He was offended. “I’ve always been honest with you.”
My hands craved to tighten into fists, but I settled for tightening my smile. “Forthcoming is a better word. I’ll ask you questions, and you’ll give me the truth. The full truth.”
The offended look evaporated. “In exchange for?”
“That’s what we’ll negotiate.” I sat back in my chair, crossed my legs, and settled in, trying to match his body language. “Make me an offer.”
He considered it thoughtfully. “Spend the night with me.”
I’d expected his opening bid to be high. At least he’d found a somewhat classy way to ask for the sleezy, amoral thing he most wanted. I steeled my reaction, hoping not to anger him and blow the negotiations.
“No. I love my husband and I’m a married woman.” When he looked like he was going to push that line, I added, “With a clause about cheating in her prenup.”
“We will be discreet.”
I blinked slowly to signal I wasn’t impressed with his proposal. “No. Make me a reasonable offer.”
He exhaled lightly and stared at the chessboard as if it were the drawing board.
For Royce’s sake, I needed to know what his father knew, but my blood pressure spiked as excitement worked across Macalister’s expression. Whatever idea he’d latched on to, he liked it a lot.
“You let me give you an orgasm.”
This was one of the variables I’d plugged into my forecast, and my voice was strained as I admitted it. “I charged the vibrator this afternoon.”
He let out a half of a laugh, and it was downright evil. “You misunderstand. You won’t just give me control—you’ll allow me to give it to you physically.”
Microscopic threads tugged at my skin in a thousand different directions. “No.”
“How about this?” The soft, moody lighting in his elegant bedroom exaggerated his Cheshire Cat smile. “I won’t even touch you.” He had an afterthought. “Your hands. You’ll allow me to touch those.”
For a split second, I wondered if he’d laced the champagne with something, because the idea of him bringing me to orgasm by holding my hands made me want to giggle. But my drink hadn’t been poisoned—I’d watched him open the bottle and pour my glass—and besides that, I was smart enough to know better.
He had a plan to win.
“That’s it?” I asked pointedly. “You’ll only touch my hands?”
He said it plainly as if he were talking about the minutiae of a financial disclosure. “You’ll be naked, and I’ll be allowed to kiss you.”
I pictured me on my back on his bed, his hands pinning mine at my sides, while his kiss wandered down across my naked flesh. He wanted his two minutes, and the word came out in a rush. “No.”
“I don’t see why this is an issue. You’ve let me kiss you before.”
“No.” It came out more honestly and aggressively than I wanted it to. I had to make him believe there was a chance I was starting to fall for his seduction. “Not tonight.”
Liquid heat pooled in his eyes at my implied opportunity. Not tonight, but maybe some other time . . .
“If I’m naked,” I squeezed the armrests, digging my nails into the upholstery, “every stitch of your clothing stays on.”
When I took that and kissing off the table, I expected him to have to rethink his plan, but he didn’t. He gave a nod, picked up the bottle of champagne, and poured me another glass as he spoke.
“Here is my offer. You will do what I say and allow me to bring you to orgasm. I can touch your hands but nowhere else, and I cannot kiss you. During this time, I’ll answer any questions you ask truthfully and to the best of my ability.” His gaze sharpened like a knife right before it plunged in. “You also agree to accompany me to the office on a day of my choosing.”
Wait, what?
My confusion played out on my face.
He lifted the champagne glass, extending it toward me like it was part of his offer. “I enjoy your company, Marist. It’s as simple as that.”
Nothing with him was simple. I peered at the flute in his hand, watching the tiny bubbles break free of their hold at the bottom of the glass and float upward to their escape. I was jealous of their short trip. The gauntlet I had to run to break free was going to be much longer and harder.
I accepted both the champagne and his offer, sealing the deal when I pressed my lips to the glass and drank. Dark satisfaction twisted through his eyes like a sea of ice blue snakes coiling together.
My blood rushed in my body as he stood from his chair, grabbed the back of it, and lifted. The heavy green armchair was set down facing the decorative mirror that leaned against the wall. Once that was done, he focused on dragging the table out of the way, and the chess pieces rattled as the legs chattered across the hardwood floor. It meant there was nothing to obstruct the mirror’s view of the chair.