Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

"Oh." I clear my throat, then take another sip of wine. "I just mean that sex is like a dance. Or a symphony. You can't jump straight to the climax. You need the rise. The crescendo."

"I think you're confusing sex and romance." He's looking down at his drink, his hands clutching the side of the counter so tightly that his knuckles are white. After a moment, though, he looks up, his blue eyes dark with a pain I don't understand, but can't deny. "What I want--what I'm paying for--is the cymbal crash at the end. That release. That moment when everything shatters. I'm not paying for pretty words and flowers."

I start to protest, but keep my mouth shut. Because you know what? He's right. That is what he's paying for.

And it's not like I really came here to be seduced. I'm not delusional. I just didn't expect things to move quite so fast. But if he wants the whole wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am experience, then who am I to argue? As they say, the customer is always right. And tonight, that would be him.

As for me...

I already stepped out of my comfort zone by coming here. So unless Lyle pushes for something truly scary, I need to remember that I came with a goal. And walking away now isn't going to help save my house.

I finish off the last of my wine in one very large gulp, then slide off my stool. I stand for a second, a little lightheaded and wobbly on the heels. At the same time, he comes around the bar, walking toward me.

"I'll stay," I say.

He stops walking. "What?"

"I said I'll stay." I draw in a breath, then exhale slowly as I meet his eyes. "That's why I'm here. Because you're paying, right? And that means you're calling the shots. So just tell me what to do."

My fingers go to the line of vertical buttons on the bodice. "Do you want me to just take it off? Should I get undressed and into bed? Do you want to rip the damn dress off me?" I meet his eyes defiantly, daring him to suggest that I don't have the moxie to be the wall he needs to wail against.

"I'm sorry I got out of sorts earlier," I continue, my fingers fumbling at the buttons. "But I'm good now. So let's rewind and start over. Tell me what you want and we'll go from there."

His hand closes over mine, stilling my nervous fingers. "Stop." His voice is gentle, and he says nothing else.

"What? Why?" I try to keep the frustration out of my voice, but I can't. I'm quivering from nerves and adrenaline and determination. I've decided to do this, and now I just want to get on with it. "Dammit, please. Just tell me what you want from me."

"What I want?" He traces his fingertip along the neckline of the bodice, making me shiver. "Isn't that a loaded question?" His touch dips into the small, open V made by the two unfastened buttons, and his finger barely strokes the curve of my breast.

I actually whimper.

"So much," he murmurs, the words so soft I can barely even hear them. Then he draws in a deep breath, lifts his head, and looks me in the eyes. "But I can't have any of it."

"But--"

He backs away, breaking contact, and leaving me feeling cold and hollow. "You were right the first time," he says. "You need to go."

I open my mouth to protest, then shut it again. My skin feels hot, and I know my face is burning with the deep red flush of mortification.

And then, before I can stop myself, I lash out and slap his face.

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth as tears stream down my face. I'm sorry, I say. Or I try to. The words don't come. Instead, I'm fleeing to the door, trying not to trip in the stupid shoes.

I yank the door open and race into the hall, then pause only long enough to slip out of the shoes. I bend and grab them, then take off again, sprinting for the elevator bank. There's someone else in the hallway, but I keep my head down, not wanting anyone to see my mortification.

When I reach the elevator, I jam my finger against the button, willing it to come faster. What the hell was I thinking? Did I really believe this was a way to make money?

But that's not the worst of it. I actually let myself feel. I trembled under his touch.

And, damn me, I wanted more.

Fuck.

I jab my finger against the button again. Then again and again, because where is the elevator? Where's my goddamned escape route?

It feels like an eternity passes before I hear the chime, though I know it's only seconds. The light above the middle set of doors flashes, and I step closer, eager to get on the moment those metal doors slide open.

They do, a couple gets off, and I'm about to enter when I hear him call, "Wait. Please, wait."