Chapter 6
So, that’s how she’s playing it, Maxim thought as he heard the clicking of high heels in the hotel hallway, slowing down near his door as if the woman on the other side of it was double-checking that she had the right room.
It was a full hour after Sienna had messaged to let him know she was leaving her friend’s house, and that she would be there in a few. Maxim knew at once that she’d deliberately made him wait. It was a bid for power, an attempt to send a message to let him know that she was in charge.
The fact that she felt she needed to do that made him grin. He was getting to her.
He was hardly bothered by her tardiness, but as she knocked, he made a big show of flinging open the door and being impatient. “You’re late.”
Sienna stepped in, nodding at the door to communicate that she desired it closed. Her hair was brushed until it shone, falling all around her shoulders, and despite the late hour she wore mirrored shades, their oversized frames making her face look even more shapely and delicate. Above their rim, her perfectly groomed brows arched, making him wish to hell she would take them off so he could see those impertinent, challenging eyes.
Her mouth was the color of spilled port wine, glossy and enticing. Making him want to drop any pretense of being pissed off and lifting her into his arms to taste those lips again.
She was wearing a white pantsuit, perfectly fitted, made of what he guessed was a fine wool—cashmere, maybe. He remembered with a silent grin that the last time they had made love, she’d been wearing a skirt, and he’d been able to bury his tongue inside her with ease.
This little wench, he knew, had deliberately dressed this way to thwart his efforts to do it again, even to her own detriment. She could run, Max figured, but she wouldn’t be able to hide. He was confident that once he started working his magic on her, that pretty white suit would peel off and fall to the floor all on its own.
Taunting her, he repeated, “You’relate.”
Shrugging, she tossed her purse onto a table and looked around. “You could have started without me.”
Maxim almost laughed. “Oh, it’s like that?”
“Uh-huh. Could have knocked yourself out… as long as you know I have a low tolerance for mediocrity, and if you’d already wasted your energy while waiting on me, I wouldn’t have been very happy about it.”
He grabbed her and kissed her hard, bringing her hand down to the ridged front of his trousers. “Does this feel like I wasted my energy to you?”
Sienna shrugged coolly. Her glasses still shielded her eyes, yet he could still discern the slow burn of excitement dwelling there. “Maybe you’ve done a deal with the devil.”
“No, I haven’t, but if I knew for sure that it would grant me a superior level ofenergy,I might consider it.” He kissed her again. Longer, even harder, and then tried to sound serious. “Now, there is still the matter of your rudeness.”
“What of it?” she asked archly.
“I think I’m entitled to an apology.”
She laughed. “That, and the face of the good Lord, you will never see.”
“Oh?” He pulled her to him, hands beginning to roam up and down her body. “We’ve moved from me signing a contract for unlimited libido with the king of the underworld, to being denied the face of God? Is it for the same crime?” He pressed his lips to her throat, and to his delight, she tilted her head backward to allow him clear access. “Or the additional sin of being drop-dead sexy?”
She laughed, a pleasant gust of surprise. “You’re vain!”
He shook his head. “It’s not vanity if it’s true.” He whispered in her ear, “Did you think I didn’t see you checking me out back there at the roadside, the day we first met?”
The surprise on her face emboldened him. “That video you took of me changing the tire… have you been saving it for your personal use? Your personal pleasure?”
The appalled expression on her face made it clear to him that he had struck pay dirt. He laughed.
“Oh, I hate you,” she muttered.
“You’re going to hate me more in a minute,” he promised, “because I’m about to exact retribution for your making me wait here, stewing in my own ardent prison while you were lollygagging around—”
“Nobody says ‘lollygagging’ anymore,” she cut in.
He inclined his head courteously. “I apologize for my outdated English colloquialisms.” He pulled off his shirt almost in a single gesture and began to unbuckle his pants. “Now you, my dear, must express your penitence to me. Get on your knees.”
She whipped off her glasses and her eyes were revealed to him, sparkling, impeccably made up, and incredulous. “What?”
“Kneel.”