Predatory Game

By: Christine Feehan


Saber Wynter leaned back against the plush seat in the low-slung sports car and stared incredulously at her date. “Am I hearing you right?” She tapped a long, perfectly polished fingernail against the armrest. “You’re saying you’ve taken me out on three dates, and you’re claiming you’ve spent a hundred dollars…”

“A hundred and fifty,” Larry Edwards corrected.

One dark eyebrow shot up in disbelief. “I see. One hundred and fifty dollars, not that I have any idea what you spent it on. Your favorite restaurant is a truck stop.”

“The San Sebastian is no truck stop,” he denied hotly, staring into her violet-blue eyes. Unusual eyes, beautiful and haunting. He had noticed her voice immediately on the radio—the Night Siren, everyone called her. It seemed a husky whisper of pure sensual promise. Night after night he’d listened to her and fantasized. And then when he met her…she had great skin and a mouth that screamed sex. And those eyes. He’d never seen eyes like that. She looked so innocent, and the combination of sexy and innocent was just too hard to resist.

But she was proving to be difficult, and damn it all, what did she really have to brag about? She was skinny, looking like a lost waif, nothing to be all haughty and uptight about. In fact, she should be grateful for his attention. As far as he was concerned, she was nothing but a tease.

She shrugged in a curiously feminine gesture. “So you think because you spent this money on three dates it entitles you to sleep with me?”

“It damn well does, honey,” he snapped. “You owe me.” He hated that distant, clinical look she gave him. She needed a real man to put her in her place—and he was just the man to do it.

Saber forced a smile. “And if I don’t—how did you so delicately put this?—if I don’t ‘put out,’ you intend to dump me off right here in the middle of the street at two o’clock in the morning?”

She hoped he would make a move or force the issue, because he was going to get a lesson in manners he was never going to forget. She had nothing to lose. Well, almost nothing. She had stayed too long this time, made too much of a life for herself, and if she wiped up the floor with good old Larry the Louse before she disappeared, she’d be doing the women of Sheridan a favor.

“That’s right, darling.” He smirked at her complacently. “I think you’ll agree you need to be a little reasonable about this, don’t you?” He slid his hand along the back of her seat, fingers not quite touching her. He wanted to. Usually by now he was doing a lot of touching, loving watching the woman squirm. Loving the power he had over them. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t forcing her mouth to his, yanking open her blouse and taking what he wanted, but as much as he longed to do that, there was something inside of him warning him to go slower, to be a little more cautious with Saber. He was sure that very soon she would sit quietly and he’d be able to do whatever he wanted with her. He expected her to cry and plead for him not to leave her there, but instead, perfect little white teeth gleamed at him like bright pearls, making his stomach clench.

He looked so smug Saber wanted to slap his boyish good looks right off his face. “I’ve got some bad news for you, Larry. The sad truth is, I’d rather pull out my fingernails one by one than sleep with you.” She slipped out of the low-slung car. “Your breath stinks, Lar, and let’s just face it—you’re a creep.” She slammed the door with such force he winced visibly.

Fury swept through him. “This is a bad section of town, Saber. Drunken cowboys, drug dealers, deadbeats. Not a good idea to stay here.”

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