The Name of the Game (9 page)

“And how do you figure that?”

Exasperated, she let out a little screech. This conversation was exactly what drove her crazy about him. “For the love of God, it's just sex. It won't even be good sex. So let's get it over with and go on our merry way.”

His expression flashed before turning cool. He sat back in his chair and studied her in that level-eyed way he had. “What makes you think it won't be good?”

Okay, she needed to stop hoping to get a rise out of him. Most men rose to the challenge when their sexual prowess was questioned. But, of course, James didn't play by those rules. No, James wanted to talk it out. She brushed imaginary lint from her dress. “Poor word choice on my part. I'm only suggesting we'll be as incompatible at sex as we are at everything else.”

He placed his elbow on the arm of the chair, rubbing his fingers in a slow motion, as though contemplating something tactile. His lips quirked. “I see. I think this is becoming clear. So you're assuming the mediocrity will cure the fixation.”

“Well, maybe not mediocre.” Her belly heated. She thought of all those long, lust-filled glances. The desire skipping between them in the stairwell. Too hot to be truly horrible. “I'm sure it will be fine.”

“I assure you, you're mistaken.”

Her breath caught in her chest. That sounded confident. She recalled the way Lindsey Lord had flirted up at him with adoration. Instinct told her to keep quiet, to change the subject, but her mouth ran away from her. “I'm sure you're skilled. But I'm equally sure we won't like things the same way.”

“Do tell.”

Was that amusement in his tone?

She should back down, but a demented compulsion made her continue. “Well, come on, when's the last time you had sex not in the missionary position?”

Okay, the corners of his lips definitely quivered with contained mirth. What was so funny? She'd insulted him, for heaven's sake.

He rubbed a palm over his jaw. “What do you have against the missionary position?”

She blew out a breath. “Nothing.”

“So let me get this straight. If I'm reading between the lines, you want me to disappoint you sexually for the sake of the truce. Is that correct?”

“Why do you have to put it like that?”

“How would you like me to put it?”

She crossed her arms and huffed. “Why are you making things difficult?”

“Why do you always evade questions with more questions?”

Unable to sit still a moment longer, she flew off the chair, sexual frustration and exasperation building like a pressure cooker inside her. She lapped around the room while he sat quietly in the chair, watching her with that intense expression of his.

Screw this.
She stalked over to stand in front of him. “Look, are we going to fuck or not?”

His gaze traveled over her body at a slow, leisurely pace. “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

She crossed her arms over her ample chest to cover the rapid tightening of her nipples. “Don't even try to pretend it's a hardship.”

Behind his wire frames, his eyes narrowed on her cleavage. “Wanting you has never been the problem, Gracie.”

“Good—” She started toward him, but he grabbed her wrist, cutting her off.

“But I'm afraid my answer is no.”

Chapter Eight

In complete shock, Gracie could only stare at him, her mouth hanging open. She couldn't have heard him right. Was this some sort of joke?

After what seemed like an eternity of standing there, staring at each other, she managed to sputter, “No?”

He nodded, his grip on her wrist falling away. “I don't think it's smart.”

“You don't think it's smart?” Repeating his statements seemed all she was capable of as her brain refused to function.

He'd said no.

To her.

He'd refused. How was that even possible? She'd never heard of a man turning down sex. And, well, she'd certainly never been turned down. But here he was, saying no.

“Correct,” he said, not elaborating.

“What? Why?” She could not believe this. This was so like him. Of course he'd refuse. He was the professor. He never did anything right.

God, she was so stupid. Instead of the humiliation burning a hole in her gut, she latched on to the anger.

He, on the other hand, appeared completely at ease. “I don't like casual sex. I don't believe in one-night stands. It's meaningless and, call me old-fashioned, but I think sex should have meaning.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” She could not believe this. She wanted to scream.

“Afraid not.” He spoke calmly, as though they discussed weather patterns over the Atlantic.

Somehow she'd managed to find herself attracted to the only prude left in the United States. Wasn't that just her luck? With as much sarcasm as she could muster she said, “Well, you can forget about a marriage proposal, because that's never going to happen.”

He narrowed those green eyes and she thought she detected a flash of anger before he leaned back in his chair. “I don't need a marriage proposal, Gracie. But I do require something basic you and I don't have.”

The humiliation wormed its way through her anger, poking hole after hole until it lay tattered at her feet. She'd never considered this. She'd assumed that as soon as she offered, they'd be in bed. Getting him out of her system. The idea that he'd say no never even entered her mind. She straightened her shoulders, determined to put on a good show. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

He stood and instinctively she took a step back, still stung by his rejection.

He sighed, shaking his head as though he found her too exasperating for words. “At bare minimum I want the person I sleep with to at least like and respect me.”

