Page 36 of Worth Every Game

Me: What amount would convince you to play?

Elly: 100k.

Me: Done.

Elly: Ha! You’re crazy. Prepare to lose, Lansen. I will never beg, and I will never sleep with you.

Me: We’ll see about that.

Elly: Game on.

13

ELLY

Jack Lansen is an idiot. If he thinks having sex with him is worth more to me than a hundred thousand pounds, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. He’s so arrogant, he probably does think that.

Doesn’t he know what that much money means to me? I wouldn’t have to live paycheck to paycheck anymore, or scrimp every month, struggling to make ends meet. I might even be able to save something, and if I can save then I won’t have to go home and live with my parents and give up my dream of making a living from my music.

This game could change my life, and if Jack Lansen is enough of a fool to offer the chance, then I’m grabbing it with both hands. There is absolutely no way in hell I am going to lose. In fact, I’m determined to win as fast as possible. I’ll be irresistible, but unattainable. That’s my game plan.

Irresistible, but unattainable.

I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, wearing a pale pink camisole and French knickers, and wondering if it’s too much to go down to breakfast in them.They’re cute and sexy without being explicit. I could definitely play them off as my regular underwear (although, of course, they aren’t. They’re for special occasions only).

I shimmy in front of the mirror, fluff my mass of blonde curls, and decide that—fuck it—if Jack Lansen wants to play, then we’re going to play. And I am going to have fun doing it. Excitement fizzes beneath my skin. Even though this whole scenario is stupid, and I will never, ever, admit I engaged in it to Kate, I want to play with Jack.I might even be grateful for this silly game, because it ties me to him, linking us together in a way I couldn’t have achieved otherwise. I’m not just any old housemate; I’m the other half of this game he’s concocted.

We’re playing with fire.

On my way down the stairs, I realise it’s pretty cold. Not cold like Jack hasn’t turned the heating on, but cold like it’s autumn and there’s a chill in the air. My nipples are hardening beneath the silk, and I’m under-dressed and covered in goosebumps.

The gurgle of the coffee machine greets me.Jack’s in there. Annoyingly, my stomach does a little flip. Or three.Flip, flip, flip.

The Commodores,Easy, is playing in the background, so softly that I can only hear it if I really concentrate.

As I hit the bottom step, I take a deep breath, ready to swan around Jack's glamorous designer kitchen in my underwear. I turn the corner and stop short, because he's standing by the oven, wearing only a pair of boxers.

He’s cooking, and the sight of his muscled back, and the shifting hollow between his shoulder blades as he prods at something in a pan, has my breath catching in my throat and my mouth drying.

He must have heard me come in because he glances back at me, does a brief eye-sweep of my attire, and turns back to the food with a quick, “Morning, El.”

Shit. My sexy French undies seem to have had no impact on him, whereas he’s effortlessly exuding sex appeal. He doesn’t even have to try. Maybe he wears his boxers around the kitchen every weekend. And why wouldn’t he? He lives alone, most of the time.

“Eggs?” he says. “There’s fresh coffee.” He jerks his head towards a pot sitting on the island. He takes the pan he’s been prodding off the stove and rests it on the side, then turns fully in my direction. As he does, every word I intend to say disintegrates in my mouth because he is absolutely, spectacularly perfect.

Every muscle is drawn in perfect relief. His pecs are sculpted, and the ridges between his abs are so deep I want to lick them, and the tapering V of muscle that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers is like a neon arrow pointing at the goods hidden down there.

I can’t handle Jack Lansen without a shirt on. If I keep staring, I’ll start to drool. I don’t know why I thought I could play this game, because if anyone is irresistible right now, it’s Jack.

I’m going to lose.

He must have done this deliberately. He saw my reaction when he took off his shirt on my first night here, so he knows exactly what effect his bare skin has on me. But he’s being so casual.Am I attributing the wrong motive to his near nudity?

“Eggs, El?” Jack repeats, frowning at me.

I gather myself.I’m a performer. I can do this.

Be sexy. Sexy, sexy, sexy.