“I suppose it is now,” I say as he sits.

I turn to find him looking at me, his dark eyes burning with so much desire that it whips in fiery swirls all through me. I raise my glass, then take a sip. Frankly, I need it to cool down.

“I was hoping that drink would buy me an introduction.”

I extend my hand. “Nikki Fairchild.”

He takes it, and despite every way that he has touched me, this simple brush of palm against palm sends shock waves skittering all through me. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Fairchild.”

I pull my hand away, feeling strangely unsettled. I want to play this game. And that means keeping my cool.

“Why did you want to buy an introduction?”

“I was hoping you’d have dinner with me.”

“Were you?” I run my finger along the rim of my glass, my eyes never leaving his. “Why?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Because I was hoping you’d spend a few hours after dinner with me.”

He reaches for the toothpick in my drink, then lifts it to his mouth, casually biting off the olive.

He has, I think, an absolutely perfect mouth.

“Ms. Fairchild?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “You have me at a disadvantage. Mr….?”

“Stark,” he says. “Damien Stark.” I like the way he says his name. He says it as though it belongs to me.

I put on one of my plastic smiles, the kind I practiced in my pageant days. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Stark.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“Tennis player. Entrepreneur. Womanizer?” I say the last as a question.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Apparently I have quite the reputation.”

He’s put the toothpick on a napkin on the bar. Now I pick it up and brush it lightly over my lower lip, gratified when I see his gaze dip to my mouth. “Are you denying it?” I ask.

“Not at all. I’ve fucked a lot of women in my life, Ms. Fairchild.”

“Oh.” I lick my lips. “And do you want to fuck me, too?”

“Desperately. That, and so much more.”

It takes a superhuman amount of effort, but I manage not to squirm. I am, however, hopelessly wet. And I’m quite sure that Damien knows it.

I draw a breath, gather myself, and look deep into those dual-colored eyes. “I’m not interested in being one of many, Mr. Stark.”

“And any man who thought of you that way would be a fool. I’m not a fool, Ms. Fairchild.” He takes my hand and presses light kisses against it, and it is as if coils of pleasure shoot straight from my fingertips all the way to my clit.

I can’t help it, I actually moan. And when I do, I see victory dance in his eyes.

Bastard.

“About dinner,” he says, trailing a fingertip lazily over my palm and driving me just a tiny bit crazy. “You still haven’t answered.”

I tug my hand away, then mourn the loss of contact.

“Sorry,” I say. “I have plans with my friend.”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t believe you do.” He nods, indicating something over my shoulder.

I turn, then see Jamie walking away from the bar with Ryan’s arm around her waist. I stifle a laugh. Even when we’re playing at seduction, Jamie is quick to jump into a man’s bed. But what the hell. With Ryan at least, it’s as safe as it gets.

I, however, am enjoying the chase too much to give in.

I reach into my purse and put a fifty dollar bill on the bar before sliding off my stool. “I barely know you, Mr. Stark, and it’s been a long day. Thank you for the drink, but I think I’ll just order room service.”

I see genuine surprise on Damien’s face, and as I turn to walk away, I don’t even bother to hide my grin.

Yes, I think, this is going to be fun.

Chapter 4

I don’t hurry to the elevator. Instead, I stroll past the hotel’s stores, taking in the jewelry, the dresses, the designer handbags. I never turn around, but once or twice I see the reflection of Damien walking behind me, and I add a little swing to my step. I don’t know what he has planned, but I do know it will be interesting.

When I finally reach the elevator bank, I turn into the elegantly appointed alcove, swipe my room key over the panel to call the elevator for the top floors, and then step on as soon as the car arrives. I press the button for my floor, then move back, waiting for the inevitable rise.

The doors are just about to close when Damien appears. He thrusts his arm through the gap to stop the doors, and then slides his whole body inside the car with me.

A car that suddenly seems much smaller than it is.

“Ms. Fairchild,” he says, stepping toward me so that I am forced to either move backward into the corner or give up my personal space.

Damien’s wife wouldn’t move.

Nikki Fairchild—who is still being seduced—does.

His smile is slow, and suggests that he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He leans toward me, then reaches out to press his palm against the polished metal paneling just over my shoulder. “I’m not sure you understand the kind of man I am,” he says. “I don’t like hearing no.”

I lift a brow. “In that case, I hope you’re the kind of man who can handle disappointment. Because I’m not a woman who says yes easily.” The elevator slides to a stop on the thirty-fifth floor, and I ease past him.

“I do love a challenge,” he says as I step from the car and into the hallway.

I turn back, looking at him before the doors close and block the view. He looks magnificent in a tailored gray suit and an ice-blue tie. He looks like a man in control. A man who takes what he wants. And seeing him like that makes me feel a burst of feminine power that fuels both my desire for the man—and for this game.

“I’m glad,” I say as the doors start to close. “Because you definitely have your work cut out for you.”

I’m not certain, but I think I see him smile before the doors block my view.

In the suite, I head first to Jamie’s room, but she has tied a red ribbon on the doorknob, and I have to laugh—it’s our old symbol for Man in the Room. And while I’m a little jealous that Jamie has her boyfriend in her bed tonight, I’m not jealous enough to call Damien and end this.

I’m too curious to see how it plays out.

Since I’m alone, I decide to watch a movie in bed instead of in the living room, and I’m scrolling through a selection of truly uninteresting choices when my phone rings.

I glance at it, but it’s not a number I recognize, and I’m really not in the mood to chat with a telemarketer.

I let it go to voicemail.

A moment later, a text flashes on my screen from that same number:

Answer your phone —D

I lick my lips and snuggle back against the pillows. Well, okay, then.

I wait. And then I wait a little longer.

And then—just when I’ve decided that he’s intentionally tormenting me—my phone rings again.

“Mr. Stark,” I say. “How did you get this number?”

“I have a knack for getting the things I want, Ms. Fairchild.” The words are simple, but they are spoken in such a low, sensual tone that their effect on me is anything but. Quite the contrary, actually, and I close my eyes and just let the pleasure of his voice curl through me.

“Do you?” I ask, then lick my lips. “What is it you want?”

“I think we already covered that, Ms. Fairchild. What was it you said I wanted?”

I lick my lips, surprised that I find myself a little bit shy. This is Damien, after all.

Not now, though. Not tonight.

Right. I draw in a breath. “You said you want to fuck me.”

“Very good. What else?”

“And so much more,” I say dutifully.

His low chuckle rumbles through me. “Someone was paying attention.”

“It was a very intriguing conversation,” I admit. “So what is the so much more?”