Made: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boy Games) by Danielle Slater, Allegra Ryan Page A

locker room, allowing my long stride to eat up the ground until I’m in the elevator and on my way to Brooke’s suite.
    Next problem: do I tell her all this? Or keep it to myself and focus on keeping us alive and in one piece as long as I can? With any luck at all, the only thing Ferrara wants to win from de Hainault in the game is money or stocks or an intangible like bragging rights.
    The entire ride up the elevator, I keep repeating this logic, hoping I can convince myself. It doesn’t stick, and I’m the reason why. Like everything, there’s a good side and a bad side to this thinking: the first side says that if Ferrara wants a player with my particular skillset in the game, it means there’s going to be action and not just the cock-and-pussy variety. The flip side insists Ferrara plans to use the game as cover to take me out of the equation while at the same time gaining some business or personal advantage over de Hainault. Two birds, one stone, yadda, yadda, yadda.
    No matter which way you look at it, I’m fucked, which is pretty much business, as usual, considering the way my life has been going lately.
    The elevator dings and the doors slide open on the tenth floor. I exit and turn left, following the signs until I reach Brooke’s door.
    Go ahead. You might as well fuck her every chance you get because how much time do you have left?
    I love it when life is simple, and it comes down to two choices: life or death. These are things I understand.
    Brooke answers my knock. Our gazes lock. She’s the first to look away. Her hair is wrapped in a thick, white towel and one of the white H&S signature bathrobes swathes her body. She steps aside to let me enter and won’t look at me again. One hand clutches the lapel of the robe like she’s afraid I’m going to rip it away. Nice idea.
    I drop my duffle on the floor and pull her against my body. She lets out a soft sound of surprise, her pink lips forming an O.
    “What are you doing?”
    “This.” I close my lips on hers and take a long, long sip of what I’ve been craving. My cock turns to steel instantly. She moans against my lips and her hips sway.
    Then she’s shoving away from me, stumbling backward in her haste. The towel around her head slips and falls to the floor. When she bends to retrieve it, the robe falls open. I’m treated to a view of those full tits, swinging as she moves.
    Perks of the job.
    If I’m going to buy it before the week is out, I intend to get my fill of this beautiful woman and check out of the world as a satisfied man.
    She straightens with the towel pressed against her chest and her wet hair falling around her shoulders. I decide I like her like this—stripped of makeup, nearly naked, and if that moan is any indication—ready for me.
    “Listen,” she begins. “Can we start over?”
    “As many times as you want. I’m ready.”
    Pink rushes from her chest up her neck to her cheeks. I want to know if her tits are pink, too.
    “That’s not what I meant. I mean, that is what I mean.”
    I tilt my head, thoroughly enjoying the way I’ve flustered her. “I’m listening.”
    “We, um, you know. . .What we did downstairs last night. . .”
    In a low voice, I say, “Oh yeah, I remember that very clearly.”
    “Good. Not, I mean. . .”
    “Wasn’t it good for you? Because if it wasn’t, I’m more than willing to keep trying to satisfy you. As long as it takes.”
    An irritated look flashes across her face. “Please, I’m serious.”
    “You think I’m not?”
    “I think you’re thinking with your dick.”
    “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
    “It is if we want to win this game!”
    I wrap my fingers around her wrist and, with my other hand, tug at the bathrobe’s belt until it comes free. She doesn’t stop me; she doesn’t pull away. When the robe falls open, I slide my right hand around her waist and move in until her naked tit is smashed against my leather jacket. “Here’s the thing: you’re right.