The Name of the Game (14 page)

He laughed. “Do you really think I know so little about you that I would take you to a health food restaurant?”

She shrugged one shoulder. A habit around him, it seemed.

“You refuse to eat my cupcakes, so it's not out of the realm of possibility.”

Ah yes, their war about cupcakes had started not long after they'd met. They'd been forced together at Mitch and Maddie's house and she'd been on a real mean streak, constantly baiting him. And, while it might have been childish, when she'd offered him one of her cupcakes he'd rebuffed her. Somehow the battle had escalated into a full-blown war and now they were in a standoff over her baked goods. Which was as ridiculous as it sounded, but there it was. This weekend he intended to show her he wasn't entirely a tight-ass.

He sighed, like it was a big imposition. “Fine, I'll eat your cupcakes the next time you make them.”

She stared at him for several long moments. “You know, most people don't consider eating cupcakes a hardship.”

“I'm not most people.” He had his reasons for the way he was, why he required so much discipline and control over his life. Other people might not understand them, but they made sense to him. Structure and discipline had saved him at a time when he'd thought he was un-savable, and he wouldn't apologize for it. “For the record, it's not an insult toward you that I eat healthy. I was this way long before I met you.”

She twirled the end of the robe about her finger. “Then why does it feel like it?”

“You tell me.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “I feel like you're judging me.”

The comment took him aback; it was so far from the thoughts he had about her, he almost didn't know what to say. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“You yell at Shane for eating Cheetos.”

James was lost, unable to understand how the two were related. “Yeah, so? He's my brother. He regularly gives me shit about my eating and exercise. In return, I give him shit about junk food. That's what brothers do.”

“So you'll eat Cheetos?” Her expression lit up with what could only be hope.

“God no, do you know the kind of chemicals in those things?” He hated to burst her bubble, but he refused to pretend. Not even for her.

Her face fell and her fingers tightened on the belt of her robe. “See, that's what I mean.”

“As usual, your thought processes elude me.” He sat forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “What does not liking Cheetos have to do with judging you?”

She opened her mouth, sputtered, then closed it before starting again. “I'm just saying this is why we're not compatible.”

“Still not getting it. Are you such a huge fan you require your dates to eat a bag before you go out?” He looked her up and down. “Do you have a powdered-cheese fetish I should know about? Because that might be a deal breaker for me.”

Wide-eyed, she stared at him before a smile quivered at her lips. “Of course not. I don't have any fetishes.”

“Not even one?” He frowned, finding he liked teasing her. “For a wild girl, that's pretty disappointing. And here I thought I'd learn some new tricks.”

She sucked in a breath and shifted, the bathrobe flashing a hint of leg before she quickly covered up. “Don't change the subject.”

“I don't even
understand
the subject. I'm trying here, but I don't get how they are related.” Subtext had never been his strong suit.

“It's just that . . . well . . . I eat pizza and it ruins the enjoyment if someone's sitting there judging my food choices.”

“I eat pizza sometimes too, Gracie. I'm not a robot.”

“I've never seen you.”

“That doesn't mean I don't. You know what I think? You judge me and assume I'm doing the same. Which I'm not. The only time I've even thought about what you ate was to imagine licking it off you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

That seemed to stump her, and she undertook the serious business of playing with her robe belt again, so he continued. “When I'm training, which I was the last time you spent any real time with me, I eat healthy because it affects my performance. While I might not be a crazy sports nut like Shane and Evan, I'm still competitive and want to better my time. Training for a marathon while filling your body with junk food does not facilitate peak performance. But I'm not a tyrant, nor do I expect anyone else to follow along. Does that clear things up for you? Or is there something more?”

She studied her lap for a long time before she said in a hesitant voice, “So you don't care I'm not a hard-body? That I'm not all buff?”

Why on earth would she think he'd care? Yes, she was curvier than the fashion industry deemed acceptable, in the same way Marilyn Monroe wouldn't be considered fashionable today. And Gracie understood her effect on men. He'd watched her use it to her advantage over and over again. So why exactly would she think he'd want her to be a hard-body? “Gracie, I've watched men trip over themselves when you passed them on the street.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“Your body is amazing, as you damn well know.”

Another shrug. “I saw your ex-girlfriend.”

