“Mm-hmm.”

I can see him trying to figure out where I’m going with this. See the cogs of his mind turning to why I’d be questioning a rule that’s a no-brainer. I bring a hand to my throat and trail my finger slowly down between my breasts like it’s a move I do every day. I watch his eyes follow, take note of his Adam’s apple bobbing in response, and figure I’ll go in with the coup de grâce and see if I can’t make him take my own bait.

“Well, I like rules too, you know … and one of mine is that I take my pill regularly, get tested regularly.” I wet my bottom lip and love that I see his mouth part in reaction. “Nothing like the feeling of skin on skin, right?”

His eyes flash to mine, and there’s an audible sharp intake of air before he controls his response to seem blasé. “The Pill, huh?”

“Yep, the Pill and a clean bill of health. You?”

“Am I on the Pill? No.” he laughs out, breaking the momentary sexual tension sparking between us like a live circuit.

“Cute. Very cute, but I was referring to your bill of health.”

He angles his head and stares at me, all joking aside because this is a serious answer. “Clean as a whistle.”

“Well, I don’t know about whistles, but I’m sure you’ve got something else I can blow on.” My smile is smarmy, and I love watching his eyes widen at my audacity.

“Goddamn it, Haddie,” he swears under his breath. I see him angle closer into me, see his resolve weakening, his eyes scrunched and a sigh escaping, and then just as quickly, he reins it back in and pulls away from me. “Well played, well played … but as much as I want you to blow that something else, I’ve got my list of rules.”

“I like a man who sticks to his principles … who likes to remain in control,” I tease, enjoying torturing him after my damn libido has been a slave to his orders over the past week, “but I was born to break rules in order to get what I want.” I tilt my head and purse my lips, staring at him, waiting for his reaction, and every part of me wants desperately for him to take my shoulders, push me back, and have his way with me.

“Well, I guess this is going to be a test of wills … seeing which one of us will prevail.” He raises his eyebrows and leans back on his hands, making the point neither of us is going to get what he or she wants unless one of us caves.

We stare at each other for a few minutes, both of us trying to figure out how to manipulate the situation to achieve our goals when he twists his lips and nods his head. “Okay, City … you want sex, and I want answers, so I have a proposition.” I just raise an eyebrow at him because I’m thankful he is trying to add some levity to the moment—he only calls me that nickname when we are being playful. “For every question I ask you that you refuse to answer or lie about, you have to remove a piece of clothing and vice versa. See, I’ve already given you a head start,” he says, pointing to his shirt lying on the ground beside me. “You have a few more lies to give than I do before you’re naked.”

His proposition is interesting, to say the least, and I’m so focused on the fact that I have three lies until he is completely naked that I don’t think everything through. Like who gets to be the judge of if I’m lying or not. All I’m thinking about is how much Becks has primed my pump and left me without release. “And what? The person who is naked first loses? What does the winner get?”

That low, seductive chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Winner gets to decide just what to do next.”

Thank sweet fuck for that because this girl is ready to be taken here in this empty field. Talk about wanting the clichéd with reckless abandon…. If this isn’t the perfectly painted picture of it, I’m not sure what is.

“You up for it?” His eyes taunt me, and his smirk goads me even though I’m already game.

“The question that needs to be asked is, are you up for it?” I smirk at him.

“City, you know I’m up for anything with you.” He works his tongue in his cheek. “I’ll even let you go first.”

“I don’t want you claiming I cheated now when you’re naked and I’m—” I stop myself, not wanting to play my cards about what I want too quickly because if I tell him I have a strong desire to take him in my mouth and taste him, I have a feeling he’ll lie on purpose. Then again, we’re both in this sexually frustrated state partially because of him, so I’m not sure he’ll give in that easy.

And the problem is, if I lie, I fear he’ll build me to a frenzy and then walk away again to prove his goddamn point when in fact it is his point I want in me.

“I go first, huh? Don’t answer that,” I correct myself, realizing I almost just wasted a question on him. His grin spreads wide as he just nods his head for me to continue. “Who is Deena?”

“Deena who?,” he replies like he doesn’t know anyone by that name. And as much as I love the idea that he’s acting like she’s insignificant to him, I raise my eyebrows, wanting the answer. He sighs in resignation. “Deena is a girl I dated in high school.”

