Macalister leaned forward, his face close to mine and his woodsy aftershave faintly noticeable, grabbed the sides of his pants, and pulled them back up. He tucked himself away, zipped up and buttoned, then refastened his belt, moving with practiced hands. The mood in the room was still sexually charged, but it morphed into one that was taut with tension.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
I wasn’t trying to defy him, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. All I could do was stare at his feet. I sensed his confusion, even without looking at him. A breath passed between us, and he climbed to his feet, standing beside me before holding out a hand to help me up.
I took it, only for him to haul me upright and into his embrace. His fingers were cold, but his body was hot, and when my breasts flattened to his bare chest, desire licked at me. It burned in his eyes as well, but I only caught a glimpse before he buried his mouth in the crook of my neck.
His stubble scraped across my sensitive skin as he feasted on my neck, sucking and nibbling. I was pliant in his arms, growing weaker with every kiss. And then he leaned down, just enough so he could course a hand between my thighs and drag it upward, pulling a moan from my throat.
God, that felt good. Just the brush of his hand over me gave a warm flash of pleasure.
His voice was wrapped in seduction, slinking through the cloudy desire in my head. “Give me the name,” he whispered, “and I’ll let you come.”
The laugh that burst from me was unstoppable. He might as well have said he’d let me sprout wings and fly away, so I didn’t bother to rein in my sarcastic reaction. “No, thanks.”
He went wooden, his eyes turning hard. “Why do you find that amusing? You don’t think I can bring you to orgasm?”
“Nope,” I said without hesitation.
It was like I’d just spit on his mother’s grave. Macalister’s eyebrow lifted sharply, and his posture straightened. “I’m good at nearly everything I do, but there are two things I truly excel at.” His expression dripped with arrogance. “Banking is the other one.”
I rolled my eyes for the second time tonight. “Awesome.”
“I am not exaggerating.”
There was something about me that made people want to confess their secrets, like I was human truth serum, but I wondered if he was the same for me. I’d already revealed things to him I hadn’t told anyone else, so what difference did it make if I did some more?
“Maybe you are great, but your talent would be wasted on me.”
His brain hit a wall while going sixty miles an hour. “What the hell does that mean?”
I sighed. “I don’t have orgasms.”
Horror washed down his handsome face, and his arms tightened like steel bars around me. “Ever?”
My heartbeat was frantic, fluttering in my chest. “Not with other people.”
Macalister was at a total loss, unable to process. His gaze drifted down to my lips, and it went unfocused as he considered my statement. Abruptly, his eyes sharpened, and his attention snapped back to mine. “But you can orgasm? You have before?”
“Yeah.” It was weird to be shy about this, given what we’d just done, but it felt like I was admitting I was abnormal, and I didn’t want to see judgment from him.
The last thing I expected was to see him smile. It widened until it spread all the way to his eyes and consumed his face. It was the first genuine grin I’d ever seen from him, and it was breathtaking.
“You’ll allow me to be the first, then,” he said.
To prevent discussion, he bent and swept my legs out from beneath me, scooping me up into his arms.
Was he aware this was also a first? No man had ever picked me up and carried me before, and it was hardwired into my brain to respond to the swoon-worthy gesture. I blinked up at him with my mouth hanging open in surprise, but he wasn’t looking at me. His gaze surveyed the space, searching for something, and when it was located, he strode deeper into the room.
Our destination was the tan, single-armed chaise lounge in front of the fireplace, and he deposited me there before righting himself and moving to the mantel. I sat up and banded an arm across my chest to hold in my warmth while watching him turn the key to activate the gas. The fire in the fireplace burst to life, its orange-blue flames dancing over the realistic ceramic logs.
Had he done it to light the dark room, or to keep me warm?
With that task completed, Macalister turned and faced me, and I had the strangest sensation he was visualizing his next move the same way I did before each shot in skeet. It made my already racing pulse skip faster and my breathing go shallow.
“You seem certain,” he said, “that I won’t be able to bring you to orgasm. Why don’t we strike a deal?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the side of the fireplace, and although his shirt was still unbuttoned and his posture attempted to be casual, I was smart enough not to fall for it. For one thing, Macalister Hale wasn’t casual. Another was that I was naked, and he was dressed, plus there was his positioning, since he was standing while I was perched on the lounge. He had the upper hand in every way, all the power.
I hesitated. “What kind of deal?”
The fire was already putting out warmth, and it cast flickering light over his face. It made him look sinister and provocative. “An orgasm for the name.”
Had he forgotten how our last bet had worked out for him? I smiled, thinking about how bad the hit would be to his massive ego when he lost to me a second time. I was competitive, always playing to win. “There’d have to be rules, though.”
He nodded. “Of course, such as a time limit to complete my task. Should we say an hour?”
I jolted and my eyes widened. “You think it’ll take you an hour?”
Annoyance glanced through him. “No, I think it’ll take me less than fifteen minutes.”
I stared at him hard. “Then make it fifteen minutes.”
Amusement tugged at his smile. “No, you misunderstand. Just because I can do it in fifteen minutes doesn’t mean I will. I’d prefer to take my time with you.”
Well, fuck if that didn’t turn me on, just a little—but he didn’t need to know that. “It’s late,” I said. “Aren’t you tired?”
He paused, hesitant to reveal it but then accepted it. “I suffer from insomnia, so, yes. But I am always tired. I would rather give you pleasure for the next hour than spend it on the treadmill, working myself to the point of exhaustion.”
It was impossible not to picture him running, beads of sweat darting erratically down his amazing chest. I swallowed thickly. “What do I get if I win?”
Some of Macalister’s looks were easy to read, and this was one of them. There was no doubt in his mind I’d lose, and he was only humoring me with his answer. “Then I won’t ask again.”
He was entirely too smug, and his confidence reminded me not to underestimate him. He’d done that with me, and I’d made him look bad. It was smart to be cautious.
I’d gotten close to orgasm once with a partner. I’d been tipsy and high, and my boyfriend at the time had gone down on me long enough to make me wonder if he was going to get me there. Macalister had been married twice, so it stood to reason he wasn’t clueless about sex. His personality was persistent and methodical. Given a full hour, he might be able to do it with his tongue.