The Mad British

by Leick, Hera

  "You’ll just have to wait and find out." Taking a seat behind the desk, I sip from my glass. I figure one sip can’t hurt. Reaching for the game board I ask, "I hope it's not a problem that I'm disturbing your game?"

  "Help yourself. I was playing by myself while I waited for you. . . or not.”

  “Play with yourself often?” I smirk. His eyes meet mine. He looks like he wants to eat me.

  Yummy noises.

  That’s all I can make when I’m around this man.

  “Play and find out.”

  I lean back in my chair after I move all the pieces to their rightful places. We start to play and I chew my lip as he watches me intently. Everything inside me throbs with need with the way his eyes roam over me. It almost feels like it’s his tongue and not those blue pools of light slithering over every inch of my body.

  I avert my eyes. I can’t lose the game. I have nothing to prove to him, but yet, I feel like he’s waiting on something. . .

  We make our next several moves in near silence. The only sound is the occasional sip from one of our glasses or an agitated sigh as we debate our course of action. My finger lingers over my knight, then my rook, and I glance up to find him watching me, a cocky smile on his lips.

  Oh, those lips.

  It is hard to ignore them.

  Those pretty, pretty lips.

  "What?" My voice is just above a whisper.

  "Nothing." He barely shakes his head, but I know he’s up to something.

  I narrow my eyes at him across the desk and lean forward. "If you're trying to distract me—you're failing miserably."

  "I think you're doing just fine being distracted on your own." He gets up and crosses the room to refill his glass. I sneak a glimpse.

  He must do a lot of squats.

  He pours the whiskey and turns back to me, catching me red-handed. I feel my face grow flushed. He’s loving every second of this.

  "See," he drawls, coming back over to his seat. I stare down at the board, still wavering between using the knight or the rook. "I don't care for the knight either," he comments, taking a sip from his glass.

  "Why?" I decide on the rook and slide it forward several squares, realising it’s the best choice. If I can follow through on my next three moves, I can have his queen. And it’s obvious from the way he keeps her nestled in the middle of the other pieces, he cherishes the queen the most.

  "It's the one piece that can jump over the other men." He taps the top of his knight with his forefinger. I’m surprised when he moves it forward.

  He is planning something.

  "And let me guess," I say, moving my rook over two squares. "James Hatter never jumps over other men."

  "Only when they jump first." He slides his other knight from its home.

  I swear under my breath when I start to move my rook, but realise I’m trapped by his knights.

  "Maybe next time you should try playing chess with someone who isn't better than you," he mocks, repeating my words from earlier in the evening. And had he not looked so yummy while doing it, I would have been annoyed.

  "You want to have a repeat of our previous venture from this evening?"

  He laughs, gripping his glass of whiskey in his hand. "I don't think bets have proven to be very good for our relationship."

  "Relationship?" I angle my head to the side as I tuck my hair behind my ear. He nods. "If this is a relationship forming here, I'd say that bets are what it is based on, won’t you?" I bite my lip and tug the hem of my dress down.

  "Then I suppose it's only fair that you get to make this wager."

  He’s waiting on me to back out, so I figure it’s time for me to raise the bar. "If I win. . . " I pause to think, drumming my fingertips on my chin, keeping my eyes on his.

  "If you win," he replies, as if it isn’t even possible.

  I snort, folding my arms across the desk and lean in toward him. "If I win, you tell me just how much money you offered William. . . Oh, I'm sorry—how much money you paid him for me."

  "I didn’t buy you and you know that wasn’t the case." He mimics my pose and leans across the desk as well. "I simply purchased a moment of your time."

  "Do you use money to buy everything?" There’s a hint of indignation in my words, a little disgusted by the way he had just said that.

  "Only when it will get me what I want." He shrugs.

  "And you just want a drink with me?" I get up from my seat, tucking my knees beneath me so I can lean further across the desk, knowing full well my cleavage is on display. "Just a drink?" He nods. "Liar."