I buy his response, even though I suddenly want to follow it up with another question, but he’s already started to ask me something. “Look at us and our D questions…. Is there anything going on between you and Dante?”

I begin to lie—to tell him there’s nothing—but correct myself as I count my pieces of clothing. “Dante is an ex who once upon a time I thought was the one. Until he up and disappeared one day. I have a weak spot for him, yes. Have we kissed since he’s been staying with me? Yes. Do I want him back? No. Does he want more? Possibly. Do I want to sleep with him? No.” And I don’t know why I’ve laid all of that out there. Maybe I want to warn Becks away by telling him that Dante and I have a history, have kissed, but when I look at Becks, he is grinning from ear to ear.

“What?” I ask him when he just laughs.

“Well, you answered all of that for me, and I only had to use one question, so thank you. That lets me get to the important questions quicker,” he says, running a hand through his hair as I curse my wordy-ass self.

He reaches out and begins to lift up the hem of my shirt, and I bat his hand away as he starts to lift it over my head. “Stop! I answered you!”

He just keeps pulling it up, and as I continue to stop him, I turn my head back to find his mouth on mine. The fight goes right out of me when the warmth of his lips and his tongue delve to touch mine softly. An unhindered moan falls around us, and I’m not sure if it’s from him or me because I’m so completely mesmerized, my body completely lax and yet so very eager to respond to any request he gives me.

I come back to reality when he draws back from the kiss and pulls my shirt over my head, distraction one hundred percent effective. “You lie,” he murmurs, and I’m so captivated by him right now, I don’t care that my shirt’s off or that he thinks I’ve lied because all I can focus on is his presence before me. “You want to sleep with Dante still. You just don’t want to admit it. He’s your past. He may be complicated, but since he’s your past, he can easily help you forget whatever it is you seem to be running from just as easily as I can. And the thing is, with him, you know he’s not going to be there in the morning or on the day after … and that’s quite appealing to you, whereas you fear that with me. You love your no strings, and yet you won’t cut the ties they have that hold you to whatever it is that makes you run away and remain alone.”

I suck in a broken breath as he speaks with such raw honesty about the things I feel, and it scares me that he can see inside me so well. And even worse, if he sees that truth, what else is he seeing that I don’t want him to? Shit just got real, real quick, and I didn’t want it to.

I swallow over the lump in my throat and deny him any reaction to his commentary, hoping that will save my sanity some if I just move on. It’s my turn to ask a question, and of all the things that I want to ask him, I can’t get my mind off the exotic Deena. I need to know if he slept with her the other day after he left me at the farmers’ market. I don’t know why. If he did, was he comparing us? Was he thinking how much less complicated she is than me? I don’t want to waste my question on this, but I can’t pull my head elsewhere.

“Did you sleep with Deena?”

He gives me a puzzled look and then says, “No. I can’t believe you’d wonder about that or waste a question on it. Don’t you get she could never hold a candle to you?”

His words warm parts deep inside me that I don’t want warmed, and I realize how stupid this game is immediately. How he’s an open frickin’ book to my volumes of closed ones.

I shift to stand up, wanting to change the topic and end this game right here, right now before he gets any closer to things I don’t want him near.

“Nice try,” he says, shifting us back so that I am flat on my back and he’s sitting astride my waist with my hands cuffed at my sides. We seem to keep ending up in this position.

And hell if I’m going to complain.

“What’s wrong, Haddie? Was that answer a little too real for you? Did you realize that we are, and you can’t handle it once again, so you want to bolt?” He leans down and hovers over me as the truth in his words hit my ears. “Guess what. I have the only car keys. We’re not going anywhere or doing anything until you give it a chance.”

I stop moving beneath him, let the anger burn out when I hear the emotion in his voice. There are so many things I want to say to him, to explain to him, but the fear and its ever-constant presence are the dam preventing any deluge of truths.

“Haddie …,” he says, and I wonder what it is he sees right now as he looks at me. Does he see the fear—the scared little girl needing someone but afraid to get too close—or does he see the confident woman who’s playing a game with his heart?