Page 35 of Whatever Lola Wants

She watched him for a moment, then shrugged and continued pushing the table, putting her back into it until it butted up against the sofa. “Well, we could probably come up with something else. Everything is negotiable.”

He watched with growing interest while she systematically removed all the extra furnishings—lamps, pillows, a bin full of magazines—from the living area until the space was completely clear. She stood in the middle of the empty rug, hands on her hips, in white capri pants and a red camp shirt, her painted toes glinting at him.

“The main point of the bet,” she said as she began unbuttoning the shirt, “is that if I win, I get to continue calling you Big Dick Hastings. Really, that’s my win.”

His eyes narrowed as her nimble fingers continued to work the buttons until her shirt hung open. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting ready.” She slipped the open shirt off her shoulders and tossed it toward the sofa, and he felt it like a one-two punch to the solar plexus.

She wore a white bra edged in lace. Simple, practical. Not fuck me wear. But her nipples were hard beneath the practical white cotton, and the gentle curve of those tidy, barely-a-mouthful breasts made his mouth water.

Her hands moved to the waistband of the slacks, unbuttoning and unzipping with unhurried movements. She wasn’t trying to be sexy or seductive; she was just taking off her clothes.

It was the hottest strip tease he’d ever been privy to.

The slacks slipped with a whisper of sound down her bare legs. She picked them up and tossed them on top of the shirt, then simply stood and let him look.

She was all pale, smooth skin and firm muscle. Her limbs seemed surprisingly long for such a small woman, her legs sleek and strong. Her hips curved into a nipped-in waist, her breasts sat high and firm on her rib cage. The panties matched the bra and sat low across her hipbones, giving him an unfettered view of her belly. Flat, firm, the dip of her belly button an intriguing shadow.

He finished his slow scan of her body and returned his gaze to her face. Her eyes were steady on his, but the heat in them was like a blast furnace. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, and her breath came just a little faster than normal as she waited.

What was she waiting for? Oh, right. His turn to talk. Jesus, Hastings, get your head in the game. He hoped he could maintain some dignity and speak without stuttering. “Getting ready for what?”

“The bet, of course.” She tilted her head. “Are you interested?”

“Oh, I’m interested,” he growled, his hands fisting in his pockets. A good twelve feet separated them, for which he was thankful. If he’d been close enough to touch her, he’d already be pounding her into the rug. “What’s the bet?”

The flush on her cheeks deepened. “We spar.”

He couldn’t have heard her correctly. “I’m sorry?”

“You try to pin me, I try to pin you. Best two out of three.”

He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t think clearly enough to manage it. He’d get his hands on her, he realized. All over her. He cleared his throat. “I outweigh you by over a hundred pounds, sweetheart.”

She smiled. “Well, then you have nothing to worry about. We’ll say a win is a pin, pushing your opponent off the rug—” she indicted the large square carpet she stood on, surrounded on all four sides by bare hardwood— “or submission.”

“You’re joking.”

Her eyebrows raised, she shook her head. “Nope.”

Was he seriously considering this? He looked at the panties again, thought about getting them off her. Oh, hell yes.

“Rules?” he asked, his voice little more than a growl.

She set her hands on her hips. “We’ll keep it polite. No hair pulling, biting, eye gauging. Faces and genitals are off limits. We don’t try to damage each other.”

He grunted. “Agreed.”

“Tap outs will be promptly acknowledged. And respected.”

He lifted one arrogant brow. “I don’t need to cheat, sweetheart.”

“Good to know.” Her fingertips tapped on her hips, drawing his eye, heating his blood. From the smug look on her face when he looked back up, she knew it. “You in?”

This is wild. She must be drunk. Fuck, I must be drunk. Tell her no. “Yeah. I’m in.”

CHAPTER SIX

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