"Damn it." Chris Bailey leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "She wins again."

Kat Morgan lifted her wine glass off the coffee table and gave him a smug grin. "That's what you get for not paying attention."

"I was paying attention." He rolled his eyes and picked up his glass. Paying attention, but not to the game, that's for damn sure.

Swirling her wine, she laughed. "So that's why you took my knight when my queen was as open as a hooker's legs?"

Chris choked on his wine. Clearing his throat, he shook his head again. "You're so classy."

She shrugged. "Just speaking your language."

"Hey!"

"What? It's true."

He pretended to give it some thought. "Okay, you're right."

"Of course I am."

"Arrogant wench." He chuckled and gestured towards the board with his glass. "Now what the hell are you talking about? Your knight was a move away from putting me in check."

"Check, but not checkmate." She set her glass down and leaned forward, backtracking the pieces to their last few positions. "See? You could've taken my queen out with your rook, because all I had to do was move over here--"

His eyes followed her hand, but instead of watching

the queen's path across the board, drifted up Kat's arm to her shoulder, where a hint of black lace peeked out from beneath her grey sweatshirt. Swallowing hard, he tried not to let his mind fill in the blanks and draw a mental picture of the rest of her bra. Christ, she even dresses sexy when she's dressed down.

"--and when you moved that bishop to take out my knight," she went on, oblivious to his wandering eyes. "You also lost your one defense against my queen. Thus," she sat up, squaring her shoulders and grinning at him. "Checkmate."

Raising his glass in a toast, Chris said, "Well done, Morgan." He drained his glass. "Well done."

She raised her glass as well, the devilish twinkle in her eyes suddenly making him wish he was drinking something a hell of a lot stronger. Come on, man, it's Kat. What is wrong with you?

"More wine?" she asked.

"Absolutely." His head was a bit light from the last couple of glasses, but it was still early. Knowing them, they'd be up until three in the morning playing chess, so he wouldn't be driving anytime soon. Odds were, he'd crash on her couch again anyway.

He watched her walk out of the living room and into the kitchen. What I wouldn't give to spend a night on a different piece of her furniture.