Tempting the Player (Gamble Brothers 2) - Page 6

Bridget had never been more captivated by anyone in her life. In that moment, she was owned and branded. She didn’t understand the feeling, was too lost to really question it, but a twinge of unease blossomed in her breast. A man like Chad would be hard to forget, to move on from.

His breathing scorched her skin, and then his mouth was on her intimately and Bridget stopped thinking, capable of only feeling.

And he feasted on her.

Devoured her with his tongue and lips until her back bowed off the wall and her fingers delved deep into his messy hair.

She hissed through her teeth as her body rocked shamelessly against him. He worked her, licking and teasing until her head spun and she was sure her legs would give out. The tension coiled so deep, so tight, and so fast that she cried out.

“I can’t take this,” she said, tugging on his hair.

Chad clasped her wrists and forced them against the wall. As he was, between her thighs and her hands immobile, she couldn’t stop him.

“You can take this,” he said against her heated flesh.

Giving her no other option, Chad proved it. Kept at her until she came apart, screaming his name as her release tore through her, more powerful than the first. She couldn’t breathe from the intensity of the pleasure, couldn’t even form one coherent thought. When the shocks eased off, she was surprised she even survived it.

“That…that was amazing,” she breathed unsteadily. “No, it was more than just amazing. There are no words.”

Chad rose swiftly, cupping her cheeks. He kissed her deeply, and she moaned at the combined taste of him and her on his lips and tongue. When he pulled back, the concentrated lust in his gaze stole her breath.

“It was amazing.” He kissed her again. “You were amazing.”

She was? She hadn’t done anything other than turn to complete putty in his hands…and mouth. Hey, at least she’d stayed on her feet. That was amazing.

Kissing her once more, he let go and stepped back, his movements stiff. “I need…a minute.”

Bridget bit down on her lip, stopping the giggle that threatened to burst loose. She needed a nap and more of him—lots of him. “I’ll be here.”

“One minute.”

On the way to the bathroom, she watched him tear off his sweater and the plain white shirt underneath. Thick muscles moved under the taut skin of his back, drawing her attention hopelessly. At the door, he stopped and turned to her.

Forget six-pack. This man was rocking an eight-pack. Good God…

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said.

Bridget didn’t move, probably wasn’t capable of it, until he closed the door behind him. Then she moved to the bed and sat on the edge, her knees weak and shaky. Chad had been right. They hadn’t even had sex, and she’d never felt that way before. Part of her felt outrageously giddy and the other part… Yeah, she knew by the end of the night she was going to want to keep him.

Not good.

The water came on in the bathroom and the sound almost drowned under a sudden buzzing. She looked down and saw the screen on his phone light up. Her breath caught, and then her heart skipped a beat.

The name STELLA flashed across the screen, along with a tiny thumbnail picture of a woman everyone who shopped at Victoria’s Secret recognized.

Bridget’s stomach dropped.

She knew she shouldn’t look at the text popping up in the preview screen. It was wrong, a violation of privacy and blah blah, but she looked because she was a girl, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

N town 2night & want 2 c u & repeat last wknd.

It didn’t take two brain cells to figure out what happened last weekend, even though the chit texted like a sixteen-year-old with ADHD. How old was Stella anyway? If Bridget remembered correctly, she was pushing, like, twenty-two and had been modeling since she was fifteen. Her career hit it big with the bombshell bra or something.

Before the text flickered out and was replaced by the black screen, Bridget got a good eyeful of the tiny picture of the model. Flaxen-haired and as tall as Bridget, the model probably weighed a buck ten. She was beautiful, with those lazy, smoky eyes that oozed sex appeal.

And Chad had been with her last weekend.

Realizing that, really understanding who he’d been with a mere seven days ago, doused her with ice water. Bridget’s panties, wherever they were, would probably serve as a dress for the Russian-born model.

She glanced over her shoulder at the neatly made bed and the coal black comforter. She couldn’t picture herself there now, splayed naked before Chad—before a man who brought home supermodels.

Super. Models.

What was she doing here? Besides having the two best orgasms of her life—truth—she was so out of her element it was embarrassing. She could barely rub two nickels together, but her thighs definitely had no problem doing so.

Bet Stella’s thighs were the size of Bridget’s arm.

Bridget stood and wrapped her arms around herself as her gaze narrowed on the closed bathroom door, and for some universally messed-up reason, her self-esteem hit the crapper and then kept plummeting.

Frozen at the foot of the bed, she wondered if Chad would have buyer’s remorse come morning. Then he’d tell his brothers about the chick he accidentally brought home. Oh God, Chase would so recognize her name and she would die of embarrassment.

