The Bet

by D. K. Combs

  Noah didn’t know whether he agreed with that or not, but shrugged.

  Making her jealous wouldn’t be too hard, and getting a kiss out of Madeline was like taking candy from a baby. The bet was a little too easy for what the stakes were, but he wasn’t going to correct Chase on it.

  “Fine,” he said, reaching across the table to shake his friend’s hand. At least now he would have an excuse to keep riling Bristol up—and have an excuse to keep seeing her.

  Noah grinned around the glass of Guinness. Yeah, this wasn’t going to be bad at all. Just one week of this, and he’d have enough for the Superleggera.

  One week. Shit, he might even be able to get Bristol in bed to finish what they started. With this bet, he had an actual reason to be around her, had a reason to rile her up, entice her, make her jealous whenever she saw him with Madeline…

  Oh, yeah. This was going to be great.

  “Oh,” Chase said, taking a swig of his drink, “and that whole time you’re interacting with Bristol, teasing her, doing whatever—you aren’t allowed to sleep with her.”

  Well, shit.

  Chapter Ten

  “Listen, I’m about to head home for the night, so I’ll call you in the morning when I get back into the office,” Bristol said, walking quickly to her car.

  “Sounds good, that’ll give me time to make those adjustments to the cargo container designs. I’ll send over the proofs around noon tomorrow, all right? Talk to you later.”

  She slid her phone into her purse, shivering. She liked the engineering team they’d hired, even though they didn’t always have the same vision, they still worked with her to get the job done. She would estimate that within the next three months, she could submit those designs for the board’s approval, and then their productivity reports would skyrocket.

  Bristol put her hand on the handle of the Bimmer and the lights flashed, the car beeping—

  Brooom.

  She frowned.

  Not a single one of her employees rode a bike to work—at least, not in this weather. The air was starting to turn icy, and soon, snow would be falling. Only a lunatic would keep riding in this weather. If it weren’t for the fact that she knew the difference between a bike and a vehicle, she would have assumed it was a truck.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was definitely a bike, and the sound was getting closer and closer to her.

  Bristol ignored it. She had things to do—like stop at the store on her way home, then shower and cook. After the other night at the bar, she’d gone home and promptly taken out the wine.

  All of it.

  And drank it.

  And had been for the last two nights.

  Obviously she wasn’t meant to go out, because her last two attempts had been train wrecks, and with her luck, she would run into Noah again. As that being the last thing she wanted, she had decided to stay home. And drink.

  A lot.

  So much so that the next morning, she had a pounding headache and it took a long shower to fully get her going. It was either that or rip her hair out. She didn’t want to risk seeing Noah again, or his friend, or dealing with another pervert.

  And since it was apparently too much to ask for a normal night out, she had given up.

  So wine it was—which was the cause of her trip to the store.

  Fingers turning stiff from the cold, she pulled open the door and swung her purse into the passenger seat.

  At the first step of her foot into the car, it happened.

  The bright headlight swung in front of her as the bike came around her car, and right up beside her. She shielded her eyes against the glare until it stopped.

  Bristol never would have thought she’d get robbed outside of her work. Long Island had such low crime in the recent years that she was sure her mace was expired. Even if it wasn’t, it was in the glove box, and she was still standing outside of her car.

  She quickly climbed inside, making sure to lock the door as the rider climbed off the bike. All she saw was a black leather jacket and a completely black helmet as she pushed the ignition button twice. Hands shaking, she put the car into gear once it was alive. Screw the cold start—she didn’t want to get robbed.

  Before she could take off, a gloved fist pounded on the glass.

  “Hold on,” the muffled voice said.

  She frowned, pausing. That voice… She peered out of the glass but didn’t see anything through the helmet, until the rider got the idea and took it off.

  Curly brown hair flopped over Noah’s face as he put the helmet under his arm.

  All she could do was stare.

  Partly from shock, and partly from the instant reaction she had to him.

  No, she told herself strictly, shaking her head. No, her only reaction to him was astonishment. She put her foot on the gas, surging forward, ready to get away from him. How dare he approach her at her place of work? How dare he scare the shit out of her?

  Like she wanted anything to do with him in the first place; this only sealed the deal. She was getting the hell away from the hot stalker.

  “God dammit.” She heard the curse, and then he was darting in front of her car, planting his hands on the hood and leaning forward. “Do not run me over, woman. I swear—”

  She rolled down her window, sticking her hand out the side, giving him a special little present. From in front of the car, he rolled his eyes sarcastically.

  “So mature,” he said, pulling back from the hood of her car and stepping away.

  It was tempting, so very tempting to just veer right and speed off. If she did that, she wouldn’t have to interact with him, wouldn’t have to speak to him. Wouldn’t even have to look at him. Why would she want to? All she did was get pissed and then forget herself.

  And, if she were completely honest with herself, she hated the way he made her feel.

  She didn’t even know the guy and he could get her pissed with one look—and her life was centered around control. Control of herself, control of the situation...neither of which she had when he was around.

