring alcohol content, about a fourth of what you’ve hastily inhaled.”
    “Are you suggesting that I’m drinking fast because of your presence?”
    “No. But now that you mention it, that must be the reason. Alcohol affects some people like a truth serum.” He tipped his mouth closer to her ear to add, “If you wanted me closer, all you had to do was ask, gypsy girl.”
    Twisting in the seat, she looked back . . . and up. Heat curled through her loins at the directness of his gaze. Whatever smart remark she’d been about to deliver evaporated under the sudden and intense surge of lust his presence inspired. What was she doing bantering with him, anyway? Wasn’t this the same man who had gotten snippy with her earlier? Turning to the table, she cleared her throat and stiffened her spine, sending silent messages for him to back off . It wasn’t that she didn’t find his immediate presence pleasurable—she did. And that was the problem. The Grouch and men of his ilk didn’t interest her. She’d wanted to find a gentleman to flirt with, not a silver-tongued devil.
    The instant she felt his heat leave her back, Madalina was almost sorry she didn’t go for the rakish, disarming type. She sent a quick, curious glance over her shoulder. The Grouch stood with a waitress, smiling down into her beaming face while he dropped a few bills on her tray in exchange for another bottle of Budweiser. It was easy to see how infatuated the waitress was and how his effect on her would assure that his drinks were