His Wicked Games: A Billionaire Romance (The Cunningham Family #1) Page 14

  * * *

  After much deliberation, I decide to dress up for dinner. Maybe it makes me look desperate to sport a snug little black dress and strappy heels after what happened this morning, but I feel sexy and powerful when I walk into the dining room, and one look at Calder's expression tells me I've made the right decision. He can toy with me if he wants, but I'm going to toy right back. If this is a game of cat-and-mouse, then he needs to prepare himself for a mouse with a few weapons of her own.

  I sit down next to him, pretending to be oblivious to the way his eyes skim over my body.

  “Would you like some wine?” he asks me. “Or would you prefer whiskey again?”

  “Whiskey sounds good,” I reply. I need some liquid courage.

  He rises to go to the liquor cabinet, and I allow myself a peek at his backside as he walks away. After everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, I can't help but admire the way he fills out his pants. He, too, seems to have chosen nicer clothes for this particular meal. In his dark slacks and pressed sapphire shirt, this is the first time he actually looks the part of the billionaire playboy. He turns back around, and I quickly look down at my empty plate. I won't let him catch me checking him out.

  “You look very nice this evening,” he says when he returns to the table.

  “Nice?”

  He presses the glass of whiskey into my hand, and his fingers linger against my wrist.

  “Breathtaking,” he says, his voice low.

  It's the reaction I was hoping for, but I'm not sure how to respond. Instead I raise the glass to my lips, effectively extricating myself from his touch in the same motion.

  “I hope you had a pleasant afternoon,” he says when I lower the whiskey again.

  “Very relaxing.” I don't want him to think I agonized over what happened in the gallery. “I hope yours was productive as well.”

  “Productive, yes, I suppose. But not particularly enjoyable.”

  I refuse to take the bait and ask him why he didn't enjoy himself.

  “That's good.” I unfold my napkin and spread it across my lap. When I'm done, I reach out for my whiskey again, but instead of raising it to my lips, I slide my middle finger along the rim of the glass. His eyes follow the motion.

  “You know,” he says, his gaze still locked on the lazy, circular motions of my finger, “you never delivered on our bet.”

  My finger freezes. “Excuse me?”

  “You owe me a kiss,” he says.

  “I paid more than my share.”

  “Perhaps. But you never kissed me, and that was our bargain.”

  I roll my eyes, but I'm saved from having to respond immediately by the door flying open at the far end of the room. Martin leads a cart of food into the room and wheels it over to us.

  “Mr. Cunningham!” he booms down the length of the room. “Ms. Frazer! You're going to love what I've cooked up for you tonight.”

  Neither of us says a word as Martin unveils tonight's feast. I keep my eyes carefully on my glass, and Calder keeps his eyes on me.

  The chef is too cunning to miss the tension between us.

  “Delicious food always softens the heart,” he says casually as he serves the salad. “Things always look better when there's a good meal in your belly.” He turns to Calder. “I'll leave the rest on the cart for you, sir. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you, Martin,” Calder says, but his eyes never move from me.

  The chef turns and walks back down the room. Happy for the chance to change the subject, I dive right into the question I’ve been pondering all afternoon.

  “Where is everyone else?”

  “Who?”

  “There weren’t any security guards at your gate,” I say. “And I haven’t seen anyone but you and Martin since I set foot in this house.”

  “Who else did you expect?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “But you certainly can’t take care of this place all by yourself.”

  “Ah, so you think I should have a few maids, then? A couple butlers? Some gardeners? I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t a period drama.”

  “It just seems so… empty. Don’t you get lonely living in this big house by yourself?”

  “Fortunately,” he says, leaning toward me, “every once in a while some tenacious young woman decides to sneak through my gates and shake things up a little.”

  Before I can respond, he gets up and goes to the cart of food.

  “Change the subject all you want, but I'll have my kiss,” he tells me as he dishes me my salad. “It's only fair. Don't worry, though—I won't force it on you now. I'll let you pick the time and place.”

  “You'll be waiting a long time.”

  “A long time's better than forever,” he replies. “I can wait. I'm a patient man.”

  “I doubt that very much, Mr. Cunningham, but if you say so.” I grab my fork and stare down at my plate. Tonight's offering features dried cranberries and toasted nuts, and I have no doubt it will be as delectable as it looks. At least this dinner isn't a complete bust.

  Calder finishes serving himself and slides back in his own seat. He looks at me with half-lidded eyes.

  “There's no harm in admitting we're attracted to each other, you know.”

  Seriously? He wants me to spell it out for him? He’s not an idiot. But I won’t play into it.

  “We've been over this already. I'm not—”

  “Deny it all you want, but we both know what happened this morning,” he says. “You melted like butter in my hands. I might have done anything I wanted to you and you wouldn't have raised a finger to stop me.”

