His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1) (21 page)

I hang up before I can hear the rest and
throw the phone down on the carpet. I'm so upset that I'm shaking.
What the hell does he think he’s doing, blowing up my phone like
that? We’re not together anymore. I’m not obligated to answer his
calls, and I’m certainly not obligated to tell him where I am at
any given minute.

I've seen Garrett's temper before. It never
reached the point of physical violence, thank God, but there was
plenty of abuse on the verbal end. There's no talking to him when
he gets worked up. It's like he morphs into a completely different
person—one that completely terrifies me.

I knew it was a bad idea to ask him. Fuck me
and my stupid, desperate decision making.

I'm having trouble standing still, so I grab
Calder's shirt from the ground and slip it on. I march over to the
table, grab our half-finished bottle of wine from dinner, and head
over to the double French doors at the far side of the room. I
don't care that it's raining. I pull open the doors and step out
onto the balcony.

The cold, wet air is a welcome slap in the
face. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and I wonder if that means
I'll be able to go home tomorrow. I lean against the railing and
take a swig of wine right from the bottle.

This whole thing is a mess, and I'm not sure
there's any way out at this point. The Center isn't any closer to
getting help. Garrett is back in my life—and worse than ever. And
on top of it all, Calder has turned my insides into a big confused
pile of mush.

I take another swig and stare out across the
land behind the house. If there are any lights out in the garden,
they've already been shut off for the night, but I can just make
out a great dark section that I suspect is the hedge maze Calder
boasted about. If I'd come here under different circumstances, I
have no doubt I'd be delighted by the romance of it all, but I'm
not sure what I feel anymore.

My body has never responded to anyone as it
does to Calder. And it's not just the way my flesh prickles when
he's near, or the way my breath seems to stop when he kisses me.
There's something that coils in my belly when we're close to each
other, something more than just physical attraction. Every time I
see a glimpse of pain in his eyes, or the darkness of a suppressed
memory dance across his features, the coil tightens. There's the
potential for something else here, something deeper, but I know
it's stupid to indulge those feelings. That course can only end in
heartbreak.

The situation with Garrett only emphasizes
that case. I
knew
it was stupid to call him again, even with
completely innocent intentions, and it still blew up in my face. I
need to start listening to my gut and stop allowing myself to be
swayed by desperation or attraction or whatever it is that keeps
getting me into trouble.

I take another swig of wine and close my
eyes. I force myself to focus on the feeling of the cool rain
hitting my skin, of the drops sliding down my face and neck. Not
for the first time this weekend, I'm struck by the sensation that
this is all just some odd, vivid dream, and that any moment I'll
wake and go off to work at the Center and all of these emotions
rushing through me will be forgotten by the time I've finished my
first cup of coffee.

“Drinking without me?”

Calder's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
When I turn, he's standing in the doorway, heavy-lidded and looking
absolutely delectable, for all that he’s unfortunately decided to
pull on a pair of pants before joining me in the rain. I turn back
toward the rail and take another gulp of wine, fighting down the
surge that rises in my belly at the sight of him.

“I didn't want to wake you up,” I say without
looking at him.

He joins me at the railing. “Aren't you cold
out here?”

I shake my head. “It feels nice.”

He holds out his hand for the wine bottle,
and I pass it over. He takes a drink and hands it back.

“It's not often that I fall asleep with a
woman in my arms and wake up to an empty bed.”

“No?” I ask. “Is it usually the other way
around?”

I stare down at the wine bottle, but I can
feel Calder's gaze on me, and I know he's trying to read me in the
darkness.

“That's not what I meant,” he says finally.
“I'll admit, men have a reputation for preferring sex to the
intimacy that might come after, but it's rare to meet a woman with
such sentiments.”

“I'm not sure what you're suggesting. I
couldn't sleep. That's all.”

He doesn't say anything for a long moment,
and I can't help myself.