  "Again with the presumptions, Miss Queen." He moves to his feet and leans over the desk, our faces just inches apart.

  "Men always want more." One hand holds me over the desk, while the other clutches my hip.

  "And so do women." He looks at my lips, then my cleavage, and then gradually lowers his gaze. I swallow. Hard. "They’re just too afraid to admit it."

  I've never been so annoyed yet turned on at the same time. It leaves me torn between slapping him in the face for all women—including his date tonight—and grabbing him across the desk and pushing him onto the bed.

  "You, uh, you have to decide," I tell him. Feeling flustered, I straighten up across from him.

  Much to my dismay, he doesn’t move. He remains bent over the desk, his palms bracing himself above it, those damn piercing come-hither eyes on me. Briefly I’m enamoured by the silver chain running across his rugged collarbone through the open collar of his shirt, and for a second, he thinks he has the upper hand. I give my best poker face, taking my seat.

  "You have to decide what you want." I lean back in my chair and look up at him. He stays still.

  "I think you know what I want," he replies, those damn lips still holding that damn smile.

  My face flushes again and I run a hand over the back of my neck, looking away from him. "Well, uh, too bad you're going to lose," I say, in the most unbelievable way possible. I’m sure he is going to laugh at my discomfort and I’m honestly surprised when he doesn’t.

  "Then, I guess you'll be finding out how much Wayne thinks you’re worth." He finally backs away from the desk and takes his seat, all-the-while watching me. "I believe it's your turn."

  "You're right. . . it is." I take a deep breath and perch at the edge of my seat. I stare down at the board, every planned movement I had, suddenly gone from my mind. I move a pawn forward one space. "There." When I see his reaction, I second-guess myself. "What?"

  "Nothing." He taps his finger on his bishop before sliding it across the board and taking the pawn I'd just moved.

  "Crap," I mutter, mulling over the option of forfeiting before he wipes the chessboard with me.

  "I'm sorry." He flips the tiny piece round his finger. "I know how much you like watching porn."

  "What?"

  "Pawn," he repeats, motioning toward the pieces on the board. "They’re obviously your favourite to watch—pawn."

  I pick up my bishop and look him in the eye. “And I bet you like to beat the bishop.”

  He suddenly erupts in laughter, shaking his head, and I start to laugh with him as well. I reach for my glass, taking a sip, feeling more relaxed.

  We remain quiet for several moves, the only sounds coming from the pieces as we move across the board, until he declares, "Check." He leans back in his chair. "And I'm fairly sure I'm going to win."

  "Aren't you just pleased with yourself?" I glare at the board, trying to figure out how to save my king.

  He shrugs, placing his elbows on the edge of the desk and clasps his hands. "Your time is running out, Queen." I know he’s trying to bait me, and of course, it’s working. "It's so easy to distract you."

  I do my best to ignore him, especially when he starts to hum, rocking his glass back and forth in the air. I stiffen when I realise what song he is humming. "Are you kidding me?"

  "Hmm?" His humming comes to a stop and there’s a twinkle in those damn eyes of his that I’m dying to put ou
t.

  I bring my hand down on the board, shoving it toward him. "How's that for another one biting the dust?" I get up and walk away. "And are you seriously a Queen fan?" I ask, coming to a stop in front of the large window that overlooks the River Thames.

  He follows after me. "What's wrong with Queen. . . Queen?"

  I turn round. “Clever.”

  He shrugs. "Travis."

  I roll my eyes. "Why am I not surprised you would pick up doing something that corny from Lassie?"

  "It is fitting," he points out, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

  "Jerk."

  "Jealous."

  I lean against the window, my hands on my hips. "Jealous of you?"

  "That I beat you." He takes one step toward me, tilts his head downwards, and lifts a hand to brush against my bare arm. A hot buzz skims across my skin and I do my damnedest to stifle it. "Why do I get the feeling you're used to getting your way?"

  "I get my way because I'm right. You get yours because you buy it."

  "You bet your way twice tonight. You won once—by cheating," he reproaches, daring me to disagree.

