Chapter 16
BABS
I follow him through the house, each hallway somehow grander than the last. My heels click against polished floors while storm winds claw at the windows. We pass a spa, a wine cellar, and a billiards room that practically oozes a jazzy nightclub vibe, but he doesn’t slow down.
He just glances over his shoulder with a grin that’s far too smug for someone not telling me where we’re going. His fingers tighten over mine as we slow down. When we stop at a pair of tall, unmarked doors, I lift a brow.
“You’re not taking me to a dungeon, are you?”
“Not unless you ask nicely.”
My stomach does a little somersault. Would he be so bold as to have a playroom here?
Maybe.
He presses his thumb to a scanner. Of course, he has biometric security in his mansion. The door unlocks with a soft click, the lights coming on automatically. Inside, I stop cold.
It’s a private archery range.
Hardwood floors, matte black targets glowing red across the far wall, racks of bows like something out of a spy thriller. The air smells like cedar and leather. The kind of place where you can lose track of time or take someone down.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He strolls in like it’s his living room.
“What?”
“You built a secret lair to shoot arrows? Who does this?”
He shrugs, as if this is a standard house amenity.
“Have you ever shot before?”
I walk further into the room, scanning the rows of bows and arrows.
“No, Robin Hood. I haven’t.”
He laughs, then picks a bow off the wall with all the confidence of a man who’s probably done this thousands of times.
“I’ll teach you how.”
“I’ve never even touched a bow.”
Archery is a popular activity for summer camp and the Olympics. Not inside a house in the Hamptons.
“I figured. But I’ve seen your serve.”
He hands it to me, a smirk on his lips. The weight of it surprises me, heavier than I anticipated.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“You probably won’t be any good.”
That does it. I snatch an arrow off the wall, holding it awkwardly while trying not to look like a complete novice, even though I am.
“Oh, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good it’ll bruise your fragile little ego.”
He comes closer, too close, adjusting my arms with a slow patience that feels anything but innocent.
“You already shattered my fragile little ego when I creamed my pants.”
No malice, just a hint of amusement. I forgot I made him do that. Something I should hold over his head like he does with my tennis abilities.
“Stance first. Feet apart. You’re stiff.”
“Tell me again how bad I am and see what happens, pretty boy.”
He grins. “I’m counting on it, my little sinner.”
His hands slide to my elbows, lifting them. He’s behind me now, close enough that I feel the warmth of him everywhere.
“Anchor the string here.”
His voice drops lower, affecting me as I am him. He guides my hand to the corner of my jaw.
“Keep your back straight. Elbow high.”
I swallow hard.
“I’m not going to lie. This is kind of sexy.”
His mouth lowers to my ear, and his tongue traces the curve of my ear.
“I know. Now aim.”
I breathe, then release. The arrow flies and hits the outer ring of the target with a satisfying thud.
“Not bad.”
I toss him a look.
“Not bad? That’s better than your first tennis serve.”
“That’s a bold claim for someone who just grazed the outer edge.”
“It’s my first time.”
He steps back, grabs a bow of his own, and lines up with the stall beside me.
“Let’s settle it then.”
“Oh, it’s on.”
We shoot and tease each other. He talks shit every time I miss the center, and I gloat every time I get closer. It’s ridiculous and sweaty and absurdly sexy, especially when he lets out a dramatic groan after I hit a near-perfect shot.
“I swear you’re cheating.”
I smirk.
“Or maybe I’m just naturally better than you think.”
He lowers his bow, setting it on the stall rack, eyes gleaming.
“You want a prize if you win?”
“Not if, when I win.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just steps closer, drops his gaze down my body. I feel every inch of heat. Wanting more of yesterday, right here in his private archery room.
“Then pick your prize now.”
I arch a brow and say the first thing that comes to mind.
“You. Naked. In the rain.”
He chuckles. His blonde hair glistens under the recessed lighting above his head. His eyes glimmer, but it’s his smolder that’s really getting to me.
“Is that what you really want, Babs?”
It’s a hundred percent not what I want. Yet, changing my mind is a weakness. Decisiveness is always more lethal, especially when it comes to men. Even more true when they are young, hot, and cocky as can be.
“I want to watch the rain slide down that tanned skin of yours. Guiding me where my tongue should follow.”
His breath hitches, his hand cups my waist, pulling me against him. His cock is hard and ready.
“If you win.” His fingers capture my chin, raising it closer to his lips. His breath is mine. “I’ll give you more than a show.”
My bow rests against my body, now digging into his by proximity. I raise it slightly, using the tip to push him back. An obvious challenge to everything he says. It’s not enough pressure to hurt him, but he moves away. His hands fall from my body.
