The Truth About Numbnuts and Chubbs(28)

"I see." She steepled her fingers under her chin. "Perhaps I ought to specify a few things too."

"I'm the one paying. I get to have you my way."

"Get a hooker or one of those fancy escorts. I'm sure you can afford the best."

"I don't want one of them. I don't use prostitutes," he muttered. "I just want you."

"You think money buys everything, Numbnuts?"

"Everything I want."

She smiled. "But not this time."

The plane doors were closed now and they were taxiing. It was to late to throw her ungrateful, sexy ass off. "The terms aren't negotiable."

"We'll see. I have demands too."

Irritable he scratched his jaw. "Like what?"

"I might specify that you show me a doctor's certificate."

"For?" he demanded, incredulous.

"Isn't that obvious?" Now she raised both eyebrows, looking at him again. "In this day and age. Not to mention your reputation."

Ben bit his tongue. "Right."

"I would specify that you wear a condom, each and every time. The last thing I need is to get pregnant."

"Hmmm." He saw her breasts moving under her shirt and knew she was braless again. The point of her right nipple was clearly outlined, poking against the material each time she made a slight movement or took a deep breath. Ben's mouth watered. "You're not on the pill?"

"It didn't agree with me." Aha. He'd actually made her a little flustered. Color rose in her face and she uncrossed her legs. "I have to make an appointment with the doctor to try something else. I haven't had the chance since I got back."

He ran a finger over his lower lip, examining her thoughtfully. "So I could have gotten you pregnant the other night." His cock would need to be adjusted in a minute, but he'd wait until she looked out of the window again.

"It's doubtful." A faint line appeared between her brows and she pursed her lips.

"Why?" He grinned. "Once is all it takes."

A sharp laugh escaped her tight mouth. "You assume you're Mr. Fertility, of course."

"I'm firing on all cylinders."

"Why? How many little bastards have you fathered?"

"None. Yet."

"So you could be like your cousin." She was inferring he might have a low sperm count too. Like poor Carl who'd been put through a barrage of tests when Helena decided she wanted a baby.

"I'm not. If I wanted to get you knocked up woman, I would."

She shook her head dismissively. "Wonderful. Classy."

"Like I told you, that's why I need you around. Add a touch of elegance to Petruska Industries."

"Can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."

He rubbed his chin, eyeing her knees. "Come to think of it, our kids would be pretty damn cute. Maybe I should add a clause to that contract."

"Something about breeding me perhaps?" she demanded with a sniff.

"Exactly. Not a bad idea." Damn his prick was uncomfortably trapped in his pants.

"You really do belong in the dark ages, Petruska. Although I'm not sure how you'd handle a woman in a chastity belt."

Ben stared at her mouth and his seed surged. "I'd pick the lock."

Her eyes found his again and held them.

"Then I'd fuck you nice and hard," he added. "The way you like it."

She fidgeted in the seat, but didn't look away. "Oh, does that matter?" she asked politely. "The way I like it? I thought this contract was all about you and your terms."

"It matters that you enjoy it."

"And if I don't? If you're not the lover you think you are?"

He was so aroused and pent up he began to get angry. "Trying to say you didn't enjoy it the other night? How many times did you come again? Remind me."

She sighed again, fluttered her lashes. "Maybe I faked it."

That did it. He felt the steam coming out of his ears. The plane paused at the end of the runway. "Buckle up," he growled. "We may hit turbulence."



* * * *



She hadn't slept much last night, going over his funny contract in her mind. He couldn't really think she'd go for it. He knew her well enough, surely.

Did people really still do this sort of thing? Or maybe only in his world. A world he insisted was the same as everyone else's. Even though it clearly wasn't.

It was tempting to say "yes", to become a part of his luxurious life and give herself up to being pampered like a pet poodle. But Bryony had a brain. Sadly it kept intruding.

He was very precise in the terms of that contract, but only when it came to what she had to say and do. There was significantly little text regarding his behavior. He seemed to think the only thing she needed from him—the only thing he could give her— was an orgasm and money.