  I draw my breath before releasing it. It’s frustrating how furious he can make me feel sometimes. "And you cheated William to get me alone," I shoot back, angry that yet again, I'd somehow forgotten how all this started from his arrogant wager.

  “I didn’t cheat just now, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get. . . what I want." Towering above me, his gaze darkens and does a slow, deliberate sweep of my body, lingering on my chest before travelling back. It’s impossible to stop the trembling in my legs. "And if you play nicely, you just might get what you want too."

  My breath catches in my throat, knowing he isn’t talking about telling me how much money he had wagered.

  But I am not going to back down.

  "And just what do you want from me, James?" I lean toward him and place a hand on his chest.

  Big mistake.

  It’s rock hard underneath my touch. If his body looks and feels this great with clothes, what in God’s name will it look like and feel without? "What can I possibly give you that you haven't already passed up?"

  He grunts, placing his hand over mine, and holds it to my chest. "A kiss." My pulse leaps into a gallop because holy crap. . .

  I swear a throaty groan just slipped out of my throat. And that sexy bastard heard it,the corner of his mouth twitching.

  "And before you turn that into an argument, you offered to sleep with me—not kiss me."

  I suck in a breath, still caught-off-guard by his answer. But I know he’s waiting for me to contest his wager.

  I have two choices it seems: One, taste what Heaven—or Hell—will feel like, and kiss that cocky mouth of his. Two, tell him to shove it, then run home and take a cold shower.

  He is probably expecting the latter—the shove part, not the cold shower. Too bad he has forgotten who is in control this time. Besides, a bet is a bet, and the loser has to pay.

  He has to pay.

  I pull my hand from his and run it down his chest. I stop at his waist, then lift my other hand to the opposite side, gathering his shirt in both fists. His eyes become as dark as the night sky, and suddenly there is heat in his gaze. Heat, and a flicker of arrogance, as if he is confident I’ll back down.

  And I almost do.

  Almost.

  James is every woman’s fantasy. He has the perfect body and an even more perfect face. And something tells me he knows exactly what a woman wants. God, I needed that after two years of going to bed alone.

  He had wagered me in a card game, like I was an object to play with; that my feelings didn’t matter. I keep letting men walk all over me. But not any more. It’s my time to do the walking and dish out a little revenge.

  Two can play at that game.

  My heart hammers in my chest. I’ve never ever had a one-night stand. And I’ve never ever snuck out after using a man for sex. Even though my pulse is beating like a drum, and my body is trembling, it isn’t from nerves. It’s like how I feel when I’m about to ride a rollercoaster.

  Anticipation. Excitement.

  I lick my lips and draw the chain that’s round his neck into my hands. It’s a silver cross. “I think you’ve met your match, James,” I murmur. Then I pounce on him.

  It’s time to let my hair loose and have fun for once.

  James Hatter, you better rock my world.

  8

  Hatter

  “WAIT!”

  I place my hands on her bare shoulders and push her backwards, tumbling forward. Adelaide loses balance briefly, regaining it only after her body crashes into the window behind her. Her hands drop from my shirt immediately, moving to hold herself up against the window.

  "Adelaide." I suck in a breath when I realise how my voice sounds, how my tongue wraps round her name. Bracing my hands on either side of her, I watch her closely, desperate for her to say or do something. I’m not surprised when she remains quiet, her palms flat against the glass, her breaths quick and heavy.

  "Adelaide," I repeat. "Don't do anything you don’t—"

  "I want this," she says, her voice trembling but strong in conviction.

  She wraps her slender fingers round one of my wrists, tugging it away from the window, but I keep my hand firmly planted.

  "I don't want you to do something you’ll regret," I tell her. “Not with me.”

  Her head falls back against the glass. "I want to—”

  "I don't want you to kiss me because of some stupid bet," I continue, not giving her the chance to finish.

  "You wager a woman, which most men would use to their advantage, but you just end up playing chess. Then you wager a kiss and turn her away because it's the classy thing to do." Something about this amuses her. "It's a wonder you ever get laid, James."

