Page 45 of Resist

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ryker

Rapping my pen against the edge of my desk, I review the demands made by Marty’s wife’s counsel. Ones that would make me laugh out loud at their ludicrousness and bloodsucking tendencies, but once again, I’m only paying partial attention to Martin and his divorce. Once again, my mind is focused elsewhere.

It’s on Vaughn.

I glance at my phone for the tenth time in as many minutes and wonder who’s going to fold first in this power play.

Vaughn wants to say yes. She knows it. I know it. And her kiss damn well reflected it too.

But she’s stubborn. I’ll give her that. Stubborn and sexy and maddening, and fuck if I can figure out why it is I’m chasing a woman when she continually says no.

Is it simply the challenge? Wanting the unattainable? Needing to prove to myself and to her that she really does want me?

“Fuck it,” I mutter as I pick up my cell and dial.

It rings four times and goes to voice mail, and I hang up without leaving a message. Before I can set my phone down, it rings, Wicked Ways the name on my caller ID.

Fucking woman. Always trying to be in control of the situation. I’ve got to admire her for it. Maybe I’ll even let her think she’s just that—in control—for a little bit.

“You haven’t issued a refund, so should I assume you’re willing to admit that the customer is always right and the terms of their contract should be fulfilled to the best of the owner’s ability?”

There’s a huff on the other end of the line, and I can imagine her sitting there, that blonde hair pulled up, her full lips pressed in a straight line as she tries to figure out how to concede without feeling like she’s giving in.

“Vaughn? You called me—it only seems fair you participate in this conversation.”

“Being an asshole isn’t exactly the best way to get me to talk.”

My grin is automatic, her obstinacy frustrating and appealing all at the same time.

“I’m waiting for an answer. It’s a simple yes . . . or no.”

I can all but hear her thinking. Sure, I’ve played hardball with her. Pushed when normally it’s not worth the trouble . . . but this woman with her wide eyes full of part fear, part tenacity and her body that has tempted but not satisfied me has gotten under my skin when very little does.

“It’s far from simple,” she says and then falls silent for a beat.

“Not in my book it isn’t.”

“Who said your book was right, Mr. Lockhart?” she counters.

“Ryker,” I assert. Hell if I won’t get her to call me my name at some point. “And I’m always right.” Her snort of protest fills the line, and I smile. “Yes or no, Vaughn.”

“No.”

I end the call without another word and lean back in my chair, smile widening to a grin, knowing she’s gripping her phone right now cursing me.

“Let’s see how long she holds out,” I murmur as I stare at my screen.

And when it rings within seconds, I laugh out loud, its sound echoing around my office.

“Lockhart here.”

“You hung up on me,” she snaps through the line.

“You said no.” Silence. “I don’t like the word no.”

I wait for her to say the word again, just to test me.