Chapter Two

Reid

I’m still stuck on the stage, listening to the auctioneer, Evelyn I believe she said was her name, ramble off donation data, among various other topics that no one wants to hear when they are laden with drinks, food, and fun. I watch my new date step to the sidelines and accept a glass of champagne from a waiter, resting her elbow on a standing table. She sips from the beverage, her eyes on me as mine are on her, and even with me up here and her down there, the edge of mystery and sexual tension between us is palpable.

Finally, Evelyn declares it is “time to fill the dance floor” and soft piano music begins to play. Ready to let this little game with my emerald princess take flight, those primal, hunter urges that ignite me both in work and play crank up to full force, and I turn to exit the stage, only to have Evelyn call out, “Mr. Maxwell!”

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stop and face her. “Yes, Evelyn?”

“Stay, please. We’re going to have all the bachelors and their dates in several photos.” She motions to my new date to join us.

My date shakes her head, declining decisively. I like this woman already. Evelyn grimaces and looks at me. “Can you please go convince her to join us?”

“The lady paid fifty thousand dollars,” I say. “Do we really want to make her uncomfortable enough to decline to do so on another occasion?”

Evelyn’s lips clamp shut for all of two seconds. “Point well taken, but please ask her again, Mr. Maxwell. Obviously, you have some sort of influence with her.”

Indeed, I do, I think, and I want to know what and why. “What’s her name?”

“I have no idea. You can ask her while we take photos.”

“I think she’s made her point. No pictures.” I don’t wait for Evelyn’s reply. I head toward the end of the stage and waste no time walking down the stairs.

I approach my emerald princess where she stands, stepping close enough to smell her rose-scented perfume, and confirm she’s stunning up close and personal while her eyes match her emerald dress perfectly. Eyes filled with challenge as she says, “We can either call this date over,” she downs her champagne and sets it on the table, a droplet of the liquid pearling on her pink painted lips, that begs to be licked away, “or,” she says, “we can go to my room. Choose now.”

“Is that really a question?”

“I thought you might be afraid to go to a stranger’s room,” she replies.

“We both know you didn’t think I was afraid to go to your room, but it certainly makes for amusing verbal fodder.”

A flicker of admiration stirs in the depths of her beautiful eyes, which she quickly banks as if she doesn’t want me to know it’s there. Interesting, considering she paid fifty thousand dollars for a date with me. I’m about to tell her to lead the way to her room when she turns and starts walking away. She’s forcing me to follow, a challenge that for most wouldn’t work. I’d turn and leave, and pick another, but she’s stirred my curiosity in a way few do these days. I want to know what she’s about. I want to know what is under that dress. I want a lot of things where she’s concerned, and all before I even know her name.

I give her a small lead, letting her wonder if I will actually follow. When I finally start walking, I’m back in hunter mode, on the prowl for this woman, and looking for far more than answers. I catch up with her just as she steps into the elevator, but not before I’ve confirmed her ass in that dress is just as perfect as every other part of her. I join her in the car, stepping into the center, my big body consuming the small space, and effectively claiming the control she just tried to claim by walking away from me. She punches in a button and uses a key card that says she paid well for the room. The doors shut, and she leans on the wall, facing me. I turn to face her, close, but not close enough considering how damn much I’m looking forward to stripping that dress off of her and kissing her pink painted lips.

But first, answers. “Why am I worth fifty thousand dollars to you?”

“The charity is worth fifty thousand dollars to me.”

“You could have just written a check.”

“Yes. I could have.”

I close the space between us, my hand pressing on the wall. “Why am I here?”

“Because you want to be.”

“Why am I here?” I repeat.

“Because I want you to be.”

“Why am I—”

“Because you’re my bonus for doing a good deed, and I really need a bonus tonight.”

“Why?”

“That’s my business. I don’t need a bartender or a counselor,” she says. “I just need—you.”

“You mean you need to fuck.”

The elevator dings and the doors open. “Yes. Exactly. Are you going to let me off this wall before the doors close?”

I stand there, studying her, looking for the truth, and what I find is a hint of anger in those green eyes. The kind of anger that says you’re burned, and you want a different kind of burn. The kind a good fuck can give you, at least until it’s over. I can believe that’s what she wants and needs, but my gut is telling me there’s more to this woman than a need to escape. And yet, I’m not turning away from her. I’m in this far. I’m going all the way.