  I crack a smile, liking the way my name glides off her pink lips. "I thought you would have realised by now that I'm not most men." I lower my head, my mouth just a breath away from hers. "I can’t kiss you,” I murmur, just above her soft lips and then draw back.

  “Why?” Her voice is breathless, full of doubt.

  Brushing my fingers across her collarbone, all the way round to the back of her neck, I grip her hair back, not too softly, not too hard, but just enough to make her gasp. I bend my head into the crook of her neck and take in her scent before meeting her gaze.

  “Because once I kiss you, Adelaide, I don't plan on stopping.” She gives me a pining, doe-eyed look that tells me she is begging for it. But I can see she’s a little scared also. “There are things I will do to you. . .” I look down at her mouth, then back to her eyes. “I’ll ruin you." Her lips part, but no words come out.

  My other hand falls to her shoulder and my thumb circles over her smooth skin. She is soft and delicate, unlike anything I’ve ever touched before, and it takes every ounce of restrain I’ve got to not listen to the incessant screaming voice inside my head.

  Take. Her. Now.

  I release her hair and place my hand against the window again, the other tracing the ends of her hair. I close my eyes and dip my head to hers. "This wasn't about anything more than having a drink and getting to know you." I open my eyes and look into hers. "Except maybe stealing you away from your date. He didn’t deserve a second of your time. I probably don't either but I’d like to think I’m less of an arse."

  “There’s noting less about your arse.”

  “So you’ve been checking it out?”

  “It’s hard not to.”

  “It’s always hard with you.” I look down briefly, feeling a thickening tension in my pants. She sucks in a shaky breath.

  I want to push her hard against the window, pull up her dress to her hips, and slam my face into her so I can taste her until she screams for mercy.

  "I’ve wanted you from the first time I laid eyes on you." She swallows hard, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. "Christ, every man out there wants you, and who can blame them? You’re so goddamn
beautiful, Ad—"

  I’m cut off by the crash of her body against me, her hands fisting my shirt as she fuses her lips to mine. Instinctively, my hands are on her sides, pressing the silk of her dress against the curve of her hips. I grip the fabric in my hands, a failed attempt at inching it upward, desperate to touch the bare skin she’s given me a glimpse of earlier this evening. Her mouth parts, her tongue requesting entrance into my mouth, and my lips part easily.

  I know then that there is nothing I could ever deny her.

  A shudder runs through my body when her tongue meets mine, swirling forcefully round one another, both of us eager to take what the other is offering. The kiss is frantic, as are our caresses. I continue to tug her tight dress upward, while her hands pull at the fabric of my shirt.

  She moans against my mouth, her hips grinding against me when I finally manage to manoeuvre her dress up, but just a little. The bloody thing won’t budge. I hook my hand just behind her knee, drawing it round my leg, before snaking my hand up her thigh. She is softer than I’d imagined, supple and luscious. I wrap an arm round her waist, thrusting her against me, wanting more.

  The image of her from earlier in the evening flashes through my mind; teeth sunk into her lower lip, her hand on her curvy hip, and I suddenly have no restraint. I draw my tongue from her mouth, my lips suckling against her lower lip, before I rake my teeth against it.

  She mews into my mouth, one hand releasing my shirt as the other wraps round my neck, dragging me in closer. She pulls one last time on my shirt, moaning with satisfaction when she slides her hand beneath my shirt. Her palm splays against my stomach, working its way up to my chest, grasping at the muscles below it.

  My hand cups her just below her arse, and a single finger traces the lining of her lacy knickers. I run my hand up from the small of her back, fisting it into the ends of her hair before tugging her head backwards.

  She seems to love it when I do that.

  Her mouth parts from me and she lets out a moan of frustration. Her lips are red and swollen, and I can see a faint mark from where my teeth have been. Her face is flushed, her eyes drowning with desire. She’s panting, her breaths taut from the lack of oxygen, and she’s only standing because I’m holding her up.