Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Clause?” I echo, wary.
I found the flaw damn it. So close. I was so close!
He’s crazy. Insane, actually. A clause? A clause to speak to him? I knew it was too good to be true. I need paperwork to even get through the freaking front door!
He folds his muscled arms across his chest, towering over me, head tilted slightly as his bright blue eyes settle on my mouth then slowly trail the length of my body. Is he trying to make me forget he just asked me to sign a damn contract or clause? Or that he’s crazy? Whatever.
He doesn’t rush his answer, instead he searches my eyes like he’s trying to pick out pieces to tell me and pieces to keep close to himself. I’m good at reading people. He’s hiding something. He must be. You know, beyond the whole ‘hey sign this to chill with me’.
“I’m complicated.”
My heartbeat stutters to a near stop.
God help me, but I’m instantly turned on.
See? This is why I always find problematic relationships, no, they find me, because the minute I see the puzzle I immediately want to get my greedy little hands on it and be the one person to solve it, the one person to fix it despite my inability to even fix myself!
Maybe it’s the air, maybe it’s the controlling unhinged nature of his odd proposal but, I’m also completely intrigued.
“I think I got an eyewitness taste of your complications when you had a face-off with that polar bear,” I say.
He has the audacity to smile. And the smile has the audacity to make my insides burn with need.
“That was nothing, really,” his voice has a hint of warning. “Compared to the other stuff…”
And voila, ladies and gentlemen, here come more of the red flags. Stetson’s about to drop some truth bombs about himself that’ll probably change everything. The clause was the warning, the other stuff is about to seal his fate.
“Would you like to expand on what kind of ‘stuff’ you might be referring to?” I ask him in a calm nonchalant tone. “Like are we talking extreme sports stuff? Like you could die at any moment kind of stuff?”
He shakes his head and laughs it off. I hate that I already love his laugh and how unapologetic he is about it. It comes from his belly, it’s louder, more attractive, and sexier than it should be.
“There’s not a great fear of death in what I’m training to do” he says. “But like any job, there’s always a risk.”
“Wait, what you’re training to do?” I must admit I’m super curious. “I mean, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m in the toy industry.” He says it with a great deal of gravitas.
Anticlimactic.
Toy? Like kid toys? Or like toy toys? Sex toys? Nooooo.
“That was a really long pause for someone who plays with toys.” I joke feeling him out a bit.
He doesn’t crack a smile.
Okay then, takes toys very seriously. Got it.
“I’m gonna assume you own Toys-R-Us?” I wave around at the view surrounding us. “I’m just doing the math from your mega-buggy, and what I’m assuming is a matching mega yacht or two with the same colors out there somewhere parked in the Mediterranean and here.”
“One is in the South of France,” he corrects with a wink and then. “But sorry to disappoint, our toy company is privately owned by the family corporation.”
Wait, that doesn’t really make sense.
“Your family?” I keep pushing for answers, which is unlike me. I never like to prod in people’s personal lives, but he’s kind of making me want to.
He locks eyes with me.
“Yes.”
“Are you guys making some crazy version of the Labubu dolls and that’s why you want me to sign a non-compete clause?” My extremely active imagination comes up with a good storyline.
“No,” he laughs and shakes his head. “The clause is about other things.”
“Like?”
“They’re personal in nature and I’d prefer to discuss them with you in a more private setting,” his words are so mysterious that I don’t even know what path I should go down in my head.
It’s like a choose your adventure with an endless list of possibilities.
Was the way he said private setting supposed to sound like a naughty invitation? My heart jumps in my chest.
“You seem unsure,” he studies my face.
“And you’re surprised because…” I ask in disbelief. “We don’t even know each other, and this already feels charged.”
His very charged blue gaze zeroes in on my lips.
“Because it is.” He states.
Shit. My lip’s part. Like a breathless kind of parting…. and wanting him to try me.
He notices. And the fire his body radiates matches my own.
“I thought we’d skip the usual bullshit and get straight to the point.”
I wait for him to continue.
“You want me.” The words drip with temptation, they linger in the air between us.
I lose the ability to stand on my own. I have to lean against the tall cocktail table. And the next words he says steals all functioning ability in my body. Breathing, being the primary concern.
“And I want to be inside of you.”
Holy. Shit.
This is the single hottest thing a man has ever said to me.
The only thing I’m capable of doing is staring right back at him. Words, which usually come so easily to me, have failed me.
“Naughty, I know,” his gaze becomes even more hooded and there’s a way he’s staring at me, like he already knows what I taste like. Which Lord, I want him to.
Bad.
“You’re shy. I like that,” he fills in the silence. “But very soon you won’t be with me. I won’t allow it. I plan on getting to know every single part of you. From taste, to sensory reaction, and pleasure points, of course.”
He says it like it’s the most normal conversation in the world between two perfect strangers. Never mind the magnetism we both feel, we still know nothing about each other.
“What are you saying?” The words stumble out. I know what he’s saying, I know exactly what he’s saying but his words are doing so many things to my insides that this is all I can manage. It’s almost a plea for him to stop.
My words… my tone, whatever it is turns him on even more. He goes from the predator methodically waiting in the corner for its way in—to the predator who’s about to pounce.
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours,” his tone radiates pure alpha power sending a shock of pleasure through me. A cataclysmic wave that makes no sense or shouldn’t make any sense and yet here I am. Merry Christmas?
“I’m—I’m not following…” I stutter out.
“To sign the clause. This time tomorrow night you’ll be on my yacht for a sleepover.”
“Are you mad?” I gasp in outrage, borrowing one of Grace’s new favorite sayings though when she says it, she almost always adds a British tilt to it.
He smiles in anticipation.
“I’ll send over transportation.”
My mouth drops. Oh, he’s serious.
Why is it so hot? The command itself? The way he just says it like I have no choice? Maybe that’s been the problem all along—me arguing sense into myself and the world around me—maybe what I’ve needed all along is this. Him.
“I’m not climbing on your boat tomorrow night!” I try to sound indignant, but honestly the thought is not a bad one.
It’s the best idea I’ve ever heard in my life.
“No, you will walk on my boat,” his grin is devilish. “And after dinner, or maybe during, you’ll slide into my bed.”
He holds his hand up like he’s stopping me from saying something I’ll regret.
“We can argue back and forth all night long, but I know without a doubt where you’ll be at this time tomorrow.
“In my bed… underneath me… screaming in pleasure.”
Fuck. Me.
“Promise?”