At the challenge, Eve lifted her
chin a measure while the wheels in her head nearly flew
off their tracks. This could be her chance to finally
put Donavan’s doubts about her being a Mistress to rest.
“Care to make a friendly wager, then?”
Donavan studied her thoughtfully.
“I’ve been known to make a bet or two. What did you have
As if deep in thought, Eve tapped
one freshly manicured fingernail against her lips. She
wasn’t however. She knew exactly what she wanted.
“All right, if I win this case,
we will attend the masquerade together—ah,” Eve wagged
her finger when he tried to interrupt. “But you
will be my slave. You’ll peel me grapes, rub my
feet, and if you’re lucky I might just let you fan me
with one of those giant feathers.”
For the first time in ages, Eve
saw Donavan hesitate. It was only for a split second but
it was there. Perhaps the stakes were just a bit too
high for him.
“And if you lose?” he asked,
intrigue evident in his tone.
There was no chance in hell of
her losing now that she had the tape. Although it was
underhanded to make a bet with an ace in the hole, he
would never find out. No harm. No foul.
“If I lose, I’ll willingly submit
to you for the entire weekend.”
His eyes narrowed and Eve’s pulse
skipped a beat. Could he smell the bet was fixed? Did
she look too eager? Too confident? Were her lips
twitching and giving her lucky ace away?
Her throat dried further as Marcy
proudly clutched the tape to her chest and marched
toward them. If Donavan spotted that cassette, he
wouldn’t enter into a wager that could land him on his
knees without seeing what was on the tape first. She
needed his answer. Now.
“What do you say, Carver?”
With his scorching gaze hot
enough to melt the buttons clean off her ivory blouse,
Donavan scanned her from head to toe. He brought his
eyes back to hers. “You got yourself a bet, counselor.”