Page 53 of IOU

Whatever. I didn’t grow boobs overnight. Maverick needs a little more time.

“How about we up the ante?” I offer like a complete fool. “Make it like a poker game? If I’m right, you have to take back one of my cards and owe me a favor. If I’m wrong, I’ll owe you two favors.”

“That’s not how this works.” That’s what his voice says, but his eyes say something else. At the mention of a bet, those midnight irises go hungry.

“Are you scared I might win?” I tease. “Come on, it’ll be like a twofer, right?”

He licks his lips.

Come on, take the bet.

“The big bad Maverick isn’t nervous, is he?”

He shakes his head after a moment of just staring at me as if this has been the most ridiculous afternoon he’s ever had. Which, I’ll admit, this probably ranks pretty high up there for me too.

“I mean, if you’re scared, then don’t worry about it.” I shrug. “I know I’m right anyway.”

That gets him. You never threaten a poker player with being scared. Maverick watches me intently for a few more seconds before saying, “Deal,” and leans back on the couch, allowing his knees to fall open.

“All right, Ainsley. Come smell my breath.”

He pats his leg with his free hand.

Shit. I really did not think this through. Too late now, though. I inch slowly, heart in my throat at what could possibly be severe indigestion, and swallow past the nerves.

“Closer.” He coaxes. “Can’t smell my breath from there.”

Ugh. “You can lean forward more,” I whine.

It’s not like he doesn’t look all sexy and snuggly, but I’m starting to have doubts now that he is allowing me to follow through with this crazy bet.

I inch in further with my hands braced along his muscular thighs, until we’re nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent challenge hanging between us. I’m usually not that competitive of a person, but Maverick Lexington brings out the challenger in me.

“Breathe on me,” I tell him. We’re close enough that I don’t need to get any closer.

A smile forms on his face before it turns into something more sinister.

Ah hell. He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?

He opens his mouth and, with his free hand, grabs the back of my neck, holding me close. I’m tense, holding still and waiting on his breath to hit my nose, but instead, a cold liquid splashes my cheek, dripping down into my mouth as he takes a big drink between us.

“Hey!” I cry. “You cheated!” I try to pull away and wipe my face—what the fuck?—but Maverick shoves me backward, my back hitting the table, and my legs pinned between his. A crash sounds outside, and a quick look shows he tossed the bottle out on the patio. The glass shatters, and there’s no time to scold him.

Before I know it, his face pushes against mine, his nose angled just so. His chest his heaving, pounding against my own. Stormy eyes, filled with fury lock onto mine before he presses his lips to mine, his hands spanning my jaw to the back of my head, tilting me back and opening my mouth. Bitter and warm, the beer floods my mouth, and I have no other option but to swallow it. It glides down my throat, lighting my body up with heat as Maverick replaces it with his tongue. My hands are at his head, pushing? Pulling?

I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t tell if I’m so mad that I’m turned on or if his crazy speaks to my crazy, and I want to fuck him out of my system. Is this what losing it feels like? My hands are in his hair, pulling and kneading, taking everything he won’t say as he licks and sucks my bottom lip, exploring my mouth as if he could do it all day without tiring.

And then it’s over, just like that. Maverick pulls away and licks the remaining beer off my cheek before swiping his tongue along his lips.

I don’t miss a beat.

“You still cheated.”

He leans back casually like we just didn’t devour each other’s faces.

“You didn’t say I couldn’tcontinueto drink my beer. You only asked to smell my breath.”

“Which you didn’t let me do,” I add.

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