CHAPTER SIX

I couldnt believe that just happened. Im not sure what surprised me more; Blaines abrupt ending to... well, whatever that was the fact that he basically just molested me in the middle of an art gallery that contained a piece from an artist I have loved my entire adult life, or how badly I wanted Blaine.

"So, handsome, are you ready to resume our tour?"

Like fuck I am. I can hardly stand upright. He just had his fingers around me and now he wants to pretend like none of it ever happened? Im practically naked and my cock is still straining for relief, for fucks sake. I straighten and quickly yank my pants back up. "What the hell was that?" I say.

He withdraws his hand. "A lesson."

"A lesson?"

"You asked me why this painting was my favorite. I was merely providing a...hands on demonstration to prove my point." He rubs his jaw. "You seemed to enjoy it just fine, so I dont know why youre complaining."

"You did too," I counter, but honestly he doesnt look half as flustered as I feel. How the fuck did he manage that? I know he wants me too, that he was aroused by the way I let him touch me. "Is this some sort of sick game?"

"Not at all," he says, leaning toward me again and dropping his voice. "I only wanted you to realize how much you want me."

I wish I could deny his claim - I really do. But I cant; I do want him. I want him more than I wanted a pair of heels as a child, more than I wanted Broadway when I was a teen, and more than I wanted that fantastic new Dolce & Gabbana coat I drooled over for months last season. But I dont need him to articulate that to me; it only gives him more power. At this point, I cant decide if I want to hit him or pull him against me and satisfy the erection I can feel stirring beneath my clothing. His eyes are scanning my face, waiting for acknowledgment of my attraction. Despite the fact that I basically begged him to make me come only about a minute ago—not to mention my other behavior of the last twenty-four hours—I cant bring myself to say the words. Not now.

I manage to somehow find my bearings and pull myself together - if only in my head and if only for a moment. "Im ready now, lets please continue," I manage to utter, still slightly shaky on my feet. "Based on the size of my closet I can only imagine that the rest of your house is huge and we have a lot to cover."

He seems to falter for just a moment before a leering smile crosses his face. "Its not the only thing thats huge," he adds with a devious tone. "And youre right, theres lots more to see. Where would you like to visit next? The stables? The kitchen? Or maybe even the secret passageways. I hear theyre quite... stimulating."

I feel like someones dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. Hes toying with me. He has to be. My eyes leap to his, and hes still wearing that self-satisfied smile. He has me in his power, and he knows it. Hes enjoying it. Theres only one way to fight that.

"The secret passageway sounds amazing," I say. "Lets start there." If my quick agreement surprises him, he doesnt show it.

"Of course," he says, holding out his arm to me. "This way."

I hook my hand around his elbow, praying that he doesnt notice how shaky I still am. His skin is fire-hot beneath my touch, but he appears perfectly calm and collected. The bastard. He must get off on making me squirm. He leads me from the gallery, and as we pass a long window I crane my neck to peer outside. The sky is still dark, the rain still pouring down. Thunder rumbles in the distance, suggesting that the storm wont be ending anytime soon. How much longer I can survive in this place with Blaine, I dont know, but one things for sure: Im in way over my head.

Blaine said he needed the afternoon to "handle some things" (which made me automatically think of some things he could handle in the vicinity of my crotch), so I spent the afternoon in the room vacated by his friend that I was currently staying in. Part of me is curious as to what things Blaine would need to handle. He insinuated that it was of a business-related nature, but he cant have worked a day in his life with all of the canoodling with actors and drunken bashes in Europe he needed to attend to. I didnt let that impact me too much; I was simply thankful for the time alone just to gather myself.

Before I can mull over it for too long or rest too much, theres a knock on the door. Rather than feel calm, cool and collected, I manage to feel frantic at the thought that Blaine "Sex On A Stick" Anderson is on the other side of the door. I quickly smooth over the lines in my clothes and try to do something with my hair - to no avail - and open the door smoothly with a meek smile on my face.

Instead of encountering the man whos been running through my head for hours, I open the door to an empty hallway aside from a tray of food thats been left out. Whoever had left it has already vanished - likely through some fancy dumb elevator or yet another secret passage - though I wonder who it could be. Its funny—all this time Ive been here Ive only seen Blaine and Chef Martin. In a house this size, I expect it would take a small army to keep things running smoothly, but instead the place feels deserted.

