Chapter Five
Dalton's Magic Rule #6: Seize Every Opportunity To Perform.
“You are so hot. I want to do you over and over again.”
Melina smiled at Rhys's raspy voice, but didn't bother to respond since her mouth was busy doing other things and didn't appear interested in giving up the warm flesh it was sucking on. Instead, she hummed her appreciation for the remark, smiling even more when he groaned.
“I can never get enough of you, Melina. Never, do you understand?” His fingers tangled in her hair and pulled. “Look at me.”
Just for kicks, she resisted and sucked him harder. She swirled her tongue around his broad, mushroom tip, then flattened it against the sensitive spot just below his slit. He hissed in a breath. Rhys fisted her hair more tightly and tugged, forcing her to release him even as she moaned in protest.
“You hog the covers, Ladybug.”
Melina's eyes snapped open and, for a moment, her dream and reality vied for supremacy.
Reality: Her vision was just as it should be without her glasses and first thing in the morning, a little fuzzy but not enough to prevent her from seeing that there was a man lying next to her. A big, naked man.
Dream: The man was Rhys, his head propped on his bent arm. A joy she'd never experienced slammed into her, but then disappeared almost immediately when reality took the lead.
She hadn't been going down on Rhys. He hadn't wrapped her hair around his fists. And, thankfully, he certainly hadn't called her a hog.
Little comfort there.
This was Max, she remembered. And as much as she loved and adored Max, he wasn't Rhys and he never would be. She could never feel the same way about—
Her eyes widened in horror just as he reached out and ran a finger down the slope of her bare shoulder. The events of the night before rushed her like a linebacker in the final inning of a playoff game. Or was that hockey? Baseball? She didn't know any more about sports than she did about magic. Still, she knew that last night hadn't gone exactly as she'd planned.
Not her plan, anyway.
She sucked in a breath as Max's hand slipped under the sheet to cover one of her bare breasts. Just as they had last night, her nipples came to immediate attention, tightening as if to reach out for his fingers. Teasingly, he grazed one, then the other, before he lightly began rubbing one in tiny, firm circles. When she gasped, he smiled. “You're sensitive there. I noticed that last night.”
Dumbstruck, she just stared at him. She never would have thought it was true, but he apparently brought something out in her. Maybe one too many solo test runs had triggered some kind of latent chemical reaction in her? Why else would she have been so heated in her response last night? With Max, she reminded herself.
But present circumstances didn't prove her theory. She'd slept through the night—after three screaming orgasms—and she was still raring to go. Apparently, so was he.
Her eyes widened as another thought struck her. He was raring to go because he hadn't come. She hadn't gotten him off. She jerked to a sitting position, barely clutching the sheet before it exposed her bare chest to the world. “Oh, God. I knew it. Brian was right. I do suck in bed. And not,” she held up a hand to forestall his anticipated attempt at humor, “in a good way.”
Drawing up her knees, she buried her face in them and covered her head with her arms. She struggled to block out all stimuli and simply think. Even so, she felt him stiffen next to her. His words, when they came, didn't sound humorous in the least. “The bastard told you that and you believed him? You still do? After last night?”
She jerked her face up to look at him. “Of course after last night,” she hissed, poking him in the chest with her finger. “You proved it.”
“Excuse me?” Grabbing hold of her finger, he leaned in toward her, nose to nose, until she could clearly see his fierce frown. Anger emanated from him in waves. “All we proved last night was you are capable of far more passion than you thought. I've got the claw marks and the ringing ears to prove it.”
Flushing, she jerked her finger away and buried her face in her knees again. Her next words came out muffled and garbled. “Also proofs incisor golden bat.”
“What?”
She lifted her head again and spoke past the hair that had tangled in her mouth. “All that proved is that you're good in bed,” she clarified. “We already knew that. I, on the other hand, am a flop. I just didn't accept it before.”