A ball of ugly emotions formed in her belly. She hadn’t felt this way since she had tried to fit into the prom dress her mom had saved up for, and she’d busted the zipper after falling off a crash diet. Or when her last boyfriend—a relationship that ended well over two years ago—brought up the newest diet craze everyone would be talking about. It had been his way of letting her know she needed to drop a few pounds. What a bastard.

God, why must she think of this right at this moment? She’d grown to love her body, the power of a woman with curves.

The only logical explanation, besides the fact that he’d been able to drive her home and appeared sober, was that Chad was three sheets to the wind.

Swinging around, her gaze landed on where her clutch had fallen onto the ground near the closet. Her flight or fight response kicked in the moment she heard the water turn off, and her chest spasmed.

In her head, she’d already left him. Now she only needed to follow through with action and not let the door hit her ass on the way out.


There was a real good chance Chad was going to come before he even got his pants off, which would be embarrassing to say the least.

Damn, he needed a minute—lots of minutes.

Shutting the bathroom door behind him, he turned on the cold water. Lust was swirling inside him, stringing him painfully tight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman as badly as he wanted to sink deep inside Bridget. Hell, she was the kind of woman he could lose himself in all night—all weekend.

Would she protest if he demanded that she stay for after-breakfast sex?

His lips twitched as he stared at his reflection. His hair was mussed from her hands and he could still feel her flesh spasming against his mouth. Her scent was everywhere and his cock twitched.

Shit.

Splashing cold water on his face, he reached for a towel and dabbed himself dry. He couldn’t wait to strip that dress off her, settle between those lush thighs, and hear her scream his name again.

Chad groaned.

If he kept thinking like that, he wasn’t going to last long enough to walk out of the bathroom.

After turning off the water, he swiveled around and thrust both hands through his hair. What he was doing tonight, bringing Bridget home, was exactly what the Club had warned him against, but it wasn’t like the photo-hags had been hiding in the bar. And even if they were in his bedroom right now, it wouldn’t stop him from taking Bridget.

Hell, an apocalypse wouldn’t stop him.

But his eagerness, the need to be in her, made him feel strangely unsure of what he was doing. From what he knew of her, which was more than he knew about most of the women he slept with, he was intrigued. Actually, fucking intrigued.

Intrigue had never been in his vocabulary before, not when it came to women he just met. Sure, a few of them he was rather fond of. There were even a few friendships that had blossomed from hooking up, but he’d never been interested in what made them tick. And how could he be so damn intrigued after talking with her for a few hours over shared drinks?

Damn it, he was overthinking this, and he was still hard as a damn rock.

And he really needed to come out of the bathroom.

Rolling his eyes, he opened the bathroom door, swaggered out, and…came to a complete stop in his empty bedroom. He looked at the bed, expecting to find her snuggled there and waiting for him. Just like his bedroom, the bed was absent of one sexy-as-hell woman.

“Bridget?”

No answer.

Confused, he turned around. His bedroom was big but not so big he would lose a woman in it. If so, this would be a first.

His gaze fell on the closet. Remembering her fascination with it, he stalked toward it and pushed the door the rest of the way open. Thank God she wasn’t in there, because that would wig him out a little. Stepping back, he looked down at his bed again. Her clutch was gone.

A slow-burning disbelief simmered in his veins as he prowled out of his bedroom and into the hallway. He stopped at the banister, placing his hands on it as he leaned over and stared down into his empty living room.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, pushing off the railing.

Taking the steps two at a time, he hurried downstairs and went into the kitchen. He called her name once more, but there was no answer.

Chad stood before the empty wine rack, hands planted on his hips. He couldn’t believe it, absolutely was fucking blown away. Bridget had left him—left him while he was in the bathroom.

Part of him demanded that he find her. She couldn’t have gotten far, and she didn’t have a way home. Before he knew what he was doing, he was at his front door. It was unlocked, most likely shut hastily.

As if Bridget had run from him.

Had he stepped out in an alternate universe where women left him without saying a word? Maybe he fell in the bathroom and hit his head.

But the longer he stood there, anger replaced the disbelief. He spun around and forced himself away from the door and went back upstairs. After heading to his bed, he swiped his phone. Only when his thumb brushed over the screen did he realize he didn’t have Bridget’s phone number. He didn’t even know where she worked or lived.

Tossing the cell back to the bed, he sat down and flopped onto his back. “Shit.”

Chapter Five

Bridget had always been a huge fan of Sundays. A lazy day where she pretty much stayed in her jammies, ordered out for delivery, and acted like a sloth.

And bill collectors didn’t call on Sundays.

She tugged her hair up in a loose ponytail and shuffled into the narrow, short hallway. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she walked into the end table beside the couch that was so in need of being reupholstered. Sharp pain shot up her leg.

“Christ on a crutch!” She hobbled to the side and knocked into the over-stacked bookcase, knocking down several books. They smacked off the floor, each one causing her to wince.

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