Chapter 13
“Does being daddy’s little disappointment still satisfy your urge to be bad, Anderson?” Okay, that was more flirtatious than I meant it to be. Maybe the champagne buzz hasn’t worn off. In fact, after two glasses with him on a nearly empty stomach, it’s hitting me more than I care to admit. At least the French toast doesn’t come with any sexual connotations.
He arches a brow at me, then smirks, and dammit, he’s gotta stop doing that. It’s starting to curl my toes. “I gave up on rebellion against him a long time ago. Mostly. In fact, I work at the family firm now. Just like he always wanted.”
“My god, you? Doing something normal? Say it isn’t so.”
He laughs, and when he laughs without his trademark teasing edge to it, it’s sexy. “I’ll have you know I do all kinds of normal things these days. I clean my apartment?—”
“Yourself?”
“Well, not the deep cleaning, but I do pick up after myself. I grocery shop, I pay my taxes … it’s almost as if I’m an adult.”
I roughly snort a laugh, which I’m sure makes me the sexiest call girl ever. Burying my face in my hands, I laugh again. “Oh my god. Let me have it. I know you want to say something about that.”
“Nah. Too easy.”
He laughs again. “Who knew pancakes were this good?”
“Um, everyone without abs.”
He grins and dips his finger into the leftover maple syrup and butter from my French toast on my plate before sucking it clean. “Clearly, abs are overrated. If normal food tastes this good, I’m ready to lose them.”
“Don’t go doing anything rash.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. One naughty night of doing whatever I want doesn’t seem like enough to bring such dire consequences.” At this point, I’m not sure if he means the abs or me, but I’m pretty sure there’s no air in the room anymore.
I finish my flute, and he’s filling it before I can even object. Oh well. More for me.
“Let me take that,” he says it as he grabs my plate. Then he takes it to the trolley. “Do you want some more? There’s fruit and whipped cream, if you want something sweet.”
I gulp. “Berries with whipped cream, if they have them.”
“Coming right up.”
“Why are you waiting on me?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d want to leave the bed in that sheer sheet.”
I look down. Yup. He’s definitely seen the outline of, well, everything. Oh well. More champagne will make this less embarrassing. I hope.
When he sits next to me, he’s delivered a plate full of the biggest, reddest strawberries I’ve ever seen and a bowl of fresh whipped cream. I’m not even hungry anymore, but my mouth waters at the sight. Swiping a berry through the cream, I tell him, “It’s thoughtful of you to get my plates for me, Anderson.”
“I’m trying something new.”
“No, you’re not. See, I don’t think you were as much of an asshole as I would have liked you to be.”
“You wanted me to be an asshole?”
I shrug, and can’t help but notice that when I do, his eyes focus on my chest. Bully or not, he likes some parts of me. “If you were just a pure asshole, then I could hate you. But you’re a complicated asshole, and that makes everything else complicated, too.”
“You’re seeing what you think you should see. I’m a purebred, grade A asshole, June.”
“Do you want me to bring up Kalen again?”
He looks away and grabs a berry for himself. After dipping it into the whipped cream and taking a bite, his eyes roll back. “My god, that’s delicious.”
I giggle. “A tasty way to change the topic?”
“Only if you let it stay changed.”
“I suppose I can do that for you. But you’ll have to do something for me.”
He swallows, then looks me over. When his eyes drag over my chest, my nipples harden from the attention. Stupid body. Finally, he meets my gaze. “Name it.”
“Unbutton the next button on your shirt. It’s practically strangling me from here.”
He laughs and unbuttons it. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Stud, by the way.”
I blink at him, then take another swig of champagne. “Excuse me?”
“On a tuxedo shirt, the buttons are called studs. Not buttons.”
“Oh. The buttons. Right.”
He smirks, and my libido stirs. Seriously, body, we hate this guy. Stop that. But it might make things easier if I give in to what my body wants. If I just go with the flow. This isn’t some elaborate prank—I’m almost completely sure of that. We’ve been in here for over an hour—nearly two now—and nothing’s happened.
Which is also a problem.
If I don’t do this soon, he can claim breach of contract, such as it is. Sure, Camille said she had that cuddle guy, but this is my first time doing this, and I’m sure they don’t give a free pass to first timers. Either we have sex and I get my money, or we don’t and I won’t.
But after all the bickering, is he even in the mood?
Anderson, the man I hated for almost half my life, cants his head to the side as he smirks at me. “Are you in there?”
“Um, yes. I am.”
He reaches up for my face, and at first, I start to pull back. But then I remember I’m supposed to be here for him to touch. So, I just freeze. When his fingertips touch my cheek, I fight a shiver. His thumb runs over my bottom lip and when he pulls away, there’s whipped cream there. He licks it off. “You had a little cream there. Thought I’d help.”
That was the most satisfying sexual thing to happen to me in over two years. Dear God. What in the hell.
I gulp and lightly joke, “Can’t take me anywhere, can you?”
His wry smile sets me on edge. But it falls quickly. “Are you finished?”
I haven’t even begun. “Yeah. I think so.”
Again, he takes my plate to the trolley, then his own, but this time, he sets the silver domes on them. “I presume you’re done with everything? Unless you want more. I’ll load up your plate, if you like?—”
“No. I’m good.”
He putters with things there, and it’s only then that I see it. He’s stalling. Oh my god, he’s nervous, too. It’s not as though he has to clean anything in this situation, yet he’s organizing and reorganizing the plates. After everything, he’s not sure how to start this.
Clearly, he’s interested in me that way. He wouldn’t have spent all this money to get me alone in a room otherwise. And given this isn’t a prank of some kind, he’s … he’s here for a reason. I’m the reason. But he won’t make the first move. Maybe I was too abrasive, or he thinks I truly hate him.
None of that matters right now. I need the money. I can’t wait for him to get off his ass about this. There’s less than five hours left to go, and if I wait for him, I do not know if he will give up.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s only gotten better looking with age. And that damned smirk thing … why does that work for me? It’s like a naughty smile that tells me exactly what he’s thinking, and what he’s thinking about is the dirtiest thing I can conjure.
That’s it. I have to make the first move. I’m done waiting.
So, I get out of the bed and pad over to him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. His whole body stiffens up in my arms. He murmurs, “What are you doing?”
“I thought I’d see if you wanted to do what … we’re both here for.”
Slowly, he turns around to face me. It is impossible to admit that I have always found him attractive, even when he was an asshole. Admitting that felt wrong. But I did back then. Now, though, when all arrogance has fallen from his face and a line of confusion forms between his brows, he’s even more attractive.
Every other guy I’ve been with, the moment I brought up sex, that was that. It was time for sex. But Anderson isn’t jumping my bones. In fact, he looks concerned more than anything else. “June, you don’t have to do this. I promise.”
I smirk up at him. “And you’re going to pay me almost four hundred thousand dollars just for a nearly naked breakfast?”
He half-smiles as he thinks of what to say, so I pull him to my lips for a kiss. It’s tentative at first, just to see if he’s for real. I think I surprised him—it’s like he’s being careful as he kisses me back.
After a moment, though, he wraps me in his arms and slants his mouth over mine, deepening the kiss. His fingers weave into my hair, gently tugging to tip my head back more for him. The touch sends sparks through me. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and before I know it, I’m gone. It is the best kiss of my life.
Whatever confusing, psychological damage this might do to me in the future, tonight, I don’t care. I want the man who haunted my nightmares.