His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1) (27 page)

Oh. This is definitely a conversation where I
need to sit. I pull out the chair and sink down. My feet brush
against his beneath the table, and he doesn't move away.

“I'll admit, I was surprised to get your text
yesterday. Pleasantly surprised. I didn't expect to hear from you
ever again.”

I tug at the hem of my tank top. “I just
wanted you to know that I'd taken your advice.”

He reaches across the table and takes my
hand. “I'm glad you texted.” His thumb slides across the back of my
hand. “I've been thinking…”

He trails off, and for a brief moment I think
he's expecting me to finish his sentence, to know exactly what he's
here to say. I don't dare take a guess.

“I want to talk about the money. And why I
lied.”

He tightens his grip on my fingers.

“My father…” His eyes search my face. “My
father was a good man, in many ways, as I'm sure you know. He loved
me and my sister. He gave a lot of money to a lot of worthy
causes.” He sighs. “But he had a number of problems, too. He was
too trusting, too gullible. He made a number of terrible
investments and allowed himself to be caught up in a couple of
financial disasters. He did his best to cover it up, of course, and
he hid most of it from me and Louisa, too. We didn't realize the
extent of his financial problems until after he died.”

He looks so sad, so emotionally exhausted,
that I feel like my heart is going to burst. I squeeze his fingers
encouragingly. He gives a small smile.

“And so I've spent the last several months
trying to set things right. I've laid off most of our family's
employees—except the lawyers, of course, though they’ll soon be
gone, too. And I've kept Martin as long as I could, since he's been
with us so long. I've been working with an auction house to catalog
a lot of our things, as well as a realtor to list the house
inconspicuously.”

The coffeemaker dings behind me, but I ignore
it.

“So you have to sell everything?”

His fingers jerk through his hair again.
“Most of it, if I want to cover all his debts. It's—it's a mess.
I've been elbow-deep in this for months now.” He glances up at me.
“Which is why I was so pleased when you showed up and offered a
most delightful distraction.”

I don't know what to say to this, either, so
I just look down at our interlinked hands.

“I shouldn't have misled you,” he says. “It
was never my intention. But I got caught up in it all. I wanted to
keep you around. You wanted the money, and that was all I had to
entice you to play along with me. It was wrong, I know, but I was a
desperate man. You were the first bright spot in my life after
months of dealing with wills and debts and the legal muddle my
father left. I'm sorry.”

I frown. His apology seems genuine, but I'm
still not sure what to make of all this.

“I understand what you're saying,” I tell
him, “but I still can't figure out why you're here now.”

He pulls his hand away from mine. Suddenly he
seems awkward, too formal.

“First of all,” he says, “I wanted to make
sure you’re okay. What happened with Garrett? Did he hurt you?”

I don’t want to get into this, not after he’s
laid out so many of the other things that formerly stood between
us. But I don’t want to lie to him, either.

“I thought he might. He scared me. But I
haven’t seen him since. He’s intense, but I don’t think he’ll
violate a restraining order.”

Calder doesn’t look as if he believes me. His
jaw is set, his shoulders rigid.

“I swear, if he lays a hand on you—”

“He won’t. I won’t let him.”

Calder doesn’t look so sure. “I’ll act as a
witness if you need one. At the very least I’ll go to the hearing
with you.”

His concern stirs something in me, and I
reach over and grab his hand again.

“This is the first time you and I have seen
each other in months. Do we have to talk about Garrett?”

His eyes darken, and he twists his hand to
tighten his fingers around my own.

“You’re right,” he says. “I have more
important things to say. I need to formally apologize. For
everything. The letter I sent wasn't nearly enough. I've wanted to
talk to you for so long. I've been thinking about you ever since
you stormed away from me that day. But I didn't think you wanted to
hear from me, and the longer I went without hearing anything from
you, the more I believed it.

