Skintight Read Free Page B

professions to divert her attention. “Are you a dot-commer?”
    â€œNope. Although I do have an affinity for computers.”
    â€œCollege professor?”
    He laughed.
    â€œI’m taking that as a no. The jacket would probably be tweedier anyway. So, let’s see.” She studied him. “You’re tan. Of course, most people in this town are. Still, please tell me you’re not a surfer boy.” She smacked herself in the forehead. “Duh—not a lot of surf to be found in Las Vegas. Plus I haven’t once heard you say ‘dude’—so that’s probably not the world’s greatest guess. You don’t design surfboards by any chance, doyou?” Hadn’t she heard somewhere that there was a convention of those guys in town?
    Or maybe that had been snowboard designers.
    Either way, he flashed her another white-toothed smile and said, “’Fraid not.”
    â€œOkay, I give. What brings you to Vegas?”
    â€œPoker.”
    Her mouth dropped open. Snapping it shut, she reached over and smacked him lightly on the arm. “You cheat! You said you were here on business!”
    â€œThat is my business.”
    She stared at him, startled. “You’re a professional gambler?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she said slowly, “Okay. That’s about the last thing I would have guessed.” And the knowledge unsettled her a little, although she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she planned to marry the guy, so surely it was no skin off her nose how he made his living. He likely wouldn’t even be in town long enough for them to have a relationship.
    It shocked her to realize how curiously deflating that was.
    Jax watched her withdraw slightly and wondered, what he was doing. Honesty was not the best policy, and he’d determined he wouldn’t go down that road after he had tried to accomplish his goal the honorable way and got shot down for his efforts. So fine. He wanted her to believe he was a high roller with money to burn, and unfortunately most people’s conception of a professional gambler was something a little sleazier even though he’d been doing very, very well for himself on the pro circuit.
    Until he’d fucked up in Monaco. But he only had himself to blame for that fiasco and this resulting predicament.
    So he wasn’t here to have a good time with the woman—yet that was precisely what he was doing. Seducing Treena McCall was the only way he thought he would get an invitation into her home and then be left alone there long enough to get his hands on the item that would get his pecker out of the wringer.
    He didn’t foresee his mission taking long. She was a showgirl, after all, and God knew his father had already proven she could be bought. But looking at her across the table, at that mass of curls and that mouth, he warned himself not to get cocky. Ego was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He had to be careful because, after watching her these past couple of nights and spending a little time with her this morning, his body was already starting to get ahead of itself, and he couldn’t afford to let his dick rule his movements. Even if she wasn’t at all what he’d expected.
    He’d figured she would be dumb and greedy, not humorous and down-to-earth. Why the hell else would a woman like her marry a man ancient enough to be her father? He remembered life with his old man. His father hadn’t exactly been Mr. Easygoing. But he was definitely rich.
    â€œSo are you in Las Vegas a lot, then?”
    Treena’s voice interrupted his musings, and he shoved them away to mull over later as he refocused his full attention on her. “No, this is my first time back in years. Since I left to attend college, in fact. I spend most of my time in Europe these days. Most recently Monte Carlo.”
    â€œAs in the Riviera?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œOh, my