In the end, I decide not to eat the food. I dont have much of an appetite, anyway. Im too distracted. I sink down on the bed and throw my arm across my eyes. I dont know what Im doing here. Ive only made our mess worse, and now Ive played right into Blaines hands.

This is not how things were supposed to go. I can still feel his touch on my skin; feel the heat of his breath along my neck. I found Adam attractive, but I never responded to him like this. This thing—this crazy, twisted thing—is way more intense. I feel like Im dangling over the edge of some bottomless chasm, and that terrifies me.

The worst part is that despite me knowing that hes no good, that I cant actually keep myself away. Its obvious that Blaine is bad news and is constantly proving himself even more of a jerk every time I speak with him. No one would disagree when I stated that Blaine is not boyfriend material - no one I would be encouraged to bring around my social circles and not have them think, "what were you thinking?" Hes the baddest kind of bad boy - the kind that is an asshole but doesnt give a fuck while also having this smooth veneer on the outside that seems to charm people like its his damn job.

With his lack of caring in respect to his obvious personality flaws, he still never claims to be anything other than the bad apple that he is. Hes both dreadful and irresistible at the same time yet he makes no claims to change your mind about him. And what do I gain from staying away from him? Hes not going to change his mind about the Center because I refuse to sleep with him. And if pride played any part in my resistance before, it doesnt anymore.

Theres no denying my attraction, not now. He knows I want him. A part of me wants to march down to him right this minute and grab him and kiss him. And why not? A guy deserves the chance to do something crazy every once in a while. But Im still hoping I might find a way to wear him down on the issue of the Center. If I could get under his skin, as hes gotten under mine... He seems to enjoy our little power games. I just need to figure out how beat him.

My cell goes off, interrupting my plotting. Its Adam. I debate just letting it go to voicemail, but Im in a reckless mood.

"Hello?" I answer as neutrally as I can.

"Kurt." Adams voice is thick with relief. "Listen, about earlier... I was being an ass. Im sorry." I dont respond. "Look," he rushes on. "I shouldnt have said those things. I didnt mean them. You know I didnt mean them. And you know how much you and the Center mean to me."

Its a typical apology for Adam—meant, no doubt, to soften my heart a little and play on my sympathy. A year ago, I would have eaten it up, but I know better now.

"Youre allowed to turn me down," I say carefully. "I know it wasnt exactly fair to ask you for anything. You dont owe me any favors."

"Actually, I think I do. And it wasnt fair of me to go off on you when youre already under so much pressure. Im sorry, Kurt. I know how much this means to you. Ill help you. Of course Ill help you." This kind, groveling Adam scares me more than the bitter, angry one from this morning, but beggars cant be choosers.

"All right," I say. "Maybe the Center has a shot after all." I pick at the corner of the fluffy white comforter. "Will you call the Center and let Will know? He might have a game plan for you."

"Youre not at the Center?"

"No, Im—Im in the Upper East Side. Pursuing a lead."

"All the way uptown?"

"Were desperate," I tell him matter-of-factly. "And on that note, I should go. I have something I need to take care of. Call Will, okay?"

"Of course." He pauses. "I miss you, Ku—"

"Bye," I say quickly. I hang up before he can respond and throw the phone back down on the pillow.

That could have gone worse. At least he agreed to help and The Center might have a chance of staying open and providing the life-altering services Will has carefully curated in the past few years. Normally I would be thrilled, but instead I feel uneasy and somehow unsettled by Adams call and what hes proposing in general.

After much deliberation, I decide to dress up for dinner. Maybe it makes me look desperate to sport a pair of snug pants and a well-fitted jacket over a fitted blue sweater after Blaines "hands on demonstration" from this morning, but my clothes empower me and I feel like the true Kurt Hummel when Im a little over the top. He can try to toy with me all he wants, but I know that I have some power in our dynamic - even if it seems like Im purely at his mercy. Just because he won the battle doesnt mean hes won the war.

I rush down to the dining room at the predetermined dinner time, sitting down next to Blaine, trying to ignore the glances hes sending my way. I can visibly see him follow the line of the jacket to where it ends just above the hip and his eyes seem to bulge slightly when he notes how tight my pants are.

Goal of unsettling Blaine, check.

"Would you like some wine?" he asks me. "Or would you prefer whiskey again?"

"Whiskey sounds good," I reply. I need some liquid courage.

