His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1) (23 page)

Calder leads me around the side of the house,
and my breath catches in my throat when I see the grounds open up
in front of us. Sure, the storm knocked down some branches and
leaves, but it hardly lessens the effect—this place is beautiful.
I'm reminded of the impression I had when I first stood outside the
gates: it's like some overgrown enchanted garden out of a fairy
tale. Here, next to the house, someone has laid out the beds in an
ornate diamond pattern.

The beds themselves are wild with flowers—far
more than I could ever identify—but I recognize asters and the
chrysanthemums among the early-autumn blooms. The section closest
to the house is full of herbs, and several small, flowering trees
stand at the corners of the path. At the center, where all the beds
come together, I spot a trickling stone fountain.

“This is… this is amazing.”

I look up to find Calder watching me
intently. He's clearly pleased by my reaction.

“This is like something out of a storybook,”
I say, moving deeper into the garden. It's a cheesy sentiment, I
know, but I feel a childish sort of excitement. I almost feel like
a princess, wandering around a place like this.

I glance back over my shoulder at my dashing
“prince.” He smiles at me warmly, his whole face blooming.

I quickly turn back around. There I go,
getting caught up in silly romantic notions and forgetting why I'm
even here in the first place. How much does it cost to maintain a
garden like this? Probably a lot more than all of the Center's
programs combined.

But I'm not supposed to be thinking about
this anymore. I had my chance to win us the money, and I failed.
And I enjoyed that failure, too
, a voice in my head
whispers.

By the time we reach the edge of the
fountain, the glow of excitement has dimmed. Outside in the light
of day, I’m confronted once again by the ridiculousness of my
actions. What was I thinking, sleeping with him? How had I allowed
myself to get so distracted, to forget why I came here, even for a
minute? How can I look at him now, after everything that's
happened, and be at all confused about my feelings for him? He's
not a prince. He’s a man who lives in excess while refusing to
fulfill the pledge his family made to the Center. Having sex
doesn’t change that.

Calder doesn't seem to notice my sudden shift
in mood. He stands next to me at the edge of the fountain, looking
down at the water. I myself look up at the stone sculpture that
crowns the piece. It's a pair of horses, heads held high and tails
flowing in an imaginary wind. Water spews out of the mouth of each
of the stoic beasts, following a graceful arc into the pool
below.

“My father had this fountain specially
commissioned,” Calder says. “The one on the left was modeled after
my sister's horse. The one on the right is mine. Rudolph, I called
him. Louisa and I used to pretend that some curse had turned them
to stone and it was up to us to free them.”

I want to smile, but I don’t. “Rudolph? Like
the reindeer?”

“He was a Christmas present,” Calder says
with a shrug. “I wanted a reindeer, but my father said they
couldn't survive outside the North Pole. I was pretty torn up over
it, truth be told. But Rudolph is a great horse. The best I could
ever ask for.”

“Where is he now?” I say, glancing around.
“Didn't you say you had stables here?” I’ve always loved horses.
Maybe they could help lighten my mood again.

Calder's smile falls from his face.

“I sold him this past summer.” He reaches
down and runs his fingers along the surface of the water. The pool
is murky from the recent rain, and a number of twigs and leaves
have collected at the bottom.

Sold it, like he sold the family’s boat? Is
this about his father, too?

“Why?” It's a dangerous question, but I ask
it anyway.

He looks back up at me, and for a moment I
see it again, that sadness that he keeps buried away. Before I can
stop myself, I'm reaching toward him, and my fingers brush against
his cheek. He doesn't move. I lightly sweep a bit of hair away from
his temple. I don't know what I'm doing, and I know I’m being
foolish, but I can't bring myself to break his intense gaze.

“Why?” I ask again. This time my voice is no
more than a whisper. I feel like I'm on the verge of something,
like he's about to open up to me about whatever dark feelings he's
been suppressing. His lips part slightly, and I give him another
encouraging caress across his cheek.

