Playing it Cool (Sydney Smoke Rugby) Read Online Free

good. “Um yes,” she said faintly, turning her attention to the canvas and dipping her paintbrush in the green pot, quickly outlining a leaf. And then another.
    Rainforests were lush, right?
    She was relieved when he dabbed a paintbrush into the red pot and started painting on his canvas, his head to one side.
    He used long, sweeping strokes as she watched him surreptitiously through her fringe. They were quite hypnotic. And sexy. She’d fantasised about him using long, sweeping strokes on himself, making himself come at her command as the fantasy reached fever pitch and she’d increased the speed on her vibrator.
    Muscles behind her belly button contracted, clamping down hard at the thought. Who’d have thought long, slow strokes could be such a freaking turn-on?
    “So, Harper Nugent,” he said after a minute or two. “What is it you do for a living?”
    Harper startled at the unexpected conversation. He stopped the long strokes as he waited for her to reply, and the tight clench of her body gave way in one reflexive shudder.
    She’d had orgasms that hadn’t been as good.
    Her breath eased slowly from her body, and she cleared her throat as she shifted against the stool to relieve the hard ache between her legs. “I’m an artist.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “What kind of an artist?”
    “A painter…a muralist to be precise. For the moment, anyway.”
    “Ah.” His gaze flicked to her hands, already stained with paint. “That explains that then.”
    Harper’s glance followed his. No doubt he was used to women with much more glamorous hands. Soft skin, elegant fingers, long, glossy, painted nails. Her hands were dry and rough. With hands in paint and solvents all bloody day, Harper’s skin was more crocodile than human. Her cuticles and nail beds were stained with the marks from her latest commission.
    “So…” he continued, a low teasing note in his voice, “choosing this place was to get the rugby player out of his comfort zone, huh? I’m over here finger painting and you’re creating something Picasso would be proud of.”
    His grin was crooked and charming and Harper couldn’t help but grin in return. “It’s not a competition.”
    “ Everything’s a competition, Harper.”
    He was smiling, but there was a seriousness to his voice. How else would an elite athlete think?
    “You can’t win all the time.” Winning at freakish, orgasmic mind control over her body was more than enough for one night, surely? “But for damn sure I’m going to kick your ass tonight.”
    He hooted out a surprised laugh. “I knew there was a competitive streak inside you.”
    Harper shrugged. “If it’s any consolation, I’d suck at rugby.” Although God knew, she could hack being rucked by Dexter Blake.
    He looked her over appreciatively. Like he was thinking the exact same thing. “It’s like anything else. You just need to practise.”
    She quirked an eyebrow. “Like art?”
    He flicked a glance at his canvas and grimaced. “Touché.”
    The waiter arrived with the next two tapas plates and the moment was lost. He offered her some divine smelling flash-fried calamari and some Haloumi drenched in lemon juice and garnished with rock salt and a sprig of rocket.
    She declined.
    “You’ve barely eaten anything,” he protested.
    Harper shrugged. “I’m not hungry.” It was a bald-faced lie but bloody Chuck had made her so self-conscious about eating in front of Dex that she couldn’t do it, not even to spite him. She just hoped her growling stomach didn’t get any louder.
    “You eat it,” she insisted. “You look like you need constant feeding and watering just to fulfill basic functions.”
    He speared a succulent piece of calamari with his fork, his gaze locking with hers. “A person needs more than food and water.”
    Her own needs reared to the surface as a smear of oil and some crumbs coated the corner of his mouth. The urge to lick them off drummed in her chest as real as her own