At Any Price (Gaming The System) (29 page)

He squinted out over the bay, arms hooked over the edge. “We weren’t well off, after my dad died. And we moved around a lot. Somewhere along the line I acquired this secondhand Gameboy.” He smiled. “That thing was my prized possession, but I only had a few games for it. And I got bored with them after a while. So I hacked into it and started writing my own games.”

My brows shot up. “That’s amazing. How old were you?”

He grimaced. “I’m not going to tell you because then you’ll call me an even bigger nerd.”

I shook my head, laughing. “Not possible. Your nerdness is pretty huge as it is.” And then I blushed, realizing my words could be interpreted another way.

He laughed. “Thank you.”

I splashed him. He splashed back.

“So how old
were
you?” I asked again.

“I think around ten or so,” he said simply, with no attempt at bragging. Still, that answer blew me away. He responded to my obvious shock. “But I had little else to do. I missed a lot of school in those days because—well, because of the home situation. I had hours and hours to work on it. And I was pretty determined.”

“Ah, so it started young, then.”

“What was that?”

“Your incessant need to always be working.”

He made a face. “It’s not
that
bad.”

I watched him with open skepticism. “Really? So your family never complains that they don’t see you—that the two times I’ve been with you to family dinner were the first times they’d seen you in months even though you live nearby. Your hundred-hour workweeks all come at a price. You just don’t see it.”

He sobered. “I’ve been better lately. Last few weeks I’ve only clocked in around sixty or so.”

I shook my head in mock wonder. “Only sixty. Such a slacker.” My words were serious but I wanted to lighten the mood so I splashed him again. He sputtered in surprise and then grinned, ducking under the water, shooting straight for my legs. I tried to dart to the side but he grabbed one of them and jerked me back toward him. When we came up for air, we were both laughing and he pressed me to his chest.

When we stopped laughing, he kept me there and my heart slammed against my sternum. No matter how much time we spent together, no matter how much we fooled around, he still had the same effect on me as that first day we’d met. A surge of excitement glided through me, washing over me like a warm tropical rain. Something sparked in his dark eyes and he pulled me to him, bending his head. His mouth met mine in a steamy kiss and I laced my fingers around the back of his neck, returning the passion.

We kissed for long minutes and my hands slipped down his wet chest. He held my upper arms and his body hardened under his trunks. I pulled away. “So we can’t skip dinner, right?”

He shook his head, but he did look regretful.

“Well then, we should probably get ready.”

He smiled. “Good call.”

***

The reception was a quiet but glamorous event, with select hotel guests, staff and other owners present. It was a black-tie affair, so I got to see Adam in a tuxedo for the first time ever. And he was stunning. I wanted to grab him by his thin satin lapels and pull his mouth to mine.

We had this night and the next two nights together. And I intended to enjoy them. If I could manage to pry him away from work as easily as I had this afternoon, I might just be able to.

Earlier, I’d come out with my updo—a hairstylist had come in to help me with that—along with my makeup, my glamorous high heels and that gorgeous backless black dress. His appreciative eyes had taken me in and it made me tingle from head to toe.

“Emilia, you take my breath away.”

We spent a few hours at the reception. Adam introduced me to many people I would never see again so I didn’t bother trying to remember their names.

Then he left me, to talk business with several of the other owners. Other men tried to approach me but I was good at rebuffing them. If the years of social self-exile on a hip college campus had taught me nothing else, they’d taught me the cool art of the brush-off.

When we returned to the suite, candles were lit, the mosquito netting around the bed had been let down and the covers had been turned back. We gave each other an awkward look. The unresolved sexual tension hung heavy about us and stuck to our skin like the balmy tropical air. Fortunately, we were both exhausted. But what about the days to come? I doubted either one of us had considered the consequences of sharing a bed when it couldn’t lead to anything more.

For bed, I changed into a T-shirt and my underwear and he peeled off everything but his boxer briefs. There were fans in our suite, going night and day, and a slight breeze coming up from the bay, but it was a warm night and we would be sleeping without covers.

