The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

He rose from his seat and spoke his warning in a soft voice. “I’m turning on the lights.”

When they flooded the room, I blinked, turned off my lamp, and pulled the headband down, sinking back to sit on my feet. My posture probably reflected my defeated attitude.

“Stand up.”

His tone was so sharp, it made me jolt, and a weird tendril of desire curled around me. I didn’t like being told what to do, so . . . why did I follow his order without hesitation?

He was pleased when I climbed to my feet, and his eyes sharpened with calculation.

“You want me to add some pressure?” The corner of his mouth hinted at a wicked smile. “Take off your clothes.”

I glanced at the doorway to the left, and then the one on my right since there were two exits. Neither door was closed. He’d said no one came in here, but his brother and sister-in-law were home, not to mention the staff. “Someone might walk in.”

“Yes, that’s the idea. I want you naked right fucking now, Emery. You can get dressed again once you’ve got my safe open.”

He’d poured flames on my body, and it burned up all the exhaustion and boredom I’d had moments ago. While I highly doubted anyone would catch us, this sexy game had a hint of danger, and more importantly—stakes.

I didn’t just approve; I was eager to play.

His pleased expression was back as I gripped the hem of my t-shirt and lifted it up over my head. His gaze zeroed in on my fingers as they worked to undo the button at the top of my jeans. And his eyes hooded with lust when my bra dropped to the rug.

Once I was naked except for the white latex gloves, he returned to his chair and sank down into it. He placed an elbow on the armrest and crooked a finger over his lips like a judge evaluating an audition. I was hot underneath his powerful stare, and uncomfortably turned on.

And I felt the worst of his pressure deep between my thighs.

“One more thing,” Vance said as I knelt in front of the safe. “In forty-five minutes, I’ll text Elliot and have him bring you a glass of water.”

Holy shit.

SIXTEEN

EMERY

Vance wasn’t kidding. His sexy and sinister expression said he was absolutely serious.

It was amazing what a little motivation could do. Suddenly, the tension was back in the dial. Suspicious clicks were easier to discern. My pencil hurried to plot out the different points, and even though I was naked and the air conditioning was strong, sweat blossomed on my skin.

An invisible clock loomed over my head, counting down and pushing urgency through everything I did. This timed puzzle had another layer too. I had to battle against the distraction of his relentless gaze on me. It hovered over my breasts, trailed down my waist, and caressed my thighs. It made me want to shiver, and I had to redo a rotation, worried I’d missed the click I was looking for around the number eighty-nine.

I marked a spike around fifty on my paper, dropped the pencil, and put my hand back on the dial, trying to steady myself. I couldn’t rush or I’d miss valuable information, but . . .

“Time?” I asked.

“Nineteen minutes left until I send my text.”

Fuck. I had less time than that to determine the four numbers, because I’d need time to try the different sequences.

Slow down, a voice in my head warned. Breathe.

Eighty-nine was definitely one of them, and I was starting to feel confident about the others—

In addition to my noise canceling headphones, I’d had my eyes closed to block everything out, so I hadn’t seen or heard him move. Vance knelt on the floor behind me, his knees on either side of my legs. His t-shirt covered chest pressed against my back as his hands grasped my waist.

It was a whole new level of distraction when his mouth trailed a line of kisses along the top of my bare shoulder. He pushed the curtain of my hair out of his way, moving up the curve of my neck.

“I can’t concentrate,” I whined.

“That’s the point,” he whispered, knowing to be quiet because of the microphone.

It got infinitely harder when he eased a hand between my legs and used his fingertips to strum my clit.

“Shit, don’t do that.” Only my breathless voice told him to keep going.

“Focus,” he commanded. His fingers massaged, and I weakened under their featherlight touch. Oh, God, it felt so good. I swallowed hard and stared at the dial, trying to ignore the man at my back who seemed to know exactly where to touch and kiss to derail me completely.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmured. “Spread your knees.”

It was so hard to tune him out, and doing what he said seemed the best way to conserve my time. He backed away from me as I widened my knees, and then I didn’t need to imagine the ticking clock because he set his phone face-up on the floor, showing the timer running onscreen.