He shook his head and spat out, “Bullshit.” Despite the fury in his voice, his hand was gentle as he smoothed back the hair from her face. “Melina, what are you talking about? Last night was the best—”
“You didn't get off,” she yelled. “We agreed that you were going to teach me about pleasing a man, and instead you drove me so wild that I…that I—” She shook her head.
“Finish.” His voice had turned quiet, almost icy. He also moved away from her, just a foot or two, but it was enough to make her feel the rejection. Great, now he was angry. But why shouldn't he be? She'd barely touched him last night. Sure, he'd ordered her not to, but maybe that had been some kind of challenge. Some test to see if she was aggressive enough to give him what he really wanted?
“I-I was selfish. I completely forgot about what I should be doing for you, Max. But it was only because you were so…you were so much more—” So much more than she'd expected. Based on that kiss so long ago, she'd thought she'd be safe with Max. It had been nice, but it hadn't overwhelmed her. It hadn't affected her the way just thinking of Rhys did. It hadn't made her tremble, but she was trembling now. When her face was buried in her knees and she consciously remembered who he was, she could control the ripples of desire that were swirling inside her. But as soon as she lifted her head and saw him—as soon as she breathed him in—the drumbeats of a passion so momentous began to clamor in her ears, urging her to reach out to him.
“What was I, Melina?”
Pressing her lips together, she plucked at the bedspread, refusing to look at him.
“You came into my bed,” Rhys said. “Apparently, you arranged all this for one of your idiotic experiments. So you will look at me, damn you.” Gripping her chin, he turned her face toward him, not unkindly, but not gently either. “What was I? Who am I?”
She frowned. “What?”
“Who. Am. I?”
“You—” She squinted, but the picture didn't change. He was Max. Honey-colored hair, slightly shorter than she remembered from two days before, but he could have gotten a haircut. Strong nose and jaw. Broad shoulders and chest, enticingly bare. Automatically, her gaze dropped lower and she saw his bare limbs splayed out from underneath the stark white sheet. She couldn't see the light dusting of hair on them, but she'd felt it last night. When he'd lain on top of her, with her wrists manacled by his hands—
She sucked in a breath and held it. Along with a flash of her favorite fantasy, two memories from last night formed. The first, his seeming surprise when he'd come into the room and found her in his bed. She'd chalked it up to nerves, but had it been more? The second, he'd called her Ladybug. Only Rhys called her Ladybug. But Rhys wasn't here. He didn't even like her anymore. Plus, he wouldn't have known to come to her. Unless…
“Rhys?” she whispered. Already half-expecting his answer, she rose and pulled the sheet up with her. His expression flashed with confirmation.
“Melina,” he said warningly, grabbing for the sheet, but she moved quick and with desperation, winning the tug of war so she could back up toward the door. And do what? Run out naked into the hallway? Prove herself to be an even bigger idiot? She compensated by taking a side-step toward the open bathroom doorway.
He stood, unconcerned with his nudity. “Come here, Ladybug,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “You're Max. Tell me you're Max.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, standing proud and tall. “I'm sorry. I can't do that.”
With her one free hand, she covered her mouth to stifle her moan of horror. She felt her knees about to buckle and put a steadying hand on the wall. She'd needed to steady herself on the bed last night, she remembered. She'd thought it was because she wasn't wearing her glasses, but it had more likely been because of the alcohol. The alcohol that had emboldened her to climb into the bed and masturbate while she fantasized about Rhys while actually thinking that she could go to bed with his brother. All in the interest of science, of course.
And what she'd done instead was throw herself at Rhys. Begged him to please her, she remembered with mortification. What had she said? Please me. Suck me.
“Melina,” he began again.
She shook her head. Now that she knew, it seemed so obvious. His hair was shorter. He spoke more slowly. He touched her differently. More hesitantly.
More and more hesitantly as time went on.
Except for last night.
A slicing pain tugged at her stomach, and she automatically clutched at it. His surprise last night had been just that. He hadn't been expecting her to throw herself at him. He'd gone along, probably to spare her feelings. It certainly wasn't because he'd been overcome by desire. He hadn't even tried to seek his own release. Maybe he'd already known he couldn't achieve that kind of satisfaction with her. Maybe Max had warned him.
