Protecting His Assets (27 page)

It was probably the low-slung towels he paraded around in after his showers. That had to be it. His damn ripped stomach would turn a virgin into a nympho. And she was no virgin.

“Kiss for your thoughts.” Brad grinned and dropped down at the end of her chair, sitting very close to her legs. She hastily scooted over, but he only used the extra room to sprawl.

Sara rolled her eyes. “I don’t kiss little boys.” Shit. She hadn’t meant to say something so mean—especially not with that note of challenge in her tone.

Brad’s grin widened. “Little’s not a word that’s ever been used to describe me.”

She didn’t blush or fidget at his reply. Years of schmoozing at fundraisers and events with the public had taught her well. She had a pretty good game face and knew he wouldn’t be able to decipher her reaction. But her pulse quickened, and the sudden dryness in her throat contrasted sharply with the surge of moisture between her thighs.

“I wasn’t referring to height.”

His grin deepened. So charming. So utterly cocky. “Me either.”

Deciding she’d had enough of his attempts to flirt or whatever the hell he was doing, she lifted her brows. “I’m forty-two. I’ve seen a lot. A
lot
,” she emphasized, though it was only recently she’d seen much of anything. And most of what she’d seen she’d already forgotten.

That was partially because she’d given up having men over when she’d moved in with Kim. It seemed awkward, and she didn’t relish meeting Brad over coffee the next morning while her sheets still smelled like another guy’s aftershave. It felt…weird. So she’d accepted her love life would consist of sleepovers at the guy’s place until she grew out of her need to live with her friends as if she were twenty all over again. She wasn’t seeing any man in particular right now anyway. None of them interested her enough.

Did that make her fickle or impossible to please? She wasn’t sure. But she hadn’t given up looking for that guy who would make her pulse race faster.

Kind of like Brad’s doing now?

“And yet you’re single. So I’m thinking what you’ve seen hasn’t been worthy of making you stick around. Am I right?”

“I almost got married before I moved here,” she said, surprised again at what came out of her mouth. Somehow she’d developed a disconnect between her brain and her vocal cords.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“According to my ex, I ran away to play with endangered birds.”

He laughed, tipping his head so his longish, dark blond hair tumbled into his eyes. They seemed caught between gray and blue, as if even his irises were incapable of making up their minds. Just like Brad, if rumors could be believed.

“According to
my
ex, I left because I couldn’t be with just one woman.”

He braced a hand next to her knee on the chair, his knuckles millimeters away from brushing her skin. The backs of his hands were lightly dusted with hair, much like the bare chest he insisted on flaunting whenever she was within view. Unlike the very straight hair on his head, his chest hair was almost curly, the kind that would be perfect for a woman to tug on.

If a woman were inclined to do such things.

“Well, gotta admit, a three-week marriage does seem pretty bad.”

“It was almost six weeks actually,” he said, his voice lacking any inflection. But his easy grin faded.

“You still did better than me,” she said, making her own tone brighter in denial of the flatness of his. Funny, she’d used his quickie marriage and divorce to dismiss him, but the tense expression he wore while discussing his ex almost made her jealous.

Maybe he wasn’t such a player after all.

“I didn’t even make it to the altar,” she added, registering his silence.

“Neither did Darla and me. We went to the JP. Justice of the Peace,” he said at her curious expression.

“Oh. I thought you’d gone to Vegas.” She didn’t really think that, but she wanted him to smile again. He didn’t seem like Brad without the semi-permanent grin.

“You have lots of thoughts about me, apparently. Most of them wrong.”

“Maybe I’m a presumptuous bitch.” Again she scratched her calf with her toes. Except this time she knew exactly where his gaze would go, and the idea didn’t disturb her as much as it had a few minutes ago.

Sunstroke maybe? It was awfully hot out here. Or could they have actually forged some sort of bond over broken relationships?

Some sort of
platonic
bond. Because, seriously, she wasn’t going there. Not with Kim’s little…err,
younger
brother.

Normally she didn’t have a problem with making a decision and sticking to it. But lately ping-pong matches had nothing on the wishy-washy flip-flopping she was doing in her own damn mind.

“Or maybe you want me to think you are so I lose interest.”

“Are you admitting you have interest?” she tossed back, wondering where Kim had disappeared to. Her friend had run to the store around the block. What could possibly be taking so long?

He leaned forward and snagged her free hand, dragging it to…
what
? He wasn’t really going to put her hand on his—

Yep, he was.
Oh my God
. She had her hand on her best friend’s brother’s sizable erection, and her fingers were all but twitching with the urge to wrap around him.

No. Absolutely not.
Heat radiated through thin cotton, an undeniable temptation. If anything, he grew even harder.

“Take a breath,” he advised, his lopsided grin again overtaking his face. “For such a woman of the world, a man’s hard cock shouldn’t be all that big of a deal.”

One night in Bangkok changes all the rules.

Black Knight, White Queen

© 2013 Jackie Ashenden

Professional chess player Aleksandr Shastin never lets emotions rule his life, or his game. Not even the unexpected death of his mentor shakes his icy control—at least that’s what he thinks. Until he meets a woman in a Bangkok rooftop bar, a woman whose raw sexuality and emotional honesty find every invisible crack…and pries them wide open.

Graphic artist Izzy Cornwall fled to Thailand to escape suffocating grief and guilt after her sister’s suicide. As she locks gazes with Aleks, their instant attraction sets her on fire. And the way he looks at her makes her feel what she hasn’t felt in months: that she actually exists.

In the heat of a Bangkok rainstorm, their chemistry steams up what was supposed to be one night of pain-numbing passion. Neither expected that a single encounter would change all the rules, making Aleks the novice, and Izzy the grandmaster. But if Izzy wants his heart, she’ll have to show him that in order to win, sometimes you have to lose.

