His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1) (13 page)

“Who else did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But you certainly
can’t take care of this place all by yourself.”

“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 isn’t a period drama.”

“It just seems so… empty. Don’t you get
lonely living in this big house by yourself?”

“Fortunately,” he says, leaning toward me,
“every once in a while some tenacious young woman 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 I'll
have my kiss,” he tells me as he dishes me my salad. “It's only
fair. Don't worry, though—I won't force it on you now. I'll let you
pick the time and place.”

“You'll be waiting a long time.”

“A long time's better than forever,” he
replies. “I can wait. I'm a patient man.”

“I doubt that very much, Mr. Cunningham, but
if you say so.” I grab my fork and stare down at my plate.
Tonight's offering features dried cranberries and toasted nuts, and
I have no doubt it will be as delectable as it looks. At least this
dinner isn't a complete bust.

Calder finishes serving himself and slides
back in his own seat. He looks at me with half-lidded eyes.

“There's no harm in admitting we're attracted
to each other, you know.”

Seriously? He wants me to spell it out for
him? He’s not an idiot. But I won’t play into it.

“We've been over this already. I'm 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 wouldn't
have raised a finger to stop me.”

“I might have had a momentary lapse in
judgment, but I wouldn't have let you do whatever you wanted.”

From his expression, he doesn't believe a
word I've said.

“In my view,” I say, seeing an opening, “you
have it all backwards.
You
're the one who keeps trying to
get in my pants. You're the one who keeps making sexual remarks and
talking about attraction.”

He shrugs. “I have a soft spot for feisty,
beautiful women.”

“The way I see it, if anyone's going crazy
here it's you.”

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

“Yes.” I point at him with my fork. “You're
the one who won't drop the subject. It's driving you insane that I
won't just give in to you.” I lean forward, staring him down with
my most seductive gaze.

His eyes flick down to my cleavage then back
to my face, where they settle on my lips. When he speaks, his voice
is casual, steady, but he doesn't fool me; a woman knows when she
has a man in her snare.

“I might argue that last point, but you raise
an interesting question,” he says. “Who's more attracted? Who's
more likely to crack first?”

“There's no question at all.”

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

“You can't prove something like that.”

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

If that's the bet, then I'm golden. Perhaps I
don't have the strength to push him away when he's slipping kisses
down my neck, but I'm not exactly the sort of girl who launches
herself at men, even the sexy scruffy ones. I'm not sure Calder has
the same sort of restraint.

“All right,” I say. I flick my tongue across
my lips and feel a surge of pleasure in my belly when Calder's eyes
follow. “But I get to pick the stakes this time.”

I don't know what makes him so certain to
place a bet he must know I'm going to win, but I'm not going to
question it too closely. This is my chance.

“If I win,” I say, “then you have to pay out
the rest of your father's pledge to the Center.”

Calder leans back in his seat and takes
another sip of his drink. His dark eyes study me over the rim of
his glass.

“That's a steep price,” he says casually.

“It's a dangerous game you've suggested. I
think it's a suitable stake.”

He considers for a moment.

“There are three years left on the pledge,
correct?” he says. “The same amount promised each year?”

The fact that he doesn't 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. “I'll give you one year.”

“I name the stake this time, not you.”

He shrugs. “We don't have to make the
bet.”

“You don't want to accept the terms because
you know I'm going to win,” I say lightly. “I think that proves my
point quite nicely.”

“Taunting me won't change my mind,” he says.
“Besides, we haven't 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.

He's too shocked to move, but I'm 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 won't 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
you're afraid because you know you're going to lose?”

I have him under my finger now. I've given
him the challenge, and I've questioned his pride. If this doesn't
work, then I don't know what I'll do.

Calder 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
it's 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 it's my turn to
study Calder, 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 don't trust
Calder's 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.
They’re just
getting started.

<<>>

The rest of dinner is, surprisingly, rather
tame. We talk about anything and everything, from books to politics
to our favorite flavors of ice cream. Calder is far more well-read
and thoughtful in his opinions than I originally anticipated, but
I'm too distracted by our bet to spend much energy marveling at his
intelligence. There are too many glances to decipher, too many
casual touches to give and receive. I've heard the dance of
seduction compared to a game of chess, but never before have I
recognized the truth of such words. Everything that passes between
us is a move in this elaborate game of lust, and I'm afraid that
while I'm planning my next turn, Calder will sneak up behind me
with some strategy I haven't even considered.

By the end of the meal, I'm tense and
tired.

“Will you lead me back to my room?” I ask,
looking up at Calder through my lashes. “I got lost twice on the
way down here.”

“Of course,” he says, sliding a finger along
the back of my palm.