Now a hollow feeling of betrayal burned along with her embarrassment and heartache. “Whose room is this?”
“Mine.”
“Not Max's?”
“Max is on a different floor.”
A different floor. So had the front desk made a mistake? Or had Max chickened out at the last minute and tricked Rhys into filling in for him?
That made the most sense.
Despite her brief suspicion that Max had told Rhys she was waiting for him, the evidence didn't point to him purposefully deceiving her. When she'd said his brother's name, he'd sounded displeased—with her, with his brother, with the entire situation.
“Why…what…what are you doing here?”
“I flew in to give you your birthday present. It's right on the dresser. Didn't you see it?” Holding out his hands as if she was a rabid dog about to bite him, he nevertheless took two steps toward her, skirting the bed much like she had the night before. She moved backward, matching him step for step, suddenly feeling like a tiny rabbit being stalked by a very hungry wolf. “You gave me a present instead. Too bad it wasn't meant for me, but—”
“But nothing,” she said. “You need to leave.”
He swept his hands down his tall, muscular form. “You're going to make me walk out of here naked?”
“You can-you can dress first. While I shower.”
Another step forward by him. Another step back for her. “Let's talk.”
Talk. What was there to talk about other than her wanting to die from humiliation? “You weren't expecting me.”
He froze and seemed to weigh his words carefully before answering. “No, but—”
“You didn't want this.”
“Now, that's not true.”
She laughed even as she swiped at the tears gathered in her eyes. “Oh, is that why you've been hounding me with so much attention? Who are you dating now, Rhys? I bet she looks just like me, doesn't she?”
The look that flashed across his face was subtle, but she caught it. She remembered the picture on her bookcase. The one where he posed with a woman Hugh Hefner would've been proud of. She'd had Barbie-like dimensions. Thirty-eight double D’s if she wasn't mistaken. Melina was barely a B-cup, and her hourglass shape was bottom heavy. She probably wouldn't have been allowed to clean the Playboy mansion, let alone live there.
As she came even with the open bathroom doorway, he shook his head. “Melina, please, don't—”
“Just go,” she whispered.
She saw him tense, saw him shift on the balls of his feet and knew he was going to lunge for her. But he was too far away. He'd never make it in time. Which is why he cursed when she propelled herself into the bathroom, shut the door and locked it.
The heavy thump of a fist against the door made her flinch, but he didn't call out to her. He did mutter a slow, steady stream of cuss words that would have amused her if she hadn't been so devastated. Rhys had plenty of surprises up his sleeves, including a kinky side and hot temper. Slowly, she sank to the floor, crawled under the open space of the double sink, and curled into a corner.
No matter what he said, he hadn't wanted her. That open box of condoms hadn't been for her.
And now she was stuck in this bathroom, with her overnight bag still on the floor outside, with no clothes. No pride. And no hope. She wasn't strong enough to risk this kind of hurt again. She wasn't ever going to be able to please a man, and that included Jamie. When Rhys left, she would get dressed and drive home. Then she'd throw herself into her work instead of silly dreams of a family and children.
Right after she killed Max.
* * *
His gaze never leaving the closed bathroom door, Rhys tugged on fresh clothes, cursing the whole time. She'd thought he was Max. When she'd offered to please him. When he'd kissed her. When he'd lain on top of her, played with her nipples, had his fingers and tongue inside her. She'd thought he was his brother.
Hurt and anger fought for supremacy. He wanted to rip his brother apart. Wanted to yell at her for daring to ask his brother for such a stupid, idiotic, lame-brained, ridiculous, personal, intimate favor.
She sucked in bed? She'd believed her a*shole of an ex-boyfriend so much that she'd sought out tutoring lessons on how to pleasure a man? From Max?
