Uncut by Betty Womack Page B

“You mean he’s concerned about you not getting enough sex.” His chuckle pleased her with the overtones of evil intent. “Maybe he can tell I haven’t been scoring anything lately.”
    “You had your chance earlier.” She smiled sweetly, laughing under her breath.
    “If you mean Nita, she came on too strong.” Sam snapped the waistband of his trunks. “I don’t trust just anyone with my stuff.”
    Lana laughed softly. “I don’t remember your requirements.”
    “Yes you do.” He stroked her thigh. “I remember all of yours.”
    Okay. He knew how to arouse her without getting in her pants. Her mind snapped back to business as she caught sight of Antigua and several of his party heading to the rear of the ship.
    “I think the hunting party is gearing up, Sam.” She swung her legs off the chair and rose to stretch. “Keep your temper under control.”
    Sam got up and patted her ass, reassuring her in a husky whisper. “I won’t embarrass him any more than necessary.”
    * * * *
    Sam took in the scene where Antigua stood waiting like some frigging wuss on a safari. He held a skeet rifle like a rookie cop, and his pockets bulged with shells. Two of his men stood nearby wearing the same dumb expressions they always wore. He figured they would test positive for hydrophobia.
    Getting back into character came hard. Sam waved like a clown to make sure Antigua noticed him.
    “Hey, Antique.” Trying to sound interested in the proceedings was rough for Sam. “Tell me what we’re shootin’ at again.”
    Antigua inhaled with visible disgust, but Sam could imagine the power he felt at dealing with an inferior. “The targets are skeet. Small clay targets fired from that machine.”
    “You don’t say.” Sam reached for Antigua’s weapon.
    The watchdogs stepped forward. Antigua waved them off. “Sam, you never reach for another man’s weapon.”
    Sam shuffled his feet and ducked his chin. “Okay, man. When do I get a gun?”
    Antigua nodded to the guard nearest them. “Give Sam a rifle.” He smiled at Sam with a knowing quirk of his brows. “You may fire first.”
    Catching a glimpse of Lana at the edge of the small crowd watching, Sam motioned her forward. “I need a kiss for good luck.” He held his hand out to her, and she ran to his side, offering her luscious mouth for his kiss.
    “Thanks, baby.” She was an amazing actress, glancing down shyly, but her pinch to his side said something different.
    She issued a tight-lipped warning. “You’d better let him win.”
    “Sure, doll face.” He watched her walk back to the flimsy barricade the activities people had set up.
    I’ll let him win. This time
.
    Antigua eyed him as he took the rifle, probably expecting him to drop it. “Take aim and tell the man at the controls that you are ready.”
    Sam pulled the rifle butt to his shoulder, squinting through the sights. “Okay. I’m ready to roll.”
“No.”
    Sam chuckled at the sound of petulant irritation in his host’s voice. “Was that wrong?” Sam enjoyed the look of anger worming across Antigua’s face.
    “You say ‘pull’. The targets will come out and you fire at them.” His words were chopped off and mean.
    Sam shrugged. “Okay.” He set his weapon and yelled, “Pull.” The trigger was smooth as satin and the clay pigeon sailed past. Still in one piece. “Pull.” He lowered the weapon and grinned at Antigua. “Guess this isn’t like quail hunting.”
    As he expected, Antigua became animated, downright friendly. “It takes practice. You did well for a beginner.”
    Sam longed to kick the creep in the ass, but hung his thumbs in the waist of his trunks. “Thanks, man. Maybe we can play some cards one day.” He laughed. “I ain’t any good at that either.”
    He suffered the pompous ass shooting with marginal accuracy at a dozen clay targets. Each time he missed, Antigua turned to scream at the guy working the machine. He shook his head and informed Sam the wind had