Callan cut my deliberation short when he tightened his grip, his lips finding the sensitive spot just behind my ear.
“I can hear you overthinking from here,” he murmured, his voice morning-rough in a way that had my ovaries doing backflips. “Your brain makes this little whirring sound when it’s cataloging situations and planning escape routes.”
“It does not,” I protested, even as I tilted my head to give him better access. “And my escape routes are planned weeks in advance, not hastily assembled at...” I glanced at the ridiculously expensive watch on his nightstand, “7:36 in the morning.”
He chuckled, the vibration traveling through my skin and settling somewhere decidedly south of my navel. “So you’re not going to try to slip away from me and pretend last night never happened?”
“First of all, no. Second, also no,” I replied, rolling over to face him. “And third, good morning.”
He looked unfairly spectacular for someone who’d just woken up. His hair was artfully tousled and he had stubble at the perfect length to be both sexy and irritating. The sheet had slipped to his waist, exposing the chest that had made me forget years of professional ethics last night.
“Morning,” he replied, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my hip. “Sleep well?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Though I suspect that has less to do with your thread count and more with being fucked into unconsciousness.”
His eyes darkened at my words, pupils expanding like black holes consuming all that blue. “Happy to be of service,” he drawled. “Though I’d argue it was mutual.”
“Good,” I said, grinning. It was dangerously easy to fall into this rhythm with him. The banter, the casual intimacy, the way his hand slid up my side.
“We should talk about this,” I said, even as my body arched toward his touch like a cat seeking the sun.
“About what?” he asked, feigning innocence as his fingers traced the underside of my breast.
“About the fact that we just spent the night doing things that would make the Professional Wedding Planners Association revoke my membership, if such a thing existed, which thankfully it doesn’t because the annual conferences would be unbearable.”
“Ah, that,” he said, as if just remembering a minor detail. “Yes, we probably should discuss it. Later.” His thumb brushed across my nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight between my legs.
“Callan,” I said, attempting to sound stern but landing somewhere closer to breathless.
“Anica,” he mimicked my tone, then his expression grew serious. “Look, I know this complicates things. The arrangement, the bet, all of it. But right now, I don’t care. I want you. Not as my wedding planner. Not as part of some business deal. Just you.”
It was one thing to have mindless, admittedly spectacular sex with the man. It was another entirely to start believing there might be something real beneath the billionaire playboy facade.
“And what happens when you do care?” I asked quietly. “When the bet deadline approaches and you need to actually find a bride?”
His hand stilled on my skin, his gaze searching mine. “I don’t know. I just know that right now, the only thing I want is to go another round with the drop dead gorgeous woman lying next to me.”
My heart did a dangerous little flip in my chest. “I’d be down for that, but I need to brush my teeth. And my hair. And I need fuel.”
“Oh no you don’t,” he said, catching me before I could pull away.
I didn’t have time to argue before he started kissing me. His response was immediate and hungry, his hands tangling in my hair as he rolled me beneath him. The weight of him pressed me into the mattress. There was nothing gentle about this kiss.
“I want you,” he growled against my lips, his knee nudging my thighs apart. His erection pressed hard against my hip, already fully aroused.
“Then take me,” I challenged, wrapping my legs around his waist.
His eyes flashed. “Don’t move,” he commanded, reaching across me to yank open the bedside drawer. The muscles in his arm flexed as he grabbed a condom packet, the movement exposing the defined planes of his chest and abdomen.
I watched, transfixed, as he tore the packet open with his teeth and rolled the condom onto his impressive length.
“Ready?” he asked, catching me staring.
“Fuck yes,” I said, reaching for him.
He caught my wrists in one large hand, pinning them above my head. “Not yet,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along my jaw. “I’m in charge.”
In one swift movement, he flipped me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up and back against him. The sudden shift left me breathless, my hands fisting in the sheets as he positioned me exactly how he wanted me. He ran a hand down the curve of my spine. The head of his cock teased at my entrance.
