Page 65 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Zara

"Stakes, huh?" I’m pleased my voice comes out in a low, modulated purr.

There was only one way to find out. I had to walk into the room and face him.

And that’s exactly what I’d done. I entered the room and assumed my persona of the confident career woman, the one who’ll never shrink from a challenge.

It's a role I’ve perfected over the years.

Only, I’ve always recognized when to back down. That’s the reason I’m successful.

I know when to cede ground and when to push my advantage, and this entire situation is one where my instincts scream I need to get the hell out.

Away from him, before I get in way over my head.

But I’ve missed seeing him. Missed the high cut of his cheekbones, the meanness of his thin upper lip, offset by that puffy lower lip that seduces me to lean in and nip on it to find out if he tastes as dangerous as he appears.

He’s taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his button-down, and those veiny forearms—good god, they’re enough to make my panties self-combust.

As it is, I’m aware of the throb between my thighs, the sweet ache in my lower belly that flared to life as soon as his gaze locked on mine.

It’s like a tractor beam pulled me toward him, and at the very last moment, I managed to tear my gaze from him and greet Declan.

And then, Hunter stepped right in front of me.

He blocked the other man from my line of sight, and for a second, I was shocked, and I hate to say it, but it also aroused me.

That’s the move of an alpha staking his claim. A primal instinct he harnessed to make very clear to the other male that I’m out of bounds. It was both unnecessary—for I regard Declan as a friend and nothing more—and also, so primitive, so elemental in its rawness, it left me breathless.

My thighs clench, my core spasming in on itself with the keen awareness that I’m so empty inside.

I’ve never felt like this before, not in relation to a man, and the sheer suddenness and strength of my reaction has left me unable to protest. Also, damn, but it’s so good to see him.

I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed him until just now, while he’s standing there, all power and grace and so much masculinity, I’m sure my ovaries are opening up and welcoming him to stamp his name on them.

Whoa! This is unexpected. I know I’m attracted to him, but to think of pursuing something with him is career suicide, to say the least. He’s in the public eye, and if the chemistry between us were spotted by the tabloids, my reputation would take a nosedive.

I’d be the woman the Prime Ministerial candidate has a thing for.

Forget what I’ve achieved on my own merit so far.

It’s a narrative I’m determined not to have thrust on me.

It’s why I’m going to come out on top of any encounter with him.

It’s why I’m going to win this game with him.

"Remember what you said the last time?" He leans forward on the balls of his feet. "If you come out with me again, you’ll kiss me of your own accord."

"I’m aware," I murmur.

His lips curl. "If you lose this game, you come out with me on a second date."

"I won’t lose."

He chuckles. "You’re very confident of yourself."

"Is that a problem?"

He narrows his gaze. "The only problem is that the more I try to keep away from you, the more I can’t stop thinking of you."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

His gaze intensifies. "You sound surprised," he drawls.

"I… I am. I wasn’t expecting you to—"

"Say what’s on my mind?"

I nod. "It’s not the kind of candor I thought I’d hear from a man who comes from a privileged background."

The skin around his eyes creases. "There you go, passing judgment on me again."

I stiffen. "I’m not passing judgment."

"Aren’t you?" He shoves his free hand in the pocket of his pants. "Since we’ve met, you’ve told me you hate my background, you don’t trust my upbringing—"

"I didn’t—"

"'You belong to the kind of entitled, snobbish, rich pricks who think the world owes them.’" He inclines his head.

Heat flushes my cheeks, but I don’t look away. "You remember what I said word-for-word, eh?"

His lips twist. "I remember everything about you, Fire."

The heat spreads to my chest, and down to that traitorous core of me. My toes curl. I like his nickname for me. A little too much, maybe. I tip up my chin. "Don’t call me that."

"You’re fiery, stubborn and light up everything around you. You snipe at me, and I want to turn you over my lap and spank you. You scowl at me, and I want to kiss you. You challenge me and give no quarter, and that only turns me on more. You constantly try to—"

"Stop," I say through gritted teeth. "If you think you can sweet talk yourself into my pants—"

"I’m not just thinking; I know I’m going to fuck you."

"Oh?" I scoff.

"You can deny it as much as you want, but there’s enough chemistry between us to light a bonfire without matches."

"A-n-d he’s poetic, too." I tap my finger to my cheek. "But that’s not going to make a difference."

"Hmm." He looks me up and down. "How about we play for it? You win the game, and I’ll let you leave. I win the game and—"

"And?" I snap.