  As he came back to her window, she quickly pushed the button to roll the window up. Petty, but it did the job. Something told her not to drive off, so she did the next best thing.

  She sat there, staring straight ahead with her lips pressed, ignoring him.

  He had messed up her night. If not for him, she wouldn’t have had two consecutive nights of drinking. She could have gotten laid, dammit! But no, he had to be an asshole, screw up her mojo, and put some bad voodoo on her.

  “Roll the damn window down.”

  She stared straight ahead.

  His hand smacked on the window and she jumped but still didn’t respond. Why wasn’t she just taking off? Why was she putting herself through this? Oh, right. She was a masochist—and apparently a sadist, too, because the longer he stayed out there, the colder he became. Dumbass shouldn’t have been on a bike, she thought smartly.

  “Roll it down, Bristol.”

  Her jaw clenched. Why did his voice have to drop an octave when he said her name? Why did he have to say her name at all? She was so used to “Ms. Thompson” that hearing her name come from anyone, coming from him, was strange.

  But nice.

  No. Screw him and his voice. Nothing was nice about this.

  “Accosting me in the parking lot of my work is harassment,” she called out.

  “Making me stand here in the freezing cold is torture,” he retorted. “Now open the God damn window.”

  “What for? Why should I do anything for you? You’re a stranger who’s stalking me!”

  “Bristol, god dammit. Open. The. Door.”

  She had a feeling that if she didn’t open it, he would find a way to, and she valued her car too much to put it through that. With a sigh, she pressed the button. Cold air poured into the car instantly, and she glared at him.

  “I’m cold,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “And I’m not?” He returned the gla
re, but didn’t move.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked. “I had no plans on laying eyes on you again.”

  “Yeah, whatever, hardass. Unlock your passenger door. I’m sitting with you.”

  “The hell you ar—” Before she could finish her sentence, he was pushing away from the door and jogging around to the other side of the car, grabbing the handle expectantly.

  She stared at him from her seat, really debating whether she should let him in. No good could come from this. All he did was make her angry to the point of needing him.

  Bristol didn’t want to open the door...and yet, she did. Something deep inside her told her to just open it up and let him in, but still she paused.

  This was nothing she’d ever had to debate before. If some random stranger had come up to her car— which Noah had just done and was—she would have laughed in their face and drove off. Yet here she was, seriously considering letting him in.

  When she heard the patient, “Bristol,” she sighed. Fine. She would let him in, but only for a moment. Whatever he had to say—and it had better be an apology, because that’s all she wanted to hear from him—then he had better say it quick. Otherwise, she would use that mace, expired or not.

  “You have one minute,” she warned him after she’d unlocked the car. He slid into the seat, and her eyes nearly closed with a sigh. He smelled just as he had in the theater—manly. Woodsy. Musky. The small hint of cedarwood was just enough to make her shudder. When she focused on him again, she noticed two things.

  The first being, he took up almost all of the space in her car. Seeing him in the large sedan, it made sense to her why he preferred to ride. His shoulders didn’t fit the width of the seat, and in order to fit in there, he had to lean his elbow on the armrest.

  He looked down at her—not like she was less than he was, but because he really was that tall—and she felt the need to back away, to be leery of him. She didn’t fear him, but she did fear her response to him.

  “I have things to do tonight, so let’s be quick about this. I assume you are here to apologize for the other night,” she said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. The more professional she stayed with him, the better—and quicker—the outcome would be.

  The look he gave her was less than amused. “Apologize? For what?”

  “Seriously? You don’t remember cockblocking me?”

  He coughed, giving her an incredulous look. “Me? Cockblocking? I’m the last person who would ever cockblock.”

  “There’s so much crap coming from your mouth, it’s a wonder you can even talk right now. If it hadn’t been for you interrupting, I would have had that guy.” She wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d had a game plan, nor was she ashamed to admit she had one-night stands. This man was a stranger. His opinion meant nothing to her, and would remain that way.

  Yet when he looked at her, his lips pressed in a sign of displeasure she was all too familiar with, she couldn’t help the way she avoided his eyes.

  There was no reason to be embarrassed. They both knew what she had been trying to do that night.

  “I’m not here to apologize,” he said, shaking his head at her. Those curls, the ones that had flopped out when he’d taken off his helmet, were static—and yet, he still managed to look like the hottest man she’d ever laid eyes on.

  “If you aren’t here to say sorry, then get out of my car. I really have nothing to say to you at this point,” she said, gesturing for him to get out by waving her hand toward his door. And it was true—she was still sour about him ruining her mojo.

  “I only saved you from making a bad decision,” he said, voice low, firm.

  “It was my decision to make, not yours—and you took that from me, so I demand an apology—or you can get out,” she said simply, waving her hand again.

  He looked down at her hand, then her face.

  “I’m here for something a little more important than an apology.”

