“If I must.”
Sam choked back a laugh covering it with a cough. He was certain—well, he was almost certain—that Roger hadn’t meant that to be rude.
But this was torturous to watch. The woman had no idea what she was doing. Was she flirting? This could not be her idea of attracting a man’s attention, could it? Her attire screamed wanton and her conversation topics vacillated between conveying her as a bore and a hoyden. Which was it? She needed to present one image to Roger. Herself.
Sam groaned. Apparently aloud. He only knew this because the moment the groan left his mouth, Mimi whipped her head around again and whispered, “Do you mind? Some of us are enjoying a pleasant dinner conversation.”
“Some? You mean you?” The words were out before he could analyze them properly.
Her eyebrows went up while her eyelids went down. With a slight lift of her chin, her eyes fluttered back open and she said, “Not just me.”
If this were Sam attempting to capture a woman’s attention and he was doing what Mimi was doing, he would want someone to say something. Quickly. To appear incompetent was not an option. And Mimi…well, she was the epitome of an incompetent flirt. But did she know it? Was she in denial? Or was she aware of it and proceeding onward valiantly anyway? Was she brave or oblivious?
Ugh.
“Sam, please.” A whispered admonishment along with a kick.
Oh. She wasn’t getting away with it this time. Once her foot landed on the ground, he placed his booted toe on hers.
A muffled grunt expelled from Mimi’s throat. “Stop that,” she said while trying to wiggle her slippered toe free.
“I don’t think so. I can no longer be witness to what you call flirting.” Ah. This was much better. Mimi was struggling with her recent detainment, and he could eat his peas in peace.
He was pretty sure he had a smug look on his face, mostly because Mimi said, “Wipe that smug look off of your face.”
He did no such thing.
But when Mimi turned herself to face her plate head on, he could feel an energy emitted from her body. And he sensed that her attentions had shifted. It was a good thing. He wouldn’t have to witness her cringeworthy attempts at seduction.
Until he felt her misplaced attention on his ankle. Mimi had slipped her toes free from their slipper and was slowly trailing them up his shin. He felt a slight twitch in his cock. But he kept his foot firmly in place over hers.
What the—
“Are you enjoying the meat?”
“Ahem. What…” and he meant to finish that question. Really, he did. Only her toes were trailing up and down his calf. With pressure. A light massage to the backs of his legs. And he almost unwittingly freed her foot, but some sliver of resolve kept his boot in place while she massaged his leg muscle with her toe.
He blinked. Surely it wasn’t a longer than average blink.
And then her hand was on his knee. Daintily. Like a tickle. A tickle that almost made him laugh, or smirk at the least. But he held himself together. But the chit wasn’t done yet. Her hand was drifting up his thigh—
He pushed himself closer to the table and grabbed her hand with his. Her silky soft hand rested in his. Earlier he had arm wrestled this dainty hand when she had been using all her strength against him, but this soft, smooth skin against his was now a weapon of a different kind.
“Stop it.” He glared at her, daring her to make her next move. No, not daring her. That was the last thing he wanted to do. If hedared her…how far would she go? Inwardly he shook his head. He didn’t want to know the answer to that question. But he did.
“Stop acting…like that.”
She batted her eyelashes mockingly. “Like what?”
“Like a—”
“Ah, ah, ah. Be careful, Sam. It’s just”—her eyes darkened in fierce competition—“an innocent little battle of the wills. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Batte? Yes. Wills? Hell, yes. Innocent? Far from it. But the chit wasn’t letting up, and he needed to do something. Quickly.
He changed his tactic. “Please.” It was hardly spoken above a whisper, but he saw the second she registered the cautionary plea in his voice. He wasn’t begging. He wasn’t making himself vulnerable. He was making himself proper and asking her to do the same. Put aside the competition. Whatever it was they were competing for, and be respectful. Would she acquiesce? He could only hope.
Her brows knitted together and she flew a seething glare at him. Then she extracted her hand from his thigh and her toe from his calf, leaving a line of heat flowing between the two places.
