Chapter Six
The color bled out of Daisy’s face. Her eyes shot to him.
“What? No.” She waved her hand at him as if he were a swarm of insects.
Jesus, he’d nearly screwed it up completely. With his arms around her, his mouth and his brain took a vacation. His mouth being particularly chatty had almost blown everything. He would have Daisy’s company, and for the time they were here he was having her, because as much as she denied it, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
But business came first, and he’d have to be guarded around her because one hint of what was going to happen and she’d be looking at him with hate in her heart and her eyes.
God, but he wanted her.
He let out a careful breath.
Even after a marathon session, his body was hearing her call and gearing up. She’d let loose in the bedroom in a way he’d never imagined. He had a lot he wanted to do with her sweet body, and he was a man who got what he wanted, so there was no way he was giving her up for the time they were here. Besides, with her draped across him, he had a better chance of getting her to admit her family had tried to screw his. Yeah, it made him a bastard, but he’d been called worse. Business first. Screw with his brothers, especially Brayden who hid from the world, you screwed with him. He wanted Daisy’s apology before he left here and he had every intention of getting it.
Brown eyes met and held his; he caught the shimmer in the depths. She stood like a warrior princess with her chest heaving, her eyes locked on his, and a rosebud mouth that could start wars. He resisted the urge to bury his head in her hair and inhale her.
“I liked what happened, and I think you did, too.”
Pink crept into her cheeks.
He’d more than liked it; he’d flat-out loved it. He’d never had a woman come that hard for him, purring his name like she was put on this earth for him. Come to think of it, he’d never come so hard, twice. Some invisible thread connected them. It shouldn’t, but he couldn’t deny her pull. The way she’d kissed him, giving him what he wanted, and in a shy way demanding the same from him. It was the same kiss of six months ago, the same kiss he could never forget even if he wanted to, and God knows he’d tried to wipe it clean from his brain.
He pushed her hair from her forehead. “Why give this up?”
She picked at the towel. Zan caught the tremble in her fingertips and frowned at the smear of blood on her finger.
“You have to,” she said in a voice so quiet he’d leaned into her, and her scent lassoed his heart.
“Why?”
“It’s logical. We’ll finish the challenges, because of Levi’s rule, and unless you want to cough up your part of the bet, we keep it business only from now on.” Her chin angled up. “Deal?”
“No deal. I fully intend to walk away with your confession in my back pocket.” He shot back.
Color slashed her cheeks. “Same.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. They were like duelists at dawn.
He blew out a controlled breath. “We’ve got one more night here. Call me a controlling, selfish prick, but I want that night with you, then we walk away.”
“We don’t even like each other.” Her eyes challenged him.
Yeah, he’d been a prick to her this morning, and they were incompatible on so many levels, but after tasting her, he wanted more, so much more.
A tiny, flickering pulse beat in her jaw. Her gorgeous dark hair tumbled around her face in a wild mess of curls.
“One night of me exploring your body, finding that sweet spot you’ve got, and I will never tire of hearing my name on your breath when you come, and, baby, you will come, often and hard.”
She squeezed her lips shut, but her body had heard his words and responded. Those pebbled dark nipples beckoned to him. What she didn’t know was that he took his oral skills seriously.
Her chest rose and fell.
“Deal?”
She shook her head.
Standing before him was the most stubborn woman on the planet with her jutted chin and determination written in her eyes.
“I’ve made my list. Business only until the end of our time together.”
He shook his head. “Baby, that’s where you’re wrong.”
She walked away, but he caught the tremor in her fingers and the way she held herself tall as if she might fall. He’d be there to catch her when she did.
“Game on,” he said under his breath.
Five hours later Zan stared into the eyes of the woman who’d been soft and dreamy underneath him that morning, and he now wished for a time machine.
“I’m not doing it.”
The sticky heat of the day did nothing to help the heated conversation. They stood under a grove of coconut trees, the midday sun blasting from a postcard blue sky. Daisy’s bubblegum lip gloss mixed with coconut sunscreen were screwing his insides. He plucked at the neckline of the T-shirt. Again, he wiped the sweat that streamed down his face. A fat bumblebee flew by so slowly it was in danger of stalling. It crash-landed on a pink flowering shrub and buzzed.
“We have to.” One hand on her hip, and a don’t-mess-with-me expression on her face.
He dug his fingers into his hair, not trying to hide the exasperation from his voice. “I don’t have a vagina.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open then closed on a snap. “Obviously not because if you did, you’d be onboard with the plan.”