“It's not important.” He steps away from my
touch. “Anyway, I'm too busy to properly care for a horse.” He
turns and begins to walk around the base of the fountain. “What do
you say? The maze next?”

“Wait,” I say. This is the closest he’s come
to opening up to me since I’ve been here. “Don't you—I mean, it
is
important, you know. You're clearly upset about selling
him. I don't mind if you talk about it.”

He pauses, but when he turns back toward me
his face is carefully blank.

“It doesn't really matter. Honestly. I've
only ridden him a handful of times in the past few years. He's
better off at his new home.”

“I don't believe that. It's obvious you loved
him. And you're here now. You could spend time with him again.”

Calder's eyes are cold. “I told you, I don't
want to talk about it.”

He turns and starts down the path once more,
but I catch up with him quickly.

“Well maybe you need to talk about it,” I
say. “He was important to you.”

He stops and turns on me. “What do you know
about any of it?”

His glare is deadly, but I won't let him
intimidate me. I meet his gaze without flinching.

“I know you have a lot of pain in you,” I
say. I know I’m treading on dangerous ground, but I press on
anyway. “I know you're having a hard time dealing with your
father's death. Your sister's on the other side of the world, your
horse is gone. The only other person I've seen in this place is
Martin, but unless I'm missing something, I don't think you're
talking to him about any of this. You shouldn't keep these feelings
bottled up. They'll eat you alive.”

“Are you my therapist now?” he demands.
“What, we fuck for a couple of days and suddenly you think you can
see into my soul or something?”

I stagger back, feeling like he's slapped me
across the face. But he’s not done.

“You expect me to open up to you,” he says,
raking his hand through his hair, “but you’re in such denial about
your own baggage that you don’t even realize that
you’re
the
one pushing away. That ex sure screwed you up something good.”

“I was only trying to help,” I murmur.

“You’re not helping. What part of that don’t
you understand? We had some fun, that’s it. I don’t care about your
life story, and I’m definitely not interested in sharing mine.”

“Which is it, then?” I snap. “You’re either
pissed that I pushed you away or you’re pissed that I dared to show
you some concern. You can’t have it both ways!”

“But you can? One minute you’re upset that I
won’t talk about my father, and the next you’re upset that I’ve
presumed to ask you about your ex. You expect me to open up to you,
but I’ll be damned if you’ve shown me even a hint of what’s going
on in your own head.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve tried, time and
again, to talk to you about the Center, and—”

“Ah, the Center! ‘Center, Center, Center,’
every five minutes. The Center’s just an excuse. Can’t you see
that?”

“An
excuse
? For what?”

“For everything! You’ve buried yourself in
this little mission of yours so you don’t have to think about how
you really feel or what you really want.”

“So you’re the therapist now? You have
no
idea
what I want.”

“Neither do you, apparently.”

After all my tumultuous feelings of the past
few days, those words are the final straw.

“Forget it,” I say. “Fuck it. I'm leaving.
Fuck you, fuck this house, fuck the floods. I'm going home, and I
don't care if I have to swim there.” I turn and storm up the path,
back toward the door. I'll run in and grab my purse, and then I
plan on getting as far away from this place as I can.

But just when I thought things couldn’t get
any worse, the universe decides to screw with me some more. I
charge around the corner of the house, and I almost have an
aneurysm when I see who’s standing at the base of the steps.

There, right next to one of those ridiculous
stone lions, is Garrett.

He looks up and sees me before my brain can
even begin to make sense of the situation.

“Lils,” he says, coming toward me. “Thank
God.”

It's too much. It's all too much.

“What are you doing here?” I say. “What the
hell, Garrett?”

“I was worried about you,” he says. He
reaches me just as Calder comes around the corner.

“Lily. Forgive me, I didn't mean—”

He comes to a complete standstill when he
sees Garrett standing next to me.

“Who the hell are you?” Calder says. His eyes
flick between Garrett and me. “What the hell is going on here?”

I glance back at my ex. “That's what I want
to know.”

