Incentive (Infidelity Universe)

I draw in a shredded breath. “I fuck them…sometimes.”

“Define sometimes.”

“I don’t know.” I give him a shrug and play it off.

He’s going to figure out something’s wrong with me, and for whatever reason, I don’t want him to think less of me.

“Give me an estimate,” he says. “Do you fuck them fifty-percent of the time? Once a week? Every other—”

“Twice.” Why did I just admit that?

“Twice a week?” Not a hint of judgment in his tone.

I shake my head. “Twice in two years.”

His breath catches, and something sparks in his eyes before he closes them.

“Thank you.” When his lashes lift, his gaze roams my face, his expression contemplative. “Since we’re leaving in the morning—”

“I’m leaving tomorrow. You’re—”

He presses a finger against my lips. “I need to take care of something before we go.” He removes his hand to glance at his watch. “I’ll do that tonight.”

“I told you—”

“I won’t be gone long.” He looks around the room. “Is this where we’re sleeping?”

“This is my room.” The thought of sharing a bed with him skyrockets my pulse. “Your room’s on the other side of the penthouse.”

“Tonight, we’re just sharing a bed.” He cups my jaw, his eyes as steely as his voice. “Nothing more.”

He fists my hair and angles my head back, the possessive hold causing my objection to come out as a squeak of noise. I peer up at him, breathless, and find him staring at my mouth. Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to?

No. Definitely not.

My heart flutters. My lips feel tingly, hyper-sensitive, and swollen, and he hasn’t even lowered his head.

When he leans back instead of closing the distance, every cell in my body protests. This isn’t good. He captivates me, terrifies me, and turns my brain into a rattletrap of conflicting wants. No man should have this much power over a woman.

He claimed he’s still here because of the agreement, but why did he sign the damn thing in the first place? Money? Power? Sex? Isn’t that what every man wants?

They all want something from me. They take, take, take, because why not? I’m rich and famous and don’t have feelings. They’re all smiles and compliments and promises…right before they stab me in the back. Literally.

“I can’t do this.” I push at his chest. “I don’t do sleepovers. Not with anyone.”

“I don’t either, but this is going to be a venture in exceptions.” He releases me, slides off the bed, and stalks toward the door.

I scramble after him. “I’m calling Infidelity and canceling the agreement.”

“Okay.” He tosses a cocky smirk over his shoulder. “You’ll call Ms. Flores. She’ll tell you you’re shit out of luck. You’ll spend the rest of the night lamenting Infidelity. Then I’ll come back, slip into bed behind you, and hold you close. You’ll put up a good fight, but you’ll eventually wriggle that ass against me.” A wolfish grin. “Because you find me irresistible.”

“Oh my God, you have such a huge head.”

“I know, and you want it thrusting inside you. But I insist we get to know each other first.” He opens the door. “See you in a couple hours.”

“Don’t you dare come ba—”

The door shuts, leaving me aroused and fuming and completely off-kilter. What the hell just happened?

I flex and loosen my hands. He might be right about some things, but I’m still in control here. He’ll be running the other way by the end of the night.

CHAPTER 9

DECKER

I leave the beautiful Miss Somerset shaken—just enough to keep her guessing—and stroll through the empty living room with a heady surge of energy.

Laynee’s the last person I expected, and while she might be a frustrating pain in the ass with a closet full of baggage, I’m goddamn giddy over the thought of sparring with her again.

Tonight.

In her bed.

I meant it when I said I don’t do sleepovers. Most of my hookups end with the woman begging me to stay as I pry her off my body and make my escape. Laynee might be gorgeous and wealthy, but I can find women like that all over the city, and I don’t have to do shit to spark their interest. The thing is I want to work for it, and Laynee’s thrown down the gauntlet. The faster she retreats, the harder I’m going to chase.

Grabbing my jacket from the chair in the sitting room, I wander down a hallway and find Reese in the kitchen. Bent over the island, he’s engrossed by his phone.

“Let’s go.” I nod in the direction of the elevator.

“Go?” He straightens. “Where?”

“I need to see a guy. Just a quick trip to the Village and back.”

“Oh. Okay.” He glances down the hall toward the master suite, brows scrunching. “I need to…uh…”

“Run along and ask permission. I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

Shrugging on my jacket, I find my way out. The short walk leads me past two…four…five security guards. Some are loitering. Others are coming and going. When I reach the front lobby of the penthouse, another guard sits in a chair beside the card reader for the lift.