The idea that Gracie might harbor a tiny bit of jealousy over Lindsey was almost impossible to believe. And satisfied him in a way that was entirely immature. Instinct warned him that grinning like a fool was a poor choice, so he kept his expression neutral. “My
ex
-girlfriend.”

“But still, have you ever dated anyone like me?”

“Gracie,” he said, and waited until her blue-eyed gaze met his. “Most men go their whole lives never even seeing a woman like you, let alone being given the chance to date one.”

She scowled, and two frown lines marred her forehead. “You're missing the point. I'm not talking about looks. I'm talking about important stuff, like compatibility. I'm never going to train for a marathon with you.”

“Fine. I'll tear up your training schedule. I was planning on getting you started tomorrow morning at six sharp.”

“Don't even joke.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I'm not going to change for you.”

This conversation was making his head hurt. “We're going on a date, and by the end we could loathe each other. Isn't it a little early to start worrying I'm going to try and change you?”

“Maybe you think I'm being silly,” she said, picking at imaginary lint on her robe. “But I don't have a big family like you. I've got Sam, and I have my friends, which in case you haven't noticed, are made up largely of your family members.”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I hadn't thought of it like that.”

“They're important to me. I don't want to lose them.”

He laced his fingers between his spread knees, thinking through her point. “I don't want that either. I only see two options: spend the weekend together and see what happens, or cut our losses and close the door on the attraction.”

She shifted again on the couch, blowing out a hard breath. “Why'd you have to go and kiss me?”

His lips twitched. “You have only yourself to blame.”

Her expression lightened as sass lit up her eyes. “Me? How am I to blame?”

He threw up his hands, grinning at her. “You propositioned me for sex.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, how was I supposed to know you'd be any good at it?”

In an instant, the mood shifted; tension permeated the air between them. His attention drifted her full, lush mouth he'd been dreaming about. Voice dropping, he said, “You know how you hate all that analytical, overthinking calculation?”

Her pink tongue darted out and wet her lower lip. “Yes?”

“It can be used for evil.”

She swallowed. “I see.”

Their gazes met. Heat. An undercurrent of barely leashed desire, biding its time before it sucked them under.

“So dinner.” He didn't ask, because there wasn't really a question.

Slowly, she nodded. “Dinner.”

Chapter Twelve

The heat of James's palm burned through the thin fabric of the blue dress Gracie wore. All he'd said about the restaurant was that it was fine dining mixed with adventure. With no clue what that meant, she'd worn a V-neck jersey dress that molded to her curves, and simple jewelry.

The restaurant barely had a sign on a nearly deserted street on the outskirts of Wicker Park. If she blinked she would have missed it. They entered the dining room and she came to a dead stop. It was a small place, with about ten tables that were mostly filled. Rap music pumped through the stereo system, the heavy bass a heartbeat that made the air pulse. A waiter came out from the back with a bottle of Jameson and brought it over to one of the tables; a minute later the patrons, along with the waiter, cheered and downed the drinks.

This was not anything like what she'd expected.

Gracie's eyes widened and she craned her neck to look at James. “I thought you said this was fine dining.”

“I promise you'll never eat another meal like it.” He grinned down at her and her stomach did a flip. After their talk, sex was all she could think about.

“They're playing Run-DMC,” she said.

“I know. Our table is over there, in the corner.” His hand slid over the curve of her hip and she shivered. They'd stopped pretending the air between them didn't crackle with sexual tension, and every touch was electric.

An empty table for two was nestled into the corner of the room, next to the window overlooking the street. She walked over to it and sat down, still unable to get over the place. The whole restaurant was bizarre, with the heavy beat of bass, dim lighting, and red walls that gave the room a red-light-district ambiance. As they settled into the chairs she asked, “Have you ever been here before?”

This didn't seem like the kind of place a stuffy professor would frequent.

From the kitchen, visible from the dining room, a guy in his midtwenties called out, “Professor Donovan, be right there.”

And she was wrong. Well, wasn't James just full of surprises? “I guess so,” she said, answering her own question.

He shrugged. “Eli was one of my students before he gave up academics to become a chef, smoke weed, and down whiskey.”

Gracie laughed. Damn, he kept doing that. Making her laugh. Making her want him. “This has to be the strangest place I've ever been in.”

