The Mad British (7 page)

I gently brush her soft, silky hair from her face so I can see those heart-stopping dark eyes. "I can give you one in return, so we’re even. I can even put on some music if you like." She laughs faintly, and I’m relieved when some hint of sparkle seems to return to her eyes.

“Got any baby oil?” she jokes.

I throw my head back and laugh. “No. But I’m pretty certain Travis carries some with him. I can go ask—”

“
No.
No I was kidding.” She laughs heartily and the sound vibrates through my core. It feels good. “I think Lassie’s had enough excitement tonight.”

“It’s good to see you laugh again.”

That twinkle in her eye disappears. "I thought coming tonight would be fun. . . a chance for me to. . . move on from. . . things. . .” She pauses. "I was very, very wrong about that."

She tightens my jacket round her, moving to button the front of it, and clears her throat. "And just so you know," she murmurs, chewing her lip nervously, "I uh, I've never had sex in a coat closet."

"I've never had a quickie in a bathroom—" I pause. "At least not with a stranger."

Her half smile doesn’t last long. "I need to know how much."

"Does any amount make it okay?"

She twists her head slightly away and looks down. "No," she replies, shrugging. "But making the wager isn't any better either."

I nod. "Fair enough." Moving to my feet I offer a hand and I’m relieved when she takes it, helping her to her feet. "But if you give me a chance, maybe I can explain why I did."

"You mean it wasn't for sex?"

A heat radiates through my chest when her smile reaches her eyes, and I’m thankful she no longer appears to hold my part in the wager against me.

"I really just wanted that drink." I smoothe my thumb over the back of her hand. “And maybe to spend a little more time with you." Her skin is supe
r
soft against my calloused hand. I’d bet a year’s earnings that the rest of her crackin’ body is probably just as smooth.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

She looks chuffed with my response, but a moment later, she asks, "Then why me?" She places a hand on the base of her neck. "When there's a room full of beautiful women out there, why me?"

"They’re not beautiful.” I lean in and smell something new on her, other than the aroma of chocolate and vanilla. I have to find the source. Hopefully, she’ll want to see me again after tonight. A second chance to hunt for it.

With my tongue, preferably.

"Perhaps I'll tell you,” I continue. “Should you choose to stick around for that drink and maybe another game of some kind."

Licking her lower lip, she bites into it, and I can see her response before she answers. "You want to play—"

"I’d love to play with you, Adelaide.”

“James. . .” Her high cheekbones pink up a bit.

“Something you can't cheat at."

She laughs softly. "Then it's only fair that you can't cheat either."

"Does that mean you'll stay?"

She pulls her hand out of mine, and I’m tempted to not let her go. "Depends," she says, skirting round me and crosses the room.

"On?"

"Whether or not I get to pick the game."

I turn to follow her, finding it impossible to not look her over when she’s standing there all legs in front of me.

I want to feel those pins wrap round my middle as I pump hard inside her. Over and over. Harder and harder.

I shoot a quick glance to the bulge swelling below.

Calm. The fuck. Down.

Adelaide picks up a game piece from the hotel room’s chessboard, set on the desk by the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out on the River Thames. My breath hitches, but not at the spectacular view of London at night from such a great height. A kaleidoscope of shimmering lights reflects off her from outside, bathing her in a luminous glow. She looks like an angel.

She runs her thumb over a pawn, brushing it almost absentmindedly across her lips.

"You know after that whole thing before. . .” I say, lifting my head toward the bed, and notice how her cheeks turn a bright pink. "I'm just relieved to find out you aren't one of those odd fetish types."

“SO NOW YOU’RE trying to get me drunk?"

I’m standing under the doorway of the bathroom where I'd just spent ten minutes getting dressed and telling myself it’s okay that I had stripped down and offered to sleep with a stranger.

It isn’t the stripping that curls my insides. I mean, how can it be with my past? No, it’s throwing myself at a one-night stand that makes me cringe. But the real kicker? I have no idea what I would have done had James been willing to get into bed with me. Then again, I’m not quite sure how to take it that he rejected the offer. I would eat my left foot if it turns out he bats for the other team. And he’s hardly acting like he is a man of the Church.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he pours our drinks. "Rumour has it that you're more of a vodka girl."

He picks up the glasses and walks toward me. I push myself away from the doorway, fixated on his smile. It’s mysterious in a way that is almost seductive, as if he doesn’t let just anyone see it.

"So you do listen to that
other
brain of yours," I say, pointing a finger to my head.

“It’s good for something.”

I take the glass from him, but don’t take a sip. I feel sloshed enough from the champagne, which is probably why I had walked into this room and taken off my clothes in the first place. Vodka is a whole other ball game.

“I’m curious,” he says. “Who taught you to count cards?”

“My brother.”