He rises to go to the liquor cabinet, and I allow myself a peek at his backside as he walks away. After everything thats happened in the past twenty-four hours, I cant help but admire the way he fills out his pants. He, too, seems to have chosen nicer clothes for this particular meal. In his dark slacks and pressed sapphire shirt, this is the first time he actually looks the part of the billionaire playboy. He turns back around, and I quickly look down at my empty plate. I wont let him catch me checking him out.

"You look very nice this evening," he says when he returns to the table.

"Nice?" He presses the glass of whiskey into my hand, and his fingers linger against my wrist.

"Breathtaking," he says, his voice low. Its the reaction I was hoping for, but Im not sure how to respond. Instead I raise the glass to my lips, effectively extricating myself from his touch in the same motion. "I hope you had a pleasant afternoon," he says when I lower the whiskey again.

"Very relaxing." I dont want him to think I agonized over what happened in the gallery. "I hope yours was productive as well."

"Productive, yes, I suppose. But not particularly enjoyable." I refuse to take the bait and ask him why he didnt enjoy himself.

"Thats good." I unfold my napkin and spread it across my lap. When Im done, I reach out for my whiskey again, but instead of raising it to my lips, I slide my middle finger along the rim of the glass. His eyes follow the motion.

"You know," he says, his gaze still locked on the lazy, circular motions of my finger, "you never delivered on our bet." My finger freezes.

"Excuse me?"

"You owe me a kiss," he says.

"I paid more than my share."

"Perhaps. But you never kissed me, and that was our bargain."

I roll my eyes, but Im saved from having to respond immediately by the door flying open at the far end of the room. Martin leads a cart of food into the room and wheels it over to us.

"Mr. Anderson!" he booms down the length of the room. "Mr. Hummel! Youre going to love what Ive cooked up for you tonight."

Neither of us says a word as Martin unveils tonights feast. I keep my eyes carefully on my glass, and Blaine keeps his eyes on me. The chef is too cunning to miss the tension between us.

"Delicious food always softens the heart," he says casually as he serves the salad. "Things always look better when theres a good meal in your belly." He turns to Blaine. "Ill leave the rest on the cart for you, sir. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, Martin," Blaine says, but his eyes never move from me. The chef turns and walks back down the room.

Happy for the chance to change the subject, I dive right into the question Ive been pondering all afternoon. "Where is everyone else?"

"Who?"

"There werent any security guards at your gate," I say. "And I havent seen anyone but you and Martin since I set foot in this house. Surely you arent actually cleaning up after yourself after all of those years of people waiting on you hand and foot."

His expression goes stony for a moment before straightening his face and putting on a neutral grin. "Ah, so you think I should have a few maids, then? A couple butlers? Some gardeners? I hate to break it to you, but this isnt a period drama."

"It just seems so... empty. Dont you get lonely living in this big house by yourself?" I cant help but be intrigued, but Im also a little sad if Blaine were to feel so alone after all of his recent losses.

"Fortunately," he says, leaning toward me, "every once in a while some tenacious young man decides to sneak through my gates and shake things up a little."

Before I can respond, he gets up and goes to the cart of food. "Change the subject all you want, but Ill have my kiss," he tells me as he dishes me my salad. "Its only fair. Dont worry, though—I wont force it on you now. Ill let you pick the time and place."

"Youll be waiting a long time."

"A long times better than forever," he replies. "I can wait. Im a patient man."

"I doubt that very much, Mr. Anderson, but if you say so." I grab my fork and stare down at my plate. Tonights offering features dried cranberries and toasted nuts, and I have no doubt it will be as delectable as it looks. At least this dinner isnt a complete bust.

Blaine finishes serving himself and slides back in his own seat. He looks at me with half-lidded eyes. "Theres no harm in admitting were attracted to each other, you know." Seriously? He wants me to spell it out for him? Obviously we both can see (and feel) the attraction we have for each other, but theres no way that Im giving in that easily.

"Weve been over this already. Im not—"

"Deny it all you want, but we both know what happened this morning," he says. "You melted like butter in my hands. I might have done anything I wanted to you and you wouldnt have raised a finger to stop me."

"I might have had a momentary lapse in judgment, but I wouldnt have let you do whatever you wanted. I have standards and I know that I matter - bring more value to a relationship other than sex - and I dont just...fling it around for some guy willing to take a dip down the front side of my pants." From his expression, he doesnt believe a word Ive said. "In my view," I say, seeing an opening, "you have it all backwards. Youre the one who keeps trying to get in my pants. Youre the one who keeps making sexual remarks and talking about attraction."

