Page 78 of The Sugar Maple Inn

“That’s called strategy. I’m biding my time.”

“You’re going bankrupt in two turns.”

Grace glared at him. Then landed on Go To Jail.

“Perfect,” she muttered. “I’m officially done with this stupid game!”

Reese’s smile turned wicked. “You know,” he said slowly, “maybe I should give you another chance to win. I think we need a rematch. But the rules are different this time.”

“What kind of rules?”

He pulled her toward him, the Monopoly pieces scattered. “My rules,” he growled into her ear. Then he gestured to the board. “Lie down.”

Twenty-Nine

Reese

Grace looked at Reese in surprise. “Lie down on the board?”

He nodded. She hesitated a moment then did as he asked. Reese knelt beside her, looking down at her. The velvet dress she’d put back on had ridden up to mid-thigh, beading catching candlelight with every breath. The board was under her back, property cards scattered around her like confetti, and she had a hotel clutched in one hand like a weapon.

She looked like trouble. The best kind.

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “We’re still buying properties. But instead of what’s on the board,” his hand cupped her breast, “I’m buying you.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He grabbed a handful of Monopoly houses. “I’m going to buy you. Property by property.”

“Oh no you’re not. That’s not how this works.”

He shook his head. Why did she keep challenging him like this? “Then how does it work?”

She stood up and pointed at the board. “You lie down.”

“Grace—”

“I’m buying you. Those are the rules. I consider myself a feminist, Reese.”

Reese looked at her. At the determination in her eyes. The challenge.

He could fight it. Take control the way he usually did.

Or he could let her win this one.

“Fine.” He lay down on the board.

Grace’s smile turned triumphant. “Good boy.”

She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off him. Then she picked up a green Monopoly house and set it on his bare collarbone. “Old Kent Road. Cheapest property on the board.” Her fingers traced down his chest, and he felt himself go rock solid. “But you have to start somewhere.”

Another house. This one on his sternum. “Whitechapel.”

Another. Lower. Just above his navel. “Kings Cross Station.”

Reese’s breathing had gone shallow. His muscles tense. He was acutely aware of every point where she touched him. Every place a tiny plastic house rested against his skin. He needed to taste her skin, be inside her.

Fuck this game.