Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(56)

I study him, all lean, catlike grace and power. Yes, I can see Lucky running around with a group of people who laughed and loved as freely as he seems to. The thought has me smiling too.

“I bet you were popular with the students,” I say, and then wish I could swallow the words.

My cheeks flame, but he only winks. Then he pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth movement.

“What are you doing?” I squeak.

Smooth, golden skin covers corded, defined muscles. He isn’t bulky, but his clean lines and tight, cut abs send me right into danger of combustion. I clench my hands as my fingers itch to slide over him, and I try to keep my gaze somewhere safe.

Damn it, he’s gorgeous. Nowhere’s safe.

“Twister is a game of strength and balance. I mustn’t be impeded by something so insignificant as a shirt,” he tells me in a fair imitation of Jasper’s haughty, silken tones.

Despite my distraction, I can’t help my unladylike snort. As soon as it escapes me, I clap a hand over my mouth, mortified.

He frowns. “Nuh-uh. No smothering laughs, smiles, snorts, or any other bodily functions. Except coughs—because hygiene.

Do it again and I’m going to claim a dare.”

After giving me a mock-stern look, he dimples and then bends over backwards, stretching diagonally across the whole mat and placing his right hand on the green circle next to my foot. It places his head under me, and I shift back so he can’t see up my skirt. His muscles ripple as his back arches in the unnatural position.

I lick my lips and mutter, “Show-off.”

Mirth bright in his voice, he says, “Tell me the most ridiculous fact you know.”

“The name for a fear of long words is hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia,” I reply instantly, relief lightening my voice. I had worried he’d press me more about my childhood, but it seems Lucky really does want to keep it light.

“I am shocked and impressed that you know how to pronounce that.”

I study the mat, deciding where to place my hand. Lucky made it hard for me, stretched across the whole mat as he is. If I place my hand on the easy green circle beside his, I’ll be bent directly over him with my breasts in his face—and placing my right foot would be very difficult next round.

But if I choose a more comfortable circle on that side of him, I’d have to straddle his head next round in order to reach a circle with my right foot. He would be able to see directly up my skirt.

He’s made this impossible.

Even if I claim a blue or red circle with my left hand on Lucky’s other side—the side closest to me—I’d need to stretch along his body.

Which would put my face right by his crotch.

But . . . there is more empty space on this side. If I start there, then I might actually be able to place my foot next turn without crawling on top of him.

“You know, it doesn’t usually take this long to choose a circle. But if you’re trying to cheat by tiring me out, then let me just tell you—I can do this all night.” To emphasize his point, he lowers and raises himself twice in an odd kind of upside-down one-handed push-up that makes his stomach, pecs, and arms tighten.

I splutter and glare down at him, ignoring the way my pulse skids. Had I worried about not feeling a thrill with Lucky?

What an idiot I am. It might not be the maddening freedom I felt when Jayk, Beau, or Jasper took control, but there’s something else here. Something joyful and scorching and giddy. Something that makes me want to melt into him and spend days giggling in sun-soaked meadows.

“I do not cheat,” I say. “I’m strategizing.”

He laughs. “Well, all right then, Sun Tzu, take your time.”

The usual instinct to bite back my smile rises, but I stop myself, letting my lips curl as I meet his eyes again. It’s strange how exposed I feel for doing something so small. Like he might mock me for being amused by him. Or like I’m letting him know I like him, somehow. Like I need to hide it to keep my advantage.

But, for all his teasing, Lucky hasn’t once looked at me mockingly. He’s always invited me in on the joke—never made me the butt of it.

His expression softens at my smile, and he murmurs, “Good girl.”

My stomach gives a low, hard flip.

“Lucky . . .” The word comes out husky. Embarrassingly, transparently lustful.

Lucky’s breath snags. His eyes meet mine, and he slowly, so slowly, sucks his lower lip into his mouth. When it pops back out, it’s glossy and ripe with color.

Good God.

Blushing, flustered, I make my decision and lean forward. My skirt catches and, with a wince, I hike it another inch.

Ignoring the pleased hum from the man beneath me, I stretch forward again and place my left hand on the red circle directly across from me.

I’m a little overextended, balanced entirely on my left side, but I’m able to angle my body along the outer edge of the mat so it falls away from Lucky slightly.

And my face isn’t quite buried in his sweatpants.

From here, I should be able to maneuver in the next round—hopefully without putting myself in some obscene position.

“Your turn,” he prompts.

Right. “Why did you decide to join the Army, since you loved your job?”

There’s a pause. “When I was seventeen, there was an accident on the ropes. One of the teenage students was doing something she shouldn’t have and landed wrong. It was . . . It was really horrible. The damage was pretty bad. We had insurance, but the family sued and it got ugly. Insurance came through for the claim, but they trashed our reputation.