Page 34 of Heated (Burned, Inc.)
She thrusts a hand through her curls, and though I just convinced myself I need her cooperation more than sex, that doesn’t stop me from wanting to bat that hand away and assume its place. It doesn’t require too much imagination to feel the phantom caress of those thick strands over my palm, between my fingers, and over the backs of my hands. A little coarse but silken. Soft yet textured.
Your rules,I remind myself, curling my fingers into my thigh.And you just made them five fucking seconds ago.
“Seriously. And I don’t care what you tell her to make it happen. Just make it happen.”
After a long moment, she gives an abrupt nod. “What else?”
“If we’re going to pull this ...” Hell, words fail me at the moment on what to call it. “Off and convince people we are a real couple, then we need to spend time together. A lot of time since we only have a month. So I can’t have you reneging on me later out of some misguided loyalty to Val.”
“Hold on.” She throws up a hand, palm out. “What exactly does that mean? ‘Spend time together.’ So if you call and want a playdate and I can’t make it, what happens? Do you follow through on that threat to tell Val that I screwed up? That’s not fair. I have a life. Family. Real friends. Suddenly rearranging my life so you’re the center of it isn’t easy or reasonable.”
Real friends. Family.
I hate that those three words punch me hard in the sternum. Hate that she can claim those in the plural, and I can count only Jordan. I shove it off. Same as I don’t address her assertion that I would go to Val. Not a chance in hell that would happen, but if Zora assumes that? I mentally shrug. This is a business arrangement. A negotiation. And in negotiations, it’s about advantage and getting the most for your client, not always about what’s easy, fair, or reasonable. In this instance, I’m my own client.
“Those are the terms,” I say.
“Shit,” she mutters, pinching her forehead. Then she blows out a low breath. “Fine. But can we add a clause? I’ll be your beck-and-call girl like a good littlePretty Woman, minus the illicit paid-for sex, but I also get five get-out-of-jail-free times when I can say no without being penalized ... or threatened.”
“One.”
“Three,” she shoots back.
“Fine.” I pause. Smile. “I would’ve given you five.”
“You must be one hell of an attorney.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Suppressing a rusty chuckle that scrapes at my throat, I rap my knuckles on the arm of the chair. “Back to the terms. This agreement remains between us.”
She snorts. “Will you be sending me another NDA?”
“I don’t think I need to. I trust you to keep quiet.”
“Trust me.” She shakes her head. “This is weird as hell. But fine. How do I explain this”—she waves a hand back and forth between us—“to someone anyway?”
“Good point.” I shrug. “One more item.” Dropping all pretenses of casualness and humor, I stare directly into her eyes. “No lies, Zora. Don’t lie to me.”
That something—that almost bleak, fearfulsomethingthat I glimpsed earlier—passes through her eyes, darkening them.
This time I do reach for her. Lightly but firmly grasping her chin, I tip her head back. It’s my first time touching her, and that skin is as smooth, as soft, as I imagined. But savoring it, indulging in the pleasure of it against my own flesh, takes second place to that flash of sadness, of fear. They cinch my ribs like the strongest of vises, and the primal need to confront, to tear down, whatever or whoever causes that emotion in her gaze surges within me.
“What’s wrong?”
In her favor, she doesn’t pretend to not know what I’m referring to. But not in her favor—and to my frustration—she shakes her head and circles her fingers around my wrist. My gaze dips, for some reason utterly fascinated that the tips can’t meet. Heat flickers, then waves inside of me like a banner in a hot summer wind. Why I find that sexual, I can’t explain and don’t try to. But I lower my hand from her face, gritting my teeth against the instinctive need to rub at the place where her fingers wrapped around me, feeling their brand.
“Answer me, Zora. What’s wrong?” I ask again, injecting a note of steel in my tone.
And like last time, she looks at me, obeys.
And like last time, lust licks at me, ravenous and insatiable.
“I have my own term to add,” she murmurs. “You want my cooperation and ... friendship. You want my honesty. Then we don’t get personal. I’ll go on this retreat, and I’ll give you my assistance so you have a chance at winning this partnership, but you can’t compel what I give you of myself. I choose that. Now, that’s my stipulation.” Her chin hikes up. “Take it or leave it.”
Just because of my nature, I want to argue. But admiration rolls through me. So does curiosity. And greed.
