The Player (The Game Maker #3)(24)

“I was not . . . feeling like myself. Do you think I didn’t want to talk to you? I feared I would spook you. I’m told I can be overly . . . intense.”

“Is that what all the girls say?”

“It’s what anyone says.”

Though he was dressed as immaculately as ever and clean-shaven, he’d nicked his face in a few places. On a scale between pissed and worried, I tipped toward on the latter. “Why weren’t you feeling like yourself?” Had something happened? My protectiveness toward him lingered.

“I fought with my brother Maksim.”

“I’m sorry. You seem close to him.”

“I am. After our parents died, he basically raised me.”

Why wouldn’t the oldest brother have done that? “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Maksim stuck his nose into my business.” Pure menace burned in his eyes as he said, “And then he told me I will likely lose something I want very, very dearly.”

This conversation had strange depths. Once again on this con, I was drunk and at a disadvantage.

“I asked my family to leave,” he said.

“Yet you stayed? For the opportunity you’re investigating?”

He nodded, his gaze softening. “Da.” He surveyed the area, exhaling a gust of breath. “I didn’t plan for this.”

“Do you always plan everything?”

“When something is important to me, yes.” He grasped my nape, bringing our foreheads together. I loved when he did that. He seemed to carefully choose his words as he said, “Confusion is not . . . good for me. I handle it . . . badly.” His voice was halting, and he looked a little crazy. “I need things solidified. How do I solidify things with you?”

His idea of solidifying couldn’t possibly match mine—unless the billionaire was talking about a commitment after knowing me for a day. “You’re bringing up confusion, Dmitri? You’re sending my brain spinning here.”

“Come back to my room with me.”

Wow, right when I thought he was interested in more than sex.

Which meant I shouldn’t be interested in more than money. The con was back on. Time to plant some more good-girl seeds. “That’s not going to happen. I gave you the wrong impression last night. I don’t know why I behaved like that.” Truth. “But there won’t be a repeat.” Lie.

He gave me his thrall look. “Indulge me, and I will indulge you.” Did he mean financially? Or sexually?

Because I was drunk, I answered by burying my face against his neck and inhaling him. “Your scent drives me absolutely wild. If you ever got me in your bed, I’d probably just roll around in your sheets and masturbate.”

He groaned. “I never want to stop seeing that in my head.”

When I dragged my head back to face him, his hooded expression made me shiver. I rubbed his chest, loving how his muscles twitched in response. “You must work out.”

“Religiously for the last year.”

“Lemme guess,” I said drily, “you just aren’t hot enough?”

“I work out to focus my mind, not to affect my looks. You are obviously attracted to me,” he said, as if my attraction was all that mattered.

“Cocky much? What if I was faking?”

“You were too aroused to have feigned that. And I would wager you thought about me when you got off today.”

“Yep. I did, a few times. In the shower, I fingered myself and came so hard my knees buckled.”

“Mercy, woman!” he said again, his cock jerking beneath me. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Oh, but I do. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a smidge hammered. Will you take care of me?”

Curt nod. “Without fail.”

I grinned at him. “I like that. You won’t take advantage of me? I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“So you have said.” His tone held a hint of disbelief.

“I’m not looking for an affair—even if you wanted a longer arrangement.”

“What are you looking for?” He seemed very curious about my answer.

“A man to prove himself to me.” I could say those words believably. Even though I knew my hurdles were simply too high.

“Then I won’t f*ck you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t touch you. I need to give you pleasure so much I ache.” He reached for me.

“Here?” In the Carousel? We were alone in this darkened area, but for how long?

“Here.”





CHAPTER 11

Dmitri grazed the backs of his fingers over my jawline, then down my neck. “You could not be lovelier.”

I trembled as he traced my collarbone. His hand continued lower. He unzipped my dress until my breasts threatened to spill out—exactly the way I’d imagined when I’d designed it.

His hot hand slipped inside, cupping me. I arched to his touch, and he bit out something in Russian. I could have sworn I’d heard his name at the end.

Was he talking to himself? My question and concern dissipated when he rubbed his thumb over one nipple. Jolts of pleasure shot through me as he rolled the peak, lightly pinching. Then harder.

With a last tug, he moved to my other breast and kneaded it. “Spread your legs wide for me.”