She gave a short laugh. Then tipping back her head, she drained his glass before setting it back down on the table beside him. “You’re going to invest.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re right. I do want you.” She took a breath, her eyes glittering in the light. “Tell me what you want from me, Gabriel.”
The sound of his name was like an arrow, piercing him straight through. It had never sounded so erotic. Holy fuck, it had been worth all the times she’d called him “Mr. Woolf” just to hear her say it.
His muscles tightened, fighting the urge to get up and grab her, tear the clothes from her, push her up against the wall, and have her sink her sharp, hungry claws into him. The beast, all that black passion, threatening to break free.
But it wouldn’t. It just fucking wouldn’t. Yes, he wanted her and he wanted her pretty damn badly. Yet he wasn’t about to break years of perfect self-control over his urges just because one small, blue-eyed, black-haired woman said his name.
“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked softly.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” She paused. “And I’m tired of you holding the reins.” She moved, stepping over his outstretched legs, putting her hands on the arms of his chair and leaning forward. Aggressive as hell and fucking sexy. “I want the control back. So how’s this for a deal? If you don’t invest in Tremain hotels then I won’t fuck you.”
* * *
She’d never done this before in her whole life, come on strong to a man who was a virtual stranger to her. It was like having an out-of-body experience. The scotch had gone straight to her head—mainly because she’d also had a glass of wine beforehand for liquid courage—but the thing that was really making her buzz was the adrenaline. A great, surging rush of it, making her say things she never thought she’d say, do things she never thought she’d do.
Gabriel sat in his chair, his big, long body utterly still. The light from the lamp on the table at his side threw the powerful lines of his face into shadow, his eyes so dark she could have sworn they were black. But she could see the heat in them. Feel it radiating from him.
He wasn’t in his leathers tonight, wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt instead, the fabric pulled tight over the incredible muscles of his chest. The simple clothing only emphasized how sexy he was, all muscle and power and heat. Like the motorcycle he rode.
With an icy heart. Don’t forget that.
Oh, no. She wouldn’t. He was a game player, cold and calculating. Using what he could to get what he wanted. But that was fine, she wasn’t after anything more.
What she wanted was control over this situation. Over the intense physical feelings that flooded through her whenever he was around. She was sick of him keeping her on the back foot all the time, surprising her, shocking her. It was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Get back a little bit of the power. And like him, she would use whatever weapon she could.
Tonight her weapon of choice was sex.
It was a potentially dangerous move, but she was strong. As long as she was in control, she’d be able to handle him without losing herself.
“That,” Gabriel said softly, “is a very compelling argument.”
He didn’t smell of warmth and musky leather now. He smelled of winter, pine and fresh snow, the bite of ice at the back of the throat. “I take it you’ll be investing then?”
“With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”
“Didn’t think you would.” Her gaze moved over his body, a rolling kind of heat moving through her veins. He was so not the kind of man she’d ever thought she’d want. Rough and dominant and raw, without an ounce of smoothness or polish in him. So not her type. Yet she wanted him all the same. Because some part of her loved the danger of him. Loved that he had no slick, sophisticated veneer nor felt the need to have one. And appreciated, too, his brutal honesty.
“You asked what I wanted,” he said into the thick silence of the room.
She looked into his eyes. “Tell me.”
“I want you to lift your skirt. Get in my lap. Fuck me right here. Right now.”
The heat in her veins ignited. He didn’t move, didn’t try to touch her or reach for her. Only pinned her to the spot with those black eyes and his dark voice, the words harsh, blunt, and erotic.
Yes, he was dangerous. Because she wanted to do all those things he’d said. Prove herself to him in some way. Prove that she wasn’t afraid, that she would meet any challenge he set.
Be careful. Don’t let the rush go to your head.
“You don’t think I’ll do it, do you?” she murmured.
“Perhaps you won’t. This is a public area and the door isn’t locked.”
“Do those things bother you?”
“No. But they bother you, don’t they?”
Honor straightened up and still he didn’t move, only sat there, watching her. He was hard, she could see the rigid line of his erection through the denim of his jeans. He made no move to hide it and for some reason, she liked that very much indeed. He wanted her and that knowledge gave her power.
God, are you really going to do this?
Well, she hadn’t come in here to talk, had she? Besides, he didn’t think she would. Which meant she had to. Yes, it was probably another mind game he was playing with her, but she had her own she wanted to play. Let him think she would do what he told her to. Let him believe she was at his mercy. It would make it extra sweet when she turned around and showed him exactly who he was dealing with here.
She didn’t turn to check the door, moving toward him, sliding her skirt up to her thighs so she could straddle him. It was kind of awkward in a pencil skirt, the fabric stretching tight as she placed one knee down on the chair cushion on either side of him. There wasn’t a hell of a lot of room but she managed it, kneeling upright, looking down into his face. The heat of his body was intense, searing the insides of her knees where they touched his thighs. She almost didn’t want to sit down, half-afraid she might go up in flames on the spot. But fear wasn’t part of this equation so she ignored the feeling, slowly lowering herself so she was sitting in his lap.
He remained motionless as she sat, her hands gripping the back of the chair, and she could feel the vibrating tension in him, his muscles coiled and tight beneath her. The look in his eyes burned, the line of his jaw rigid.
“This,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “is how much they bother me.”
Another silence fell, so thick and charged she could hardly breathe.
He had his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers loosely linked together. His gaze dropped down her body to where her thighs were spread on either side of his. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Now that she was here, the physical reality of him beneath her, no, not really. But it was too late to pull back now, at least not without revealing herself. She’d chosen to do this and she was committed. As long as she remained in control of herself, she’d be okay.
“I’m sure.”
Gabriel unlinked his fingers, moving the tips of them to the hem of her skirt, touching lightly. “You’d better. Because if you think I’m going to suddenly turn into some kind of good guy at the last moment, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I don’t.” Her voice sounded thick, not like hers at all.
Painfully slowly, he began to ease her skirt up her thighs. “I meant what I said about what I want, Honor.”
She swallowed, her throat dry, her heart hammering in her chest as he raised her skirt higher and higher. “You sound like you’re the one having second thoughts,” she said, trying to sound cool and knowing she didn’t.
“Just making sure you know that you don’t have to do this. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll stop at any time.”
Her skirt was now up around her hips, his attention on where her thighs were spread on either side of his. “I … I’m not going to say the word.”
“Black lace,” he murmured. “My favorite.” He ran the tip of one finger up her inner thigh and she shivered, heat washing through her, the heavy, insistent ache settling down between her thighs. He shifted his hands, palms resting hard and hot just above her knees, his thumbs brushing back and forth on the soft skin of her inner thighs.
She couldn’t seem to stop shaking, that nagging ache gathering tighter and tighter.
“You know what I think?” Gabriel said softly. “I think you’re playing head games with me, baby.”
Honor gripped the back of the chair, looking down at him. She felt the same as she had on the back of his bike. Terrified and yet exhilarated, with all that power and contained energy between her thighs. A machine capable of giving intense excitement and yet also the possibility of complete destruction. Except Gabriel wasn’t a machine, he was a man. Which somehow made him all the more dangerous.
Like you didn’t know that already.
She swallowed. “What head games?”
“Being a good girl and doing what I want.” His stroking thumbs inched higher, making the breath stutter in her throat. “Do you actually want this or are you doing it to push me? To prove something?”