His words were a direct hit and all the fight drained out of her.

He was right.

She'd come over here to use him and now she was pissed he'd said no. Her shoulders slumped. The truth hit her like a two-by-four. She'd convinced herself this was the only way to resolve their issues, but she wanted him. Like, wanted, wanted him. And he'd rejected her. To her horror she felt the back of her throat grow tight. Oh dear God, no.

“Understood,” she managed to squeak out before spinning on her heel and walking toward the door.

She had to get out of there, and she practically ran to escape. Grabbing her purse from the bench, she grabbed the door handle, twisting it open. The cool, late summer air splashed her face, smelling like freedom. She pulled open the door wider, only for it to slam shut. She blinked James's strong hand into focus.

Desperate to get out, she said in as calm a voice as she could muster, “You've made your decision. There's nothing more to say.”

“I don't want you to leave like this. You shouldn't drive when you're upset.”

His voice was so damn soft, so damn understanding, she wanted to punch him. But she settled for clenching her hands into fists. “I'm not upset.”

“Yes, you are. Now stop this so we can talk.”

She wanted to deny it but didn't have the strength. “There's nothing to talk about.”

He put his hands, warm and strong, on her bare upper arms. For a brief, crazy second she wanted to lean into him and melt. The insanity of the notion had her stiffening her spine.

“Gracie, come sit back down and let's talk about this.”

“No.”

“Stubborn,” he whispered close to her ear.

She clenched her teeth. “You said no. You were right to say no. It was a silly idea.”

His fingers tightened on her shoulders and she flinched. “How do you expect to sleep with me when you can't stand me touching you?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” She didn't know what else to say. “It doesn't matter.”

He turned her rigid frame. She could have demanded he let her go, and she understood him well enough to know he would. He wasn't the kind of man to overpower. But her lips stayed stubbornly closed as she leaned against the door and looked past him into the warm space he called home.

“Maybe I was a bit abrupt. Let me tr y again.” His hand slid up her arm and curled around her nape.

She shivered, her flesh breaking out in undeniable goose bumps at his touch. She refused to look at him. She'd let him have his say and then be on her way, never to think about this disaster again.

His thumb brushed over the curve of her neck, as though he was trying to soothe her, which only made her tense. “If I ever have the pleasure of sleeping with you, I want you in my bed because you want to be there, not because you're trying to get me out of your system. Is that so hard to understand?”

Oh, she wanted to be there, but didn't know how to admit it. Not now, after everything. And old patterns died hard.

She could feel his gaze on hers, compelling her to look at him, and she found she couldn't resist the pull. Those fine shards of blue intermixed with the green were bright, burning with some sort of cold fire. She could only shake her head. “Who are you?”

“If you ever want to find out, you know where to find me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm not rejecting you.” His attention drifted down to her mouth, lingered, then rose. Still wrapped around her neck, his fingers exerted no pressure, but his skin was hot, burning. The imprint of his touch would linger far after he let her go.

Pulse kicking up a beat, she swallowed. “What do you call it?”

“Adjusting your expectations.” At his words, her belly dipped with anticipation.

She needed to get out of there. “I have no idea what that means.”

His thumb stroked over her neck, up the line of her jaw, then pressed under her chin until her head tilted. “We may not live in the same city, but between trips to Revival to visit Maddie, and your trips here, I've seen how you operate with other men, and I sure as hell know what makes you so damn irritated with me.”

She had an uneasy feeling she didn't want to hear this, but was too stubborn for her own good. “And what's that?”

“You can't control me and you hate it.”

His words nailed her to the wall. He was right. Her relationships with men had always been easy, and she'd been in complete control. Her smile easy and wide, but she'd always protected herself. That was the way she liked things, but no matter how hard she tried to put James Donovan into a box, he refused to conform.

He smiled, a small lift of his lips that hid his dimple. “If it makes you feel better, I can't control you either and hate it just as much.”

The confession shocked her and she sputtered, “You do?”

“Yes.” His gaze drifted down to her mouth again. “I like order. And calm. You're chaos and fire.”

Her breath caught and held, as sex seemed to fill the space between them. She opened her mouth—to say what, she hadn't a clue—but before she could get any words out his lips covered hers.

Stunned, she stiffened, frozen with surprise.

His lips moved as his fingers tightened on her throat. Desire shimmered through her, dimming the humiliation that had left her cold.

The man could kiss.

Mouth hot when she'd expected cool, he coaxed her into a response she didn't want to deliver but couldn't resist. Lashes drifting closed, her surprise melted away as desire took over.