Warning: Contains one hot, controlling Russian chess master, a heroine who’s more than capable of taking him on in a game of strip chess, and a checkmate to make Kasparov proud.
 

Enjoy the following excerpt for Black Knight, White Queen:

The man, an Australian tourist, moved his bishop and looked smug. “Check.”

Aleks wasn’t bothered. He’d set up the trap and the Australian had fallen right into it. Reaching out, he moved his knight. “Checkmate.”

The Australian frowned. “Shit. No way.”

Aleks said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say. The evidence was right there on the chessboard.

The guy cursed a bit in the way Australians often did, then reached over the board to shake hands, gracious in defeat.

A few people had gathered around them while they’d been playing, the magnificent view of Bangkok from the hotel’s famous outdoor rooftop bar apparently far less interesting than a chess game. As the Australian vacated his seat, a couple of them looked as though they wanted to play too, but Aleks shook his head and began packing up his board. Playing tourists wasn’t much of a challenge and it did nothing for his game. He’d be playing real opponents in the tournament in a couple of days anyway.

As the crowd drifted away, he gestured to the barman again, and the man poured him another shot of vodka. Good Russian vodka. Viktor’s favourite.

He downed it, but the alcohol did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest at the thought of the old man.

Grief. It’s called grief.

Was it? It had been so long since he’d felt anything he couldn’t be sure. Then again, perhaps it was. Grief was, after all, the usual emotion after someone had died.

Aleks gripped the shot glass then pushed it over the bar for another hit, puzzled with himself.

In order to feel grief one had to care. And Aleks wasn’t sure that he did. After all, Viktor had been just another old man playing chess in Moscow’s Timiryazevsky Park. A man who’d been kind to him on a few occasions when Aleks had been young, but no one that special.

The barman filled up the glass again, and Aleks drank it down, rubbing his chest. But even the third vodka didn’t make a difference to the odd tight feeling. He may as well have been drinking water.

The wind picked up, replacing the scent of exotic flowers, sewage and the hot oil smell of a big city with the heavy, thick scent of rain. Distant thunder rumbled, a warning that perhaps an open-air rooftop bar in the middle of tropical Bangkok was not the best place to be in the rainy season.

Bar staff began to usher people through the tables of the outdoor restaurant situated near the bar, toward the steep, beautifully lit glass staircase that led up from the terrace to the domed elevator entrance.

Aleks pushed away the shot glass and stood.

Lightning crackled across the sky, lighting up the rooftop. This high up, the flash against the clouds was magnificent and prompted a startled gasp from the patrons waiting for the elevators.

Aleks didn’t look. Lightning was lightning. He’d seen it before. Moving toward the staircase, he began threading his way through the now empty tables of the restaurant area.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” a woman said in a husky, awestruck voice. “So beautiful.”

Something in the sound of that voice whispered along his nerve endings like the brush of cat’s tail. It made him stop. Made him look.

She stood near the glass balustrade that bounded the roof, staring up at the clouds as if mesmerised. Lightning flashed again like a magnesium flare, illuminating delicate features and an incredible mass of pale silver-gilt hair held back by a purple scarf. Her eyes were wide and in that flash of light, he saw they were blue. A startling electric blue.

He stared, unable to help himself, slowly taking in the rest of her. She wore typical backpacker gear, blue tie-dyed loose trousers and a tight little black singlet that revealed a slender, womanly figure. Clothes that wouldn’t have passed muster with the hotel’s draconian dress code that was for sure. How did she get up here? She was extraordinary. He’d never seen anything like her.

The first heavy, fat drops of rain began to fall, heralding the start of a tropical downpour.

“You should get undercover,” he said. “You’re going to get wet.”

She turned, those incredible eyes a flash of blue through pale, silvery lashes. “Thanks. But I’m okay.” Her mouth curved and he couldn’t help noticing the shape of it. Full, pouty. Beautiful. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

There was a warmth to her smile. A warmth he found inexplicably fascinating. “Are you sure? The rain can get heavy here.”

Another lightning flash ripped across the sky. Her eyes glittered like lit sapphires. “Yeah, I know.” Her smile widened, the brilliance of it a burst of sunshine in the midst of the storm around them. “Thanks for the warning, though.”

Heat gathered inside him. A spear of something so intense he almost couldn’t breathe.

He wanted her.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. In two days he had his first game and he’d always been a purist when it came to chess preparation. No sex. No alcohol. Nothing that would take his focus from the game. And he’d already overstepped the mark by having the vodka. Sex would only make it worse.

Aleks nodded to her instead and turned away, walking toward the steps. He found it oddly difficult, as if a part of him was reluctant to leave her behind. Strange. He’d never been so drawn to a woman before, and he couldn’t work out why. Her appearance had caught his attention, no doubt about it, but there’d been something else about her. Her smile. The look in her eyes…

No, best not to think about it. Women were complicated. In fact, people in general were complicated, and he preferred to keep his life free of complications. Chess was the only thing he had room for. Chess was simple. Logical. With clearly defined rules. You always knew where you were on a chessboard. At least he always did.

As he walked up the steps, the rain began to get heavier, and he only just managed to get through the glass doors that led to the elevators before a full-on tropical downpour ensued.

He turned, looking out through the glass across the rooftop to see if the woman had followed him. Apparently not. Her tall figure stood among the wet dining tables and artfully planted rooftop gardens, her face turned toward the sky, eyes closed.

Water streamed over her, soaking her clothes, making them stick to her body, outlining the gentle curve of perfect breasts, narrow waist, slender hips and thighs. Her cloud of hair had become a straight, silver waterfall down her back. Soon she was wet through. But that didn’t seem to bother her.