Raking his hands through his hair, he stopped staring at the door long enough to pace. And his brother had agreed, only to back out in the end. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that, given their conversation at the theater and in the bar last night, he'd thought to pave the way for Rhys. He couldn't decide whether to beat the shit out of Max or kiss his feet in gratitude.
Pausing, he took a deep breath and sat on the bed. He eyed Melina's overnight case and knew she wouldn't come out of the bathroom until she thought he was gone. Grabbing the overnight case, he thought about throwing it down the hallway. Instead, he shoved it under the desk, out of view. He wasn't going to make leaving him easy for her.
Falling back on the bed, he stared at the ceiling and allowed himself to process things. He was upset, yes, but he was also thinking clearheadedly now, something he obviously hadn't been doing when Melina had been standing in her underwear in front of him last night.
His clearheaded thinking was one of the things that made the act with his brother work. Off stage, Max was clearly the more extroverted. His passion and enthusiasm for performing were what pumped up Rhys's genuine but more quiet interest in magic. Unlike his brother, Rhys wasn't impulsive. Ever. He thought things through, whether it was the believability of a magic trick, what position in the room gave him the best advantage when it came to illusion, or whether a woman was hitting on him for his fame rather than a true interest in the man he was.
While there were more of the former than the latter, that didn't necessarily mean he'd turn a woman down just because she liked the limelight. He just liked to know what he was getting into from the beginning. That way, he maintained control from beginning to end, just like with his magic.
He decided what people saw and didn't see.
He made things happen.
But not with Melina. He'd never had that kind of control with her, and that more than anything else was probably what had kept him away from her. If he couldn't even control his feelings for her, what made him think that if he ever had her, he'd be able to leave? And leaving was always what he and his brother did. It was in their blood. He couldn't imagine staying in one place, day after day, month after month, working the same job. Even for Melina.
Or, more precisely, he could imagine it, but he couldn't accept such bliss was actually possible. Not on his part. And not on hers.
The first thing he'd thought when she'd called him Max was, “Not again.” He loved his brother, but sometimes he felt like he lived in his shadow. That no one truly saw him for who he was because they were always a pair.
The only thing that stopped him from freaking out completely was the fact she'd said his name last night, right after he'd undeniably given her the best orgasms of her life. Her defenses had been down, and she clearly hadn't realized Max hadn't shown up.
But she'd still said his name.
That meant a lot. Right now, that meant everything.
His right shoulder itched with intuition just before the phone rang. Rolling over, he reached for the phone and picked it up, knowing immediately who it was. “You are so dead.”
Silence. Then a hesitant, “Where's Melina?”
“Listen, you little—”
“If that's your brother,” Melina yelled from the bathroom, “you can tell him he's a dead man when I see him.”
“Already done, Ladybug,” he called through clenched teeth.
“She's still there?” Max sounded so proud of himself that Rhys tightened his hand on the receiver, wishing it was his brother's neck. “So what's the problem, man? I'm assuming you took advantage of the situation?”
“That's the problem, Max. I don't take advantage of women, especially not Melina.”
“So you didn't—” His brother cleared his throat. “You know?”
“No. Why don't you enlighten me? Exactly what did you think was going to happen, Max?”
“Was she wearing something sexy?”
Rhys remembered the little shorts and top she had been wearing, modest and simple by most standards, and currently lying on the floor. “Flannel pajamas.”
“Damn. And her hair?”
Loose and gorgeous. Feeling more relaxed, Rhys stretched out on the bed only to tense when he heard the bathroom door unclick. Feigning disinterest, he stayed on the bed as Melina peeked out from around the corner, her hands clutching her sheet while she searched for the bag he'd moved underneath the desk. “Pinned back in that bun of hers.”
“And the glasses?” Max groaned.
“The glasses? As butt-ugly as ever.” He looked straight at her when he said it, and she wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at him. He sat up, and her eyes widened, which, bastard that he was, immediately made him hard. Despite the fact he was fully clothed, he didn't miss the way her gaze moved down then up his body. Unlike similar glances other women gave him, her hesitant assessment made his chest puff out and his heart pound out of control.