Even though the music was loud, she didn't have to yell. The room was intimate despite the crowd. They'd done a good job creating a pleasant atmosphere.

“And you haven't even tried the food.” From the bag he'd brought with him he pulled out a bottle of red and put it on the table. “You only drink red, right? Zinfandel?”

She nodded slowly. “How did you know?”

“I'm observant.” He gave her a long once-over. “And you're a hard woman not to notice.”

She sucked in a breath at the heat he kept blasting in her direction. It was torture. He was a sadist. That was the only logical explanation. She didn't know how, but he was seducing her more effectively than she'd ever been seduced before, and he had barely touched her. He hadn't even kissed her.

“What do we have here?” A sly, cocky male voice broke through her lust-filled haze.

Gracie looked into the face of the chef who had called out to James earlier. A cute guy in his twenties, with dirty-blond hair, brown eyes, and a truly devilish smile.

James gestured toward Gracie. “Gracie Roberts, this is Eli Burke.”

Gracie shook the younger man's outstretched hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Eli. Interesting place you've got here.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He drank her in with all the enthusiasm of a puppy eyeing a tasty morsel. “Goddamn. You've outdone yourself, Professor Donovan.”

James laughed and gave Gracie another heated stare. “I'm thinking I'll keep her.”

To her horror, her nipples beaded under the skimpy fabric of her dress. She tugged her hand away from Eli and resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

Eli gave her another appreciative look. “If you change your mind, I'll take her.”

“Not even in the next life, boy.” James's voice turned menacing, but his expression remained good-natured.

The possessiveness in his tone made her press her thighs together, but the modern woman was compelled to speak up. She gave them both a smile. “Don't I get a say in this?”

James skimmed a glance over her. “No.”

Even as the protest rose to her lips, she couldn't help thinking she'd never heard the word
no
sound so hot before. She raised a brow. “No?”

His eyes didn't even flicker. “No.”

The twisted part of her liked his presumption. He was evil. And she liked it, far too much. This was bad. Very, very bad.

“Come with me, babe,” Eli said, breaking through her thoughts. “I'm a hell of a lot less bossy than the professor.”

James gave him a stern glare. “Are you going to feed us, or hit on her?”

Eli laughed. “Both. That cool?”

“I suppose.” James reached into the mystery bag and pulled out a bottle of Glenlivit. “Your favorite.”

Eli nodded appreciatively at the liquor. “The professor always brings the best stuff. Be right back.” He tossed a corkscrew on the table. “For the wine.” Then he was off.

Gracie swallowed past her dry throat. “Interesting service here.”

“It's an experience.” James grabbed the opener and started working on the bottle. “I'm positive you'll love it.”

She ran a finger over the tines of her fork. “Where are the menus?”

He smoothly poured the red into a stout glass. “There are none. You eat what they give you.”

The night was getting stranger and stranger. “This wasn't what I was expecting when you asked me to dinner.”

“Trust me,” James said, pouring his own glass of wine. “When you leave here you'll have had one of the best and most interesting meals of your life. You'll also be drunk as hell, but hopefully you'll remember what you ate.”

“Drunk? But isn't it BYOB?” Another oddity at a fine dining restaurant.

Leaning over the table, his voice lowered an octave. “I don't think anyone leaves this place sober.”

She licked her lips. How could she stand this? “Even you?”

“Even me.” His green eyes darkened. He wasn't wearing his glasses tonight, opting instead for contacts. “It's why we took a cab. And why your virtue will remain intact.”

“I'm not virtuous.” She wanted him. She wasn't going to be able to last the night without attacking him. “And I haven't had anything to drink yet.”

“There's no leaving this place sober, and the first time I take you we're not going to be intoxicated. That's non-negotiable.” He gave her a cocky smile she'd never seen before. “I can probably be talked into orgasms.”

Ready to come right here, right now, she was saved from a response when Eli came back over and plopped three shot glasses on the table. He filled the glasses with the liquor James had brought him. “Bottoms up.”

She stared at the shot, understanding why the evening might not end in sobriety. Her gaze met James's. Something hot, almost tangible, passed between them and in that moment she decided to throw any ounce of caution she had left into the Chicago wind.

She picked up the shot and the men followed suit. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” they chorused back, and the three of them clicked glasses.

