by Lisa Wells
They rode the elevator in silence. Unless you count the saucy taunts her perfume whispered in his ears. Which were probably embarrassment red. He was the guy who declared like and didn’t have the words immediately reciprocated.
Inside his home, he turned the light on dim and headed to the kitchen for a bottle of wine and breathing space. What he needed was a shot of whiskey to put out the flames of humiliation.
As if understanding his need to regroup, Aggie followed at a slow pace, her heels making a rhythmic click on the wood floors.
Looking like she didn’t have a care in the world, she leaned against the counter within his line of sight. Obviously, having men tell her they liked-her, liked-her was par for the course. “How old were you when they gave you your trust fund?”
Her question surprised him. He didn’t turn around. “I don’t have a trust fund.” Actually, he had one, but he didn’t use it. He picked out a wine he hoped she would appreciate. Bold with hints of sweetness. He grabbed the opener and turned to face her.
“Then you can afford this place on the income of a guy still trying to build his business?” She sounded skeptical. “I mean, I know you’re successful, but this place spits on average incomes. You have to be kick-ass successful to afford a condo in this zip code.”
“Grandmother gave me this place when I graduated from college. Her parents gave it to her when she graduated.” He sounded liked a privileged prick.
She let out a sharp laugh and rolled her eyes. “Meemaw gave me a cup with the year I graduated on it, and we went to Red Lobster for dinner. And used a coupon.”
He poured them wine and led them to his living room. He sat on the couch and patted the cushion.
She chose a chair across from him. Further sign he’d fucked up with his declaration of like. The odds of him getting her out of her dress later tonight weren’t in his favor. “Is that why you have a chip on your shoulder where I’m concerned?” His words weren’t meant to be harsh, just his damn pride trying to rebuild lost ground.
“What do you mean?” She curled her feet up under her, being careful to drape her dress ladylike around her legs.
He jerked at his tie, loosening it around the knot in his throat. He had bought it new for tonight. The lavender silk matched her eyes. “You resent my being born into money.” She wouldn’t be the first person he’d met in life who didn’t like him because he’d come from wealth. There were plenty of people in the business world who thought less of those who didn’t have to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. People like Mr. Smith.
She played with the earring in her right ear. “I don’t resent it. I just don’t trust it.”
He sipped his wine, savored the flavors while telling himself to relax, and then swallowed. “Any particular reason why?”
She mimicked his action. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my grandfather came from money. When he discovered Meemaw was pregnant with my mom, he bailed. But not before telling Meemaw a lot of hurtful shit.”
His insides coiled. “What do you mean?”
“He told her she was dumber than dirt if she ever thought a man like him would settle for a woman like her.”
“Bastard,” Max said under his breath. Her comment the other day about Meemaw having her heart broken by one rich man suddenly took on a whole other light. He’d have to tread lightly so he didn’t hurt either of them.
“My mom grew up knowing her father considered her trash,” Aggie continued.
“I’m sorry.” An instinct to track down and harm the asshole who’d hurt Ms. Hazel gnawed at his gut like a hungry dog trying to gnaw through a leash. “Not all Silver Spooners look down on those not so fortunate. If anything, I admire you more because you made something out of nothing.” It had taken tonight to realize, but it was true.
Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. “At which point do you think I went from being a nothing to a something?” The words were clipped and as tense as her posture.
His heart stuttered. God no. “I didn’t mean I thought there was a point when you were a nothing. I meant there was probably a point when you had little-to-nothing.”
She leaned back, her eyes frosty.
“Let me be clear. You’re really quite something.”
“Whatever.” One by one, she removed bobby pins from her hair then ran her fingers through the strands. “I’m the girl you like-like.” Pride kept her words from sounding as offhand as she probably would have liked.
He nodded. “Exactly.”
She glanced away. “This wine is fabulous. Perhaps you could send a couple bottles of it home with me, seeing as you now know how poor I am?”
He laughed. “Give it up. I refuse to think of you as anything but my equal.”
As if his laughter took her out of her head, she laughed as well. “And you’re saying that because the like-you, like-you line didn’t work. You’re just tossing out words to see which one I bite, so you can reel me in for sex.”
He stood and walked toward her. “And how do you feel about having sex with a guy on the first date who is about as smooth as a cactus?”
With her normal frankness, she looked him square in the eyes. “Tonight was a business meeting in which we ate. Not a first date.”
“Fair enough.” He held out his hands. She placed hers in his, and he led her back to the couch where they had a seat next to each other and propped their feet on the ottoman. He dropped an arm around her shoulder. “What’s your stance on having pre-dating sex with a guy?”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “I am your employee. Aren’t you afraid I’ll accuse you of harassment?”
He pulled back. “Do you feel harassed? If so, I’ll stop.” He withdrew his arm. Unintended pressure was still pressure.
She sat up straight and laughed. “Unlike the day you interviewed me, this isn’t harassment. But, as a business owner, you should be much more concerned with the idea of sleeping with an employee than you appear to be.”
