I’d been holding his gaze, hot and hard and defiant. But at that last, I looked away. God help me, he was right. Even now, I was having to fight the way he made me feel, the way he heated me up, so that every cell in my body burned for his touch.
But the truth was, I didn’t want to fight it. I liked the way he looked at me. Liked the fact that my nipples got hard when his gaze dipped to my breasts. Liked the fact that the tone of his voice could make my body weak with longing. I’d known lust before; I’d known attraction. But until Tyler, I’d never experienced this wild burning, this desperate, uncontrolled passion that left me hot and needy and alive.
I felt a bit like Pavlov’s dog—one look from him, and my body was primed. One touch, and I all but exploded.
It was unfamiliar and a little unnerving. But I liked it. Christ, how I liked it.
“If I told you to go back to that chair right now, you’d do it.” He spoke matter-of-factly, but I saw the challenge—and the mischief—flash in his eyes. “You’d sit in that chair and spread your legs. And if I asked you to touch yourself—to stroke and tease while I got hard watching your body grow wet and slick, so desperate to sink myself inside you that I couldn’t stand it anymore—if I told you to do that, I think you would.”
My mouth went dry, my body limp.
“Tell me the truth, Sloane. Would you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I whispered, because I already knew he would see a lie.
“Then take the deal.”
“You told me you don’t date the girls who work at the club.”
“I break all kinds of rules, Detective. But not in this case.”
I looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not going to date you. I’m going to fuck you.”
A shiver ran through me, one I didn’t even bother to hide. “What exactly do you have in mind for me?” I asked.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be as fun.”
I licked my lips. “Before, you talked about pleasure and passion and even a little fear.”
“I remember.”
“Did you mean it? Or were you trying to shake me because you knew I was a cop?”
“But you are a cop. You must know all about the impact of adrenaline. Of fear. How it heightens sensation, even the sensation of pleasure.”
“I don’t want to be tied up—”
“No,” he said, and the word was infinitely gentle. “I won’t. But I will take you to that edge, Sloane. And if you are willing, I’ll take you over.”
Our eyes locked. I’m not sure how long I stayed lost in the clear blue of his eyes. Then he spoke, softly but firmly. “That’s it. That’s the arrangement. Take it—and make me a very happy man.”
“Arrangement?” I repeated. “That sounds so polite and proper.”
“Are you suggesting I’m neither polite nor proper?”
“Not at all,” I said, then grabbed his collar and pulled my lips to his. “I’m saying flat out that I hope you’re not.” I kissed him hard, then leaned back. “When I agree to something, Mr. Sharp, I go all in.”
His brow quirked up. “I’m very pleased to hear it.”
He stood, then gave me his hand and helped me up. Slowly, he closed the jacket that I still wore, carefully fastening each button. Then he went to his desk and picked up his phone. “Greg, bring me Ms. Watson’s shoes. I imagine they’re still by Stage Four.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tyler went into the hall to meet Greg and, I presumed, to fetch the rest of my clothes as well.
But when he stepped back into the room, all he had were the shoes. “Let’s go,” he said. “Put these on and button that up.”
“Um, I kind of need my clothes.”
He leaned against the closed door. “No. You really don’t.”
I stood and buttoned the jacket, my eyes narrowed. “You’re really going to make me cross through The Drake in this?”
“One, you agreed to the terms.”
“I didn’t realize it applied to wardrobe,” I grumped, making him laugh.
“And two, we’re not heading to The Drake.” A touch of mischief lit his face. “Not yet.”
“Oh.” Fingers of dread—and, yes, of excitement and anticipation—curled through me. “Should I even ask?”