Page 24

I shrug and press the button for the million-dollar question. "Guess you know some of the real me then."

It's all I can share with her right now. As much as she's growing on me, eventually, I will find her an apartment, and she will leave, taking the real me with her.

Her face relaxes at my comment, and she takes a breath, nodding like I've made her happy admitting that some of her observations of me are correct. "Last question. You ready?"

"Ready." Excitedly, she shifts in her seat, pushing up against my hip. "Can you see?"

I swallow. "I can see." Right down her tank top where the soft swell of her breasts rises with each intake of breath. If that weren't torture enough, the smell of my shampoo coming from her hair is enough for me to want to stake a claim.

"All right, here we go. What can be both a resinous substance obtained from turpentine and part of a cricket field?"

I worry my lip with my fingertip, making her fear that I don't know the answer, but really, I'm just taking a few extra breaths to settle down my rock-hard dick. Must she be this close?

"Please tell me you know because I'm seriously thinking about Googling the answer, Maverick!"

I grin. I like her calling out my name all desperate like.

"I'll take another IOU. Please!" she begs.

I would have done it for free.

Clearing my throat, I answer quickly. "The pitch."

"Are you sure? It's for a million dollars . . ."

I cock a brow.

"A fake million,” she clarifies, “but still. It's the principle of the matter." Her eyes dart to the screen, watching the clock count down. She's waiting on my confirmation.

"I'm positive," I say, feeling the anxiousness from her body.

"Okay. Water drinking nerd for the win," she drawls out loudly, ignoring the bored look I give her and finally pressing the button.

Images of confetti and balloons explode on the screen right before she tackles me in a bruising hug. "We did it!"

Holding her close, I try to hold on as she bounces up and down, her braless tits torturing me through my shirt.

"Be still." I press her down.

"What? Why? Why can't we celebrate? We won a virtual million dollars!"

For the love of God, she's still moving.

"Ainsley." My voice is a growl and stops her mid-air, where she realizes what she's doing to me.

"Oh," she says, very amused. "I didn't realize you were that excited about winning."

What a smartass.

"Yeah, it's been quite the revelation."

She eases down to my lap, careful not to impale herself on my dick straining to get through my pajama pants. "Thank you," she whispers, her breath fanning across my lips. Her words hold sincerity. She's not just thanking me for helping her win the game.

"Who knew you could be so poetic?" She inches closer, and with each word, her lips drag against mine.

So much for calming my dick down.

"I don't know what you mean," I lie.

It's verbal foreplay with enough sexual tension to drive me mad. How badly I want to hoist her up and slam her against the table.

She presses her lips harder. "I'm calling your bluff, Maverick Lexington."

Haven't I told her to know her opponent before she plays the game?

I snatch her by the hips and yank her lower half forward so my hard cock meets her softness. "Are you sure you want to do that? Remember last time how that game played out for you." I'm referring to all the IOUs she racked up.

Her hips rock and heaven help me, I enjoy the feel of her against me for just a moment before I stop her, and she moves her lips over mine. "I remember, and I'm willing to go all in. You left me that note. Why?"

Fuuuck. Why did she have to say it so confidently—so challenging?

Now I have to play, but I have the losing hand.

It's not that I don't want to admit to Ainsley that I left the fire extinguisher and the note, because clearly, she knows it was me.

But forcing me to admit that I care about her well-being is out of the roommate zone and into something else that I can't handle just yet.

"I was merely protecting my apartment from future fires," is what I go with instead.

I can feel her smile press against my frown. "Hmm . . . I suppose that is partly the truth."

Yes, yes, it is.

"Well," she says after a moment, "nevertheless, I appreciate the thoughtfulness. It's been a long time since I've had a friend who cared."

A friend who cared.

Is that what I am? A friend? My dick sure disagrees.

Sure, I'd like for her to stop trampling on my personal space and sure, I'd like my sofa back sans the stuffed sea animals, but I'm not that much of a dick.

I don't like to see any woman cry, especially over someone so undeserving—someone like my father who put his image and business above his wife and kids.

That's all this is between Ainsley and me—a contract. I owe her a place to stay until I can find her something permanent. It's in my neighbor's and my best interest to keep the crying and the crazy down to a minimum.

It is a contract, Maverick. Don't forget .

Her lips press against me again, and this time, my mouth opens and allows her full access. Soothingly, her tongue sweeps in, leisurely exploring as her hands find my hair and sink in.

God, it feels so good.

Her touching me anywhere feels so fucking good.

How long has it been since I've felt a woman's touch?

Months? I can't even remember. All I know is that it has been way too fucking long.

And if I could trust myself not to flip her over onto this table, I would let go of her hips and tangle my fist in all those messy curls and enjoy the feel of the silky strands that smell like me.

I won't, though.

Taking this any further breaks all my rules.

I can't afford any more of a distraction than I already have.

I put these rules in place to keep me motivated, to keep me focused, but I'm already fucking it up by having her living here.

She needs to go.

I need to stop.

I grip her hard, moving her hips over mine one last time. And one more time and— Great, Maverick. Good job convincing yourself to let her go.

The friction between us is so magnetic that I can't physically let go.

"Mmm . . ." she moans in my ear.

Let her go, Mav. She just ended a long relationship. She's vulnerable and needs comforting. You can't give her what she needs.

But I could comfort her, for the night anyway.

My subconscious kicks in, chasing the horny advice away.

Ainsley needs stability and real love; neither of those things I'm nailing right now. I live a lie—a very exhausting lie, and I can't stop. I'm in too deep. It doesn't matter if I enjoy Ainsley's company. I need to finish what I started.

"Wait," she says, pulling back. Her lips are swollen and glossy, her face flushed with heat.

I almost groan at the cold air that hits my neck, but I don't .

This is good.

No, this sucks.

"What's wrong?" I force myself to ask. Any other time the fake Maverick would be mean and just stand up and walk away, but the real Maverick actually wants to know what's wrong and possibly high five her for being the bigger person and breaking the connection. I sure as fuck couldn't.

"I'm so sorry," she says, breathing the words along my lips.

A little farther back would be nice.

"I don't want to use you."

I grin. Her use me? Ha!

She's serious, though, so I don't comment. "You've been so nice to me that I don't want to mess things up between us. All I've done is mess up with my decisions?—"

Remind her that what we have is a contract, not a friendship.

"I don't want to make our relationship one of those."

Remind her!

I kiss her on the nose instead. "Good night, Ainsley. I expect half of my fake million tomorrow morning, payable in IOUs."