He relaxed. “You did your fair share of harassing on the day of the interview.” He ran a finger down the curve of her neck. She sounded so mature and sincere. And damn it to hell, she had a point. “But you’re right. What kind of movies do you like? I can microwave some popcorn, and we can watch one. I’ll even agree to one of those lovey-dovey girl-night movies.”
She exhaled. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you where there’s a will there’s a woman ready to make it happen?”
“Ummm.” When she sat so close and stared so hard into his eyes, his brain had serious glitches. Not that it worked well when she sat across the room from him.
She held out her slender hand. “Give me your phone.”
He didn’t ask why, just did as she demanded.
She glanced at it and shook her head like he was quite dense. “Unlock it.”
He did.
She opened his setting’s app and opened the recording app. Holding the phone toward her mouth, she said, “This is Aggie Johansson. I’m about to have sex with my boss, Max Treadwell. I’m not in any way being coerced. If I say no now, or say no tomorrow, I will still maintain my position with his corporation. If, after tonight, we both decide to end my employment early, he agrees to pay out my contract.” She handed him his phone back, dug hers out of a pocket he didn’t know she had in her dress, opened her recording app, and stuck the phone in his face.
“What do you want me to say?” How sweet and sexy—she wanted to save him from himself. And what else did she carry in her pockets? Knowing her, a hammer.
“That you don’t plan on using our sex to force me to keep working for you when our contract is up. And that you won’t use it against me in a future letter of reference. And you are under no illusion that this is the start of something that involves our hearts. Etcetera.”
“I agree to all of those things,” he said into her phone.
>
She placed her phone back in her pocket. “Now, where were we?”
“Does this mean we’re having sex?”
“It means sex is still on the table. But, unless you step up your game, I’m doubtful it will happen tonight.”
…
Aggie homed in on Max’s face to catch his real reaction before he masked it with indifference or arrogance. Thank God, the dark prevented him the same opportunity in the car to zoom in on her face when he admitted to liking her. And thank God, he hadn’t been able to see how her belly did a twisty-twirly rollercoaster thing.
He scowled like she’d accused him of wearing lacy lingerie, followed almost instantly by an arrogant lift of the brow. “A lady has never told me to step up my game.”
Messing with him rated right up there with going a hundred down a deserted road on the back of a Harley. “Then, most likely,” she purred, “the ladies you’ve been with were after your money and didn’t care if you had actual game.” This might rate higher than a careening Harley. That realization washed the starch out of her smugness.
Why the high excitement? As far as danger went, teasing him was as close to a big fat zero on the risk scale as would be eating a banana while standing. Sex with him wouldn’t be dangerous. Fabulous but not dangerous. And she’d make damn sure she kept her heart intact, so no peril there.
A man who offered her no sense of jeopardy normally translated into Mr. Boresville. Made her itchy to move on to another man.
Which meant tonight’s excitement laid in something entirely other than danger. Was she changing? Had her taste in men gone from bad, bad boys to rich, good boys? Gah. Next, she’d be wearing granny panties and drinking tea with her pinky extended.
He raked his fingers through his hair, causing his shoulder to bunch and hidden muscles to flex, completely scrambling her brain waves. Her lips parted. Just how magnificent were his shoulders when stripped of a shirt? Did he have any scars or other tats or bullet holes?
“Has anyone ever told you, you are hard on a guy’s ego?” His voice held both humor and frustration.
“If you find that’s harsh, here’s something else I’ve been thinking.”
His thick black lashes suddenly hooded his eyes. Why did men always have great lashes? “I’m listening?”
Her plan had been to say something flippant about his never-ending boring choice of ties. But since he appeared to sit on the edge of calm, cool, and freaking collected despite her hard ego pokes, she was obliged to step up her game and push him over the edge. “I’ve been thinking, and I’m not trying to be rude, you should pull out of the trivia game night.”
He grunted.
“Mr. Smith wants to win, and though you are a peach of a boss man, you won’t make a strong trivia team member.”
The guy didn’t even blink.
She went for the all-out shove. “You are what organized teams like to call the weakest link.” She’d first heard the term weakest link being applied to children from poverty by a group of teachers talking about standardized test scores. They hadn’t realized she attended the school on a scholarship.
His eyes widened, and astonishment splashed puddles of gray in their irises. “I beg your pardon.”
“Don’t sound so startled. It’s not like I told you there’d be no more NFL football. I only mentioned your weakness as a trivia team member.”
“I’ll have you know,” he paused as if picking his words carefully, “I seldom miss the final Jeopardy! question. And I have been known to run some categories.”
“Hmm. For the sake of your male, aka fragile, ego, let’s pretend I believe you.” Max didn’t know Aggie knew he had a Harvard-educated brain in his pretty little head.
His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek, running along it in a sexy gesture of frustration. “My ego doesn’t need soothing. It’s comfortable in its knowledge which of us is right in this conversation.”
“And you’re okay with my being the one who’s right?”