“And even if I am 'avoiding intimacy' or
whatever it is you're accusing me of, why does it matter?” I say.
“I have no misconceptions about what's going on here. Why should I
act like I have feelings for you when we're just fucking?”

“Is that what you think? That we're just
fucking?”

I blink up at him in the rain, and I can't
keep the shock from my voice. “Isn't it?”

Again he doesn't answer immediately, and I'm
not sure whether it's panic or some other emotion that makes my
chest contract. When he finally answers, he avoids the question
completely.

“Tell me, what happened with that guy you
were with at your fundraiser?”

His query hits so close to all of my angst of
the past couple of days that for a moment I'm stunned into
silence.

“How—why does it even matter?” I say
finally.

Calder takes the bottle from my hand and has
another swig of wine.

“I told you that I didn’t approach you
because I wasn’t looking to start a fight,” he says, “but that’s
not the whole truth. The other reason I didn’t say anything to you
was because I knew it would have been a lost cause. You only had
eyes for him.”

Was I that obvious?
I wonder. Had I
been that caught up in Garrett? I think back to that night, to
everything that had been going on between Garrett and me the time.
Arts & Hearts had fallen only a month before our breakup. I'd
sensed something wrong between us for weeks already, but I’d still
been desperate to save our relationship. I loved him so
much—stupidly so, I now realize—and I wanted to make things
work.

It was Valentine's Day, and I felt gorgeous
in my black gown—not to mention immensely proud of what I'd
accomplished with the event. That night Garrett was his normal,
charming self, but nothing more. He laughed at my dad's jokes,
listened attentively to the stories of our guests and patrons. But
there'd been nothing for me. No secret smile, no admiring glances,
no kind words about the work I'd done—or even appreciative comments
about my slinky dress. I was a pathetic idiot. I should have
realized it was over then. Hell, I should have dumped his ass ages
before that.

Just thinking about it makes me sick.

“We broke up,” I tell Calder. “Not long after
the event. I thought we’d discussed this already.”

He takes another gulp of wine and passes it
back to me. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Don't worry,” I assure him, wrapping my
hands around the rain-soaked bottle. “I'm free to fuck whoever I
like.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“No?”

He gives a humorless chuckle. “Lily, that guy
was an asshole. Anyone could see it.”

Except me, apparently. And my dad. And the
half-dozen friends and guests who'd complimented me on landing the
handsome, successful journalist. I believe the phrase “great catch”
was thrown around more than once.

But Calder's not done.

“He's the kind of guy who just likes to hear
himself talk. He expects everyone to fawn over him, and most of the
time, people do. He's happy as long as he thinks you need him.
Meanwhile he couldn’t care less about what you actually think or
want or feel. It's a very one-sided sort of relationship, I
imagine.”

He's so on the nose about Garrett that I
don't even know what to say. He got all that from watching us
interact for one evening?

“Though I bet,” Calder continues, “that as
soon as he thinks you're moving on, or that you don't need him
anymore, he changes his tune completely. Guys like that hate it
when they realize you don't need them anymore.”

I think of Garrett's messages this evening,
and I know Calder has it exactly right.

“It's over,” I assure him again. “Don't
worry. I have no misconceptions about him anymore.”

“Good. You deserve better than that. You
deserve a guy who appreciates you, who considers himself lucky as
fuck to know that you chose to be with him.”

I roll my eyes. “Are we in an after-school
special now?”

“I'm serious, Lily. You're a remarkable
woman.”

“I don't even know why we're having this
conversation,” I say. “I thought we were just fucking?”

Something flashes in his eyes—is that
disappointment? Anger? Something darker? I don’t trust myself to
know. I wait for him to argue, but instead he pulls me hard against
him.

“Just fucking, huh?” he breathes against my
hair. “Then maybe we should be doing a little more of that.”

He kisses me, and heat explodes through my
body. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I suck it between my
teeth. He moans and grabs my ass, grinding against me.

Forget all the rest. This I understand. This
I want. I twine my hands in his hair and curl my fingers against
his scalp, holding his mouth against mine. There are no questions,
no judgment, no exes. Just desire.