He shrugs. "I have a soft spot for feisty, attractive men."

"The way I see it, if anyones going crazy here its you."

"Is that so?" He takes a sip of his wine, considering.

"Yes." I point at him with my fork. "Youre the one who wont drop the subject. Its driving you insane that I wont just give in to you." I lean forward, staring him down with my most seductive gaze.

His eyes flick down to my neck then back to my face, where they settle on my lips. When he speaks, his voice is casual, steady, but he doesnt fool me; a man knows when he has a man in his snare. "I might argue that last point, but you raise an interesting question," he says. "Whos more attracted? Whos more likely to crack first?"

"Theres no question at all."

"Willing to wager on it?" he says, leaning toward me in turn. His eyes are bright.

"You cant prove something like that."

"Of course you can," he says. "The loser is the first one to give into their baser instincts."

If thats the bet, then Im golden. Perhaps I dont have the strength to push him away when hes slipping kisses down my neck, but Im not exactly the sort of guy who launches himself at men, even the sexy scruffy ones; I certainly wasnt lying about that part of my monologue even if he didnt believe the rest. Im not sure Blaine has the same sort of restraint considering hes proven his inability to keep his hands to himself thus far.

"Fine, but I get to pick the stakes this time,"I say while licking my lips as I think about the ways in which Blaine can pay up if... no, when, he reneges on this bet. Im pleased to see Blaine following the track of my tongue, noting how its moistening the lips Im sure he wished were around his cock instead of tasting the remnants of tonights dinner.

This is my chance.

"If I win," I say, "then you have to pay out the rest of your fathers pledge to the Center."

Blaine leans back in his seat and takes another sip of his drink. His eyes study me over the rim of his glass. "Thats a steep price," he says casually.

"Its a dangerous game youve suggested. I think its a suitable stake."

He considers for a moment. "There are three years left on the pledge, correct? The same amount promised each year?"

The fact that he doesnt know that for sure already makes me feel a little sick to my stomach, but I push down the feeling. "Four years," I reply.

He slides his thumb back and forth across his stubble. "Ill give you one year."

"I name the stakes this time, not you."

He shrugs. "We dont have to make the bet."

"You dont want to accept the terms because you know Im going to win," I say lightly. "I think that proves my point quite nicely."

"Taunting me wont change my mind," he says. "Besides, we havent even settled the debt from our last wager."

"Is that the problem?" I say. Before he can say anything else, I reach across and grab the front of his shirt. I yank him toward me, capturing his lips with my own. Hes too shocked to move, but Im not about to waste an opportunity to tease him. I move my mouth against his, then slip my tongue along his bottom lip. He responds more quickly than even I anticipated. His mouth opens beneath mine, his own lips part so he can meet my tongue with his own. Electricity courses through my body at the contact, and I lean into him, even as his hand circles my neck and draws me closer. Desire flares in my belly, but this time I wont ignore the warning bells in my head. I pull away from him, pulling his hand from my hair as I sit back in my seat. He looks stunned. I revel in the thrill of my small victory.

"Was that satisfactory?"

His eyes darken. "I would say that satisfies our terms."

"Good. Then we can move on to the terms at hand. All four years left on the pledge."

He shakes his head. "One."

I play with the end of my fork. "Pity. I thought you liked these little games. Or is it as I guessed, that youre afraid because you know youre going to lose?"

I have him under my finger now; Ive challenged his pride and said he couldnt do it. If anything will motivate a man like Blaine, its telling him he cant do something. If this doesnt work, then I dont know what Ill do since Blaine and his untold millions of dollars are lying between The Centers success and its sure ruin.

Blaine is studying me. I meet his dark gaze with equal intensity. Just try and wriggle your way out of this. Finally he leans forward again. "Two years."

I might not have broken him completely, but its a good offer. Two years fulfillment of the pledge would definitely keep our head above water—and give us that much more time to find a couple more dedicated givers. Now its my turn to study Blaine, to try and gauge the seriousness of this offer. Should I try for one more year? In the end, I decide not to push it.

"Agreed," I say, holding out my hand. He shakes it. I should be excited. I finally have the chance to save the Center—and a good shot, too. But I dont trust Blaines smile, nor do I trust the way my stomach flutters when he leans toward me again. He places his hand on mine, and my heartbeat accelerates.

"Let the games begin," he says.

Oh yes, I think. Theyre just getting started.