Uneasily, we settled on the bed—strangely—on the same sides we had taken that one night we had spent together in his bed. We stayed apart for a long time, but despite our exhaustion, it took awhile to fall asleep.

Hours later, I woke up in his arms and he was kissing my neck. I rolled over and in the dim light saw his eyes widen. “Hi.”

“Hi. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just couldn’t resist a little taste.”

I smiled. “A little taste sounds nice,” I said as I lowered my head and kissed his bare chest. He kissed my hair and I turned my head, looking out over the bay. The light was a steel gray—maybe an hour or two before dawn and everything was still and quiet.

“I’m sorry. I was wide awake,” he whispered

“Are you bored?”

He sighed. “I don’t get it. It’s only two a.m. at home. I can’t sleep.”

“What are you thinking about? Work?”

His dark eyes were enigmatic. “No. I was wondering what happens when we get home.”

I hesitated. Did he know that I’d planned to end it after this? Or had he come to the same decision I had? My heart sped up a beat. “You mean with us?”

“Yes.”

I cleared my throat. I didn’t want him to know that I had returned the money until we got home. I didn’t want him to know I’d decided this wasn’t good for either of us. That it would be easier for us to go back to our former lives. That I’d find another way to go to med school.

“Let’s not think about it now. There’s plenty of time later.”

“I can’t not think about it.”

“Think about something else—like… how good it feels when I kiss you all over your yummy chest.” And I did just that, mouth gliding over his hard muscles, tasting him everywhere.

He let out a long breath, clearly enjoying it and I paid great attention to every nuanced detail, every taut hill and creased valley. He cleared his throat. “That
is
something very nice to think about.”

He tried to sit up, attempting to gain control of the situation, but I pushed him back down again and he grinned. “About to ravish me, are you?”

I kissed my way down his abdomen, over his perfect six-pack. “Can you ravish the willing?”

“Good point,” he said with a hoarse laugh.

His briefs were tenting with his arousal and I rubbed the taut ridge before reaching into his underwear.

“We seem to have a big problem here.”

His lips were on my breast when he started laughing.

I rubbed again. “Yes. A very, very big problem.”

“What does the doctor prescribe?”

“Friction. Lots of friction will reduce this swelling.”

His eyes darkened. “I can get behind that treatment.”

I laughed. “I’m sure you can.” I tugged on his briefs and he took a moment to shuck them.

“Yours come off, too,” he said.

I sat up, pulling off my T-shirt and panties. His hands grasped my hips, then traveled up my waist, heading right for his favorite place.

I pulled his hands away. “I believe I was in the middle of prescribing treatment.”

He smiled and lay back. “As the doctor commands.”

I leaned forward again and kissed him over his chest—quickly this time and then down, over his flat, muscular stomach. And, then, gathering my courage, I traveled even lower.

My hand encircled the base of his shaft and quickly, furtively, I touched my mouth to the soft skin.

He sucked in an entire chestful of air and sat up immediately. I didn’t pull away.

“Don’t do this.”

Defiantly, I lowered my mouth, taking the entire tip of his erection between my lips.

“Emilia—” he said shakily. “You don’t have to do this.”

I pulled my head away. “I know I don’t have to. I
want
to. Just…whatever you do please don’t put your hands in my hair.”

He didn’t move for a moment and I still held him in a tight grip at his base. Slowly he relaxed and lay back. I said, “Just enjoy.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to tell me to do
that,
” he breathed.

And tentatively, I lowered my mouth again, trying to ignore the quick rush of my heartbeat. This fear was a barrier, a hurdle that I needed to overcome. I needed to lose myself in the moment and dispel the past, realize that I was giving pleasure to someone I cared about and I need not be afraid.

But the cold dread was there when bits from that past scene flashed into my memory—memories of gagging and sobbing. I closed my eyes, blacked them out, concentrated, breathed through the panic that threatened to rise up at the very back of my conscious. My therapist had taught me some techniques and I rarely had to use them anymore, except for in triggering situations. And this could be one.

