Decadent

“I did tell you,” she insisted.

“And you lied.”

Very deliberately—and with no warning or apology—he placed his hand over her heart. Obviously to check the rate. It was exactly where a physician would have placed a stethoscope, but this guy wasn’t a physician, and Ally’s heart happened to be conveniently located beneath her left breast, like every woman’s.

The sudden intimacy of his touch made it hard for her to speak.

“Take your hand off my breast,” she croaked.

He smiled, caressing her with his thumb. “Make me.”

The intimacy was too much, the heat too fierce. She gripped his wrist, and he gripped hers.

“Let go of me,” she whispered.

“The minute you let go of me.”

“This is silly. Count of three and we both let go.”

A slow headshake. “Count to three thousand, if you want. I could do this for hours—and will, unless you tell me the truth.”

“I didn’t break in.” Her voice took on a pleading note. The truth, at least technically. But her damn fluttering pulse didn’t seem to care whether she was being honest or not. And why wouldn’t it with him fondling her breast?

His gaze grew darker by the moment. Whether or not he believed she was lying, he wasn’t letting up on the pressure, either mentally or physically. His eyes searched her, and his thumb feathered her hardening nipple. He was clearly savoring the feel of her.

Now she couldn’t even speak. She released his wrist, and he released hers, thank God. He freed her, but she could feel the imprint of his palm as if it were still there. She could feel his fingers taking possession of her flesh, and her face flushed with awareness.

“It’s basic biology,” he said, putting some effort into keeping his voice unaffected. “Your pulse rate increases when you lie, those pretty little pupils of yours react when you lie and your body temperature fluctuates when you lie. All measurable signals that will be used against you in this game.”