“So what the hell did you guys do all night?”
“What do you think we did? We played rummy, watched a girly movie, and I ended up sleeping on the floor.”
Melina covered her mouth to hide her smile of relief, but he saw it anyway. He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“No sparks?”
More like Mount St. Helens. “Not a one.”
Max sighed. “Well, hey, I'm sorry, man. I really thought…I don't know. I just thought if I finally pushed the two of you into taking a chance—”
Almost feeling sorry for his brother now, Rhys smiled and rose. “You're still dead when I see you.”
“So Melina's okay?”
His smile widened until a grin split his face. While she remained frozen where she stood, wrapped in the sheet like a Grecian goddess, both determination and anticipation rolled through him. He stared at her. What he might have done or should have done before no longer mattered. She'd offered herself to him. She wanted sexual tutoring? Fine. Mistake or not, he was definitely the best man for the job. He was going to prove both her and that little twerp she'd dated wrong. By the time he was through with her, she'd know exactly the kind of power she held over a man. Over him.
“She's going to be fine.” Dropping his gaze, he allowed himself to take in the curves he'd felt and tasted last night. He wanted that sheet gone. Now. And by the way she was looking at him, she was starting to realize it. “In fact, she's going to be f*cking fabulous.”
While his brother squawked and started asking questions, Rhys hung up on him. He planted his hands on his hips and thrust his jaw out aggressively. “You ready for your next lesson, Ladybug?”
Game on.
* * *
Melina stared at Rhys and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
Next lesson? Was he crazy or was she? Because suddenly she wanted to drop her sheet, wrap herself around him, and never let go.
Fortunately for her, her saner side prevailed. After three failed relationships, she didn't believe it was better to love and lose, rather than never to have loved before. Especially not with Rhys. She loved him. She'd always loved him. But that love, combined with his pulling away from her, had caused her far too much pain of late.
If she was honest with herself, Rhys had hurt her far worse than Brian ever could, and that was not something she was going to ignore. If she held any place in his heart still, she'd have to content herself with that; she wasn't going to voluntarily seek out more only to have him walk away from her again. She turned toward the bathroom. “Um, I think I'll—”
“I feel it only fair to warn you that if you try to hide in the bathroom again, I'll just have to break the door down.”
Surprise came first, then she couldn't help it. She laughed. She laughed long and hard. When she finally managed to control herself and look at him, he was frowning fiercely.
“Glad to know the idea of me exerting enough strength to break down a door amuses you.”
It was the idea of him exerting such effort for her that had made her laugh, but she didn't tell him that. Shaking her head, she bit her lip. “I'm sorry. It's not that. I just…I just laugh when I'm nervous.” Plus, Rhys had just told Max what he normally thought of her. With her, men expected flannel pajamas, pinned-back hair, butt-ugly glasses.
Weren't those the same words Max had used to describe her choice in eye decor?
Even as she appreciated his discretion, she wondered if it was because he was too embarrassed to admit that he'd actually done anything with her. The thought pierced a tender spot inside her, when she'd thought she'd guarded those softer places long ago.
“So I make you nervous? Why is that, do you think?”
Any trace of humor slipped, and she averted her gaze. So he knew he made her nervous. Big deal. Like he hadn't already figured that out a long time ago with the way she always flushed and stuttered around him. “Can you give me my overnight bag? I thought I left it—”
“I gave it to a passing bellboy while you were in the bathroom.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You did not.”
He shrugged. “No, I didn't. But I did hide it. I don't want you getting dressed and rushing out of here before we talk.”
“But that's…that's—” she sputtered.
“Childish? Hey, desperate times and all that. But if you want to look around, then by all means…” He waved his hand in invitation.
For a moment, she just stared at him. What was motivating him to be so difficult about this? He had to know she was embarrassed about the mix-up, yet he was forcing her to confront him. Why wouldn't he just let it go? Why was he getting so much pleasure from her humiliation?
