Playing the Billionaire's Game - Pippa Roscoe Page 0,36

herself. She wanted to be the passionate, bold person he had met at Victoriana, the woman who drank with billionaires, wore turquoise dresses, danced and laughed. But, more than that, she wanted to be the person who reached for what she wanted, for what she knew was right. But now he was refusing to let her. The playboy who had whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, didn’t want her?

‘Why would you do this?’ She couldn’t help the tremor in her tone.

‘I didn’t do it for me, Sia. I did it for you,’ he said, easing a hand over his face as if frustrated. ‘So that you realise that it’s okay to be a passionate, vibrant woman who owns not only her desires but has the courage to act on them safely.’

‘And you’re not safe?’

‘Not to you.’

All this time she’d thought of passion as chaotic, scary, unbalanced, but that was because of what her mother had experienced, how her mother had behaved—selfish and needy, it had all been about her. But also, Sia believed, because it had been one-sided. Her father hadn’t loved her mother and it had made her crazy.

Sebastian was attracted to her, and she wanted to know what that was like, what it felt like. Because suddenly it seemed as if it would be something beautiful, as if it would be the coming together of two halves of a whole. What had he said? He didn’t have to act on it. Perhaps they didn’t, but she wanted so much just to allow herself to feel it.

‘Would you...’ she said, struggling to find the words to ask for what she wanted. ‘Would you just stand here with me? No words. Just for a minute. I... I just want to know what it feels like.’

She thought she’d have to explain what she meant, but understanding shifted across his features and after a moment he nodded. She walked out onto the decking to meet him, not breaking the connection of his gaze. He watched her as if both wary and wanting.

She came to a stop a few inches from him, the distance greater than when they had danced together and yet so much more intimate. She tried to tell herself his body was nothing she hadn’t seen before, in paintings, statues, pictures and even in person from the opposite side of the room. But being so close to Sebastian, his bare chest a study in perfection, was altogether completely different. Her pulse beat erratically and she inhaled slowly and deeply, attempting to soothe it.

She glanced at Sebastian, expecting to see a knowing, taunting gaze in his eyes but no, that wasn’t what she found. Instead, he seemed to be watching everything about her, taking in as much as possible in exactly the same way as she had been and there was nothing remotely humorous in his gaze. When his eyes joined hers there was such a serious intensity there, something beyond words, beyond explanation or justification. She felt it in every single inch of her body, this strange sense of being known, seen.

And then, in a heartbeat, it changed.

It was as if a flame had been lit beneath their feet, licking up their flesh in an undulating tide, utterly overwhelming and urgent, demanding and angry almost. This time, when she caught his eyes, all she could feel was the power of just how much he wanted her and how much he fought it and it was incredible to behold.

She felt it, the moment he wanted to break the connection, the second before he would turn away.

‘If I sleep with you, do you expect me not to go to the police about the painting?’ she blurted out.

‘What?’ Sebastian replied, clearly confused at the turn of the conversation. ‘Of course not!’ he said, as if outraged by the suggestion.

‘If I sleep with you, will you ignore my wishes, my words, if I say stop...?’

‘Sia, no. There will be no—’

‘If I sleep with you—’

‘This is not a game Sia. This is—’

‘My choice, is it not?’ She paused, waiting for him to interrupt. When he didn’t she pressed on, her breath high with hope in her lungs, ‘If I say stop?’

‘Of course I would stop,’ he said shortly.

‘So why won’t you start?’ she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her tone.

‘Because you’re innocent, Sia. You don’t know what it is you’re asking.’

‘Don’t patronise me,’ she replied and this time she was frustrated.

‘I’m not,’ he said sincerely. ‘No one does. You don’t know what