Play Me >> Styles

f i v e

The table was set with white linen, sparkling china, and a bottle of chilled champagne. A solitary candle burned from the center, casting the room in romantic shadow. The scents of savory steak and herbs rose to her nostrils. Her stomach growled on cue as he lifted the silver dome and revealed buttery mashed potatoes, crisp green beans, and gravy. He handed her a flute of champagne alive with bubbles and she took a luxurious sip, noting the wonderful tones of Dom Pérignon.

His gaze took in her appearance with obvious disapproval. She readied for battle, intent on winning one round, but he waved his hand in dismissal and pulled out her chair. "I'm unhappy about your decision to disobey me, Sloane." His voice cut smooth as caramel, but the warning pulsed beneath. Unease slithered in her belly. "We'll have to address that later. First, I think we both need to eat."

Since she had no intelligent comeback other than a curse, she glared at him from behind her bangs and dug in.

The meat melted in her mouth. She ate with gusto and focus, until her plate was clean.

"I see you eat like you have sex," he said, amused. "No holds barred. It's nice to see that famous control slip away."

Her back stiffened. "My so called famous control makes me an excellent gamer," she said, formally. "I'm sorry if that bothers you."

He put down his fork and studied her. She refused to fidget and met his gaze head on, the forest green of his eyes sucking her in like an undertow. "Your control doesn't bother me, Sloane. It's part of who you are, and got you to the top. It also got you out of the slums and kept you alive." His gaze ripped her polished surface to shreds, leaving her open and vulnerable. "Do you like being in control?"

"Of course."

He nodded. "What about your past lovers?"

"What about them?"

"Did they ever try to take away your control?"

She shrugged and kept her face expressionless. "No."

"Not one of them challenged you in the bedroom?"

Her temper flared and she snapped. "No, okay? Some tried, but I threatened to cut off their balls and they backed down. I can't help who I am, and I'm not less of a woman just because I like to call the shots. Who cares if I have a difficult time having an orgasm? It's not my fault." The words stumbled out of her mouth in a terrible rush of honesty.

His calm questions continued like steady gunfire. "Have you had trouble reaching orgasm in the past?"

"Not with myself."

"Have any past lovers tied you up?" Amusement flared briefly.

"No."

"You seemed to have no trouble reaching climax tonight," he pointed out.

She shrugged. "Like I said, it's been a while. I'm backed up."

His eyes lit with humor, but he didn't argue. "Did you like what I did to you tonight?"

"No. I only obeyed because you won the bet."

He laughed and shook his head. "God, you're stubborn. Don't lie to me. Not ever again. Now answer the question."

She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, then snapped it shut. He was right. She hated liars. Grudgingly, the word popped out of her mouth. "Yes."

His approving smile filled her with happiness. "Thank you for telling me the truth."

She sipped her champagne and sulked. He'd crawled under her skin like Frank Sinatra's famous song. How had one lousy night begun to change the person she believed she was?