nails on her desk, staring out the window and pondering her epic blunder. How could she have set the terms of the bet in such a way that she was stuck having to seduce Rand McKay?
Not that there’d be much effort on her part in the seduction arena. He was primed and ready for her, and as he’d told her yesterday, all she had to do was go to him, and he’d take her on.
Arrogant prick.
It wasn’t in her nature to prostrate herself in front of a man. She was the ice queen, goddammit, an image she’d spent years perfecting: untouchable, untamable, wicked, and out of control. She had a reputation as a ball buster, a woman in charge. Every woman envied her. Every man feared her.
Every man except Rand, who’d never once bought her act.
Because that’s all it was. An act. And he damn well knew it.
Dickhead. How the hell he knew it was beyond her, but he did know. And that’s why she had steered clear of him all these years. Other men fell at her feet to worship her, to do anything she wanted them to. She only had to snap her fingers, and the world was her oyster. Men would stand on their heads if she asked them to.
She’d almost married a few of them. They really were nice guys. Nice, sweet, safe guys. She’d really tried to make it all the way to the altar with them. Until she came to her senses and realized how utterly bored she’d be. Because even though she only fucked men she could control, she knew she’d never be happy with a man like that.
Catch-22. Damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.
Who needed to get married, anyway? She could have her pick of any man in Silverwood. She’d been wined and dined and romanced by many of them, and though she left them all, she left them with smiles on their faces and fond memories of the best sex they’d ever had. And no regrets on their part.
So she got a little lonely now and then. Lots of women spent their lives alone. She was used to getting her own way, and she wasn’t about to change now. It was probably best she remained single and unattached. And completely in charge of her life.
Now she had to spend the weekend fucking a man she couldn’t direct. Her logical, controlling mind dreaded it. Her body zinged with anticipation.
Traitor.
How to do it, though? She couldn’t—wouldn’t—walk up to him and put her fate in his hands. Oh, no, he’d enjoy that way too much. She refused to hand her power to him on a silver platter.
It had to be something more subtle, which was going to be difficult, since subtle wasn’t exactly her typical method.
He knew her inside and out, so she’d have to surprise him.
Damsel in distress! That was it. Since Blair was the last woman on earth to ever play that card, he’d be surprised as hell when she played it on him. He’d be shell-shocked and scratching his head, trying to figure out her angle. By the time she wrestled him to the ground and had his pants off, it would be too late. He’d give in, and she’d have control over the situation. He’d be so damn happy to have his cock in her pussy, he wouldn’t care how it got there.
She’d win, he’d lose, and she’d fulfill the terms of the bet.
Admittedly, the thought of fucking Rand had her steamy hot and anticipating a wild ride. The men she’d been screwing for the past fifteen years hadn’t exactly lit all her fires. Barely enough to flicker a candle, actually. Any hot action came from her own hand or after giving a man detailed instructions and a road map to her pussy. And nine times out of ten, they still didn’t get it right.
She’d just bet Rand knew his way around a woman’s pussy. Blindfolded. With his hands tied behind his back.
Her nipples tightened at the remembered feel of his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the taut buds with an expert touch that had her panting like a dog in heat.
She’d have to play this game very carefully. And in the game of sex, she was a master.
First thing to do was select her outfit. She turned off her computer and strolled out of her home office and into her bedroom, swinging open the door to her walk-in closet and flipping on the