"I'll never be able to let any of the women in here. They'll be too jealous." I turned my gaze on him. "They'll think I'm gouging them and demand part of their fees back."
He shrugged. "Not once you've introduced them to the love of their life here in Seattle and they see you're worth every penny and more. But I get your point."
We leisurely toured the apartment. Every inch of it was more beautiful than the one before. The bedroom had an elegant queen-size bed with a fluffy mattress topper and firmness controls, plus a padded headboard that somehow managed to look sensual and as if it was whispering to us to try out the bed. Or maybe that was all in my head. Lazer had that effect on me.
Once I put my pillows and bedding on that luscious bed, it would be irresistible. I forced myself not to look at Lazer, afraid invitation and desire were sparkling too clearly in my eyes. That he could see the racing beat of my pulse in the hollow of my throat.
It was hard to resist the onslaught of pampering and spoiling he was doing, even knowing his motivation and that it was a game he was playing. I liked to think I wasn't a material girl. I worked hard for what I had and enjoyed the fruits of my success as much as anyone. As a result, I didn't like being beholden to anyone.
Gifts could carry a veiled obligation. But his gifts, if that's what you'd call them—I believe he would call them perks of the job and partnership—showed a great deal of care and thoughtfulness. Thoughtfulness that he liked to hide behind as terms of seduction.
The thought he put into his presents was as great a turn-on as the money he spent. At least to me. I was the kind of woman who would melt at a bouquet of wildflowers if it were presented with the thought of me in mind. Lazer's gifts showed a tender, romantic side he liked to hide behind his playboy façade. Or, at least, I hoped it was only a façade. The care he took gave me hope there was more to him than he liked to admit.
The money Lazer spent was insignificant to him. Like tossing a quarter in a tip jar. I was no math whiz, but after meeting him, and being boggled by his wealth, I did a little research. At the average interest rate billionaires earn, about five percent, he could spend hundreds of thousands of dollars a day for hundreds of years and still not go broke. All of this around me and all of the units on the floor with rent for however long he wanted weren't anywhere near even a single day's spend.
I returned my attention to the room. It had a private balcony and a view to die for. I would have lingered and taken more time exploring it, but the sumptuous bed was a glaring beacon of temptation. I knew my limits and moved quickly through the suite. I couldn't tell whether that amused or irritated Lazer.
"You haven't seen the best feature of the apartment yet." He took my hand and pulled me to a corner of the apartment, where he stopped in front of a dark wood exterior door. "You have a private entrance."
My mouth fell open. "What?"
He nodded. "Come on. I'll show you." He opened the door, which led into a small foyer of an elevator.
"A private elevator?" My eyes popped wide open.
"Not quite," he said. "It serves all of the corner units in the building." He put a warm finger on my lips.
True confession: I had to resist the urge to lick that finger or suck on it. Every part of me wanted to egg him on, turn him, take him down on top of me. I was a woman of strong passions. I wasn't used to restraining them when I was with the man I desired. I'd never had to with Ruck. Now that those passions had reawakened, they were singing a siren song I had to force myself to turn away from. Everything about Lazer was far too tempting.
"A secret elevator," he said in that warm, honeyed voice of his, which was even more sensual when he was being mysterious and teasing. "Part of the contract with this apartment requires you not to tell any of the other residents about it.
"I'll show you where it comes out on the ground floor when we leave. You need a key to get into the room that houses it." He held up a key, dropped his finger from my lips, and pressed the key into my hand, closing my fingers around it to seal the deal.
"A secret elevator?" I couldn't keep the skepticism, and excitement, from my voice. "Some of the other residents must know about it."
He shrugged. "I should clarify. They know the elevator exists. But word is generally that the elevator only serves the penthouse. The people who live in the other corner units value their privacy and want a way to enter and leave their units without being seen. Your job is to not verify the rumors. Not if you value your privacy and want to look like Houdini."
