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Cristiano’s sensual lips curved, as if he knew exactly how her blood was racing and her heart was pounding. She was suddenly afraid to even meet his gaze. Turning to the phone, he gave the order swiftly, then hung up. “Your dinner will be here in nine minutes.”
Hallie looked at him incredulously. “Nine minutes? That’s impossible.”
“Know all about room service, do you?” He sounded amused again.
“My parents told me horror stories. Cold food, small portions, no ketchup, then a big bill.”
“Let’s test out your theory.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Care to place a friendly wager?”
“What kind of wager?”
Going back to the sofa, he sat down and patted the cushion beside him.
She sat down hesitantly beside him, perching awkwardly on the edge of the sofa. She was suddenly aware that she was naked beneath her bathrobe. Nervously she pulled it a little tighter around her. “What do you have in mind?”
“If your food arrives within—” he glanced at his platinum watch “—seven minutes and forty-eight seconds, I win. If it doesn’t, you win.”
“What do I win?”
His eyes flickered. “What if I cook breakfast for you tomorrow?”
She snorted. “Cereal?”
Cristiano shook his head. “Eggs and bacon. Belgian waffles. Anything you want.”
She was impressed in spite of herself. “But you hate cooking.”
“I won’t have to do cook.”
“You won’t?”
“Because I’m not going to lose.”
The man had confidence, she’d give him that. “And if you do win, what would you want from me?”
His dark eyes glinted wickedly.
“A kiss.”
A rush of need crackled through her body as her lips tingled in anticipation. She croaked, “What?”
“You heard me.”
She couldn’t risk placing this bet. She hated him. Didn’t she? Not exactly. Not anymore. But she definitely didn’t want him to kiss her. Did she? Okay, maybe she did, but she knew it would lead to disaster. On that, her body and brain and heart agreed. She could not let him kiss her again.
Yet Hallie was unable to look away from his hungry gaze. “Why would you want to kiss me?”
“Why not?” he said lazily.
Was he bored? Or just suggesting it to throw her off-kilter and make clear his power over her? “No, thanks. I’m not the gambling kind.”
“I think you are. If you refuse my wager, then you’re admitting that you might be wrong.” He leaned toward her on the white sofa, almost close enough to touch. “And I might be right.”
Her heart was in her throat. “About room service?”
“About everything,” he whispered, his lips almost grazing her cheek.
She shivered at his closeness. Then she realized what he was saying and that he was talking about far more important issues than food.