If I have any shot of winning, I need him and his perfect body as far from me as possible. He settles back into the stall next to me. His fingers caress the bow while staring at me.
“Then get ready to lose, Hollister.”
I lift the bow again, laser-focused.
Unfazed, he asks, “You forgot something.”
I adjust my position, looking from the target to him. Slightly annoyed at his obvious distraction from my setup.
“What?”
“If I win, you forgot to ask what I want.”
My exhale is breathy and intentionally loud. He doesn’t react.
“It’s highly improbable, but should you win, what do you want?”
He licks his lips instinctively. Without thought, his eyes drag up and down my body again.
“You. On your knees. Wearing only my necklace.”
A shiver dances down my back. Wetness pooling into my lacy panties. I’m so turned on, I hold my breath to clear the pulse from my ears.
“Sounds like I win either way.”
He makes a mockery of his sweeping bow.
“Ladies first. Age before beauty.”
I scoff, but inwardly, I love the banter. The competitiveness. The vitality of his youth, before life hardens him into a curmudgeon like the rest of us.
“You’re confusing age with experience. Watch and learn, junior.”
I draw the string, anchor it to my jaw just like he showed me, and let it fly. It lands in the third ring. Not exactly in the center, but not terrible. He lets out a low whistle.
“Damn. That almost hit the target. But almost isn’t winning, Barbara.”
That junior comment must have ruffled his feathers with how hard he emphasizes my name. I pivot toward him, eager to challenge him back.
“You know what else almost happened? You almost looked dominant for a second. Then I saw your baby blues begging to be told what to do.”
That shuts him up for a half second. Long enough for me to catch the way his jaw tightens. His next arrow thunks into the second ring.
“Not bad.” I examine it with fake interest. “But your aim’s a little high. Overcompensating, maybe?”
His grin sharpens, but those baby blues bore into me like he has more to prove. Maybe he does. Maybe he will. Either way, I’m winning.
“I’m not the one who needs two tries to get it in.”
I draw another arrow, smirking.
“You want to go there? I can give you a running list of all the places you haven’t been yet.”
“Promise?” he murmurs under his breath.
My arrow sails through the air, hitting the second ring and closer than his did. He huffs, cocking his head.
“That’s cute. You’re trying.”
I step close as he prepares his next shot. He releases his arrow. It skims the edge of the center.
“Boom.”
He doesn’t even look. Just turns to me like he already knows.
“Bullseye, baby.”
“Baby?” I echo, brushing past him to grab another arrow. “Careful, Hollister. You start calling me pet names, and I might assume you’re getting attached.”
“Too late.”
His voice is quiet this time.
“But don’t let that mess with your aim.”
It does. My next shot goes wide. I groan, glaring at the target. Is he getting attached? After such a short amount of time? Is that even possible? I shake my head, trying to clear away the thoughts I don’t want to think. Not now. Not yet.
“You did that on purpose.”
He shrugs, smug as hell.
“You’re the one who let your guard down. I just stood here looking pretty, like I always do.”
One hand goes up in a defensive posture, the other holds his bow at his side.
“Fine. One shot left.”
I straighten, determined.
“I’ll go first.”
He lifts his bow again, his focus deadly calm now. A breath, pause, and then the release. Dead center. Bullseye for sure this time.
Show-off.
He doesn’t gloat, just slowly turns to me and says, “Don’t lose or you’ll get rug burn on your knees.”
My pulse kicks up. Every nerve buzzes. The vision of being on my knees, his blue eyes greedily taking in every inch of cock down my throat, has my core pulsing with want.
I’d love to get him off, watch him squirm as I edge him until he can’t take it any longer.
With that new challenge forming more clearly in my mind, I raise my bow.
“You got this. Don’t think. Just feel.”
I breathe, aim and pull. Pause for a second and let go.
Thud.
Second ring.
Intentionally losing. He winces, then smiles like it physically pains him to be right.
“Close. At least you tried.”
“Ugh,” I sigh, slumping a little. “Fine. You win.”
He steps into me, crowding my space, his hand curling around my hip.
“I believe the agreement was . . .” He dips his mouth to my ear, voice thick with promise. “On your knees. Just my necklace.”
I glance down at the leather resting between my breasts. A shiver courses through me.
“But you know,” he adds, backing up just enough to look me in the eye. “I’ll settle for you begging me to make you come.”
I lift a brow.
“Who says I’d beg?”
He grins, but the smolder in his eyes tells how serious he is.
“Let’s find out.”