Like she’d fall for that. “You’d already know it’s a lie.”
“Then tell me something that may or may not be a lie, and I’ll tell you if it’s the truth.”
“Oh … kay.” Sinclair thought about it. After a minute, she sat forward, warming to the game. “That morning at the Manchester mansion, I stole something from your room.”
Hunter sat back in apparent surprise. “What did you steal?”
“Is it a lie or not?”
He peered at her expression. “You’re telling me you’re a liar and a thief?”
She shook her head. “I’m either a liar or a thief. If I’m lying about being a thief, then I’m only a liar. But if I’m telling the truth about being a thief, I’m only a thief.”
His eyes squinted down.
“Come on,” she coaxed. “Which is it?”
“You’re a liar,” he said. “You didn’t steal anything from my bedroom.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“You got me,” she admitted.
“Okay. Now it’s my turn.” He folded the napkin and set it aside. “I once wrestled an alligator.”
“A real alligator?”
He nodded.
She was intrigued. Who wouldn’t be? But she wasn’t sold, yet. “Where?”
“A little town in Louisiana.”
“Was it a trained alligator? Like in a zoo or something?”
“Nope. Out there in the bayou.”
“It must have been pretty small.”
“I didn’t measure it or anything, but Jack guessed it was about six feet long.”
“Jack was there, too?”
Hunter nodded.
Sinclair held out her hand. “Your phone.”
“What?”
“I’m calling Jack.”
“Oh, no, you’re not.”
“Oh, yes, I am.” She wiggled her fingers.
Hunter shrugged and handed her the phone.
“You’re so lying,” she said. “Which speed dial?”
He grinned. “Four. And I’m not lying.”
Sinclair hit number four, and waited while it rang. “You are busted,” she said to Hunter.
“Jack Osland,” came a sleepy voice. Too late, she remembered the time-zone difference.
“Hi, Jack,” she offered guiltily. “It’s Sinclair.”
There was a pause. Jack’s voice turned grave. “What did he do?”
She watched Hunter while she spoke. “He claims he wrestled a six-foot alligator in a Louisiana swamp.”
“He told you that?”
“He did.”
“Well, it’s true.”
Sinclair blinked. “Really?”
“Saved my life.”
“Really?”
“Anything else?” asked Jack.
“Uh, no. Sorry. Bye.” She shut off the phone. “You saved his life.”
Hunter shrugged. “He exaggerates.”
Sinclair whooshed back in the chair. “I’d have bet money you were lying.”
Hunter took a sip of his coffee. “I was.”
She stilled. “What?”
He nodded “I was lying. I didn’t wrestle a six-foot alligator. Are you kidding? I’d have been killed.”
She looked down at the phone. “But … Jack …”
“Was lying, too.”
“You couldn’t possibly have set that up.”
“We didn’t have to.” He lifted the phone from her hand. “You started the conversation by saying ‘Hunter told me he wrestled an alligator.’ Jack’s my cousin; of course he’s going to back me up.”
“Tag-team lying?”
“It’s the very best kind. Your turn.”
“I’m not going to be able to top that.”
“Give it a try.”
Sinclair racked her brain. What could she possibly say that might throw him? Something believable, yet surprising.
Aha!
“I’m pregnant.”
Hunter’s face went white. “What?” he rasped.
Oh, no. No. She’d gone too far. “I’m lying, Hunter.”
He worked his jaw, but no words came out.
“Hunter, seriously. I’m lying.”
“You’re not pregnant?”
“I am not pregnant.”
“If you were, would you tell me?”
“I’m not.”
“Because we’d get married.”
“Hunter. It’s a game.”
“Will you take a pregnancy test?”
“No.”
“I let you phone Jack.”
She stood up and rounded the table to him, bending over and putting all the sincerity she could muster into her eyes. “I’m sorry I said I was pregnant. I’m not.”
He searched her expression. “You scared me half to death.”
She smiled at that, reaching out to pat his cheek. “Not ready to be a daddy?”
He snagged her wrist and pulled her down into his lap. “Not ready for you to keep that big of a secret.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I’d tell you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He kissed the inside of her wrist. And then his gaze dipped down to her stomach.
She followed it and realized her movements had opened the robe. Her cleavage was showing, and the length of one thigh was visible nearly to her hip.
But Hunter wasn’t looking at her thigh. His gaze was fixed on her stomach. His big, warm hand moved to press against the robe. It stayed there, and electricity vibrated between them. Then he slipped his hand beneath the robe to cup her soft stomach.
Arousal bloomed within her, radiating out to tingle her limbs. Her lips softened. Her eyelids went heavy. And she molded against his body.
He drew her head down, kissing her softly on the lips, trailing across her cheek, to the crook of her neck, to the tops of her breasts, burrowing down and inhaling deeply.
“I can’t fight it anymore,” he rasped, tipping to look up at her. “I can’t.”
“Then don’t.”