  “I might have had a momentary lapse in judgment, but I wouldn't have let you do whatever you wanted.”

  From his expression, he doesn't believe a word I've said.

  “In my view,” I say, seeing an opening, “you have it all backwards. You're the one who keeps trying to get in my pants. You're the one who keeps making sexual remarks and talking about attraction.”

  He shrugs. “I have a soft spot for feisty, beautiful women.”

  “The way I see it, if anyone's going crazy here it's you.”

  “Is that so?” He takes a sip of his wine, considering.

  “Yes.” I point at him with my fork. “You're the one who won't drop the subject. It's driving you insane that I won't just give in to you.” I lean forward, staring him down with my most seductive gaze.

  His eyes flick down to my cleavage then back to my face, where they settle on my lips. When he speaks, his voice is casual, steady, but he doesn't fool me; a woman knows when she has a man in her snare.

  “I might argue that last point, but you raise an interesting question,” he says. “Who's more attracted? Who's more likely to crack first?”

  “There's no question at all.”

  “Willing to wager on it?” he says, leaning toward me in turn. His eyes are bright.

  “You can't prove something like that.”

  “Of course you can,” he says. “The loser is the first one to give into their baser instincts.”

  If that's the bet, then I'm golden. Perhaps I don't have the strength to push him away when he's slipping kisses down my neck, but I'm not exactly the sort of girl who launches herself at men, even the sexy scruffy ones. I'm not sure Calder has the same sort of restraint.

  “All right,” I say. I flick my tongue across my lips and feel a surge of pleasure in my belly when Calder's eyes follow. “But I get to pick the stakes this time.”

  I don't know what makes him so certain to place a bet he must know I'm going to win, but I'm not going to question it too closely. This is my chance.

  “If I win,” I say, “then you have to pay out the rest of your father's pledge to the Center.”

  Calder leans back in his seat and takes another sip of his drink. His dark eyes study me over the rim of his glass.

  “That's a steep price,” he says casually.

  “It's a
dangerous game you've suggested. I think it's a suitable stake.”

  He considers for a moment.

  “There are three years left on the pledge, correct?” he says. “The same amount promised each year?”

  The fact that he doesn't know that for sure already makes me feel a little sick to my stomach, but I push down the feeling.

  “Four years,” I reply.

  He slides his thumb back and forth across his stubble. “I'll give you one year.”

  “I name the stake this time, not you.”

  He shrugs. “We don't have to make the bet.”

  “You don't want to accept the terms because you know I'm going to win,” I say lightly. “I think that proves my point quite nicely.”

  “Taunting me won't change my mind,” he says. “Besides, we haven't even settled the debt from our last wager.”

  “Is that the problem?” I say. Before he can say anything else, I reach across and grab the front of his shirt. I yank him toward me, capturing his lips with my own.

  He's too shocked to move, but I'm not about to waste an opportunity to tease him. I move my mouth against his, then slip my tongue along his bottom lip.

  He responds more quickly than even I anticipated. His mouth opens beneath mine, his own lips part so he can meet my tongue with his own. Electricity courses through my body at the contact, and I lean into him, even as his hand circles my neck and draws me closer. Desire flares in my belly, but this time I won't ignore the warning bells in my head. I pull away from him, pulling his hand from my hair as I sit back in my seat.

  He looks stunned. I revel in the thrill of my small victory.

  “Was that satisfactory?”

  His eyes darken. “I would say that satisfies our terms.”

  “Good. Then we can move on to the terms at hand. All four years left on the pledge.”

  He shakes his head. “One.”

  I play with the end of my fork. “Pity. I thought you liked these little games. Or is it as I guessed, that you're afraid because you know you're going to lose?”

  I have him under my finger now. I've given him the challenge, and I've questioned his pride. If this doesn't work, then I don't know what I'll do.

  Calder is studying me. I meet his dark gaze with equal intensity.

  Just try and wriggle your way out of this.

  Finally he leans forward again. “Two years.”

  I might not have broken him completely, but it's a good offer. Two years' fulfillment of the pledge would definitely keep our head above water—and give us that much more time to find a couple more dedicated givers. Now it's my turn to study Calder, to try and gauge the seriousness of this offer. Should I try for one more year?

  In the end, I decide not to push it.

  “Agreed,” I say, holding out my hand.

  He shakes it.

  I should be excited. I finally have the chance to save the Center—and a good shot, too. But I don't trust Calder's smile, nor do I trust the way my stomach flutters when he leans toward me again.

  He places his hand on mine, and my heartbeat accelerates.

  “Let the games begin,” he says.

  Oh yes, I think. They’re just getting started.

  CHAPTER NINE