CHAPTER 8: WHAT ARE HIS WEAKNESSES?
1251 Words
This was not just about business anymore. There was more between them.
Something elemental is running beneath the surface. It was that something that made Stark come to an instant decision.
Her ranch was his secondary concern, mainly because he'd have that before long, whether she acquiesced to his demand or he wrestled it away with her fighting him over every inch of land.
Right now, other needs are of far greater urgency.
No matter what, he'd have this woman on his bed. Have her until he is sated, regardless of how short or long the taking is. Or how much she resisted.
"Okay, hmm, I agree," she said at last.
"I thought you might," he murmured.
He reached around her and released the elevator, allowing it to continue its downward plummet.
No doubt it was taking them, both of them, straight to hell.
She stared at the elevator doors and fought to regain her self-control.
Stark had knocked her Stetson to the back of her head, and now she crushed it low on her brow.
Okay, so she was hiding her expression from him. So, what?
That didn't matter anywhere near as much as the fact that he had her acting like a total i***t. A rock dumb, bat blind, total i***t.
Stark had already warned her that he always won.
This give-and-take between them was nothing more than a game to him, an avenue toward another check in the win column of his playbook.
For her, the stakes were far higher. Her ranch was her life, and keeping its legacy safe for future Robertson was her sole ambition.
She'd promised to do just that—a deathbed vow that left no maneuvering room for negotiation or personal preferences.
Granted, Stark didn't care about her reasons for resisting his proposition.
Still, what if she could explain that sort of emotion to him in a language he could understand? What if she could talk him into going away and leaving me alone? ...
It wouldn't solve all her problems, but it would solve her most immediate ones.
She spared him a swift glance from beneath her lashes.
He was staring at her, his lazy grind warning that he knew what she'd been thinking.
Not that it mattered what counter-agenda he might be working on.
She'd committed herself to going out to dinner with him, and she would. She'd even try to change his mind about buying her out, though she doubted she'd succeed.
Nevertheless, he was right about one thing: spending a little time with him would give her a better handle on his strategy and what her chance was of winning, though at a guess that would be somewhere in the neighborhood of zero to none.
She weighed that against the feminine intuition that warned that he wanted far more from her than her property.
It filled her with the urge to change her mind and run home to safety, the protective instinct for flight eclipsing the desire to fight.
She opened her mouth to give instinct a voice.
"You can't." His voice came from just her noticing.
"I can't what?" She asked.
"You agreed to dinner, and you can't change your mind."
"How did you know?" She closed her mouth with a snap and glared at the elevator doors.
"Okay, I get it now."
"Get what?" Laughter. Stark was laughing at her.
"I understand why you're so successful... You can read minds." Isabella said.
"Only when the thought is strong. Or the emotions," he added.
She winced.
Was that his subtle way of telling her he'd picked up on her reaction to him?
She needed to get off the ranch more.
Date. Get a better grip on the male psyche and how to handle men like Juvenile Stark. Because Mr. Win always had quite the grip on the female end of things, which put her at a distinct disadvantage.
"I promised I'd go to dinner with you, and I will." If she sounded reluctant, that won't help in any way.
Stark locked his eyes on her, looking out for her weakness so he could predate on that, and his facial expression suggested that he wanted more.
More than just her ranch.
He'd boxed her in, and she didn't like it. "When I give my word, I stick to it."
"As do I." She answered.
She turned and studied his expression.
Not that it helped much. He had "inscrutable" down to a science. "You will give me a fair shot at changing your mind?" She asked.
"Yes"
She wanted to pin him down further but didn't have a clue how to do it.
We were so mismatched, it was downright pathetic. Still, she'd try her best. What other choice did she have?
"Are you open to changing your mind?" She asked him with her eyeballs pinned to his face. She found it so difficult to get her eyes off of him. He's cute and handsome.
"In business, it pays to be flexible." His expression hardened.
"It also pays to go after what you want with every strength, skill, and asset at your disposal." He added.
"Thanks for the suggestion. I'll do just that." Isabella gestured.
An idea occurred to her, one that might put her in a better bargaining position. "And I'd like to start by adding an addendum to our agreement."
He lifted an eyebrow. "A negotiation?" he asked, intrigued. "My favorite pastime. What is your addendum?"
"You come to my place for dinner."
He nodded in complete understanding. "You want to negotiate on your own turf. Good move."
He leaned in, and it took all her concentration just to inhale and exhale in a normal fashion.
His deep-set eyes were the most intense she'd ever seen, the black so absolute she couldn't tell a pupil from Iris. But it was his mouth that drew her, that stirred something she hadn't felt in years.
For such a hard man, his mouth was broad, full, and sensual, and she couldn't help but wonder what those incredible lips could do to her.
Her lips softened in anticipation.
How would it feel to sink into them, to lose herself in their heat? Did he kiss as well as make money?
Chance was excellent; he did, which made her all the more eager to find out.
"My turf or yours, it doesn't matter," he was saying.
"I don't play softball, Bella. My pitch is low, fast, and inside. If you don't watch out, it will put you in the dirt." he added.
It took her a moment to register his comment. Once she did, she took a hasty step away from him.
"What was wrong with me?" She had been daydreaming about kissing the man while he'd been figuring out how to steal her land from me.
"Why are you telling me this?" She asked with immense interest to know.
"Because you're out of your league." He replied in a second after she asked her question.
She didn't know whether to feel outraged or apprehensive. "You're offering me pity advice?"
"Stow your pride and take it," he suggested.
"It's the only help you're going to get. From now on, you're on your own," he added.
There is no question about that. But maybe, just maybe, by having him on her home turf, it would give her just enough of an advantage to uncover his weakness.
A tantalizing thought occurred, one that opened all sorts of fascinating possibilities.
What if his weakness was me?
- Writer
