Just try and wriggle your way out of this.
Finally he leans forward again. "Two years."
I might not have broken him completely, but it's a good offer. Two years' fulfillment of the pledge would definitely keep our head above water—and give us that much more time to find a couple more dedicated givers. Now it's my turn to study Calder, to try and gauge the seriousness of this offer. Should I try for one more year?
In the end, I decide not to push it.
"Agreed," I say, holding out my hand.
He shakes it.
I should be excited. I finally have the chance to save the Center—and a good shot, too. But I don't trust Calder's smile, nor do I trust the way my stomach flutters when he leans toward me again.
He places his hand on mine, and my heartbeat accelerates.
"Let the games begin," he says.
Oh yes, I think. They’re just getting started.
CHAPTER NINE
The rest of dinner is, surprisingly, rather tame. We talk about anything and everything, from books to politics to our favorite flavors of ice cream. Calder is far more well-read and thoughtful in his opinions than I originally anticipated, but I'm too distracted by our bet to spend much energy marveling at his intelligence. There are too many glances to decipher, too many casual touches to give and receive. I've heard the dance of seduction compared to a game of chess, but never before have I recognized the truth of such words. Everything that passes between us is a move in this elaborate game of lust, and I'm afraid that while I'm planning my next turn, Calder will sneak up behind me with some strategy I haven't even considered.
By the end of the meal, I'm tense and tired.
"Will you lead me back to my room?" I ask, looking up at Calder through my lashes. "I got lost twice on the way down here."
"Of course," he says, sliding a finger along the back of my palm.
The walk back to my room is a quiet one. Calder's hand rests on the small of my back most of the way, and I do my best to ignore the warmth running up my spine. He plays the game well, I'll grant him that, but he has something coming to him if he truly believes his will is stronger than my own.
When we reach my door, I turn and blink up at him. I clasp my hands in front of me, just enough to nudge my breasts up a little more.
"Thank you for walking me here. And thank Martin for another wonderful dinner. I quite enjoyed myself this evening."
"I hope you found my company stimulating."
"That's one word for it." I flash him my most devilish grin.
For a moment we both stand there, each waiting for the other to speak or move. There's energy around us, a force like a string tied between one and the other, and all it would take is one movement, one tug, to either snap it or bring us hurtling together. I sense the danger of it even before I notice the way my breathing has quickened. Calder's has too, judging by the rise and fall of his broad chest.
Almost involuntarily, I reach out and touch the skin just above his collar, right at the hollow of his throat. He swallows. My fingers start to move along his neck, until suddenly I realize what I'm doing. They freeze just below his ear.
"Goodnight," I say sweetly, as if I intended this all along. "Pleasant dreams."
I withdraw my hand and reach for the door, but I can still feel the intensity of Calder's gaze on me.
"Goodnight," he says roughly.
I don't trust myself to look at his face again before I close the door behind me.
* * *
I hardly sleep at all that night.
I've never been so worked up over a man before. I don't know what's happened to me, and it's only gotten worse since we made that bet. I feel like I'm burning from the inside out, tortured by lust for someone I shouldn't even like, let alone want.
I tell myself it all comes down to that twisted law of the universe that you always want what you can't—or shouldn't—have. Calder has the power to destroy everything my dad and I spent our lives building. I've finally found an opening, a way to win back what he denied us, and my body's bent on betraying me.
After tossing and turning for a couple of hours, I finally get up and go over to the fireplace. I move the poker and watch the secret door slide open. The dark passage beyond beckons me. The tension I've been fighting all night settles between my legs, and I start to ache without even taking a step. I know what waits at the other end of this corridor. The scene from the other night is still so vivid in my mind. I don't know what I hope to accomplish by taking this path again tonight. I don't delude myself into believing I'll witness another similar scene. And I certainly don't intend to go barging into his room in the middle of the night.
It's all just a fantasy. All of my time in this house feels like an elaborate sexual dream, and I'm not sure whether I want to wake up or live in it forever.
I'm five steps into the passageway before I lose my nerve. I turn around, dart back to my room, and move the poker back into place. I leap into the bed and pull the comforter over my head. This place is making me crazy, but I won't let it defeat me. Tomorrow, I'll win back some of the money Calder took from the Center. Whatever it takes, I'll break him.
* * *
The next morning it’s still raining, but this time the gray scene outside my window brings a rush of relief. I have more time to win back the money for the Center. I shoot my dad a quick text to update him on the situation—I can’t bear to hear his hopelessness over the phone, not when I need all my strength today—and I head into Louisa’s closet to do some strategic dressing.
I end up selecting a sundress again, since Calder seems to respond well to those. This one is white with a sweetheart neckline and tiny straps—the perfect combination of “angel” and “temptress.” I actually have time to style my hair today, so I let it hang loose around my shoulders.
Perfect.
He arrives at my room just as I’m slipping on a pair of strappy sandals. His eyes widen when I open the door.
“You like?” I tease.
“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He reaches out and touches my hair, letting it slide through his fingers.
I catch his hand.
“Are you going to stand there and drool, or are you going to take me downstairs?” I say. “I’m starving.”
He pulls his hand away and clears his throat.
“Of course, Ms. Frazer,” he says, his voice like honey. His eyes linger on my bare shoulders.
Easy, Mr. Cunningham, I think as I take his offered arm. This time I press a little closer than usual, near enough that our shoulders brush against each other as we move down the hallway. I feel the muscles in his arm contract beneath my hand.