The answer came to her so suddenly that she felt foolish for not thinking of it sooner. This was obviously about the competitive male ego. He was probably offended that she'd asked Max for the favor and not him. Well, he didn't need any more ego stroking from her. Her performance last night should have already told him that she was putty in his hands.
She glanced around but didn't see her bag anywhere. Her purse, however, was by the television. Next to his cologne and that box of condoms. She snatched her purse, rifled through it, and found her spare glasses. With a mutinous thrust of her chin, she put them on. Her vision immediately focused, making her feel slightly calmer. “Honestly, Rhys,” she said, trying to sound bemused. “I don't know why you won't just give me my bag. All I want is my clothes.”
“Because seeing you all naked and pink and wearing nothing but those glasses would give me enormous pleasure.” He stepped closer to her and tugged playfully at the sheet that she clutched with whitened knuckles. “Lots of men dream of being taken by the prim librarian who's really a wildcat in bed. That's what this is all about, right? Learning how to please a man? I think we established last night that I qualify as a member of the male species. At least by touch. Would you like to see the proof itself?” His hands hovered over the button fly of his jeans.
“You're not funny.”
He smiled and shrugged. “Funny is the last thing I'm trying to be.”
She pondered what he'd said. “Do men really fantasize about librarians? I would have thought the average male liked something more overt. That's why porn flicks and skin magazines are so popular, isn't it?”
Now it was his turn to erupt in laughter. “Skin magazines?”
“What? That's what they're called, aren't they?”
“Sure, by some people. I just never thought to hear that term coming from your pretty lips.”
The casual compliment made her blush, but she immediately batted the pleasure it caused away. “Oh, you view me as asexual?”
In an instant, his expression grew serious. Heated. “I've never thought of you as asexual. Not by a long shot and certainly not after last night. Honey, you've got more passion in you than most men could handle.”
“Most, but not you, right?”
“I think I 'handled' you pretty well last night.” Reaching out, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, refusing to let her turn away. “Now, why don't you tell me what possessed you to go to Max in the first place? Your ex sold you a bill of goods, Melina, and I would think you're way too smart to fall for it.”
Too smart? Yes, that was her. Her brain told her that Brian was just an insecure man with an average-size penis that needed to “diss” her in order to feel more manly. But her bruised heart—the heart that longed to find love and companionship and family—told her that it was her own fault she was alone. Which meant admitting to herself that Brian was actually right. She had lain there like a board half the time. Because she'd never felt inspired to do otherwise. Until last night. “Why didn't you tell Max what happened when he called?”
“Because what happens between you and me has nothing to do with him.”
He looked so fierce, so possessive, that she shivered. “In this case, it did. He tricked you, didn't he?”
“He didn't trick me. He just didn't tell me what was waiting for me.”
“And if he had?”
“If he had, I wouldn't have waited for you to do your little fashion spin. I would have been on top of you before the door shut.”
Her entire body responded to his quiet statement. Her skin prickled, her nipples peaked, and her p-ssy wept. She would've sworn that if he were to touch her hair at that moment, she would come so hard she'd probably black out. She urged her mind to quiet the urges of her body and be logical. “Liar,” she whispered. “You haven't called. You haven't visited. You haven't wanted anything to do with me.”
“Not because I didn't want you.” He hesitated. “You didn't exactly advertise that you wanted me.”
“I-I didn't—”
“Don't lie,” he commanded, cupping the back of her head and pulling her in to his chest. Stunned, she closed her eyes and soaked him in. With a slow, firm hand, he rubbed her lower back. “We've lied to each other enough, don't you think? You might have picked Max to be your tutor, but it was my name you said before you fell asleep last night. And I want you, Melina. I'm willing to say it. I'm willing to act on it.”
She leaned back to meet his gaze, doubt and suspicion boiling inside her. “Why now? After all this time?”
“Because you offered it to me.”
“I pushed it on you.”
“That's a stupid thing to say, and you're not stupid.”