He laughed, a warm, masculine rumble zinging her in places a guy’s laugh had never reached before. Her heart. It was okay if her heart fell in love with his laugh, just as long as it didn’t fall in love with him.
“I’d wager a bet,” he drawled, sounding centerfold-sexy, “that I know more than you when it comes to trivia.”
As she measured her next words for weight, she slowly ran her tongue up and down the crease of the right side of her lips. Two could play the sexy game. “We do live in the Show Me State. Are you willing to prove your brain isn’t the size of my little toe?”
He dragged a finger down her cheek, bringing the pad across her bottom lip. “What did you have in mind?”
“How about a game of trivia? The first to stump the other wins.”
He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Or…”
She stilled. His “or” promised naughty things to come. “Already afraid you’ll lose?”
“Or we could play striptease trivia.”
Yep. Naughty times ahead. Heat plunged through her going straight to the V of her legs where it settled into a pulsing throb. “I’m listening.” And ready to say yes.
His gaze swept her body and lingered where she currently throbbed. Could he hear the pulse of her need? “The rules are easy. If you stump your opponent with your question, they have to remove an article of clothing.”
She fought like hell to rein in her desires. Battles must be fought with clarity of mind. “And what will be your handicap?” She managed to sound sincere.
He grumbled. “I don’t need a handicap.”
She stood. Not to get away from him, but because… Her skin was hot and tight. She turned to watch his face. “So, your plan is to play this like…we’re equals?”
He nodded.
She raised a brow, gave him a rakish once-over. Also lingering where she hoped like hell he throbbed. “You must be really proud of your manhood, seeing as it will be on display while I’m still fully clothed.”
He stood. Squared his body toward her. A warrior preparing for battle. “I am.” Nothing about his posture showed fear. If one looked close enough, and she did, a little about his posture said hard-on. “But that’s not how this game will play out.”
Despite her attempt to remain poker-faced, she grinned. Who would have guessed a battle of wits could be more exhilarating than a ride on a death-trap? “You do have on more clothes than I do.” By her calculation, he had twelve to thirteen items to play with, depending if he wore an undershirt. “I guess that’s a built-in handicap without us having to actually call it such.” Her words came out husky, and she cleared her throat. “Who gets to start?”
“Ladies first.”
Aggie did a quick calculation of what she wore. Two earrings. One dress. New panties and bra. Not new, because she’d planned on having sex when she got dressed tonight, but new because she was a strong proponent one simply did not wear the same pair of panties out with two different men.
There was a certain yuck factor, if things progressed to sex, in having two men remove the same pair of panties.
Moving on. Two shoes. Two stockings. One garter belt.
Ten items in all. “Do we have categories like in Jeopardy!?” Why the stall? It’s not like she’d lose. She’d been training for this moment her whole life.
“Anything goes. There are no rules.”
Why did she get the feeling no rules would play against her odds of winning? She shrugged away the kernel of concern. “Okay. First question. How much time does the average person spend kissing in their lifetime?” She could do this all night. She’d been collecting fun facts since kindergarten.
He focused in on her lips. “To answer that question, I will need to kiss you.”
Her lips parted, and she had no control over the fact her tongue came out and licked her lips as if in pr
eparation. “That sounds like cheating.” But please do convince me I’m wrong.
He winked. “It’s only cheating if you placed in the rules ahead of time a directive against such a thing, and you didn’t.”
She smiled. “I see. Then you may kiss me.”
He hooked his thumbs in his pant pockets. “So you’re one of those women?”
She resisted an urge to play with a strand of her hair. “One of what women?”
…
Max stepped closer. Close enough he could see the creamy, rounded curves of Aggie’s breasts. “A woman who expects the guy to do all the work.” He wouldn’t mind working on her all night.
She made a buzzer noise. “Wrong.” Her palms settled on his face, and she pressed her curvaceous body against him. Her high heels raised her to the perfect height for kissing. Her eyes sparkled as she pressed her mouth to his.
As her lips moved against his in a slow dance, robbing him of breath and sending a jolt of desire through him, he fisted his hands to keep from grabbing her ass. Her hands slid down to his chest, and her lips moved over to his jaw. Much to his delight, her tongue darted out and licked him.
He groaned. Thoughts about inviting her to lick other parts of his body consumed him.
Another kiss danced across his lips, this one firmer. When her tongue brushed against his bottom lip, his control snapped. Ready to take over the pace, he tilted his head down to deepen the wine-flavored kiss. God. He wanted to skip the game. Take her to his bed. Fuck her until the sun rose and set on tomorrow.
She made a funny little noise in the back of her throat. The kind that drove him mad.
He slowed their kiss and sucked her bottom lip.
She trembled and pulled slightly away. “Is that enough research?”
He stepped back and raked his fingers through his hair. “I would say the average person spends less than a year of their lifetime kissing. On the other hand, a person lucky enough to be kissing you could quite easily spend twenty-five years of their life standing in one place and kissing you the way you deserve to be kissed. Slowly and thoroughly.”