She knew very well what. Suppressing a growl, he stalked toward her. “Some pretty girl made me tear it apart.”
“Hmm.” She rubbed a finger thoughtfully over her lips, and for a moment he was entranced by the gesture, and by the sexy curve of her mouth. “Do you often let girls yank your chain?”
“Sometimes. It gives me an excuse to spank them.”
Her confidence faltered a moment. Her cheeks grew pink, her eyes half-lidded. Yeah. She was submissive all right. And that wasn’t just his ego talking. He’d bet she’d melt for him here and now with a little dirty talk.
He crowded her with his body, just to keep her off balance, to keep that lusty haze in her eyes. She seemed like the type of submissive who needed extra help staying in the right headspace. He wanted to learn his way around her mind more than he’d ever wanted to learn a woman.
“Maybe . . . another time.” Abruptly, he stepped away, leaving her looking breathless. “For now, we have work to do.” He tried to calm himself then looked her over from a professional standpoint. It didn’t help him regain his self-control. The short sundress and strappy heels showed off her luscious body, and made him want to run his hands over her bare legs. And then there was her cleavage. It was . . . highly distracting.
“This is your idea of wearing something nice?” he asked. She looked nice, all right, but not in the way he’d meant. Instead of a rich, uptight housewife, she looked like candy—sweet and delicious. But her wide eyes and innocent expression made her the last person someone would suspect of criminal intent.
“What?” She peered down at herself. “It’s a dress.”
“We’re going shopping at a BMW dealership. You need to look like you can afford to buy one.”
“You said dress nice. Not wear pearls and a cardigan.” Her cocky demeanor snapped back into place and she stepped in close, smirking. The flowery smell of her hair swirled around him and his hand twitched to tangle in the smooth strands. “So that’s why you’re wearing a suit.” She gripped his tie and straightened it. “You clean up nice, Fox.”
“Mr. Johnson today. Peter Johnson.”
She snorted a laugh. “Okay. I’ll be . . . Petunia.”
He lifted a brow. “Rein it in, sweetness. You can be . . . Amanda.”
“And are we married?”
“Of course.”
She held up her ring finger and wiggled it. “You forgot to put a ring on it.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a ring he’d bought for this reason yesterday, knowing he was close to losing the bet. With mock-seriousness, he said, “Amanda, will you do the honor of being my pretend wife?”
With a gasp, she clasped her hands together. “Oh my God! A cubic zirconia! It’s more beautiful than I ever dreamed!”
The rapture on her face made him laugh. He’d have to get her to tone it down, but he had to admit she had good control over her expression when he didn’t have a hand up her skirt.
He didn’t bother to tell her it was a real diamond.
She took the ring and slid it on her finger. “Okay. So what’s the plan, Pete?”
***
Fox drove the Rolls-Royce down several side roads surrounding the dealership. The engine’s purr was softer than the sports cars he usually delivered. His hands enjoyed the padded leather steering wheel. Everything about this car was made for luxury.
Three hundred and nineteen thousand dollars. Pretty steep if he actually planned to pay for one.
“How does it feel, honey?” Addison asked from the back.
Fox shifted in the seat, pretending to consider its comfort. Of course it was perfect. But it wasn’t his to keep. “Comfortable. It’ll be great for the drive to the beach house.”
The dealer smiled and patted the dashboard. “It’s the most sought-after luxury car, especially in terms of comfort. Perfect for long distance driving.”
“How’s the mileage?” she asked.
Fox gritted his teeth. Rich people didn’t ask about things like gas mileage. “Sweetheart,” he said, “if you like it, we buy it. You don’t need to worry about those sorts of things anymore.”
In the rearview, he saw her face pale. She’d been flawless until now.