He sighed. “It’s a fact. Men have dicks. Men don’t write in an inner-thought journal.”
Her eyes tightened. She opened her mouth, but he got in first.
“Let me explain. Guys don’t have inner thoughts. What’s on the inside comes out. Period. I know women hold out that men secretly want to ‘be in touch with their feelings’ and talk about their sensitive side, but, heads up, we don’t. Well, I don’t.”
She stabbed him with her eyes. “Maybe you don’t have inner feelings, but other men out there do.” Her dark eyes were firing coal chips at him, and he loved the Daisy Dukes and pink camisole. He’d be looking forward to removing the shirt, and the lacy white bra that he suspected was Victoria’s Secret later on.
He moved his head left then right. “Another heads up. Guys say stuff like they have inner thoughts they want to write down in a journal pretty much for one reason only.”
Her face was now bright red, her back straight, and her chin jutted, and in true Daisy style, she stepped farther into his space. It should be illegal how freaking good she smelled.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re saying guys make up stuff they think women want to hear to slide into their pants?”
He smiled at the sarcasm. Time to defuse the situation.
“Well, yeah, it’s been pretty much that way since Clovis the Caveman caught sight of Clovista the Cavewoman, and tried to pick her up caveman style and throw her over his shoulder, whereby Clovista aimed a well-timed kick to his boys.” He shook his head. “Very feisty, that Clovista.”
She raised her eyebrows, but some of the anger had bled from her stance. He carried on, making it up as he went.
“Clovis tried a few more times with the same results, and it puzzled Clovis. We should note that Clovis wasn’t the swiftest in the bunch. He did, however, note that after kneeing him in the balls, Clovista liked to pick flowers and carry them to her lady cave.”
Daisy’s mouth dropped open, and laughter sparkled her eyes. “Did you just say lady cave?”
A bolt of laughter shot out of him. “Yeah, totally didn’t mean that, but that’s gold.” He shook his head. “Anyway, one day Clovis rose early, fed the mammoth, chewed on a bone, then stood to wait on the path for Clovista, who duly arrived. The scowl on her face disappeared when Clovis grunted and held out a bunch of flowers, which Clovista accepted, and the rest, as they say, is history.” He pointed to the journal in her hand. “What Clovis didn’t do is chisel his feelings on a rock.”
She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. This argument was done. “I’m not doing it, but I know women are into it so go for it.”
“I will.” She glared at him.
“Got to say, I liked you a whole lot better this morning when you were purring and not hissing.”
“Well, we won’t be doing that again, so case closed.” She flicked her sunglasses from her head to cover her eyes, but not before she licked her lips, which only made his dick swell. He’d have to buy looser pants.
He stared down at the leather journals in her hand.
She’d calmed down since the scene earlier this morning, but there was an edgy wariness about her. She was coiled far too tight. Lucky for her, he had a remedy that would have her nice and loose, with her long legs around him, his hands on her curvy butt, playing dot-to-dot with his tongue on her freckles.
Her words pulled at him.
She stared out at the endless ocean. “‘She walks in beauty like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies.’”
A breeze whipped up whitecaps.
“‘And all that’s best of dark and bright. Meet in her aspect and her eyes,’” he finished.
The poem could be written for her.
Christ, I’m going soft.
She turned surprised eyes toward him.
“Byron.” No need to explain the volume of poetry tucked beside Stephen King, Clive Cussler, and the complete works of Shakespeare at his L.A. house.
“It’s beautiful and one of my favorites,” she said in a thoughtful voice.
She went to wipe her hands across her face and frowned at the clink of the handcuffs. “I hate these things.” She gave them a violent jerk.
“Anytime you want them off…”
He smiled at the temper smoldering in her eyes.
“I love them.” He leaned closer to her ear. “You, tonight, cuffed to the bed. Yeah.”
“No.” She waved her hand as if conducting.
He stepped closer. Her mind was saying no, but her body was on board.
She closed her eyes on a long blink, opened them, and looked him squarely in the eye. “Why are you pursuing this? It’s a biology only thing.”
“Exactly why I’m pursuing it. No hearts and flowers. What happens in St. Maarten, stays in St. Maarten. You want to write your apology?”
Her dark eyes could carve a man at twenty paces. “Ready to write yours?”
He toyed with her hair, marveling at its softness. “Never going to happen, baby.”
“Same.”
Her poor nipples that would need extra special attention later were trying to push through the silky bikini top, and his mouth watered.
A determined look on her face, she opened her sweet mouth.