The walk back to my room is a quiet one.
Calder's hand rests on the small of my back most of the way, and I
do my best to ignore the warmth running up my spine. He plays the
game well, I'll grant him that, but he has something coming to him
if he truly believes his will is stronger than my own.

When we reach my door, I turn and blink up at
him. I clasp my hands in front of me, just enough to nudge my
breasts up a little more.

“Thank you for walking me here. And thank
Martin for another wonderful dinner. I quite enjoyed myself this
evening.”

“I hope you found my company
stimulating.”

“That's one word for it.” I flash him my most
devilish grin.

For a moment we both stand there, each
waiting for the other to speak or move. There's energy around us, a
force like a string tied between one and the other, and all it
would take is one movement, one tug, to either snap it or bring us
hurtling together. I sense the danger of it even before I notice
the way my breathing has quickened. Calder's has too, judging by
the rise and fall of his broad chest.

Almost involuntarily, I reach out and touch
the skin just above his collar, right at the hollow of his throat.
He swallows. My fingers start to move along his neck, until
suddenly I realize what I'm doing. They freeze just below his
ear.

“Goodnight,” I say sweetly, as if I intended
this all along. “Pleasant dreams.”

I withdraw my hand and reach for the door,
but I can still feel the intensity of Calder's gaze on me.

“Goodnight,” he says roughly.

I don't trust myself to look at his face
again before I close the door behind me.

* * *

I hardly sleep at all that night.

I've never been so worked up over a man
before. I don't know what's happened to me, and it's only gotten
worse since we made that bet. I feel like I'm burning from the
inside out, tortured by lust for someone I shouldn't even like, let
alone
want
.

I tell myself it all comes down to that
twisted law of the universe that you always want what you can't—or
shouldn't—have. Calder has the power to destroy everything my dad
and I spent our lives building. I've finally found an opening, a
way to win back what he denied us, and my body's bent on betraying
me.

After tossing and turning for a couple of
hours, I finally get up and go over to the fireplace. I move the
poker and watch the secret door slide open. The dark passage beyond
beckons me. The tension I've been fighting all night settles
between my legs, and I start to ache without even taking a step. I
know what waits at the other end of this corridor. The scene from
the other night is still so vivid in my mind. I don't know what I
hope to accomplish by taking this path again tonight. I don't
delude myself into believing I'll witness another similar scene.
And I certainly don't intend to go barging into his room in the
middle of the night.

It's all just a fantasy. All of my time in
this house feels like an elaborate sexual dream, and I'm not sure
whether I want to wake up or live in it forever.

I'm five steps into the passageway before I
lose my nerve. I turn around, dart back to my room, and move the
poker back into place. I leap into the bed and pull the comforter
over my head. This place is making me crazy, but I won't let it
defeat me. Tomorrow, I'll win back some of the money Calder took
from the Center. Whatever it takes, I'll break him.

* * *

The next morning it’s still raining, but this
time the gray scene outside my window brings a rush of relief. I
have more time to win back the money for the Center. I shoot my dad
a quick text to update him on the situation—I can’t bear to hear
his hopelessness over the phone, not when I need all my strength
today—and I head into Louisa’s closet to do some strategic
dressing.

I end up selecting a sundress again, since
Calder seems to respond well to those. This one is white with a
sweetheart neckline and tiny straps—the perfect combination of
“angel” and “temptress.” I actually have time to style my hair
today, so I let it hang loose around my shoulders.

Perfect.

He arrives at my room just as I’m slipping on
a pair of strappy sandals. His eyes widen when I open the door.

“You like?” I tease.

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He
reaches out and touches my hair, letting it slide through his
fingers.

I catch his hand.

“Are you going to stand there and drool, or
are you going to take me downstairs?” I say. “I’m starving.”

He pulls his hand away and clears his
throat.

“Of course, Ms. Frazer,” he says, his voice
like honey. His eyes linger on my bare shoulders.

Easy, Mr. Cunningham
, I think as I
take his offered arm. This time I press a little closer than usual,
near enough that our shoulders brush against each other as we move
down the hallway. I feel the muscles in his arm contract beneath my
hand.

Our little dance only continues over
breakfast. I’m driven by the same sense of wild recklessness that
has possessed me all weekend, and I find myself toying with him:
first a gentle touch on his wrist, then an “accidental” nudge from
my foot beneath the table.

But Calder’s not without a few tricks of his
own. For every flirtatious glance I send him, he flashes one of his
disarming smiles at me. For each of my subtle touches, he finds
ways to touch me in turn.

“Tell me,” I say, trying to distract myself
from the way his knee is brushing against mine beneath the table.
“Any wild stories from all that time you spent in Europe?”