Bedding the Wrong Brother(29)

The alarm in her head was still sounding, but somehow it had quieted a bit. Curiosity, she told herself. That's all. She wasn't actually going to consider his proposition. Was she?

At her continued silence, he pressed on. “Don't get me wrong. I'm not immune to some satisfaction, as well. I put in some work last night. I think I'm entitled to a little return on my investment, don't you?”

Her alarm kicked up a notch. “So this is about paying a debt owed? Compensating you for services rendered?”

“This is about you and me and giving each other the best sex we've ever had.”

“See? That's exactly it. If you're expecting great sex from me, it'll never work. I'll be anxious. Feel pressured. You're deluding yourself if you think I can compete with the women you've been with, Rhys.”

He raised a brow. “And you're underestimating my ability to inspire you.”

Okay. Her curiosity was definitely getting the better of her now. Melina forced herself not to think of Rhys's special brand of inspiration. “We barely know each other anymore—”

“You know that's not true. Like you said, Melina, we're almost family. What we're doing this weekend might not fit within the boundaries of our previous relationship, but once it's over, I want to know you're going to be okay. I can help you. Why won't you let me?”

Once it's over, he'd said. Once he was gone, he meant. A wave of sadness washed over her. If she understood him correctly, this was to be their swan song to whatever relationship they'd been clinging to. Sort of like his parting gift to her. Since it had been coming for a while, she tried not to show how much the thought devastated her. Or swayed her.

As soon as the weekend was over, he'd be leaving again. Who knew when she'd see him next? She'd be a fool not to take what he was offering.

“And then what?” she forced herself to ask, even though she already knew the answer.

“What were you going to do after you and Max were done with each other?”

It seemed obscene somehow, the way he kept bringing Max into this. Which was silly, of course. “We were going to part friends. Go back to the way things always were. No expectations. No embarrassment.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “I can do that. Can you?”

Given his cavalier attitude, what else could she say? Slowly, she nodded.

Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Good.”

He moved forward and she tensed, expecting him to reach out and kiss her. Anticipation streaked through her, but all he did was turn, bend his knees slightly, and retrieve a familiar-looking bag from under the desk. He tossed it onto the bed next to her. “Now get dressed.”

She stared at the bag blankly. “Now you want me to get dressed?”

He smiled slightly. “Yep.”

“Why?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Because, my dear Melina, the next lesson involves something the best magicians and lovers know how to work with a very subtle yet sure hand.”

“What's that?” she whispered.

“Unpredictability.”





Chapter Six





Dalton's Magic Rule #7: Don't forget your magic wand.




As he turned Melina's car onto the freeway that would lead them north of Sacramento, Rhys had to struggle not to show his amusement. Although she was valiantly trying to act nonchalant, he'd definitely thrown her off balance. And if he was reading her correctly, and Rhys had a definite talent when it came to reading people, she was a bit disgruntled that she was fully clothed going who knows where instead of enjoying more time in his arms and in his bed.

Which was exactly the response he'd been hoping for.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told her that unpredictability was key to good magic and good sex. It was also the key to getting Melina to lower her guard and stop those gigantic wheels in her mind from trying to analyze everything to death. God knew, if he was going to participate in her ridiculous sex experiment, he was going to enjoy every second of their time together.

He wanted the same for her. He wanted her relaxed and with her guard down, enjoying their time together instead of focusing on things like technique and statistics—each orgasm used as a marker of sexual prowess.

He almost snorted.

She actually thought she sucked in bed because he hadn't allowed himself release when the truth was he'd found more sexual pleasure giving her orgasms and having her sleep in his arms than he had in a long time. He hadn't been willing to go for the fast finish or self-induced hand job, because he'd wanted more with her. More kissing. More touching. More.