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Fuck. I’m getting wet just thinking about it. Not to mention standing so close to him…
I clear my throat, mostly to get the sudden tightness out of it. “You’re wasting time,” I reply, after too long and too noticeable a pause. “You should be drawing me a map to the money’s location.”
“Should I?” He lifts one brow, and that maddening smirk of his is wider than ever. I want to wipe it off his face. “Tell me again why I would do that, when it’s the only bargaining chip I have left. Well, besides your obvious desire for me.”
God, that fucking smirk. It would look sexy as hell if I were gazing down at it while he bent me backwards across this table, and slid down my body to peel off this tight-as-hell skirt…
Get it together, Ashley.
I force myself to laugh, derisive. “My desire for you?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered,” Damon says. “It’s not just any day you find a woman of your caliber lusting after a man like me.”
That does it. I sputter and shove him with both hands, full in the chest.
He doesn’t move an inch. Just laughs.
“In your dreams, Damon Tell.”
“You definitely will be tonight.” He lifts one brow. “I can see it already. You spread-eagled across my bed while I tear those confining clothes off your willing body…”
I storm past him toward the door. He stops me, catching my wrist in one hand, so huge it wraps all the way around and pins me in place. An instinctive shout dies on my lips, if only because I don’t want to tip off the guards. I haven’t been able to get what Dad needed from Damon, so I need to keep the guards believing this lie for as long as possible. They can’t know I’m not actually Damon’s fiancée. Which means I can’t shout for them to rescue me from him. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.
“Let go of my hand,” I say, my voice low and even and furious.
To his credit, he drops his grip immediately and steps back, but he continues watching me with that infuriatingly amused expression. “Walking out before our conjugal visit even finishes, my darling?”
“This was never a conjugal visit, you bastard.”
“Then tell me why you’re so hot and bothered right now.”
“The only thing bothering me is that you’re refusing to tell me what I need to know.”
His eyebrow rises. “I see. That’s the only thing.” His gaze drops along my body, and this time, it lingers on my skirt, my hips. “Prove it.”
“What?” I sputter.
“Prove you aren’t hot for me, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
I hesitate, sensing a trap. Then I shift my weight, cross my arms and plant my feet. “Fine. Prove it how?”
His grin widens. Whatever gamble he’s making, he sure is confident in himself. “Show me your panties.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“Show me your panties. Prove you aren’t turned on right now. Then I’ll tell you where the money is.”
I scoff again, mostly to buy time. Because fuck, I can already feel that I’m wet. And this conversation, him acting so goddamn demanding and stern, isn’t helping. My animal brain is into that, as much as my logical life brain despises it. “I am not showing you my panties.”
“Fine.” He shrugs one shoulder, unconcerned, and crosses the room to drop back into his chair. “Then I guess you don’t really want that money after all.”
The money he stole from my father—from my family. The money we need to keep our business afloat right now. The money he stole from an innocent man—who yes, we were planning to rob. But not kill.
The money I need to find in order to prove to my father that I can handle my own in this world. The money I need to bring to my father to prove that I’m the right heir for this business, even though things can get dangerous at times. He doubts me sometimes, says this kind of work isn’t for women. I need to prove him wrong.
I hold Damon’s gaze for a long, silent moment. Then I shift my weight. “If I show you my panties, then you tell me. That’s the deal.”
He clicks his tongue. “No deal if they’re wet, dirty girl. You swore you weren’t into me, remember?”
“I’m not doing this.”
“What are you, scared?” He shakes his head again. “Daddy’s little girl is in over her head, clearly.”
Maybe they aren’t wet yet. Maybe I’m just feeling it internally. Maybe I can bluff my way through this. “Turn around,” I snap.
His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He clearly didn’t expect me to take him up on this dare. But with a shrug and that damn grin, he does, he turns his back to me and faces the opposite wall. “I’d say no cheating,” he adds, “but I can’t see how you could cheat, unless you carry a clean pair of panties in that bag of yours.”
After today, I’m going to start, I think. At the same time, I reach up under my skirt and shimmy out of my panties. Let them drop to the floor to assess the damage.
Fuck.
They land straight between my feet with a solid plop, enough to make Damon turn back around before I’m even done stepping out of them.
“Fuck, Ashley, you’re dirtier than I thought.”
The panties get stuck on my shoe, so I simply kick my foot in his direction. They land right across his lap, a perfect strike. As I watch, he peels them off himself, amusement written all over his face. “I don’t think I need to tell you I win.”
“I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re wrong. You’re in prison, Damon, and us? We’re holding the keys.” With that, I wrench the doorknob and yank open the door.
Only to find the guard right outside, watching. He sees the panties in Damon’s fist and laughs. “Souvenir?”
As I watch, Damon lifts my panties to his face and breathes in deep, a feral grin taking over his expression. He looks hungry, and in spite of myself, I can’t help feeling even hotter at the sight.
“From my sexy fox of a fiancée,” Damon replies. “Don’t worry, it’s a one-time only souvenir. Next time she won’t be wearing any panties. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”
I slam the door in his face at that, which makes the guard burst into laughter. To the guard, all I say is, “I’m ready to go.”
2
“I couldn’t get anything out of him, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Dad paces across the study, a cigar in one fist and a glass of whiskey in the other. The latter, he downs in one gulp and plops onto his desk for me to refill.
I do.
“You had one job, Ashley.”
“I know, Dad. I just didn’t expect him to be so…” When I don’t continue for a moment, at a loss, Dad clears his throat sharply.
“So what, Ashley?”
“So himself. I don’t know. He just refused to listen to anything I said, even when I suggested we’d send him to solitary for months—”
