Playing the Billionaire's Game

‘You don’t want this,’ he warned.

‘Who are you to tell me what I want and don’t want? A thief? A liar?’ Her words struck him like bullets.

‘I have never lied to you.’

‘Then tell me you’re not attracted to me.’

He clamped his jaw shut but it did nothing to prevent the growl in his throat. Carefully and deliberately, he placed one foot and then the other on the decking and turned himself out of the hammock, his eyes neither on her or the horizon but somewhere in between. As if holding off the inevitable for as long as possible.

Finally, he faced her and he swallowed the curse on his tongue. Th

e Prussian-blue silk negligée hung from thin shoulder straps, dipping in a Vee into a diamond panel that hugged her stomach beneath breasts so perfect his mouth watered. The bias cut ensured that the silk, shimmering beneath the moonlight, skated over the dips and swells of her hips and thighs, dusky shadows hinting at the secrets of her body. Long locks of rich auburn hair fell against the deep blue of the negligée, making her look more regal than any queen. But the look in her eyes as she took him in, running over his shirtless torso and snagging on the trousers hanging low on his waist, her pupils wide and shining in the moonlight...that was what nearly undid him. He fisted his hands at his sides and then forced them open.

‘I’m not a Neanderthal,’ he said, although it was quite possibly the first lie he’d told her. ‘I can be attracted to a woman and not act on it, for God’s sake.’

Sia was confused, hurt and more than a little frustrated. He’d made her want. He’d made her confront her feelings, her desire for him. And it was overwhelming and she ached. For him but just as much for herself. She wanted to be the passionate, bold person he had met at Victoriana, the woman who drank with billionaires, wore turquoise dresses, danced and laughed. But, more than that, she wanted to be the person who reached for what she wanted, for what she knew was right. But now he was refusing to let her. The playboy who had whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, didn’t want her?

‘Why would you do this?’ She couldn’t help the tremor in her tone.

‘I didn’t do it for me, Sia. I did it for you,’ he said, easing a hand over his face as if frustrated. ‘So that you realise that it’s okay to be a passionate, vibrant woman who owns not only her desires but has the courage to act on them safely.’

‘And you’re not safe?’

‘Not to you.’

All this time she’d thought of passion as chaotic, scary, unbalanced, but that was because of what her mother had experienced, how her mother had behaved—selfish and needy, it had all been about her. But also, Sia believed, because it had been one-sided. Her father hadn’t loved her mother and it had made her crazy.

Sebastian was attracted to her, and she wanted to know what that was like, what it felt like. Because suddenly it seemed as if it would be something beautiful, as if it would be the coming together of two halves of a whole. What had he said? He didn’t have to act on it. Perhaps they didn’t, but she wanted so much just to allow herself to feel it.

‘Would you...’ she said, struggling to find the words to ask for what she wanted. ‘Would you just stand here with me? No words. Just for a minute. I... I just want to know what it feels like.’

She thought she’d have to explain what she meant, but understanding shifted across his features and after a moment he nodded. She walked out onto the decking to meet him, not breaking the connection of his gaze. He watched her as if both wary and wanting.

She came to a stop a few inches from him, the distance greater than when they had danced together and yet so much more intimate. She tried to tell herself his body was nothing she hadn’t seen before, in paintings, statues, pictures and even in person from the opposite side of the room. But being so close to Sebastian, his bare chest a study in perfection, was altogether completely different. Her pulse beat erratically and she inhaled slowly and deeply, attempting to soothe it.

She glanced at Sebastian, expecting to see a knowing, taunting gaze in his eyes but no, that wasn’t what she found. Instead, he seemed to be watching everything about her, taking in as much as possible in exactly the same way as she had been and there was nothing remotely humorous in his gaze. When his eyes joined hers there was such a serious intensity there, something beyond words, beyond explanation or justification. She felt it in every single inch of her body, this strange sense of being known, seen.

And then, in a heartbeat, it changed.

It was as if a flame had been lit beneath their feet, licking up their flesh in an undulating tide, utterly overwhelming and urgent, demanding and angry almost. This time, when she caught his eyes, all she could feel was the power of just how much he wanted her and how much he fought it and it was incredible to behold.

She felt it, the moment he wanted to break the connection, the second before he would turn away.

‘If I sleep with you, do you expect me not to go to the police about the painting?’ she blurted out.

‘What?’ Sebastian replied, clearly confused at the turn of the conversation. ‘Of course not!’ he said, as if outraged by the suggestion.

‘If I sleep with you, will you ignore my wishes, my words, if I say stop...?’

‘Sia, no. There will be no—’

‘If I sleep with you—’

‘This is not a game Sia. This is—’

‘My choice, is it not?’ She paused, waiting for him to interrupt. When he didn’t she pressed on, her breath high with hope in her lungs, ‘If I say stop?’

‘Of course I would stop,’ he said shortly.