Page 153 of The Bet
“You surprise me, Stone,” she said, when they paused to take a breath. “You’re nothing like how I thought you would be.”
His hands pressed gently against the sides of her hips. “And you’re just like how I thought you would be.”
Their foreheads pressed together. “I used to think you were such a hedonistic jerk,” she said, in between kisses, “but now I see that I was wrong.”
He swallowed, and took her hands in his, his thumbs gently massaging her wrists. “I used to be a jerk,” he said, swallowing, bracing himself.
“Are you sure you don't want to take this to the bedroom?” she asked, her hot breath tempting across his skin.
“Izzy,” he said, waiting for her to look at him.
“Yes?” she replied, lifting up her arms and taking off her jumper. She had on a sleeveless t-shirt underneath, and his eyes fell to her toned, naked arms.
“Izzy,” he said again, dragging his gaze away, making it stay on her face. “I used to be a bit of an asshole, before. You know that, right?”
She put her arms around his neck, swooped close, their faces touching. “I know.”
Several times now he had run through that conversation in his head, how he would start it, what he would say. But now, now that he was kneeling on the floor, their faces level, his hands on her wrists, now her scent, and her heat, clouded his thinking. “What?” she asked, suddenly turning serious. “What is it?”
It was on the tip of his tongue. “It's...”
I have something to tell you.
But her sudden change in temperament was like a cold shower to his good intentions. If he told her and she walked, what then?
“Are you doubting going into business with Hennessy?” she asked, lifting her hands to his face.
How could he? How could he tell her that what he had done? Bet his friend $10K to get her into bed? And what chance did he have of her believing that he had changed his mind, and he had dropped it?
Not a chance in hell.
Even he wouldn't believe himself.
“No,” he said, kissing her upturned wrists, first one and then the other. He lifted his body and moved his face closer to her ear. “Nothing like that,” he mumbled, his nose brushing against the softness of her hair.
“Then what?” She pulled her wrists away, and gave him a stare that seemed to see right through him.
He couldn't risk losing her.
Not now.
Maybe now wasn't the time to come clean.
Not now when it was still in its early, fledging stages.
He lowered his face onto her thighs, more conflicted than ever. Her fingers raked through his hair, and he lifted his face.
“You’re scaring me, Xavier.” The zesty smell of her perfume made him heady, and his hands settled on her thighs, thinking, pondering, wanting.
Maybe later, once they were at the Hamptons, before they did anything, he would open his heart and confess. And she would see. She would understand.
His fingers snaked up towards the zipper of her jeans.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice low and raspy.
“Stand up,” he said, looking directly up at her, holding her gaze, and when she obliged, when she stood up slowly, he undid her button, and peeled down her zipper.
Oh,” she breathed, biting her lip as he tugged her jeans down a little. “This is what you had in mind.”