Garrett's blue eyes are blazing, and the
corners of his mouth are tight. I know this look. He's furious. But
this time his anger isn't directed at me. One glance at Calder and
I know I need to do something—fast—before I end up in the middle of
a fistfight.

“What are you doing here, Garrett?” I say. “I
never told you where I was. I didn't tell anyone, not even
Dad.”

He still won't look at me. His eyes are
locked on the master of the house.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls,” he says.

“I had nothing else to say to you. My dad
would have given you all the information you needed.”

“I was worried, babe.” He moves toward me,
but I step back.

“You haven’t answered my question,” I say.
“What are you doing here?”

“I thought something had happened to you. I
know you, Lils. I knew you were up to something, and you wouldn’t
tell anyone where you were. For all I knew, you’d been kidnapped or
something.” His eyes narrow at Calder.

“That’s the stupidest excuse I’ve ever
heard,” I say. “And that doesn’t explain how you found me.”

“The phone company can track your cell,” he
says, his eyes still fixed on the man behind me. “You gave me your
password, remember?”

I can only gape at him. I knew Garrett was
crazy, but this is a whole new level of creepy.

“That was a year ago!” I say. “Did you
seriously track me out here? What's wrong with you?”

“I told you, I was worried about your safety.
Especially when I looked up the coordinates. If you’d told me, I’d
have—”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just
didn't want to talk to you?”

From the stunned expression on his face, I
don't think it has.

It's taking all of my self-restraint not to
punch him. I open my mouth to argue, but suddenly Calder stands
between us, holding me back with one arm as he focuses his dark
eyes on Garrett.

“I don't know who the hell you think you are,
but you're trespassing on my property. If you're not gone by the
time I count to five, I'm calling the police.”

Garrett stares back at him steadily. A brave
feat, considering Calder is several inches taller—and broader in
the chest and shoulders, too. If this does dissolve into a fight,
there's little doubt, I think, as to who has the advantage.

But Garrett's unwilling to back down.

“Fine, call the police. I'll be sure to tell
them how you kidnapped a young, innocent girl and kept her trapped
in your mansion.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Garrett,” I say.

He tears his eyes away from Calder and looks
at me. His gaze drops to my hand, which I've unwittingly placed on
Calder's arm.

“Who is this guy to you?” Garrett asks
me.

“He's certainly not a kidnapper.”

“You told me you were trying to get money for
the Center.”

“I was. I
am.
”

“Not here you aren’t.”

I make an exasperated sound. “You worked with
us for a year. You know how generous the Cunningham family has
been.”

“Isn’t this guy why the Center’s in trouble
in the first place?”

“I thought I might make a more convincing
case in person.”

Garrett’s eyes are steely. He still won’t
break Calder’s gaze. “And what sort of ‘convincing’ does this
fucker require?”

Calder’s muscles tighten under my grip.

“This is your final warning to get off my
property,” he says. “Or believe me, I will be pressing
charges.”

Garrett looks ready to leap at Calder’s
throat.

“You may have struck a deal with my editor,
but I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut. I’m not going to let you
take advantage of Lily.”

“He’s not taking advantage of me,” I insist,
but Calder grips my arm.

“Come on,” he says. “Let's get back inside.
I'm calling the cops.” He tries to nudge me toward the door, but
Garrett jumps in front of me and grabs me by the shoulders.

“How much money has he promised you?” he
demands.

Calder grabs Garrett by the collar and yanks
him away from me. “I swear, if you put another hand on her—”

“How much?” Garrett demands even as he
struggles against Calder's grip. “How much, Lily? He's a liar! He's
a fucking liar! He doesn't have anything. The family's completely
broke.”

Calder stiffens.

For a moment I just stand there in shock.
What? The Cunninghams are broke? That can't be right. Garrett's
trying to manipulate me. But there's a gnawing feeling in the pit
of my stomach, and I've never seen Calder look so pale.

Suddenly he moves, arm flying, and his fist
connects with the side of Garrett's face. My ex flies backward.