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“Oh, yes.” Another challenging tilt of her eyebrow. Possibly she was enjoying this match of wits as much as he was.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that,” she said. “You startled me.”
“And that’s why you tried to hide from the security guards?”
Her brows knit. “I wasn’t hiding, Mr. Sinclair. I was…I was startled. You frightened me, popping up out of nowhere like that. You shouldn’t do that. In some circles it would be considered very rude.”
“You seem pretty good at popping up out of nowhere yourself.”
Her response was one of the best I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about expressions he’d ever witnessed. And he’d witnessed a few.
Sam allowed silence to fill the seconds as he leaned toward her lips. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said. “Is that all right with you?”
Her breath was warm on his cheek and smelled faintly of peppermint. But the tantalizing hints of cinnamon swirled around him, too. Was that her makeup? Her lipstick? He took in a deep draught, savoring its essence. She had to be one of the more enticing women he’d ever had on his bed. Too bad this was all just a setup on his part, a prelude to his interrogation process.
Her lips trembled slightly as his descended toward them. Sam took his time, and sweet time it was as he slipped his right hand under the fold between the pillows and the comforter. His fingers touched a cool, hard cylinder just as his lips touched warm, soft flesh. She moaned softly into his mouth, and Sam wasn’t sure if it was protest or surrender.
He noticed she kept her hands at her side, her palms pressed tight against the bed as her entire body stiffened, becoming as rigid as a wooden plank. Before freeing her mouth completely, Sam indulged in a tiny nibble of her bottom lip. It was succulent and moist, sweet and lickable. Everything a bottom lip should be.
The sigh that slipped out of her was hot and breathy, almost a moan. Sam knew if he didn’t stop this he’d have his own wooden plank to worry about. The sensations stirring deep in his groin were all too familiar. Warmth and fullness. Rising male pleasure.
“Let’s play a game,” he whispered in her ear.
“Ga-ame?” Somehow she’d managed to stretch the word into two complete syllables and make it sound cute in the process. His wait for the proverbial gulp went unrewarded, however. All he got was a dry click from her throat. It would have to do.
He placed his left hand next to her right arm, letting his visitor know that he could easily pin her to the bed under him. As it was, they both understood that she wasn’t going anywhere.
“It’s been my experience that women either love this game or hate it,” he said. “Nothing in between. What do you say? Don’t want to disappoint Mr. Aragon, do we? Not when he was kind enough to send such a generous and alluring gift.”
She kept trying to smile, and failing. “I suppose not.”
“Good girl,” Sam said. With that he pulled the cylinder from beneath the pillow, leveraged it with his knee and expertly ripped off a strip of silver tape, one-handed.
“What’s that?” Ally asked.
She barely had the question out before her wrist was wrapped in silver. He held up the roll of duct tape for her to see, and she edged away from him.
“What are you going to do with that?”
It would have amazed her to know all the various uses a man like Sam had for duct tape, including de-linting his clothes and flinging it like a Frisbee to startle intruders. Right now, he had something more interesting in mind.
“I have enough of this stuff to wrap your entire naked body,” he told her. “Quite a gift you’d be then, hmm? Can you imagine what that would feel like, especially when I unwrap you?”
He gave the tape around her wrist a tug, and then ripped it free. She winced, but held his gaze like a trooper. Still she was nervous now, and that was just where he wanted her. It was nothing personal. Situations like this demanded that he press his advantage.
“Is this a bondage game?” she asked. “I don’t normally do the kinky stuff. I could get someone else for you, though. Just let me make a phone call, and I’ll take care of that right away.”
Sam smiled down at her as he stood up. “Bondage game? No, afraid not, although that might be interesting for later. What we’re about to play is a mind game. And just so you know, there’s a part of this game that some women simply hate.”
Letting that sink in, he added, “I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them. There’s nothing to it, as long as you tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You’re familiar with that concept, aren’t you?”
The last question was delivered with a straight face.
The “ga-ame” had just turned serious.
WHY DID ALLY FEEL as if she’d just been asked the mother of all trick questions? Everything about the situation suddenly seemed like a setup. The lights being on, the absence of any personal items, Sinclair’s unexpected appearance—had he known she would show up here?