Fear was a hurdle—an obstacle whose greatest power was in keeping me locked in to one place, one moment in time. I focused on the positives of this particular situation, of the throaty gasps of my partner, who was obviously enjoying himself. Of the rush of power, knowing I was making him feel this way. That I was on top and I was controlling the situation. I could pull myself away whenever I wanted.

Soon my mouth sank lower, taking more of him in, my tongue running along his length. His hands grasped at the bed sheets, his legs tensed. My hand tightened around him. I hesitated, wondering what the culmination would be—would he give me warning? Would I be able to pull away in time—or would I want to? I hadn’t even decided yet.

Instead of worrying about answering those questions, I concentrated on the now, losing myself in that moment so that I had no awareness of the passage of time, of how long it had taken to bring him to this point. All I knew was that his deep breaths and hoarse murmurings of my name tore currents of desire through me, each one of them a pebble dropped into deep waters, my soul rippling from their centers.

I moved my mouth up and down until suddenly he tensed, sitting up. He moved my head away and grasped himself. He came on my breasts and stomach instead of in my mouth. His protectiveness warmed my heart. And I thought back over his behavior since the beginning, from that strange moment on the terrace of the penthouse in Amsterdam. He’d been like this from the start—even when he didn’t know me very well.

A few minutes later, in the shower, I told him. “You are a very special man, Adam Drake.”

He looked at me for a moment, hesitating as he washed his hair. “What did I do wrong now?”

I laughed. “No. I mean—just—thank you for being you. I know that sounds corny, but that’s exactly what I wanted to say.” I moved up to him and kissed him soundly and then backed away. He resumed washing his hair, watching me, a smile on his sexy lips.

We kissed each other good-bye—I in my beach cover-up and bathing suit, ready for my day tour, and he in his business suit, sans the jacket. Before he walked out the door, I blotted some perspiration off his forehead.

“Thanks, dear,” he muttered in parody and kissed me as he left.

And I enjoyed my day, taking in the snow-white beaches and even doing a little snorkeling. My guide took me to the beautiful Diamond Falls, a gorgeous cataract that fell down multicolored rocks and shimmered in the early afternoon sun. I savored the stunning scenery of this pristine Caribbean island, even though the heat was considerable.

I made it back to the suite by about four o’clock. Knowing that Adam would be returning to dress for dinner, I wanted to be ready. I put on the cute little sundress from London and the matching shoes, brushed out my hair and pulled it back and applied a little makeup to go with my brand new tan from the afternoon.

I was in the bathroom finishing up when he entered. I hurried with the finishing touch of my lip gloss and skipped down the stairs to greet him.

The first thing that clued me in that something was wrong was the stiffness in his shoulders, his jerky movements as he set down his laptop case on the nearby desk, unbuttoned his vest and undid his tie. I hesitated behind him, certain he’d heard me. But he made no acknowledgment.

I took a deep breath. “Hard day?”

He didn’t look at me but his hand stopped for a moment before resuming. “It was a pleasant and easy set of meetings. It’s been a very good day, actually.” But the tone of his voice belied him. It did not match his words. “Things were going well, until I checked my e-mail.”

I puzzled at that. “Bad news from home?”

He continued to avoid my gaze, rolling his tie so it wouldn’t crease and then laying it aside with care. “It was an e-mail from Heath Bowman, actually.”

I swallowed in a tight throat, heart thumping with sudden worry. “Is he okay? Was he trying to get hold of me?” Adam unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt. When he turned to me, his face was stern—and he looked very much like the asshat I’d first met at that hotel in Costa Mesa over a month ago.

“He’s just fine. But he had a
lot
to say to me—ranting about shit that I had no idea was going on. And I’m not a person that takes kindly to being left in the dark.”

I tried to think of what Heath could have written to piss Adam off so badly. Then, with a sinking feeling, I remembered my last conversation with Heath—where I’d asked him to refuse the money. God damn it, Heath. His timing sucked.

I folded my arms defensively across my chest. “What did he say that has you so pissed off?”

He shrugged stiffly. “You tell me.
You
seem to know a lot more about what’s going on here between us than I do.”