I turned my gaze to his. "So if I'm coming in at the same time as someone who knows me, I use the public elevator. And if not, I can dart into the secret elevator like I'm on a covert mission?"
He nodded. "Or you can use the private entrance on the outside of the building."
I shook my head. "You've been hanging out with Milia and the spy school too long. No wonder you were so impressed with her secret entrance."
He laughed. "Hers has a few more bells and whistles."
I ignored his comment. Hers might have been bigger, but it wasn't better than mine. "Who else has a key to the elevator?"
He held my gaze. "Only the other residents of the corner units and whomever you give one to. You can buzz whoever you want up at any time."
I grinned at him, trying to keep the images running through my mind at bay. "Why do I feel like almost like a kept woman?"
"No idea," he said, too innocently. "You only are if you want to be." His eyes danced with an invitation that was hard to ignore.
I glanced away. "I still haven't gotten more than a cursory glance from afar of the kitchen."
"You want to see the kitchen up close?" He put on a funny, exaggerated expression. "I didn't take you for a woman who cooks."
"You make cooking sound like an insult." I smiled mysteriously at him. "Maybe I cook. Maybe I don't. But I still like a good refrigerator to store beverages and need a place for my coffee machine."
"Then let's have a look, by all means." He took my elbow and led the way.
The kitchen was large, with rich, warm cabinets finished with an espresso stain, dark wood floors, gleaming top-end stainless steel appliances, and cream quartz countertops. The stovetop was gas. The oven electric. And the layout inviting.
Lazer walked right to the French door refrigerator and waved his hands around it, preening and strutting like a game show hostess showing off the latest valuable prize behind door number one. "What do you think? Does this meet with your satisfaction?"
"Before I comment, I'll have to look under the hood." I pushed him gently and playfully aside, taking full notice of how pleasantly solid and well built he was, and pulled open the French doors.
My mouth fell open. Again. The entire fridge was filled with beer. Every shelf. Even the pockets in the doors. Every kind of beer imaginable—ale, lager, stouts and porters, malts. Blond, brown, cream. Domestic. Local. International. You name it, it was there.
I stood there gaping, sputtering for words. Speechless.
When I turned my gaze to his, he was grinning in a perfectly charming, devilish way, looking like a fallen angel of temptation. He shrugged one shoulder. "Welcome to your new home. You said you love beer. Consider it my housewarming present."
"Damn you," I said when I could finally form words. "Damn you, Lazer Grayson. This"—I pointed into the fridge—"this is—"
"Thoughtful? Considerate?" He leaned into me. "The best gift you've ever gotten?"
I pointed an accusing finger at him. "This is a come-on. A request for sex."
He held his hands up. "Hey, you can't ding a guy for trying," he said in a deep, sexy voice filled with humor. "It's no secret—I think you're hot."
"Shut up," I said. "You can't say that. We agreed—"
He took a step toward me. "No. More accurately, you demanded."
"Where did you learn about the beer question?" I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out how a man with as much apparent natural flirting ability had come by so much practical knowledge. He was
such a flirt nerd. Exactly like I was.
"You've been using that line to weigh your odds of getting into a woman's pants on the first date." I couldn't help accusing him. "I'm banning you from asking the question as long as you're a client of ours."
He wagged his finger at me. "So many rules, my darling."
Damn. I could smell his aftershave. Feel his heat. See his round, dilated pupils and feel his excited breathing. We were both enjoying the game too much already.
There was that great big, plush bed just down the hall—
What was I thinking? Exactly what he wants you to think, fool.
I shook my head, trying to smack some common sense back into myself. "You're too cocky and too studied for your own good. You also misapplied questions from the intimacy-building game—"
"Now I've committed more offenses?" he said way too innocently.
I ignored him. "You can't pull those questions out of context and use a few of them to build false intimacy to get sex on demand. That's a misuse of their intent. An abuse of the game."
"I can't?" His eyebrows shot up. He was mocking me. "News to me. When did Congress pass that law?"