His tongue flickered against her lips, seeking entrance, and she forgot everything. Forgot his rejection. Her stubbornness. Forgot all the ways they were wrong for each other.

All she remembered was this kiss, delivering what those long, lingering looks had promised all day.

She opened, tilting her head to grant him access. His tongue slipped inside to tangle with hers. She kissed him back, getting lost in the feel of his mouth as her breath quickened.

His lips were sure. Slightly demanding. Not what she expected. Or wanted. But she couldn't stop.

The kiss changed. Transformed from gentle exploration into something hot and greedy.

Unbidden, her hands slipped over his shoulders to curl around his neck. A low rumble that vibrated against her lips made her moan.

He shifted, his hands sliding down her back to her hips. He pulled her closer, his head slanting to deepen the angle of the kiss. She rose on tiptoes, needing
closer
. So much closer. She gasped as his strong, hard chest brushed her breasts. His arm locked against her waist as his other hand tangled in her hair. He fisted the curls and tugged, forcing her into a deeper response.

Her blood heated. Her body roared to greedy life. Her purse dropped to the floor. She wrapped her body around his, needing more.

He delivered, kissing her deeper. Harder.

He shoved her against the door.

All at once, everything between them grew hotter. More frantic.

She tightened her fingers in his hair and pressed her now aching breasts against him.

Their labored breathing filled the foyer.

So good. Too good.

He kicked her foot to one side, and she gasped at the unexpected display of dominance. Her body going into hyper drive.

Yes. Yes. Yes.
How long had it been? Too long. Maybe never. Because it was him, and some part of her had been craving him since the day they'd met.

He gripped her thigh, yanking the skirt high. His palm a brand on her skin, sending a trail of fire in its wake.

She arched.

He lifted her leg and hooked it on his hip.

His hard cock slid between her inner thighs, sending a frisson of pleasure exploding through her.

She rocked, desperate to relieve the ache. He grabbed her wrists and raised them above her head, pinning them to the door before he devoured her mouth.

And he did devour.

He consumed.

Feasted on her.

And she was helpless to do anything but let him as he held her trapped against the door. Captive.

He created an inferno, an unquenchable hunger, and she went a little mad. Twisting frantically beneath him in an effort to get closer. She rocked hungrily against his erection, moaning into his mouth.

He growled low in his throat, then tore away, and stepped back.

She wanted to scream.

They stared at each other, both panting for breath in choppy, uneven gasps. His hair was disheveled, his green eyes blazing, his mouth swollen and wet.

She'd never, ever been kissed like that.

She started to tremble. It scared the hell out of her.

Thank God he'd stopped. Because if he kissed like that, she'd been wrong about his performance in the bedroom. With him, she was always wrong.

She needed to escape. So she could think.

She flushed on top of her already overheated skin. Flustered, she blinked and pointed to the door. “I need to leave.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice a husky rasp that stroked over her flesh, inflaming her. “That's probably for the best.”

“Umm . . .” She picked up her purse. “See ya.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

He sucked in air, as though he'd run one of his marathons. “Tomorrow. Breakfast.”

Shit. She'd forgotten. Why hadn't she remembered when she'd concocted this stupid plan? “Oh . . . ummm . . . okay. Bye.”

Shaken to the core, she didn't wait for a response. She spun and ran out the door as fast as her legs would carry her.

 

 

James sat down at the large table in the crowded restaurant, already weary. This was the last event of the engagement weekend and he couldn't wait until it was over. All he wanted was to lie on the couch and read in utter silence and gather the tattered remains of his discipline and self-will.

He needed peace. To regroup and think. Get his thoughts organized. And he wouldn't get it until Gracie Roberts was back on the road to Revival.

The image of that hot, straining kiss, where he'd struggled with his control in the face of the reality of her—far more intoxicating than he ever would have imagined.

What had possessed him to kiss her like that?

He settled into the seat, and his vision shifted to the woman in question. Their eyes caught and held. She jerked her attention down to the menu.

His brother Evan sat next to Gracie, his arm casually draped around the back of her chair. James clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the stab of jealousy.

That should be his arm. The notion irritated him and he picked up his menu to occupy his mind. He had no business thinking such possessive thoughts. Yes, he'd kissed her, but it changed nothing. He had no claim over her and it was inappropriate to contemplate breaking Evan's arm for daring to touch her.

Of course, that didn't stop his fingers from twitching.

He nodded at the group. “How's everyone this morning?”

Mitch and Maddie, Shane and Cecilia, Sam, his mom, the mother-of-the-bride, Charlotte Riley, and his eccentric great aunt Cathy all sat around the table as well. There was a chorus of good mornings but his mom frowned at him. Her blue eyes narrowed in that motherly way she had. “You look tired.”