Free Tap Out by Michele Mannon Page B

shiny...”
    “Care to elaborate?” she heard her sassy self say. The player was trying to play her. Game on.
    He propped himself up onto both elbows and his lips lifted into a naughty smile, one full of promises. “Depends.”
    “Why don’t we get down to business?”
    His eyebrows lifted at that.
    “I’ll need my recorder for our conversation. You can even sign off on everything discussed when we’re done, so they’ll be no surprises. Be right back.” She stepped toward the en suite door.
    “Close the door behind you...chicken.”
    That stopped her short. As if she—the queen of smack—would be frightened away by his overtly sexual banter? Exactly who did he think he was trying to one-up? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d transcribed an interview based on memory alone.
    Turning, Sophie got to the point. “Why return to such a brutal world? Surely it’s not for the money—even if you win Tetnus and the million dollar purse, your Ultimate American Male contract is worth more.” She tried to block out the image of Caden in his underwear, a difficult feat considering the way his pants had shifted even lower. Tricky given her body’s shift into another untimely jig. “Less bloodshed and pain, too,” she continued, absentmindedly.
    “That right?” Caden slowly got up from the bed and sauntered toward her. Sophie stood ramrod straight, unwilling to back down. Reaching out, he placed a finger high on her chest. Both the location and lightness of his touch surprising her. What was he up to?
    She glanced down, and instantly regretted it. In one smooth movement, he ran the tip of his finger along the soft skin of her throat, skimmed it up and over her chin and then flicked her on the nose.
    Her eyes shot to his face and, noticing his smirk, narrowed. Wrong woman to pull such a little boy move on.
    He straightened. “Enough. Five minutes remaining...”
    “You’ve been as cooperative as ice on a sunburn.”
    “Tsk. Tsk. You haven’t even begun to burn yet, honey. Or melt.”
    “Sounds unpleasant. I’m a redhead, remember, with a strong aversion to the sun. As far as melting...”
    “I’m amending our deal.” Caden said, changing the topic.
    “We didn’t agree on one to amend.”
    “I’ll give you what you want, answer any questions you have within our remaining four minutes. But I want something in return. Something legit. Something material.”
    “So if I give you what you’re asking for—something material, like the cold omelet over on the table—you won’t hold back in answering my questions? I’ll have to postpone our interview if you want money.”
    “Thatta girl, back to thinking like a reporter. Out to get her story no matter the cost. What I want is better than money. That’s why there’s a condition.” Caden’s gaze raked over her from head to toe before continuing, “If you can’t produce the goods, I get a consolation prize, without having to answer a single question. So, we on?”
    “Depends.” She mimicked his earlier tone exactly and issued her own naughty smile. A lame attempt at disguising her excitement about getting a shot at interviewing him. “Is it something expensive?”
    “I’m sure you can afford it.”
    “Is it something I’ll miss if it’s gone?” She had to admit, the prospect of uncovering what exactly he wanted from her was downright titillating. Her gaze fell on the rumpled bedspread, then catching herself, slid back his way. That bed held a whole assortment of sordid prospects, all of which were downright titillating.
    “Kind of the point of the whole matter...” he murmured, vaguely. “A case of curiosity. Genuine curiosity.”
    Sophie frowned, and weighed her options, quickly making her decision. “Agreed. Believe it or not, I hate surprises.”
    “Take off your panties.”
    What?
    “I want your panties. A token of our new—albeit brief, at three minutes and counting—business arrangement.”
    Oh, how she wanted to give this