myself caught up in the game. I studied him, attempting to think of a worthwhile question. If I was bold enough to ask him anything, what would it be? “Have you had a mistress before?”
“I have.” His gaze showed his amusement. “In fact, I recently parted ways with one.”
How very intriguing. But not surprising. As he had claimed, many men had them. Especially the wealthy. Yet, I couldn’t deny the twinge of jealousy I felt. What had his mistress looked like? No doubt she was pale and stunning. “Was she angry?”
He arched a brow. “That’s two questions.”
Bastard. He wasn’t going to let me get away with anything. Oh, how he loved being in control. But instead of being annoyed, I found it all rather amusing.
He leaned back on his hands. “How far, exactly have you gotten with a man?”
I flushed, the heat racing to my cheeks and burning my skin. I reached down, took off my slipper and threw it at him. With a grin, he caught it against his chest.
“I see.” He nodded. “All I have to do is ask you an intimate question and you’ll be naked in what…five turns?”
Oh, I could play his game. I wasn’t the only one who had topics of conversation I wanted to keep off limits. I had to think of something fast. What was his weakness? Something that would make him quit this game and leave me the winner. “Do you hate your father?”
The words left my lips before I thought better.
His jaw clenched, his eyes went hard. It was as if a wall had been built around his emotions. For a brief moment I worried I’d gone too far. He dropped my slipper to the ground. “I don’t hate my father. I don’t have any feelings toward him.”
I studied his stoic face and knew that he lied, even if he didn’t realize. “Why?”
He quirked a brow. “That’s two.” He flipped our cards. “Have you ever been in love?”
I laughed, truly amused. What a ridiculous question. “No. Never.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, as he shared my amusement. He looked youthful, at ease for the first time since I’d met him. How a man his age should look. “I thought all young women dreamt of love.”
“Perhaps the young ladies of your acquaintance, who have time to laze about, read romantic poetry, and swoon over handsome men.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if attempting to understand me. “Then why are you afraid of becoming my mistress?”
My lips pinched together. He assumed that I worried I would fall in love with him? That I would have my heart broken? Of all the arrogant presumptions. I held my hand out, stopping him. “Sorry, that’s a second question.”
He caught my wrist and drew it forward. Much to my surprise, he brought my hand to his mouth. I stared with wide eyes as he pressed his lips to my palm. A shiver, hot and cold, raced down my spine. His gaze met mine as he slowly drew his tongue along the sensitive skin. Warm. Wet. Forbidden.
A heated ache spread through my belly. That area between my legs throbbed to life, ruthless and determined. He released his hold. Freed, I jerked back, cradling my hand to my chest as if he’d branded me. This was becoming dangerous, yet I couldn’t seem to stop.
“Where did you get that scar on your wrist?”
It took a moment for me to realize he’d asked a question. How I hated the way he could heat my blood, make me ache, yet, at the same time I craved him. Craved the feelings he stirred.
“Scar?” The x on my wrist. I didn’t even bother to glance at the injury. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the way he could control me, make me burn for him. “Not your turn.” I flipped two cards. I needed to catch him off balance again, and fast. “What’s your happiest memory?”
He seemed confused by my innocent question. Or maybe he couldn’t think of a response. Surely he had at least a few pleasant memories. “I suppose…I don’t know.”
“Just one. You have to pick.”
He sighed. “Fine. Christmas, when I was ten.”
Such a simple, typical answer, it surprised me. “Because your family was together?”
“No. My parents were gone. It was just me and Christopher.” He stared into the flames, his hair glowing golden. Those thick, dark lashes made shadows on his upper cheekbones. One could almost believe him to be angelic, if not for the barely contained power that radiated from