Her lips are right there. So fucking close it’s painful not to take another taste of them.
“Do you doubt my skills?”
Our stares hold, and her eyes darken as her mind goes to the same place mine does with my double entendre. But her perfume is filling my nose, and the subtle scent of sunshine and flowers taunts me to kiss her. I’d blame it on the show, but it’d be solely for me.
“Oh, so now you like lists and bets?”
She’s teasing me, and I flash a grin. “I like anything that has a prize dangling at the end of it.”
“Do you now?”
Nodding, I glance down to her tongue, which just darted out to wet her bottom lip, and say, “I do.” I shift so I’m sitting on the seat of her chair facing her, my hips bumping against hers, and place a hand on the other side of her legs.
“And what prize will we be dangling here?” Her voice is low, husky, sexy. It’s a seduction in and of itself.
“How about whoever wins”—I let a slow smile crawl onto my lips—“gets a night of their choice when this is all done?”
“A night of their choice?”
“Yep.” I reach out and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger. “Whoever loses has to give the winner a night out of their choice.”
“That’s fair.” She looks over to where another of her coworkers has ventured out onto the patio to take in this incredible view. “How exactly would we measure this though?”
“In satisfaction.”
I love the flash up of her eyes to meet mine and the quick startle of her head. The way I can affect her is a heady feeling.
“That’s a rather hard thing to measure, don’t you think?” she murmurs
“Sometimes, but other times, satisfaction is clear as day.” I chuckle. “I’ll leave that up to you. How would you measure satisfaction?”
“I get the promotion.”
“The promotion? And how is getting the promotion a measure of satisfaction?” I chuckle and squeeze her thigh. “I’m beginning to think you’re trying to throw this bet here by giving me something to achieve that can’t be quantified or measured.”
“Getting the promotion would give me the satisfaction of attaining the one goal I’ve worked toward for years—the vice president of marketing position. If I get the job, then ultimate satisfaction is achieved.”
“Essentially, you’re twisting the parameter I set of satisfaction to suit your needs.”
“I’m a girl who’ll do what it takes to get what she wants,” she says, and the playful little shrug and smile she flashes me are a deadly combination for my restraint. She’s fucking irresistible. “And I want the VP of marketing job. All I need is for Heather—”
“You mean Horrible Heather—”
“Shh.” She reaches up and puts her hand over my mouth while I laugh, drawing attention over to us.
“Sorry. Best behavior here,” I say in my nerdiest voice as I grab her hand, all thoughts of Heather gone now that our fingers are linked.
“So, it’s a bet?” There’s a flirtatious amusement in her eyes that’s impossible to ignore.
“I still think you’re putting me at a disadvantage from the start with this immeasurable parameter you’ve set.”
“You afraid you can’t satisfy me?” She trails a finger down the top of my thigh. “I thought you never backed down from a bet, Slade.”
She needs to quit smiling because it just makes me want to kiss her again.
And again.
And then some.
“I don’t.” I lean in closer and lower my voice. “There are a whole lot of things I can’t control, and you getting that position is one of them.”
She twists her finger around a lock of hair while batting her eyelashes. “Don’t you have faith in me, Slade?”
My name. Her lips. Jesus.
“Complete faith.”
“Then what seems to be the problem?”
“There isn’t one.” I angle my head as I stare at her. “Bet taken. You’ll get that promotion. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”
And I don’t care how subjective her satisfaction is. Scratch that. I do care. Especially when my ability to give it is being judged. The most important part is that I just extended this weekend to at least one more night with her.
Not sure why that feels so important to do before we’ve even started . . . but this woman.
There’s just something about her.
Blakely
Satisfaction.
What man measures things in satisfaction?
Ones who obviously knows how to give it.
Why this owns my thoughts as Slade and I stroll down the pathway toward our cabin is beyond me.
That’s a lie. I know why it runs on repeat in my head. I know why my body reacted viscerally to the thought of it.
Because all I could think about when he was sitting on the chaise lounge with me was our kiss last night.
Last night? It feels like forever ago and minutes ago at the same time.
And we’re headed to a cabin. Yes, I said it. A cabin. Where we will be alone.
At night.
The man I’m lusting after. The man I want to kiss me. The man who just linked his fingers through mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.
This all ties together in my overthinking brain.
There was comfort in the idea of a communal cabin with bunk beds. Sure, it would have been a pain in the ass to be with everyone nonstop, but it also would have allowed me to draw a line of propriety between Slade and me.
And now there is no safety. There is just Slade and me and nothing but a whole lot of thrumming desire in a very small space.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Slade says.
“Just enjoying the scenery.”
He laughs, and it rumbles through the silence. “You mean the scenery in the mountains of which you despise?”
I laugh. Cover blown. “I’m not too thrilled with this agenda,” I say, holding out the paper and shaking my head. “An obstacle course. Paddleboard yoga . . . I mean, I’m not really seeing anywhere how this is teambuilding.”
“A fishing contest. Capture the flag. Canoe races. Relay
