Chapter Five
Cross Words
"Spalpeen…" Devon mused as he placed his tiles on the Scrabble board between them with a satisfied smile.
"Spalpeen?" Carolyn stared at the newly arranged word with deep suspicion. "That's not a word. You just made it up to fit your letters. You want to win at any cost. You hate losing."
"I play fair." Her husband assumed a look of superior knowledge. "A spalpeen is an Irish word for a seasonal labourer or a rascal." His smile widened. "I believe that is twelve points to me and almost the game."
He made the notation on his pad and looked up expectantly. "And…" His eyes darkened as they studied her fresh loveliness.
"Now, hang on. Wait a minute…" Carolyn held up one hand as she reached for the dictionary with the other. "I'm going to check you out first, Mister."
She opened the thick volume and leafed quickly through it, seemingly sure she was right. Then her shoulders slumped as her searching finger stopped on a word. "Uh…" She grimaced. "Who knew?"
"I did…" Devon preened a little. "It's a good solid word with a lot of pith." He grinned. "Spalpeen…" He rolled the word around with his tongue.
Carolyn closed the dictionary with a snap. "I still say you are taking unfair advantage."
"My love, I do believe the saying is, 'All's fair in love and war…'" He dangled one hand significantly and waggled his fingers. "Hand it over. You know you have to. I'm on a hot winning streak tonight, and I don't intend to lose. Not like last night, when you took me for nearly every stitch I was wearing."
He watched and waited as his wife seethed for a moment. They were alone in the main bedroom of their newly purchased Montecito house. They were seated in the middle of the wide bed with the French doors open to the balcony and the warm night air.
A full moon was rising slowly from the limitless Pacific Ocean. But Devon saw none of that unearthly beauty.
"I guess it's fair since it is a word…" Carolyn shrugged as she reached behind her back and unhooked her lacy bra. She leaned forward across the board and slipped one strap over her husband's outstretched forefinger.
Devon didn't look down at the forfeited item of clothing. His blue eyes darkened further at the intoxicating sight of her naked loveliness. His love's last remaining item of clothing she had to trade was a barely-there pair of lace knickers that matched her bra.
She might as well be naked. His love was seated proudly in the middle of the bed. She didn't appear keen to give in.
He swallowed tightly. "Well, if you're not about to surrender, I believe the next move is yours…"
Carolyn tilted her head as she studied him. He was still almost fully dressed in trousers and an open-necked knit shirt. "I guess, tonight just hasn't been my night."
"No…" Devon swung the bra slowly from side to side before he threw it aside. "But it surely is mine. Do you want to forfeit?" he asked eagerly.
His narrowed gaze settled on the slim white scar on her left shoulder. He leaned forward to trace the healed line of the bullet wound with his forefinger. 'Cuisle mo chroí… the pulse of my heart…" he murmured.
"Now I know that's not in any dictionary," Carolyn replied shakily as her breathing shortened with burgeoning desire.
"It is in ours," Devon responded as his finger traced lower to the peaked rose point of her left breast. He turned his hand and settled her sensual weight in the palm of his hand.
"'Tá grá agam duit…' I love you…" He moved his thumb back and forth across the hardened rose of her nipple.
"All right, all right. I forfeit. Come here…" Carolyn rose to her knees and came toward him.
The board and tiles tumbled out of her way as she threw her arms around his neck and sent him backwards into the bank of pillows behind them. Beyond the bed, the long sheer curtains moved in the warm night breeze and strengthening moonlight crept in to paint lines of soft light across the floor.
But the two ardent lovers entwined upon the wide bed weren't interested in looking at the stars or the moonlight. Not right now when they had other, more deeply intimate, games to play…
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