“I sent the letter in desperation one day
when I couldn't take the guilt anymore. I tried to justify my
horrible behavior to myself and to you, but in the end I'm afraid I
just made everything worse. I thought about sending another letter,
excusing the first, or calling you, or even just showing up
here—but I didn't want to turn into another stalker ex-lover of
yours.”

I force a half smile.

“Your text message gave me hope,” he
continues. “I wanted to see you again, to explain everything. When
I didn't get a response, I—I couldn't sleep last night, thinking
about it. I knew I'd go crazy if I couldn't talk to you. And so I
came here.”

I look at him across the table. No one,
seeing his face right now, could doubt his sincerity. I want to
forgive him, I do, but there's more we have to settle.

“I need to apologize to you, too,” I say.
“I've realized since I left you how selfishly I behaved, demanding
that money from you. If I'd have known—”

“It's not your fault you didn't know,” he
interjects. “It's mine. I had a dozen chances to tell you.”

“Still, I should have respected your
decision. And I shouldn’t have judged you without knowing the full
story.” I look down again at our hands, and he gives me a
reassuring squeeze. “I just want you to know, that—that everything
that happened between us… it wasn't about the money. You were
right. The money was just an excuse, a reason for me to, to…” I
feel my cheeks go hot, and suddenly I don't want to be sitting at
this table anymore. I try to stand, but Calder keeps his grip on my
hands and pulls me back down.

“And I want you to know,” he says, his voice
low and gravely, “that you weren't just a distraction for me.”

I open my mouth to reply, but my response
dies on my tongue beneath the intensity of his gaze.

“That's another reason I'm here,” he says. “I
wanted to see if maybe you would let me take you out sometime.”

The question is so absurd after everything
that's happened that I break out laughing. His face darkens, and I
quickly rush to reassure him.

“I'm just surprised. I don't mean—I mean, I
don't—I didn't…” My cheeks are on fire now, and I don't know where
to look.

“Lily.”

I force myself to look him in the eyes. My
stomach is in knots, and I can feel my pulse beating in my
ears.

“You're allowed to say no,” he tells me
softly.

“No!” I say quickly. “I mean—no, I don't want
to say no.”

The look on his face makes my heart swell in
my chest. Before I can say anything else, he stands and pulls me
into his arms.

“You don't know how happy you've made me.”
His hands twine in my hair. “I know I'm not a sexy billionaire
anymore, but I hope I have a few other redeeming qualities.”

“Money or not, you're still sexy,” I assure
him. I gaze up at him through my lashes.

He laughs and tugs me closer. “So I have a
chance, then?”

“Perhaps.”

His mouth finds mine, and heat rushes through
me, as intense as it was two months ago. I could melt into him all
over again, right here, right now.

But he breaks away from me.

“Will you come out to the estate, just one
last time? I’m almost done moving out, but there's something I want
you to see first.”

I look up at him. After everything that
happened, I never expected him to show up at my door, much less ask
to continue our little romance. I have no idea what will happen
between us in the coming months, but I'm willing to take the chance
on that sweet smile of his and that wicked gleam in his eye.

“Come on,” I say, and give him another kiss.
“I want you to show me everything.”

<<>>

The house looks different, now that most of
the furniture and décor is gone. It's lifeless and dead, and I
wonder if seeing it like this makes it harder or easier for Calder
to say goodbye.

He takes me straight to the gallery. This
room, with its high, empty walls, looks even more desolate than the
rest of the house. The ornate wallpaper has faded in patches, and
it's clear that some of the artwork was here for years and
years.

There's only one painting now, and it's
leaning against the wall about halfway down the room. When we get
closer, I see it's the Ludlam piece I admired the last time I was
here.

“I didn't let them sell this one,” Calder
says. “I want you to have it.”

I gape at him. “I—I can't accept this.”

“You can. I see the way you look at it. You
love this painting, more than anyone who might buy it. It's
yours.”

“Calder, I—”

“If you won't take it now, then I'll keep it
with me until you're ready to take it. I'm not selling it. It
belongs to you.”