His glass stops halfway to his mouth. “He sounds. . . interesting.”

“He’s not—are we going to play or not, big shot?" I lift my head in the direction of the desk behind him.

"Why do I get the feeling you know your way around the board all too well?"

I chuckle, mostly to myself, knowing I can say the same for him. Chess requires thinking several moves ahead, and tonight, we’ve both been playing our own version.

"You’ll just have to wait and find out." Taking a seat behind the desk, I sip from my glass. I figure one sip can’t hurt. Reaching for the game board I ask, "I hope it's not a problem that I'm disturbing your game?"

"Help yourself. I was playing by myself while I waited for you. . . or not.”

“Play with yourself often?” I smirk. His eyes meet mine. He looks like he wants to eat me.

Yummy noises.

That’s all I can make when I’m around this man.

“Play and find out.”

I lean back in my chair after I move all the pieces to their rightful places. We start to play and I chew my lip as he watches me intently. Everything inside me throbs with need with the way his eyes roam over me. It almost feels like it’s his tongue and not those blue pools of light slithering over every inch of my body.

I avert my eyes. I can’t lose the game. I have nothing to prove to him, but yet, I feel like he’s waiting on something. . .

We make our next several moves in near silence. The only sound is the occasional sip from one of our glasses or an agitated sigh as we debate our course of action. My finger lingers over my knight, then my rook, and I glance up to find him watching me, a cocky smile on his lips.

Oh, those lips.

It is hard to ignore them.

Those pretty, pretty lips.

"What?" My voice is just above a whisper.

"Nothing." He barely shakes his head, but I know he’s up to something.

I narrow my eyes at him across the desk and lean forward. "If you're trying to distract me—you're failing miserably."

"I think you're doing just fine being distracted on your own." He gets up and crosses the room to refill his glass. I sneak a glimpse.

He must do a lot of squats.

He pours the whiskey and turns back to me, catching me red-handed. I feel my face grow flushed. He’s loving every second of this.

"See," he drawls, coming back over to his seat. I stare down at the board, still wavering between using the knight or the rook. "I don't care for the knight either," he comments, taking a sip from his glass.

"Why?" I decide on the rook and slide it forward several squares, realising it’s the best choice. If I can follow through on my next three moves, I can have his queen. And it’s obvious from the way he keeps her nestled in the middle of the other pieces, he cherishes the queen the most.

"It's the one piece that can jump over the other men." He taps the top of his knight with his forefinger. I’m surprised when he moves it forward.

He is planning something.

"And let me guess," I say, moving my rook over two squares. "James Hatter never jumps over other men."

"Only when they jump first." He slides his other knight from its home.

I swear under my breath when I start to move my rook, but realise I’m trapped by his knights.

"Maybe next time you should try playing chess with someone who isn't better than you," he mocks, repeating my words from earlier in the evening. And had he not looked so yummy while doing it, I would have been annoyed.

"You want to have a repeat of our previous venture from this evening?"

He laughs, gripping his glass of whiskey in his hand. "I don't think bets have proven to be very good for our relationship."

"Relationship?" I angle my head to the side as I tuck my hair behind my ear. He nods. "If this is a relationship forming here, I'd say that bets are what it is based on, won’t you?" I bite my lip and tug the hem of my dress down.

"Then I suppose it's only fair that you get to make this wager."

He’s waiting on me to back out, so I figure it’s time for me to raise the bar. "If I win. . . " I pause to think, drumming my fingertips on my chin, keeping my eyes on his.

"
If
you win," he replies, as if it isn’t even possible.

I snort, folding my arms across the desk and lean in toward him. "If I win, you tell me just how much money you offered William. . . Oh, I'm sorry—how much money you paid him for me."

"I didn’t buy you and you
know
that wasn’t the case." He mimics my pose and leans across the desk as well. "I simply purchased a moment of your time."

"Do you use money to buy everything?" There’s a hint of indignation in my words, a little disgusted by the way he had just said that.

"Only when it will get me what I want." He shrugs.

"And you
just
want a drink with me?" I get up from my seat, tucking my knees beneath me so I can lean further across the desk, knowing full well my cleavage is on display. "Just a drink?" He nods. "Liar."

"Again with the presumptions, Miss Queen." He moves to his feet and leans over the desk, our faces just inches apart.

"Men always want more." One hand holds me over the desk, while the other clutches my hip.

"And so do women." He looks at my lips, then my cleavage, and then gradually lowers his gaze. I swallow. Hard. "They’re just too afraid to admit it."

I've never been so annoyed yet turned on at the same time. It leaves me torn between slapping him in the face for all women—
including
his date tonight—and grabbing him across the desk and pushing him onto the bed.

"You, uh, you have to decide," I tell him. Feeling flustered, I straighten up across from him.

