“I’m not betting on a children’s game.”
“No betting. Well, not really.” A smile—that damned quicksilver grin she found so appealing—twitched at the corner of his mouth. “More like…strip poker. Or in this case, Battleship.”
She stared at him.
“What?” he asked, all blue-eyed innocence. “It’ll make things interesting. I get a hit, you take off a piece of clothing.”
“And vice versa?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Always the negotiating lawyer, huh?”
“It’s not fair if the rules only apply to me.”
“All’s fair in love and Battleship.”
“Uh-huh.” She picked up her wineglass and pushed away from the table. “I’m not playing.”
“Ah, c’mon, Libs. I was joking. Of course the strip rule applies to me, too. It wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”
Libby knew she was dancing too close to the fire, but the wine was a warm, heavy buzz in her head, muffling the little voice inside her mind that always told her the proper way to act, the right thing to say. In fact, it felt good to ignore that annoying voice. And, besides, she never could resist a challenge.
She returned to her seat. “All right. Deal.”
Jude grinned and waved a hand in a flourish, indicating she should start. “Ladies first.”
“Because you are such a gentleman.”
He waggled his brows. “We already established that I’m most definitely not.”
At the reminder, a hot flush blazed just under the surface of her skin. The wine, she told herself. The sudden jump in the room’s temp was only from the wine. Seeing as she was on her second glass, she should probably slow down.
“Well?” Jude prompted. “Give me your best shot.”
She emptied her glass and pushed it away before studying her game board. “B-four.”
He groaned. “Aw, man. You got—”
“Hah!”
“A miss,” he finished with a laugh. “Gotcha.”
She grabbed a white peg. “You suck.”
“Only when asked, babe.”
Okay, that rush of heat had nothing to do with the alcohol in her system. That was 150 percent pure lust. Her imagination went wild with ideas of places she could ask him to—
Game. They were playing a game. Nothing more.
She forced her attention back to the board, but the next three coordinates she tried were misses. Jude got her cruiser on his second try.
“Pay up,” he said and held out a hand. She reached down and pulled off one of her socks, then held it out to show she had indeed taken off an article of clothing.
He scowled and looked under the table. “Damn. I didn’t know you were wearing those.”
She just smiled sweetly and set the sock aside. “I seem to have the advantage. You’re wearing a lot less than I am.”
“That’s not gonna make any difference.”
“Mmm.” She eyed him over the edge of her game board. “We’ll see.”
“Oh, it’s on now.” He cracked his knuckles and got down to the business of sinking her ships one by one. With each new hit, she lost another article of clothing, but it was sort worth seeing the hitch in his breathing every time she showed a little more skin.
“You sunk my cruiser.” She pouted, but secretly her body thrummed as he sat back with one arm slung across the chair next to him and scanned her with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Shorts,” he said.
“Cocky,” she shot back.
His arm left the back of the chair and dipped beneath the table. “Uh-huh. I am that.”
Her own breath caught at the mental image of what he was doing to himself under there, which made him grin and release his hold on himself.
“Shorts,” he said again.
Oh, he wanted her shorts? Fine. She stood and gave him her back, hooking her thumbs in the elastic waistband. Slowly, so very slowly, she wiggled out of them, then bent over with her ass in the air to take them off her feet. He groaned. Satisfied with that response, she straightened and faced him in just her tank top, one sock, and her panties. Eyes smoldering with barely banked lust, he stared like he was trying to photograph her with his mind. She had to battle the ridiculous urge to throw herself at him and ride him until they broke the chair.
Dammit. She was supposed to be teaching him a lesson with this strip tease, not torturing herself.
She dropped into her seat and finished her wine in a gulp, hoping to cool the wildfire he’d ignited in her, then made herself refocus on the game. “A-eight.”
Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she heard the devastating smile in his voice when he said, “Miss.”
By the time she had only her battleship standing, she’d talked herself into another glass of wine and was feeling flushed despite the fact that she was down to her bra and underwear. She still hadn’t found even one of Jude’s ships.
“You’re cheating,” she insisted, squinting at him through blurry eyes. “Are you moving them around?”
He held up his hands. “I swear I’m not.”
“Uh-huh. Then how come you’re still dressed?”