  The timbre of his voice had her freezing in her seat faster than the cold outside did, and her eyes locked with his. There was no reason for the change in his voice, unless he was preparing to do something horrible, something that reminded her of what had happened at the bar.

  Her breath left her on a soft exhale, and that’s when everything changed.

  Just like it had at the bar, just like it had at the movie theater, the building anger transformed. Energy was never destroyed, only changed—and that’s exactly what happened when she didn’t retract her hand from in front of him. The energy around them shifted, turning...hotter. Bolder.

  Her hand stayed suspended in the air. It wasn’t something she could help, something she could control. It was like her body was waiting for him to respond to it, and when he did, the anger fled completely, turning into a strong, burning desire she had only ever felt so intensely with him.

  Bristol wanted to say she put her hand down when he reached for it. Instead, she did the exact opposite.

  She let him take it, let his warm fingers slide up her palm and to her wrist. She let his large hand wrap around her wrist, and when he tugged her to turn around in the seat, she went willingly, lips parted, eyes wide and trained on his.

  All of that control she valued, all of that control she tried so hard to maintain over every aspect of her life, started to slip. In that instant, he had complete control over her. He could do whatever he wanted to her—and she had no idea why she was so content to let that happen.

  Hell, she was more than content—she was willing, desperate.

  He opened his mouth to say something, turmoil darkening his eyes, and then it was gone.

  “What?” God, she sounded so weak. She hated it, but couldn’t help it at the same time.

  “I had to find you. Had to finish what we almost started at the bar. It’s been...irresistible.”

  “What has?” she asked, starting to pull back. Something about the way he spoke, about the way he sounded almost scared of the words himself, had her heart thundering. What had this strong, almost dangerous looking man scared?

  “You,” he murmured, then he pulled her across the center console with one hand while the other reached for the button to slide the seat back. The space was cramped but she barely noticed it. All she could focus on was the heat of his body, the way she fit so snug against his chest. The way his arm wound around her and his other one slid up and to the nape of her neck.

  Large fingers threaded into the hair at the base of her neck, dragging her face down until they were centimeters apart, hot breath mingling in the chilly air of the car.

  She exhaled, her heart going crazy inside her chest.

  Bristol didn’t want to kiss him. She didn’t want to sit in his lap, be in his arms, or do anything with him—or that’s what she would have thought if it weren’t for the fact that he was so damn dark and delicious. He had an abrupt approach to everything, she thought, entranced. He had decided he wanted to touch her at the theater, and he had. He had decided to approach her at the bar, and he had.

  He had decided to grab her in the car, and he had.

  He just took what he wanted, no questions asked.

  And she liked it.

  Noah held her there, suspended, not encouraging her to come any further. Anticipation ate her alive until she cursed and leaned forward, grabbing him by the jaw with both hands and pressing their lips together.

  Whatever stupor he’d been in, he came out of. His mouth worked with hers in a hot, desire-filled mess. Two months’ worth of pent-up desire came rushing to the front. While the orgasm in the theater should have helped, it had done the exact opposite.

  It had left her needing, vulnerable to the demand of release. She had tried to take care of it at home, but it hadn’t worked. And it wouldn’t, because it wasn’t worshiping hands or a big cock inside of her. It had only been her fingers, and it hadn’t been enough.

  This was, though. This was amazing. This was what her body needed, what her mind needed.

  Moaning, she sli
d her tongue along his bottom lip, then quickly sucked it in, giving it a small nip. He groaned, the sound low, vibrating throughout his chest. She curled her arms around his neck, fingers threading into his dark, soft hair.

  But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more, needed more. Had needed it for days, ever since he’d touched her.

  She made a sound of frustration, then pulled back from the kiss, adjusting her legs so they were on either side of him. God dammit, her pants were going to make this impossib—

  Large hands held her back, and she frowned down at him, her breathing ragged. He couldn’t stop her, not now. It would be so easy to just take off her pants, undo his buckle, release him, and then slide right on top of him.

  She wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of her. To feel him pushing inside of her, past her folds, hitting the sweet spot she desperately needed to be caressed. It wouldn’t take long at all—she was so close as it was, it would probably be five minutes, if that.

  “I just—”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, pulling back.

  “Why?” she demanded angrily. She didn’t give him time to respond before she took him by the jaw again, pushing his head back, and then rising above him to kiss him with everything she had. And Noah responded exactly as he should have—taking her right into his arms again, his kiss as hot and desperate as hers.

  Yes, she thought with triumph. Yes, this is happening.

  She reached between them, fingers fumbling with his belt—

  Noah pushed her away with a groan, and this time, there was a finality in his eyes that she understood, that she hated.

  Her head dropped to rest against his shoulder as she tried to calm her breathing.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut against the onslaught of desire.

  She felt a hand on her back, the touch soft, brief—and then it was gone. Bristol took the cue, slowly extracting herself from him. When she was back in her seat, she faced forward, refusing to look at him, chest still heaving.