He breaks away from me, but only enough to
yank his shirt off of me. He tosses it aside, then reaches into his
pocket and pulls out a condom. He’s prepared, as always. He pushes
down his pants in one movement, but before I can admire his naked
form he grabs me, twists me around, and pushes me forward. My hands
grasp at the railing, but he catches me by the hips, drawing my ass
back toward him. His hand closes around the back of my neck,
holding me bent over the railing. My fingers curl around the rail,
and I lean my head forward to rest my forehead on the wet wrought
iron.

The hand that doesn't hold my neck slips
across the curve of my ass, down between my legs. His fingers dance
across me, gently exploring, sliding up and down until my entire
body is quivering. My skin has grown so hot that the rain now feels
icy-cold on my back.

“You want to be fucked, Lily?” he rasps over
the rain.

I nod.

“Answer me,” he growls, tightening his hold
on my neck.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, please, yes.”

There's a rush of cold air as he stands
upright again, and I hardly have time to register the cold rain on
my back once more before he rams into me. I suck in a breath and my
fingers tighten on the railing.

“Is this what you want?” Calder says. He
withdraws and then thrusts again, driving more deeply this
time.

I let out a moan.

“Say it,” he commands roughly. “Say it!”

“Yes. Yes, I want this.” My voice cracks on
the last word.

He removes his hand from my neck, but only so
he can grab my hips with both hands. His fingers dig into my skin
as he drives into me another time.

“What do you want, Lily? Say the whole
thing.”

I squeeze the rail. “I want you to fuck
me.”

He groans, and then he loses all semblance of
control. He thrusts, again and again with wild abandon, and it's
all I can do to keep my grip on the railing. I'm gasping for
breath, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside of me. In this
position, he feels deeper in me than he ever has before.

“Is…this…what…you…want?” Calder grunts. His
fingers dig into my hips.

“Yes,” I rasp. “Fuck me, yes.”

He continues to pound into me, and it's all I
can do not to continue my cursing. I can feel my body tensing and
tightening, building toward release. I press my forehead against
the rail, trying to keep myself together.

But Calder has another idea. He reaches up
and grabs my hair, pulling my head up. There's a sharp pain in my
scalp, but I don't care.

He thrusts again, and I cry out as my climax
hits me hard. I grip the railing with white knuckles and bite down
on the back of my hand to keep from screaming. From the way Calder
groans behind me, I know he feels the way I'm tightening and
pulsing around his cock.

He gives a low, rough chuckle. He enjoys
watching me fall apart in pleasure.

“Again?” he asks, continuing his rhythmic
movements.

It would be so easy to let him take me to the
edge once more. My flesh craves it. My heart is beating so fast I'm
afraid it's going to burst right out of my ribs, and I'm struggling
to catch a solid breath. Calder's grip tightens, and his speed
increases. He's not going to show me any mercy.

But as much as I love letting him control
these intense encounters, suddenly I'm struck by an urge that I
can't allow myself to ignore.

“Wait,” I gasp. “Calder, wait.”

He slows. “Don't worry, your body can handle
it. The second one will be even better.”

“No, that's not what I mean.” I twist myself
away from him. I'm not prepared for the sudden rush of cold I feel
when we're separated, or the weakness in my body when I pull myself
upright.

Calder stands rigid in front of me, and I can
only imagine what he's thinking and feeling right now.

“Get in the chair,” I say.

“What?” His voice is tight.

“You heard me.” My voice is stronger,
steadier than my body feels right now. “Get in the chair.”

This time my meaning sinks in, and there’s a
touch of amusement in Calder’s voice when he speaks again.

“I'm supposed to be the one in charge
tonight. That was the bargain.”

I desperately grasp at the tiny bud of
confidence the wine left behind.

“I don't think you know what you're missing,”
I say in my sultriest voice.

He steps closer to me, pressing me back up
against the rail. “You sound very sure of yourself.”