Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(20)

His brow scrunched into a firm line. "You've never had a boyfriend?"

"Nope." I shook my head. "I've dated, but never long enough to hit the boyfriend-girlfriend milestone."

"Any particular reason?"

"Not really." I shrugged. "I've just never found anyone who kept my  interest longer than three or four dates. I'm aware that makes me sound  like I'm scared of commitment, but in reality, I just don't like wasting  time. And not just my time-anyone's time. If I'm not feeling it or shit  feels forced, then it's better to end it than let something continue  when I know it's not going to work out in the end."

Thatch nodded in agreement. "I respect that."

"Really?" I asked and squinted a little in surprise. Not that I had ever  made a point to care what other people thought about my life choices,  but Thatch's neutral reaction was the opposite of pretty much everyone.  Hell, even my mother-who for most of her life had encouraged me to do  what made me happy-had recently started bombarding me with questions  about whether or not I'd ever settle down. Although, I had a feeling  that concern was more focused on the second female biological clock, the  one people forgot to mention, than anything else: Grandchildren.

"Yes, Cass." He tapped my foot and offered a small smile. "I definitely  respect the fact that you're open and honest and don't beat around the  fucking bush when it comes to relationships. I wish more women had that  mind-set. Most would probably find that waiting on the right man is  better than settling with some dipshit who doesn't deserve them. And  it's more respectful to the other party than pretending to be all in  when you're not."

For some reason, the softness in his coffee-colored eyes had me giving  him more insight into my life and lack of relationship history. "In  college, I never had a boyfriend because I didn't want a boyfriend. I  was one of those rare girls who enjoyed being single and just doing my  own thing. And once I graduated and started my career, I was traveling  all the time in the beginning. Four months would go by, and I'd maybe be  in New York for a week or two, tops. That lifestyle never really made a  relationship possible."

"Do you still travel that much?"

"Fuck no. But that's only because all of that traveling paid off. I paved my own path and created a good reputation for myself."

"A reputation that generally revolves around taking pics of half-naked men?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"What can I say? I have an eye for good-looking men, muscles, and  sometimes, a nice, thick bulge in a pair of Calvin Klein's," I declared  with a wink.

I expected him to retort with something about his thick bulge, but he  merely laughed and continued to massage my feet, working those big hands  up to my calves.

Hmmm … maybe Thatcher Kelly could be serious every once in a while?

I glanced at the clock on the cable box and saw it was nearly ten  o'clock. "Well, roomie, I better hit the hay. I have to be out the door  before dawn for a shoot in the Hamptons."

He removed my feet from his lap and stood, holding out a hand to help pull me off the couch.

"What are you doing?" I asked as I got to my feet in front of him. My  eyes scrutinized his, waiting for him to raise the white flag and tell  me to go home-which would mean the ultimate prankster would officially  be dethroned from his royal throne of pranking and I would walk away  victorious.

Say it! Say it! Say it! I chanted in my head.         

     



 

"I'm going to bed too."

Huh?

"We're both going to bed? Right now? In your bed?"

"I think you can start calling it our bed now, baby," he said with a wink as he walked toward the hall.

I followed his lead into his bedroom, until we were both standing in  front of the his and hers sinks in his master bathroom. Thatch seemed to  be completely at ease, brushing his teeth, peeing-in front of me-and  then, washing his hands. A few minutes later, he was cozied up in bed  while I remained in the bathroom, just staring at my toothbrush, which  he had kindly set in my hand.

"If you forgot toothpaste, feel free to borrow mine," he called from the bed.

"Uh … thanks," I muttered.

As I brushed my teeth and stared at my reflection in the mirror, I  started to wonder what tricks Thatch had up his sleeve. I had a feeling  he had a plan in place, and no way in hell was I going to let him one-up  me without already having some plans of my own.

I crawled into bed beside him, fluffing the pillows and patting the  plush white comforter around my body. "Good night," I said into the dark  room.

"Night, Cass," he responded, and I swore I could hear a smirk in his voice.

And because I truly loved fucking with him, I finished the "good nights"  off by reaching under the covers, grabbing his package, and whispering,  "Good night, Supercock."

He chuckled softly a few times, and to my surprise, Thatch's big hands didn't even try to cop a feel of my tits.

That's not disappointment you're feeling, I told myself as a weird hollowness took shape in my belly. Really.

Within a few minutes, I could hear his breaths easing in and out at a slow and steady pace.

As I lay awake beside the sleeping giant, his soft breaths lulling me  toward sleep of my own, I tried to make sense of his act of utter  contentment.

The only explanation I could find was that the prankster had already planned his next move.

Game on, motherfucker.





"A week," I said into the webcam, rubbing at the tight skin of my forehead.

"What?" Kline asked. I wanted to poke out his overly amused blue eyes.

"She's been living with me for a fucking week, dude."

Boisterous laughter filled my ears, and I flipped him the bird since I  knew he could see it. Well, he'd be able to see it when his head came  forward again after his all-out humor-seizure, anyway.

"So she's there a week. What's the big deal?" he asked as he shuffled  some stupid papers from one side of his desk to the other. His voice had  finally evened, but a smile still swallowed his face from ear to ear.

"The big deal is that I made her an omelet this morning because she told  me to, and we haven't had any more sex. That office blow job is the  last activity my dick saw. Taking orders and not being rewarded? I don't  even know who I am anymore."

"Have you tried to have sex with her?"

Well, I mean …  Not really. I'd expected it would just happen. I chose not  to tell Kline that, and he pretty obviously took it to mean the  opposite.

"Right. I forgot who I was talking to."

Yeah, yeah. I had the friend vote for Most Likely to Become a Prostitute wrapped up.

"So ask her to leave," he said seriously, looking straight into the camera and raising an eyebrow in challenge.

This was a test, and I was definitely going to fail. Or pass, depending on what he wanted from me. Fuck.

I didn't want her to leave. She was entertaining and funny and so  goddamn hot my retinas burned just thinking about her. But the whole  "look but don't touch" thing was really starting to wear out my stamina,  and not in the good way. Plus, I still couldn't figure out what the  fuck was going on. I knew she was pranking me. I knew it. But it didn't  even remotely feel like it.

I also didn't really want to give Kline the inch he was so desperately stretching for.

I fought the natural change in my features to keep my expression neutral. "And give in first? No fucking way."

I never give in first.

He smiled at that and shook his head, tilting it down to look at his  phone at some kind of naked picture of Georgie, no doubt. His eyes came  back to me, a full Tyra Banks smize engaged.



What? So I like America's Next Top Model. Sue me.



"Why aren't you driving this little game?" he asked, clicking the lock  button on the side of his phone and setting it on his desk. "You seem to  be sitting back and letting her call the shots, and that's not normally  your style."

"You're right," I agreed, doodling some flames on a nearby Post-it note. "That's not my style."         

     



 

I didn't wait and see, I did. I didn't let things happen; I made them.  And no woman was going to outlast me. First rule of life: the woman  always goes first. Through doors, into orgasm, and in this case,  crumbling to the pressure in a battle of wills.

"Fuck right," I went on, truly fired up now. I probably should have paid  more attention to the smirk on Kline's face, but apparently, I wasn't  quite done being young and impressionable no matter how old I got.




"Oh, honey!" I called as I stepped through the door to my apartment, a  new sense of purpose in my step. I'd been inside Cassie's mouth, and  pussy, and by the end of this night, I was going to repeat both.

I was fucking determined.

"Cassie?" I called when she didn't answer, surveying the apartment with a  keen eye. Nothing looked amiss. No new boxes of tampons littered the  kitchen counter, and there was no Hello Kitty throw blanket on the  couch.