My eyes start to burn, and I turn away, not
wanting him to see me tear up. He comes up behind me and gently
rubs my shoulders.

“You deserve it,” he says softly. “For
putting up with me, if nothing else. You don't have to keep it, if
you don't want to. You could sell it and use the money to help the
Center. It's not much, but I wanted to do something, after all
this.”

Something swells in my chest, and I turn and
face him. How did I ever believe he was a selfish asshole? I reach
up and brush my fingers along his cheek.

But that reminds me of something else.

“What about your favorite piece?” I say. “You
didn’t sell that one, did you?” I can’t bear to think that he kept
the Ludlam for me but gave up the painting he most admired.

He shakes his head, a small smile playing
across his lips.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I couldn’t part with
that one, especially after the good fortune it brought me.”

My face goes hot, both from my memory of the
first time I viewed that painting and the way Calder is looking at
me now.

“I kept a few other pieces, too,” he says. “A
couple of paintings my father loved, plus one for my sister. And
the tusk with the carving of the whaling ship.” He reaches out and
cups the side of my face. “So you see, I already have all I need.
The Ludlam belongs to you.”

I open my mouth to protest, but I don’t want
to argue right now. Instead, I reach up and cover his hand with my
own.

“Thank you, for sharing all this with me.” My
eyes start to burn again, but this time I can’t turn away.

“Thank you,” he tells me, “for letting me
share it.”

I think I see the glimmer of tears in his own
eyes, but before I can be sure, he leans forward and kisses me.
It’s not like the passionate kisses we’ve shared before. This one
is tender, almost tentative, but my stomach flutters even more than
it did during any of our previous encounters. I want to drown in
the sweetness of his mouth, in the gentleness of his hands. I want
to take on his pain and his grief and help him heal, but I don’t
know how.

I pull away, but only enough so that I can
look him in the eyes.

“Will you take me on one final tour? I want
to see everything.”

He nods. It’s strange to see him fighting for
words, but I take his hand and squeeze it. I’m here with him now. I
can help him say goodbye to this place.

We spend the next few hours wandering from
room to room. Most of the furniture and décor is gone, but Calder
still has things to show me, stories to share. I hold his hand
through all of it, and his grip on my fingers is tight, as if I’m
anchoring him through this farewell.

Finally we head back outside to the gardens.
He seems to brighten a little now that we’re out in the sun, and
his hand relaxes.

“You know,” I say as he leads me up the path.
“I still haven't seen the hedge maze.”

The corner of his mouth curls up, and the
wicked expression makes my heart beat faster.

“We should remedy that,” he says, tugging me
toward the back side of the house.

A few minutes later we're standing next to an
eight-foot expanse of dark green shrubbery. The wall extends as far
as I can see in either direction.

“Wow, you weren't kidding. This is huge.” I
reach out and touch one of the spiny green leaves. The branches are
so thick that I can’t see even a speck of sunlight from the other
side.

Calder grins. “It's easy to get lost in
there.”

“I imagine,” I say, tilting my head back and
admiring the impressive height of the hedge. When I turn back to
him, I find him watching me intently.

“I'd like to propose a little game,” I
say.

His eyes darken. “Oh?”

I stroll ahead of him to the place where the
hedge parts and the labyrinth begins.

“I'll go in first,” I say, “and then you have
to come find me.”

His lips curl at the prospect.

“What do I get if I win?” he asks, his voice
rough.

“I think you can guess.” I tug at the strap
of my tank top, sliding it off my shoulder. Being back in this
place is making me feel wild again.

The look Calder gives me in response is
positively animal.

“Count to fifty,” I tell him, backing through
the maze entrance.

He makes a sound of assent, never taking his
eyes from me. I flash him my best “come and get me” grin over my
shoulder and disappear between the hedges.

“No cheating!” I call back to him. And then I
break into a run.

My heart is pounding in my throat as I rush
down the dirt path. I don't know if Calder really means to count to
fifty, but I want to give him a good chase. Toying with him is half
the fun.