Page 65 of Worth Every Game

I make the decision right there on the spot, even though I have no idea what it would entail or what it might look like.Definitely. But if so, this surely isn’t the way to start it.

Finally, I speak. “The winner decides whether we have sex or not, right?”

“Right.” He elongates the word, cautious, as though he’s anticipating he won’t like what I’m about to say. “It’s your choice.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Surprise flashes in his gaze, and he looks hesitant when he asks, “Do I want to know why?”

I stand and shrug, affecting a nonchalance I don’t feel. I’m tied in knots over this. I want him, but not like this. Not this way. “Because your dick is far too fucking big,” I deadpan.

He drops his face into his palm and begins to laugh so hard that his shoulders shake, which in turn makes me smile. “You were managing just fine,” he says, looking up when his laughter eases.

My heart trips up a little, and my cheeks heat at the memory of sucking him off. Confusion and arousal tangle inside me and I can’t for the life of me remember what I was going to say.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours, El?”I love how he says that.It sounds as though he cares.

“I haven’t had sex in six months,” I blurt.That’s not what I meant to say.

He draws back the tiniest bit, a teasing look on his face. “Six months? You remember how it’s done, right?”

“Fuck you,” I say, but there’s no edge in my voice. He’s so close to wearing me down, and I force a serious expression onto my face so he can’t tell. “But we shouldn’t get involved. At least, notany more than we have done already, because we have to live together for the next two months.”

“See, to me, that sounds like a reason to do it. Two months of uninterrupted good times.” There’s that sexy smile again.Damn,he’s hard to resist. “And I owe you an orgasm. I don’t like being in debt.”

I don’t know what it is about hearing him say the word ‘orgasm’, but it has my attraction to him running wild all over again. I can feel it writhing like a separate being inside me, wanting to take control of my body and launch it at him.

“Willing to pay you back with interest,” he adds, reaching out and hooking his fingertips against mine, making my hand tingle. It’s a surprisingly gentle gesture. “I’m very good at it.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are. But the answer is still no.” I turn to leave, desperately trying to ignore the little voice in my head screaming ‘you idiot’, when—

“El, wait.” I swing to face him and he springs off the sofa, pacing to the shelves and reaching for the cheque that's still balanced between Priapus' cock and his torso. He slides it out, takes a pen from his trouser pocket and signs it, and hands it to me. “This is yours, fair and square.”

“I can’t.”

“Fuck’s sake. Of course you can.” He grabs my hand and presses it into my palm until my fingers clutch around it. “And thank you. I’d rather play with you than anyone else.”

For some reason, his comment makes me want to cry again, but I blink it away before he can see it, and even with my winnings in my hand, I feel like I’ve lost.

I rip the cheque in half. “I’m not taking your money.”

He raises his brows. “You don’t get to refuse your winnings.” He pulls his wallet from his pocket, flips it open and eases out a black card. “Take this,” he instructs, holding it out. “And if you see something you want, you can buy it.”

I shake my head, refusing to take the credit card. “You’re mad.”

“No. I’m fair.” In one swift movement, he slides the piece of plastic into my bra before he taps me on the shoulder as he walks past on his way out. “PIN is my birthday. Month and date.”

A flush of irritation has me calling out, “What makes you think I know your birthday?”

He flips the back of his hand at me over his shoulder, casually waving away my objection. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

I can hear the smile in his voice, but I shake my head at his audacity anyway.So fucking arrogant.But the thing is, I do know. I’ve known the date of his birthday foryears.

24

ELLY

Ican’t think of a single thing I’d want to buy with Jack Lansen’s black card. It sits on my dressing room table, glaring at me every morning.