“Yes, well, here's where my stupidity ends.” Pulling away, she urged, “If you'll just get me my clothes, I'll get out of here.”
“Why? You were willing to sleep with Max. Was it because you love him?”
“No! I mean, of course, I love him, the same way I love you. We're family. I don't want to ruin that, Rhys, and what you're talking about will. Admit it. We want different things in our lives and trying to pretend otherwise would be foolish.”
He didn't contradict her. How could he? “You and Max want different things, too. Why were you willing to let him teach you but not me?”
Ah, so she'd been right. This was about his male ego. “Because he was around, for one.”
“I'm here now. And I've got the weekend, just like you and Max agreed, right?”
Alarm bells blared in her head. “Yes, but—”
“And I think we established last night that we have chemistry. That I have the skill to make you come.” He said it quietly, with none of the cockiness that would have made her question her attraction to him.
Instead, Melina struggled to breathe in the rapidly thinning air. “Your skill has never been in question. And my ability to…to—” She felt herself turning beet red. “—climax isn't in issue. It's my ability to pleasure a man that is.”
“Says you.”
“Says Brian Montgomery. Lars Jensen. Gary Somada.”
“Idiots. If they wanted something from you, they didn't work hard enough for it. Besides, I can show you how to please a man.”
“You seemed more concerned with pleasing me last night.”
“The two things aren't independent. I showed you one thing that gives a man pleasure. Submission. Total trust by his partner. But there are other things you can do, and I'll show them to you if you'll let me.”
The alarm in her head was still sounding, but somehow it had quieted a bit. Curiosity, she told herself. That's all. She wasn't actually going to consider his proposition. Was she?
At her continued silence, he pressed on. “Don't get me wrong. I'm not immune to some satisfaction, as well. I put in some work last night. I think I'm entitled to a little return on my investment, don't you?”
Her alarm kicked up a notch. “So this is about paying a debt owed? Compensating you for services rendered?”
“This is about you and me and giving each other the best sex we've ever had.”
“See? That's exactly it. If you're expecting great sex from me, it'll never work. I'll be anxious. Feel pressured. You're deluding yourself if you think I can compete with the women you've been with, Rhys.”
He raised a brow. “And you're underestimating my ability to inspire you.”
Okay. Her curiosity was definitely getting the better of her now. Melina forced herself not to think of Rhys's special brand of inspiration. “We barely know each other anymore—”
“You know that's not true. Like you said, Melina, we're almost family. What we're doing this weekend might not fit within the boundaries of our previous relationship, but once it's over, I want to know you're going to be okay. I can help you. Why won't you let me?”
Once it's over, he'd said. Once he was gone, he meant. A wave of sadness washed over her. If she understood him correctly, this was to be their swan song to whatever relationship they'd been clinging to. Sort of like his parting gift to her. Since it had been coming for a while, she tried not to show how much the thought devastated her. Or swayed her.
As soon as the weekend was over, he'd be leaving again. Who knew when she'd see him next? She'd be a fool not to take what he was offering.
“And then what?” she forced herself to ask, even though she already knew the answer.
“What were you going to do after you and Max were done with each other?”
It seemed obscene somehow, the way he kept bringing Max into this. Which was silly, of course. “We were going to part friends. Go back to the way things always were. No expectations. No embarrassment.”
He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “I can do that. Can you?”
Given his cavalier attitude, what else could she say? Slowly, she nodded.
Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Good.”
He moved forward and she tensed, expecting him to reach out and kiss her. Anticipation streaked through her, but all he did was turn, bend his knees slightly, and retrieve a familiar-looking bag from under the desk. He tossed it onto the bed next to her. “Now get dressed.”
She stared at the bag blankly. “Now you want me to get dressed?”
He smiled slightly. “Yep.”
“Why?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Because, my dear Melina, the next lesson involves something the best magicians and lovers know how to work with a very subtle yet sure hand.”
“What's that?” she whispered.
“Unpredictability.”