"And you kiss me, right here, right now."

"I thought you said, if I lose this game, I come out with you on a second date."

"Oh, that, too—" He smirks. "But first, you kiss me."

"Keep dreaming, buster. I’m not going to lose."

I toss my cue in his direction, and he snatches it.

I slide the button of my coat out of its eye, and his breath catches.

This is the true power I hold over him, and I am going to enjoy every single moment of his annihilation in this game.

I undo the next button, and his gaze follows my movement.

I release the last button on my jacket, and the front falls open.

I ease the jacket down my arms slowly, slowly, then hold it out to him.

He transfers my cue to his other hand so he’s holding both my cue and his in the same hand, then takes my jacket from me.

He brings it up to his face and sniffs it.

A hot sensation springs to life between my legs.

It’s not like he sniffed my panties, but oh, god, he might as well have.

One side of his lips kicks up. He walks to the side and drapes it over the back of a chair.

Before he’s done, I’m walking over to the pool table.

I rack the eight balls, then position my ball in apex position.

I straighten, turn and gasp, for he’s standing next to me. And he’s only holding one cue. Huh?

"Aren’t you going to play?"

"I already am, baby." He lowers his voice to a hush, and my nerve endings crackle. A cloud of heat seems to spool off of him and smash into my chest. I draw in a sharp breath, and he smirks. Jerk. He probably knows exactly what his nearness is doing to me. He holds out my cue, and I take it from him; or at least, try to, for when I wrap my fingers about it and tug, he doesn’t let go. For a second, both of our fingers are wrapped about the stick, his fingers mere centimeters from mine. He hasn’t touched me, but the way he rakes his gaze over my face…

Well, it doesn’t bear contemplation. His scent is a deep, woodsy bouquet that teases and weaves its fingers through my hair, about my neck, down my spine.

I tug on the cue, and this time, he releases it.

I spin around, then line up my shot. I bend over the table, knowing the skirt is pulling tight across my butt, knowing the hem has slid up the length of my thighs, knowing the cut at the side has pulled apart and bared an expanse of skin for his perusal.

I sense him stiffen. I haven’t moved my head, but I can feel the tension that radiates off of him.

Good! Two can play this game, and if jerkwaffle here thinks I’m one of those girls who’ll be taken in by his charm and a few words of flattery, he is sadly mistaken.

With a clack, my ball breaks the formation and I sink two of them. I straighten, turn in time to see him raise his gaze from where he’d fixed it previously—in other words, on my arse. I’m not Kim Kardashian, but I’m not being immodest when I say my rear end is almost as spectacular.

My figure bloomed as soon as I hit puberty. While I was elf-conscious about it, I soon realized boys loved my behind. I’m not flat chested, either, but while my bust is what an ex called 'neat,' it’s my butt that captures the imagination of men and keeps it there. And this asshole is no different.

I stretch a little, thrust my arse out, then walk around the table, making sure to put an extra swing into my hips.

I twitch my backside, then bend over again, positioning my cue so that I am almost halfway across the table as I line up my next shot.

I take my time, focusing on the ball. Once again, I sense his gaze track down my spine to my behind and lower to where my skirt has ridden up almost to my arse.

It’s still decent; I’m sure my panties aren’t showing or anything.

I’m equally sure the material has pulled across my butt enough to show off the mounds of my arse-cheeks.

I focus on my shot, then swipe my cue forward.

My cue ball hits the one on the far side with a thwack, when thwack, a slap heats my backside. The shock zings up my spine. What the—!

I straighten and swing around with the cue stick raised.

He shoots out his arm and grips my wrist, stopping me.

The feel of his palm print seems to be etched into my behind.

A snarl boils up my throat. I try to pull my hand away, but his grip tightens.

My fingers loosen their grip on the cue stick which clatters to the floor.

I raise my free arm, but he grabs it and twists it behind my back.

He yanks me forward so my breasts are smashed into his chest. So I can feel the planes dig into my curves.

I struggle to break free, and he hauls me even closer, until we’re joined from chest to pelvis to thigh.

Until the hot thick column at his crotch stabs into my lower belly.

Until a shiver zigzags down my spine. Until my core clenches.

Until wetness coats my lower lips and my toes curl.

"Let me go," I snap.

He curls his lips. "After you teased me like that?"

"I wasn’t teasing you."

"What do you call laying across the pool table until you were all but making love to the play field?"

"That’s called trying to get a competitive advantage." I bare my teeth.

His grin widens. "And this is called pushing my advantage."