I stared at him, so hot and bothered and hot for him that I barely felt the cold seeping from the fridge. And trying to conjure up ice in my veins so I could resist him. "You know, this could very well backfire on you someday. You might actually get close to a woman by mistake. Wouldn't that be a shame?"
"I'll take my chances."
"Hmmph." I lifted my chin defiantly, narrowed my eyes as I studied him and grabbed my chance. "All right, Mr. Learned Playboy. You seem to have studied the psychology of dating and relationships almost as much as I have. Would you like to play the game? The whole game. Learn every nuance and trick for building intimacy quickly?"
Our gazes locked.
He didn't blink. "Why? Are you trying to help me seduce women with even more ease?"
"The arrogance," I said. "The cockiness—"
"The balls," he said.
I shook my head. "I'm trying to show you how to properly use the tools so you can use them to find a meaningful relationship."
"I see." He studied me. "You want me to play the game with you?"
"You got it."
"You want to bond with me? I'm flattered." His grin was cocky.
"Bond? With you!" I laughed. "I'm as immune to the game as you think you are. I'm just in this to teach you a lesson, buddy. Before you get burned with your own fire."
He raised his brow again. "We'll see who teaches who a lesson. Here and now?"
I held up my hands, palms up in that gesture of Hey, I got nothing to lose. "I got no place to go, playboy. I got nothing but time."
His grin grew into a sly smile that reached ear to ear. "Bring it on, baby. I'm a master at this game."
"Forty questions," I said. "A couple of hours. Totally truthful answers or it's no deal. No faking it. No making stuff up."
"You're going to fact-check me, are you?" He sounded amused.
"Maybe. If I think you're cheating or feeding me crap answers."
He laughed. "I'm not scared off yet. Any way you slice it, I'll come out of this a winner." He paused. "Think of this—what if you bond with me so irrevocably you can't keep your hands off me?"
"What if I discover you're a total douche, an empty suit, and am completely cured of any desire I may have had for you?"
"It's a chance I'll take."
I grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge and handed one to him. "Excellent. Let the game begin." I raised my bottle to his.
"To intimacy," he said as he clinked his bottle to mine. "Do you have the questions?"
I rolled my eyes. "Do I need the questions? I have most of them memorized. But, yes, I can call them up on my phone anytime. I know how to Google, tech guy. Which is how I'm guessing you found them."
I led the way into the living room and settled myself into a plush leather chair, making the point that there was a bridge to cross here. I wasn't going to get all snuggly with him on the couch. Two separate people were either going to emotionally bond. Or not. But in their separate space without lust playing any more of a factor than it already did. "Make yourself comfortable."
He sprawled on the sofa perpendicular to my chair with his beer in hand, lounging casually. He had a view of the water. I had a nice view of his crotch. Which view would prove to be the most distracting?
"I started this earlier at the spy school," he said. "I'll go first. The question about the last time you sang to yourself or someone else—the last time you sang to someone, you were sad?"
I nodded.
He set his jaw and his voice became tender. "Very sad. I would say, the last time you sang to someone, it was to your late husband."
I blinked back a sudden rush of tears. They still came on unexpectedly. I nodded and whispered. "Yes."
The game wasn't supposed to start off with me losing control immediately.
He nodded almost imperceptibly. "It was either the last time you saw him. Or when he was dying?" He spoke gently, cautiously, and with a great deal of compassion.
"On his deathbed, yes." I blinked again. "As he slipped away from me." I took a deep breath.
I rarely spoke about Ruck's death. Even this many years later, it was just too painful. But if I was going to bond with any man, I had to be honest and be able to talk about Ruck and everything he was to me.
"He was critically wounded in action in the line of duty. His fellow officers managed to get him out of the line of fire. The triage doctors were very good. They stabilized enough to send him to Germany, where there were experts and better hospital facilities."
I swallowed hard again. "I flew to Germany to be with him, praying the whole time I wouldn't be too late." I glanced up at Lazer. "If you've never been in that situation, you can't imagine the fear. At that point, I didn't even think about him dying, really. Just getting there in time.