Clearly the plan had blown up in her face, and she couldn’t see any way to turn things to her advantage, but she wasn’t giving up. She’d been caught in his suite, trapped in his bed, and she strongly suspected he hadn’t been fooled into believing she was one of Aragon’s women, sent up as a midnight snack. But she was sticking to her story.
“I really do need to make a call,” she said evenly. “If I don’t check in with the club, they’ll try to reach me on my cell.”
“Well, if they do, I’ll answer for you and tell them you’re much too busy to be disturbed. Now…for our little game.”
Sinclair bent down, picked up one of her high heels and held it up to the light, as if to examine it. She’d chosen the sexiest shoes she owned. They were open-toed with a cap heel and delicate straps that crisscrossed her ankle. But now they were scraped and soiled from her adventure in the graveyard.
He cast a quizzical glance her way. “Dirty shoes on an Aragon woman? By the looks of these heels, you must have taken the back way out of the cemetery. Wouldn’t one of the club’s hostesses change her clothes—and shoes—before making her appointed rounds?”
“I suppose I should have, now that you mention it. I didn’t want to be late.”
She didn’t like where this was heading. He seemed to know more than he was letting on, which meant he was playing with her. She had to start planning her next move—out of this place.
Sinclair set down the shoe in favor of examining her ankles. He leaned across the bed and began tracing his fingertip along the tender flesh of her calves. “Goose bumps. Are you cold?”
Ally wasn’t. She had too much adrenaline coursing through her body to feel the biting chill in the room.
“And these red bumps look like insect bites,” he said. “Maybe chiggers? Mosquitoes? Just how long were you searching for your contact lens? Must have been quite some time.”
Ally remembered being bitten by insects while at the cemetery. She hadn’t thought it would be used as evidence against her.
“I’m not having fun,” she said. “I’d like to go now.”
“Oh, but I’m not through with you yet. In fact, we’ve only just started.”
He sat down next to her, his smile fading as his dark eyes drilled holes through her. “I want to know why you’re here and what you’re up to,” he said. “I’m not convinced you work for Aragon, or that he sent you here to please me or to keep me company. The game ends when I have those questions answered, and not a minute before.”
He studied her intently. “And while we’re at it, maybe you can explain why you’ve been following me for the last three days.”
He had known all along. He had been just waiting for the right moment. The adrenaline blast that had cut off her ability to feel cold in the room was now paralyzing her vocal chords. “F-following you? No, I—”
Sinclair rose to his full height, gazing down at her. This time he meant business. His dark gold eyebrows had flattened and his expression was steely.
Ally ran through her options. She could tell him the truth, which was out of the question since she still wasn’t sure who he was. Lie to him, which was tempting except that she didn’t happen to have a convincing lie handy. Or remain silent and tell him nothing.
She went for the last one. Silence. Let him make the next move, she decided. If things got out of hand, she would scream her head off. This was a hotel. They had security.
“I’m waiting,” Sinclair said.
“I must admit, you have me curious, Mr. Sinclair, if I may call you that. The club gave me your name. Maybe we can do some bargaining? I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”
Sinclair shook his head. “This is my game, and I don’t answer questions.”
“Then I don’t play.”
He cocked his head slightly. He was appraising her again, but Ally had no clue what was going through his mind.
His voice dropped low. “Remember when I said there was a part of this game that some women hated?”
She managed a weak nod, her heart thrumming wildly as he moved to the side of the bed. He pulled her to her feet, his fingers firmly wrapped around her wrists. “Well, here it comes.”
4
SAM RELEASED Ally almost as swiftly as he’d pulled her to her feet. With a suspicious eye, she watched him reach for the phone on the nightstand.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a phone call.”
He might as well have pulled a gun on her. Who was he calling? The police? Jason Aragon? She couldn’t let him do either.
“Let’s play that game,” she said.
He cast her a quizzical glance. “Now you want to play?”
“I love games. Love, love, love them. Who doesn’t? Put down the phone and let’s play.”
“Oh, but I can’t. The phone call is an important part of this game.”
“How so?” She didn’t like the smile that played at the edges of his mouth. It was too sensual.
Sam tapped the receiver, probably to taunt her. “Ever played truth or dare? Well, this is truth or bare. I ask a question, and you answer it. If you tell the truth, we go to the next question. If I catch you in a lie, you remove one piece of clothing.”
“Truth or bare?”
