"Hate?" He crossed to the sofa and sat, then patted the seat next to him so that she could sit beside him.
She hesitated, then complied. That was the point, right? The reason she'd come. To give in to him. To do what he said so that he would do the show.
"Hate?" he repeated, this time sounding thoughtf
ul. "What is hate but the other side of love?" He put his hand on her leg, just above the hem of her skirt, and she felt her body respond. Threads of electricity that shot through her, making her ache with long-remembered desire. Making her crave the touch of the Spencer she'd once loved with all of her heart and soul.
She was wearing a simple cotton skirt and a button-down blouse that she'd picked to wear to The Fix. She wanted to look both like she belonged at a bar and professional. If she'd realized Spence was going to lay his claim tonight, she'd have considered pants and a long-sleeve shirt. Boots, too.
Gently, he eased up the skirt's hem, his thumb dancing along her skin in a sensual pattern that was making her body respond even while her mind tried to clamp down. Tendrils of desire twirled through her, and she felt a keen ache of longing building in her breasts and between her thighs.
Damn him--and damn her body for remembering the touch of a very different Spencer.
She fought a whimper as his hand eased higher up her thigh, his fingertip teasing close to the edge of her panties.
"And trust me, baby. I don't love you anymore." Slowly, he drew his hand higher, his finger moving along the elastic band as she sat stiff as a board, trying not to react. "So how could I possibly hate you?"
The words seemed to reach out to her, squeezing her heart painfully.
She closed her eyes, wishing she weren't in this room with him. Wishing everything was different.
"Look at me."
There was a softness in his voice that unnerved her, and she turned her head to comply. His mouth made a dangerous slash beneath his beard. His brown eyes burned as hard as stone. Whatever tenderness she'd imagined wasn't apparent in his face. On the contrary, he was looking at her with such a fierce intensity she had to fight the urge to get up and leave.
That's what he wanted, of course. He wanted out. Out of the show. Away from her.
A heartbeat passed with their eyes locked on each other. Then he slowly looked down, not in defeat, but as if that part of the game was up and he was moving on to the next challenge. She exhaled, not realizing she'd been holding her breath. She felt all twisted up. This man beside her was Spencer, dammit. A man who once would have laid down his life for her.
Now, he wanted to destroy her.
She'd done that.
For a moment, she considered telling him the truth. She could explain what had happened. The bargain she'd made with the devil on Richie's behalf. Maybe now, her father wouldn't leak his record. Or, maybe now Spencer wouldn't care if he did.
But she couldn't make herself say the words. She'd made that sacrifice for a different man--not the Spencer who sat beside her playing emotional and sexual games.
"I think it's time to see what I've been missing all these years. Stand up, baby, and strip for me."
He said the words as casually as if he were ordering a sandwich. Then he reached over and poured a glass of champagne. He held it out to her, but she kept her hands firmly at her sides. He shrugged, then swallowed. "Liquid courage," he said. "I thought it might help."
"Fuck you," she said, then stood and walked in front of him. He'd seen her naked hundreds of times. So why not strip for him now? It didn't mean anything, after all. Nothing except that he was a manipulative prick, and she was a woman who'd sacrificed her pride for the sake of her business.
But she could live with that. She'd gone in with eyes open, after all.
"Is this the kind of man you are now?" she asked as her fingers went to the buttons on her blouse.
"Don't pretend like you don't know what kind of man I am. What kind of man I've always been."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"A guy who's all wrong for a girl like you. Wrong family. Wrong neighborhood. Wrong dreams."
Temper flared. "That's bullshit, and you--"
"Strip," he said, cutting her words off with one tight, harsh syllable.
She wanted to argue, but he simply pointed to her now unbuttoned shirt.