I step back, giving her space to exit and waving her toward the door. “Ladies first.”

Her eyes linger on mine just a moment, a probing push in their depths before she cuts her gaze and exits the elevator.

I join her in the hallway, and this time she waits, standing toe to toe with me, that sweet rose scent of her heating my blood. “Last chance to back out,” she says, but I’d be willing to bet my right hand that she simply didn’t want me at her back, stalking her down a narrow hallway.

“I always finish what I start,” I say, “and in this case, what you’ve started. Unless you want to back out?”

“I don’t want to back out, Reid Maxwell. Not even a little bit.” She turns and starts walking and something about the way she says my name sounds really damn personal. It might be directed at me, for some sin I might or might not remember, but as far as I’m concerned, the best way to fight a war with a woman like this one is naked. I pursue her, stepping to her side in the narrow hallway, the charge between us crackling with a mix of lust, her anger, and unanswered questions. I focus on the lust. That’s how I get my answers. With her legs over my shoulders.

She stops at a door and swipes her key, reaching for the door handle, and this is where this game becomes mine. She enters the room, and I’m right behind her, letting the door shut behind us, and locking it, ensuring there won’t be any surprise visitors. I scan the open concept room with one bed and a sitting area, and once I ensure we’re alone, I snag her hand and pull her around to face me. That first touch is pure fire, and we both react. One minute, our eyes collide with a punch, the next, my fingers are in her hair, and my mouth is slanting over hers. I lick into her mouth, the taste of her pure anger mixed with a shearing lust, hot enough to make me fuck her right here and now, but the anger, that anger, just can’t be ignored.

I back her into the room, toward the living area, pressing her against the window next to the wall between a desk and an oversized chair, her purse crashing to the floor. “You know my name,” I say. “You know me. We both know you do. Now it’s time to tell me who you are. What’s your name?”

“Pick one. I’ll be her tonight.”

“Oh no, baby. That’s not how this works.”

Her hands plant on my chest, her grip firm. “No name. Take it or leave it. Take me or leave me.”

My lips quirk. “We both know you don’t want me to leave.” I reach for the skirt of her dress and pull it up her legs, my hands settling over the lace of her thigh highs, a choice I approve of one hundred percent. “We both know why I’m here.”

“It’s not about names.”

“Isn’t it?” I challenge. “You hate me, but you want to fuck me.”

“I hate all men right now.”

“And yet you want to fuck me.” My thumb strokes up her inner thigh, back and forth, goosebumps lifting beneath my touch, her body softening with submission, while mine just keeps getting harder and harder.

“For me. Not you.”

“Oh, I assure you, sweetheart,” I say, “that every place I lick you, touch you, and the many ways I plan to fuck you, is very much for us both, or I wouldn’t be here. You know I can get your name from the charity.”

“I bid anonymously.”

I arch a brow at that telling statement. “Is that right?”

“I don’t need credit for the donation. I just need what it makes me feel.”

I turn her to face the wall, forcing her to catch herself with her hands, and I yank her dress all the way up to her hips, my legs shackling her legs, my gaze doing a sweeping inspection of the black lace thong before I yank it away. She yelps and I lean in close, holding up the panties. “Something to remember you by,” I say, shoving them into my pocket, my lips at her ear. “Now. Let’s get to what’s important. Your name on your lips and then you on mine. What is your name?”

“Samantha.”

I smack that perfect backside of hers, not hard, but enough to sting. She gasps, and arches forward, right as I slide my hand between her legs and cup her sex. “What are you doing?”

“Punishing your beautiful backside every time you lie to me.” I press my lips to her ear and caress the wet heat of her body. “And apparently making you really fucking wet. What’s your name?”

She laughs this bitter, raspy, aroused laugh, and says, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Name,” I bite out.

“Samantha.”

I smack her backside again and she pants out a breath, her back arching against the sting of her cheek, even as I tease her clit and stroke the seam of her body. “Oh,” she breathes out. “I hate—”

“Name,” I say, “and I’m growing impatient. And you know what happens if you say Samantha.”

“Samantha is my name.”

I smack her cheek, this time hard, and then I turn her to face me, my thighs gripping hers. “I have all night,” I say. “I’ll get your name from you.”