Free The Mad British by Hera Leick Page B

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