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Why the hell didn’t I take my pants off?
“Don’t play games,” she implores.
“We’re already playing, princess.” Brow raised, I grab her wrist and tug it away. “Right now, I have the power. The more you insist, the less likely I am to give in to you.”
“Because you’re vindictive?”
If I’m being honest? Because I’m susceptible. Because the minute I hear her scream for me, I’ll probably rush to get inside her—heedless of the consequences—and meld myself with her. Because when she’s near me, I have to fight for every ounce of my control.
Because I know if I don’t have my head screwed on straight, my brain won’t be the organ making my decisions.
“Think what you want. I only care what you do. Put your hands on the mattress, palms flat. Now.”
She scowls. “Who are you? Not the Jett I used to know.”
It’s a valid question I’d rather avoid answering. “Ah, guilt. Sadly for you, it’s a trite, ineffective response. Surrender, Whitney.”
“No.”
“Then we’re both wasting our time. I’ll call Valentin. He’ll drive you home. Our deal will be null and void.” It takes Herculean effort to back off the bed and stare at her, naked, restrained, and aroused, knowing our lust—and probably more—is mutual.
I can’t force her to give herself to me; I know that. Just like I know I’m probably wasting my time. But Whitney is the single biggest regret of my life. Giving up now is the last thing I want. She’s leaving me little choice.
Because she’s moved on.
Biting back a sigh of defeat, I turn away.
“Wait.” She grapples to her knees and grabs my arms. “Don’t go.”
As much as I’d like to sprawl her across the bed once more, urge her flat on her back, and tunnel inside her, I can’t—at least not yet. “Your pride has no place in our bed.”
“And yours does?”
“No.” If I want to keep her, I not only have to meet her halfway, I have to give her the kind of reassurance she needs. “If you haven’t figured it out, you’re here because I want you more than forty million dollars. You’re here because you haunt me. Because there hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t ached for you. Did you need to hear that?”
She blinks as if my blunt honesty startles her. “Oh.”
“And unless you’ve completely changed, I know you too well to believe you came here simply for the money.”
“I didn’t.” Her whisper is so soft I can barely hear it.
“Did you come to fight me?”
She shakes her head. “I fight you because you terrify me.”
That deflates what’s left of my righteous anger. “I said I’d never hurt you and I meant it.”
“That’s not what I’m afraid of.” She lets out a trembling breath.
Now I understand. Whether she likes it or not, she never purged me from her heart. “Be honest. Why did you come?”
Whitney softly blushes. “I think you know.”
I finally do. And I’m so fucking relieved.
Fighting a smile, I climb on the bed again, forcing her to her back and hovering over her as she lies bare and vulnerable. “I won’t lie to you. I plan to exploit your feelings.”
“I know.”
And that’s why she’s terrified. But it’s a two-way street. Maybe she hasn’t figured that out yet, but I doubt it will take her long to realize that no matter how many years have passed, how far I’ve traveled, or how many hookups I’ve used to forget her—it was all futile.
“I understand.”
“And?”
“Let’s try this again. Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to give you an orgasm?”
An emphatic nod accompanies her response. “Yes.”
“Are you going to surrender your body and will to me?” When she hesitates, I press. “Lie to me if you want. But don’t lie to yourself. If you don’t give in now, won’t you spend the rest of your life wondering what if?”
Her eyes slide shut, as if she can’t quite face the answer. She looks like she’s fighting tears. “Yes.”
Finally, she’s being really, truly honest.
“Then offer me your mouth.”
She closes her eyes, curls her arms around my neck, and lifts her face to me.
I’ve waited nearly three thousand empty days—and nights—for this. If my life depended on resisting her invitation, I’d be utterly doomed.
With a rush of breath, I bend and slant my mouth over hers, losing myself in the sweet spice of her kiss, in the whispered promise of what might be between us.
When I finally back away long moments later, my heart pounds. My breaths are unsteady. “Good. Offer me your nipples.”
It takes her a minute to puzzle out my meaning. Impatience nearly rubs me raw before she finally cups her breasts and lifts them to me.
“That’s it. Who do those belong to?”
“You.”
“Yes.” I fall to my elbows like a man kneeling at the altar of her nipples and take a stiff one in my mouth again, sucking, laving, tasting, tonguing, and tugging until Whitney claws at me, urgent for more.