Much to my dismay, he doesn’t move. He remains bent over the desk, his palms bracing himself above it, those damn piercing come-hither eyes on me. Briefly I’m enamoured by the silver chain running across his rugged collarbone through the open collar of his shirt, and for a second, he thinks he has the upper hand. I give my best poker face, taking my seat.

"You have to decide what you want." I lean back in my chair and look up at him. He stays still.

"I think you know what I want," he replies, those damn lips still holding that damn smile.

My face flushes again and I run a hand over the back of my neck, looking away from him. "Well, uh, too bad you're going to lose," I say, in the most unbelievable way possible. I’m sure he is going to laugh at my discomfort and I’m honestly surprised when he doesn’t.

"Then, I guess you'll be finding out how much Wayne thinks you’re worth." He finally backs away from the desk and takes his seat, all-the-while watching me. "I believe it's your turn."

"You're right. . . it is." I take a deep breath and perch at the edge of my seat. I stare down at the board, every planned movement I had, suddenly gone from my mind. I move a pawn forward one space. "There." When I see his reaction, I second-guess myself. "What?"

"Nothing." He taps his finger on his bishop before sliding it across the board and taking the pawn I'd just moved.

"Crap," I mutter, mulling over the option of forfeiting before he wipes the chessboard with me.

"I'm sorry." He flips the tiny piece round his finger. "I know how much you like watching
porn
."

"What?"

"Pawn," he repeats, motioning toward the pieces on the board. "They’re obviously your favourite to watch—pawn."

I pick up my bishop and look him in the eye. “And I bet you like to
beat
the bishop.”

He suddenly erupts in laughter, shaking his head, and I start to laugh with him as well. I reach for my glass, taking a sip, feeling more relaxed.

We remain quiet for several moves, the only sounds coming from the pieces as we move across the board, until he declares, "Check." He leans back in his chair. "And I'm fairly sure I'm going to win."

"Aren't you just pleased with yourself?" I glare at the board, trying to figure out how to save my king.

He shrugs, placing his elbows on the edge of the desk and clasps his hands. "Your time is running out, Queen." I know he’s trying to bait me, and of course, it’s working. "It's so easy to distract you."

I do my best to ignore him, especially when he starts to hum, rocking his glass back and forth in the air. I stiffen when I realise what song he is humming. "Are you kidding me?"

"Hmm?" His humming comes to a stop and there’s a twinkle in those damn eyes of his that I’m dying to put out.

I bring my hand down on the board, shoving it toward him. "How's that for another one biting the dust?" I get up and walk away. "And are you seriously a Queen fan?" I ask, coming to a stop in front of the large window that overlooks the River Thames.

He follows after me. "What's wrong with Queen. . .
Queen
?"

I turn round. “Clever.”

He shrugs. "Travis."

I roll my eyes. "Why am I not surprised you would pick up doing something that corny from Lassie?"

"It is fitting," he points out, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Jerk."

"Jealous."

I lean against the window, my hands on my hips. "Jealous of
you
?"

"That I beat you." He takes one step toward me, tilts his head downwards, and lifts a hand to brush against my bare arm. A hot buzz skims across my skin and I do my damnedest to stifle it. "Why do I get the feeling you're used to getting your way?"

"I get my way because I'm right. You get yours because you
buy
it."

"You bet your way twice tonight. You won once—by cheating," he reproaches, daring me to disagree.

I draw my breath before releasing it. It’s frustrating how furious he can make me feel sometimes. "And you cheated William to get me alone," I shoot back, angry that yet again, I'd somehow forgotten how all this started from his arrogant wager.

“I didn’t cheat just now, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get. . . what I want." Towering above me, his gaze darkens and does a slow, deliberate sweep of my body, lingering on my chest before travelling back. It’s impossible to stop the trembling in my legs. "And if you play nicely, you just might get what you want too."

My breath catches in my throat, knowing he isn’t talking about telling me how much money he had wagered.

But I am not going to back down.

"And just what do you want from me, James?" I lean toward him and place a hand on his chest.

Big mistake.

It’s rock hard underneath my touch. If his body looks and feels this great with clothes, what in God’s name will it look like and feel without? "What can I possibly give you that you haven't already passed up?"

He grunts, placing his hand over mine, and holds it to my chest. "A kiss." My pulse leaps into a gallop because holy crap. . .

I swear a throaty groan just slipped out of my throat. And that sexy bastard heard it
,
the corner of his mouth twitching.

"And before you turn that into an argument, you offered to sleep with me—not kiss me."

I suck in a breath, still caught-off-guard by his answer. But I know he’s waiting for me to contest his wager.

I have two choices it seems: One, taste what Heaven—or Hell—will feel like, and kiss that cocky mouth of his. Two, tell him to shove it, then run home and take a cold shower.