"It was surreal. I had to see him. I had to tell him how much I loved him. I had to make it in time to say goodbye or regret it the rest of my life."
Lazer pulled a lump of tissue from his pocket and handed it to me. "Despite its appearance, it's unused."
It was sweet gesture and made me smile, if only faintly. I picked the pocket lint from the wad and tried to unravel it.
"You made it in time?" His eyes were soft with sympathy.
I nodded. "Barely."
He relaxed. "Good. Everyone deserves a chance to say goodbye."
I dabbed at a tear in the corner of my eye. "I sat with Ruck the last hour of his life. That hour was an eternity. And an instant. I remember some things so clearly. I swore I could hear the drip of his IV. The beeps of the monitors. But I was oblivious to the rest of the world. Later, one of the nurses swore she'd been in and out of the room several times. But I don't remember her at all.
"Ruck never regained consciousness, but I held his hand. I think he sensed my presence, even if he couldn't acknowledge it. I like to believe it, anyway." I inhaled deeply. "I sang him out. Sang him to heaven, that's what I like to think." My voice broke.
Lazer had gone very quiet and somber. He set his beer down and came to stand in front of me. He took my beer and phone from me and set them on an end table next to his beer, then grabbed my hands. "Come here. You need a hug."
I let him pull me to my feet. I slid into his arms without resistance. He cradled me close, pulling me against his chest, cupping my head against him. I'd nearly forgotten the comforting feeling of simply being held by a man and listening to the beat of his heart. I let myself linger there and melt into his strong arms.
"We often sang to each other throughout our relationship," I said softly into Lazer's chest as he smoothed my hair with a gentle touch. "That's what we did. Ruck had a beautiful, deep voice."
I could almost hear it again, though it was fading over time. And that scared me more than anything. I sniffed and dabbed the wad of tissue at my nose. "My voice is pathetic. Flat and off p
itch. Squeaky and too high at awkward times." I dabbed again. "I sang to him because I loved him. Because he loved me and seemed comforted by it. Singing to Ruck was always safe. But that time it was important."
"You only sing to those you love?"
I felt Lazer's words as a rumble in his chest as much as heard them. I nodded against him, pulled myself together, and leaned away from him just enough to look up into his eyes. "How about you? When was the last time you sang to someone?"
"Hard to say," he said with soft smile. "I sing a lot. Not always by choice. My good friends Justin and Riggins love to sing and show off. They have sexy voices that turn the women on, and lord my deficiency in that area over me whenever they can." He laughed softly.
"They sing everywhere and drag me into it with them. When you're friends with those two, you have to resign yourself to go Christmas caroling every year on Lake Washington on Riggins' yacht." He shook his head. "And attend at least a few of the monthly after-work happy hours they throw for Flashionista. Where they entertain the troops by singing karaoke onstage. And rope me into it to embarrass me. It's supposedly all in good fun."
"Such terrible friends!" I said, wondering at the ease he got me to smile.
"They're not so bad." He shrugged. "Because of their encouragement, sometimes I sing just for the hell of it."
I sighed and reluctantly pulled out of his arms. "That sounds freeing. I wish I had the confidence."
He caught my hands and squeezed them. "It's not a matter of confidence. It's a matter of desire. Sing if you want to. If it makes you feel good. If not, do something else that makes you happy."
He pulled me to the sofa and patted the seat next to him.
I should have resisted his invitation. But I was weak and intrigued. I sat next to him with one leg curled beneath me.
He grabbed his beer and handed me mine, along with my phone. "You okay?"
I nodded.
"Okay, then, next question." He grinned. "And I say that with great trepidation. I think we're becoming better friends already. True confidants."
He made me smile. Damn. He made me smile.
I glanced at my phone, and wouldn't you know? The next question was frivolous and ridiculous to ask him. "Would you like to be famous?"
Pair Us: A Jet City Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire Matchmaker Series Book 3) Page 8