Turning back to her, I make my offer. “One night with me at my sex club and I’ll forgive the entire debt.”
Hannah blinks at me, and the most stupid thought comes to my mind. What is her last name? Is it sweet and innocent sounding like “Hannah,” or is it filled with gumption since I sense that in her as well? For the life of me, I can’t figure out why that would even cross my mind because it’s of no consequence.
She is of no consequence other than to fulfill a fantasy I’ve managed to develop in the past five minutes.
Those eyes, which are just a few shades lighter than cognac, narrow at me. “You want to have sex with me in exchange for me breaking an overpriced and not very attractive piece of glass?”
“Yes, at my sex club, the Wicked Horse,” I add, so she understands that requirement. I ignore her slam at my art purchase. “It’s a safe environment, and I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“Do I look like a whore?” she snarls, teeth bared. My cock starts to fucking swell at the thought of bringing her to heel.
“Not at all,” I say smoothly. “But you do look adventurous. It will be fun and incredibly liberating for you.”
“Because you’re basically offering to pay me for sex? By forgiving a seventy-five-thousand-dollar debt?” Her hands ball into fists, which she perches on her hips. My hands would look good on her hips, holding her from behind.
“I’m offering you a way out of an expensive predicament you just landed yourself in. I wouldn’t think you a whore if you accepted. Merely an enterprising, smart woman who knows a good deal when she sees it.”
I expect her to throw more indignation my way. Let’s face it… I’ve insulted her in making my offer.
Instead, she surprises me by saying, “What if I’m not attracted to you?”
Lust flashes through me, and I prowl toward her. She holds her ground. When I’m inches away, she starts to step backward. I follow until her back comes up against the door, but stop short of touching her in any way.
Bending slightly, I place my mouth near her ear. I can feel the harsh escape of her breath against the side of my neck when I whisper, “How about this… you come with me to my sex club. We’ll have a drink. Talk.”
Hannah makes a sound in her throat, which could be desire or disgust, but it doesn’t stop me.
“If I can’t get you wet while we talk, I’ll accept you’re not attracted to me. Of course, it will take my hand between your legs to verify, but I’m quite sure I know what I’ll find. You’ll want it, Hannah, trust me. And when the night is over, you’ll be thanking me.”
A hand comes to my chest, and I know she can feel the gallop of my heart. She gives me a strong push backward, and I comply.
I peer down at her, not even trying to hide the slight smile of amusement I’m feeling right now.
Hannah glares at me and her words are gritted out between clenched teeth. “Thank you, but no thank you. I’m not interested.”
Raising the hand holding the paper I’d pulled from the cabinet, I wave it mockingly at her before I hand it over. She has no choice but to take it from me.
As her gaze drops to it, I explain, “That’s a copy of the invoice for the vase. Like I said… seventy-five grand.”
Facing turning red, she mutters under her breath, “Asshole.”
This makes me chuckle as I reach past her for the doorknob. She scrambles to the side, and I open my office door.
Before I exit, I tell her, “My phone number is on the invoice. Call me if you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” she snaps.
I give her a wink. “I bet you will.”
I don’t wait to see what she does. I just walk out of my office without looking back.
CHAPTER 2
Hannah
I bet you will.
Those damn words have been playing in my head all day, despite the fact I keep telling myself I’m not interested in his proposition.
Even though I am very much attracted to Asher Knight.
What sane woman wouldn’t be?
Look up the word “gorgeous” in the dictionary… there’d be a picture of Asher Knight.
Put “gorgeous” in any online thesaurus, and all that would pop up would be picture after picture of the man.
It’s not fair that he’s just my type. Bossy, alpha, and determined. Add on the almost midnight-black hair, light hazel eyes, and what’s clearly an impressive physique under that expensive silk suit he was wearing, and it took all my willpower to be affronted by his offer.
Truth is, however, I’m not offended. He made me an offer that—under normal circumstances, say we’d met at a bar or something—I might have accepted once I was able to decide he wasn’t a serial killer. I have no aversion to casual, safe sex.
Not that I get it often.
Or at all lately.
And… he said it would be safe.
And I could say ‘no’ if I wanted.
He also implied he could get me wet from words alone. That’s not a bet I’m willing make with him, because he pretty much did when he started whispering in my ear in his office.
“Agh,” I mutter as I leave my last cleaning job of the day.
Grudgingly, I have to admit he saved my ass from Gerda’s wrath. When I finally had the strength in my wobbly legs to walk back into the kitchen, she was waiting for me. She pointed at the glass, which Asher must have had to walk over to leave his apartment.
“Clean that up,” she snapped. “And you’re lucky… I would have fired you, but Mr. Knight said he worked out a payment plan and I was not to terminate you. That it was a simple mistake that could be easily forgiven.”
God, I hated learning that. It made me like him just a tiny bit. Although it made me feel beholden as well, and that was something I just can’t be. I have too many things on my plate that hold me hostage as it is. There are so many things pulling at me—there’s just not any room to give another ounce of myself.
Snagging my phone off the passenger seat of my little beat-up Nissan Sentra, I manage to start a call to Nelson. As always happens whenever I gear up to talk with my ex, I must take deep, calming breaths while the phone rings.
He answers without any warmth in his voice, but the feeling is mutual. “What can I do for you, Hannah?”
“I want to speak to Hope,” I say, hating I feel like I need permission to speak to my own daughter.
Which isn’t true, of course. Nelson may have primary physical custody right now, but I have joint legal custody. There are no limitations in our divorce decree that limits the amount of phone time I have with Hope. I could call her ten times a day, which I would love to do, but that would be a little insane.
Nelson sighs into the phone. “She’s not here right now.”
My brow furrows. “Where is she?”
“Amelia took her out shopping for school clothes,” he says, and my entire body bristles.
“I was going to do that this weekend,” I say, tone vibrating with anger. “I told you that. Hope was excited we were going to have a girls’ shopping trip together. Instead, you let your current flavor of the week take her?”