He rolled right on, ignoring her disbelief. “If you refuse to remove said piece of clothing, I pick up this phone, call Mr. Aragon, and tell him I’m not happy with my little gift.”
He let that sink in before continuing. “There may even be time to return my gift to him personally, if that becomes necessary. Is there any part of the game you don’t understand?”
He held out the phone, and she glared at him until he returned it to the cradle. She watched with annoyance as he fished around in his pocket and withdrew a handful of items. Among the keys and coins was an opened package of Dentyne.
Clearly the man had a bad gum habit.
Then she noticed the sparkly thing in his palm. Nestled next to the Dentyne was a small single key. She would have recognized it anywhere. The platinum key was the club’s most coveted symbol of privilege. He now had access to the lower level, and that meant she needed him more than ever.
She hoped the urgency she felt didn’t show. He’d done it. Somehow, he’d worked his way into the dark heart of Aragon’s club. Keep a cool head, she told herself. Get some answers.
“First question.” Sam returned the odds and ends to his pocket and popped a piece of the gum into his mouth. “What’s your name? Your real name. The one on your birth certificate.”
He seemed to be very intently searching her features. Let him look. She could bluff with the best of them. She’d lived in a fishbowl as a member of the royal court. A trip to the store had been a public appearance. She’d smiled and been gracious, always, even when she was coming apart inside.
Sinclair might think he had the upper hand with his duct tape and superior strength, but she knew more about him than he knew about her, which gave her the edge. Besides, she could say anything. How would he know she was lying? And the first lie had to be her name. She couldn’t reveal her true identity to him as long as there was a chance he’d call Aragon.
“Diana Kelly,” she said, stringing together the names of the last century’s two most well-known princesses. She thought it was rather clever, but Sinclair was already shaking his head.
“That will cost one piece of clothing,” he said. “I’ll let you pick it.”
“Gee, thanks. What makes you think that’s not my name?”
“You hesitated before you said it. How many people hesitate when asked their name?”
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to reveal it to you.”
“That’s another lie.” He moved toward her.
“It is not!”
He kept coming. “And another,” he said.
“All right, stop it now. You couldn’t possibly know whether I’m lying or not.”
She threw up her hands, but he stepped right past her barrier. “I not only know,” he said, lightly stroking her eyebrow and the outline of her lips, as if this were show-and-tell, “I know it before you do. People who are about to lie glance to the left before they speak. You’re textbook. You do it every time.”
Ally felt as if the floor had given way beneath her. He was too close and too good at this. He didn’t seem to know the meaning of personal space, and she couldn’t stop him from invading hers. Look at how he’d just helped himself to her mouth, as if it were a serving of dessert. Kissing it, touching it. What was he going to do with it next? Her lips felt hot and tender.
What had that damn ghost said? The ghost with his eyes. These lips are mine? Ridiculous. Who said things like that anymore?
Ally met his dark, burning gaze. She wouldn’t let herself look anywhere else, but it was almost painful. It probably made sense that he knew how to spot a liar. He was a high-stakes gambler, and they won or lost on their ability to recognize a bluff. That might account for his skill, but he was much more than just a gambler.
This wasn’t the time to confront him with her suspicions, she reminded herself. She had proof that he was running surveillance on the club, but she still didn’t know whether he was a good guy or a bad one. If it was the latter, and he decided she knew too much, she might never have the opportunity to glance to the left again.
“Are you going to strip?” he said. “Or should I start dialing?”
Her silence prompted him to pick up the phone and tap out the club’s numbers. “Angelic?” He spoke into the receiver. “This is Sam Sinclair. Would you be good enough to put me in touch with—”
“Okay, okay. You’ve made your point.” Ally snatched the phone out of his hand and hung it up.
She could almost feel the dark smile behind his narrowing eyes.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Britney Spears.” She mentally stuck out her tongue at him.
“I’d say that qualifies as another lie. How many is that? I’ve lost count.” He reached for the phone again, and Ally let out a yelp.
“Hey, I was just kidding!”
“I’m not.” He waggled his index finger at her clothing. His meaning was clear.
Pervert, she thought, taking silent inventory of what she was wearing—a suit jacket and skirt, camisole, bra, panties and hose. That amounted to six lies before she’d be nude, and she wasn’t sure how many she’d told already. But she also had a hair clip, watch and bangle bracelet, which could stretch it out to nine.