Excited to see where the night took her, she downed the whiskey.

Two hours later James was on the wrong side of buzzed and Gracie was well into drunk territory. Along for the ride, Eli had not only downed shot after shot with them, but drank with the other tables as well.

James couldn't understand how the guy even saw straight.

But it was all worth it because Gracie's eyes gleamed with pleasure, and it was obvious she was having a great time.

As the night progressed Eli had taken to flirting outlandishly, and she'd done nothing to rebuff the younger man. Happy to play the straight man, as they expected, James continuously rolled his eyes at the two of them.

“Hey, Gracie,” Eli said, putting the next course in front of them. There had been so many James had lost count. “You want to go out back for some green?”

Gracie giggled up at the boy, her cheeks flushed. “Are you offering me drugs?”

“Nah, just a little pot.” Eli rubbed his flat belly. God bless the young. “To stimulate your appetite.”

“For fuck's sake, Eli,” James said, realizing his words were slurred. “You're going to get yourself arrested.”

Gracie gasped and pointed a finger at him. “Oh my God, he swore.” She looked at Eli. “He said fuck.”

Eli stumbled a little before righting himself. “She's got you there, Professor.”

“I swear sometimes,” James said, wondering how he could sound both drunk and stuffy at the same time. A feat only he could accomplish. “I save my profanity for when it's meaningful instead of peppering it into my conversation like you two.”

Gracie and Eli looked at each other, then promptly broke into hysterical laughter, holding their bellies as they shook.

Another chef came over. “What'd I miss?”

They continued to laugh and James gave him a somber shake of the head. “I have no idea.”

“Time for another shot!” the chef yelled.

Twenty people cheered. Over the course of the evening they'd met everyone in the small restaurant, and as it always did, the place became one big drunken party.

Gracie waved her hands. “I can't. Not anymore.”

Eli ignored her and poured another round of shots, then left to make his way around the restaurant to refill glasses. It was a ritual to bring liquor to the restaurant as a gift, and the boys had bottles on reserve.

Gracie leaned across the table. “I can't drink anymore.”

James was having an increasingly hard time concentrating on anything other than getting his hands on her.

“Come on,” Eli said, crowding everyone together. “Toast.”

James stood, weaved a little bit, then grabbed Gracie's hand, pulling her up. She fell against his chest, her warm, lush body pressing against him. He let his hands roam down her back and over her hips. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Jesus, you feel even more fuckable than you look.”

She gave an erotic little moan, her breath hot on his neck.

“Come on, Professor, you're holding us up,” Eli said as the large group crowded together.

James tugged Gracie forward, enfolding her into the circle and stepping behind her. They all raised their glasses.

Adam, one of the other chefs, shouted, “Here's to big tits and the Cubs winning the World Series.”

James laughed at the classic Chicago toast. The crowd cheered and then everyone pounded the shots.

James slipped an arm around Gracie's waist, letting his palm settle around her softly rounded belly. He brushed his lips over the curve of her neck. His self-control was shot. “I think orgasms are definitely in order.”

She leaned back, her ass brushing his erection. “James.”

The crowd started to disperse and James whispered, “You have no idea the things I'm going to do to you.”

She spun around, wobbling. She licked her lips. “Like what?”

He gripped her bare arm, pulling her close. “Wouldn't you rather be surprised?”

“Maybe.” Her gaze darted around the room. “I, um, need to go to the bathroom.”

He jutted his chin toward the kitchen, where the one and only bathroom was. “Do you need help?”

The air was so hot between them they could start a fire. Her nipples were so hard they were visible under her dress, and he itched to stroke them.

“I'm good,” she said, the words a pant.

He chuckled as she turned on her heel, in an off-kilter manner, and weaved her way to the back.

He returned to his table, and a minute later Eli came over. “Man, Gracie is hotter than hell.”

“Yes, she is.” James couldn't help the smug grin from sliding over his lips. And she was his, for at least the next day or so.

“And she's fun as fuck.”

James laughed. “She is.”

“How'd you meet her?”

“She's friends with my sister.”

Eli shook his head, frowning. “Damn, you lucked out. My sister's friends don't look anything like that.”

Gracie slid into her seat and put her napkin on her lap. “What's going on?”