Play With Me (3 page)

“Until now.”

“Yes. Until now.”

“So tell me. How exactly were you going to use my nostalgic memories of you to get me to drop the charges against your brother? Was I supposed to be overcome with lust at the sight of your body? Remember the way it felt to sink my cock inside your virgin cunt?” 

She trembled. With outrage. It was totally outrage. 

He leaned closer, placing his glass on the table between them. The clink was too loud, making her flinch. “I do remember that, sweetheart. You were so tight. Your eighteenth birthday, right? I don’t know how I waited that long.” 

No. She wasn’t going to stand here mute while he ripped into her. “You waited that long because my father would have killed you for touching me before that.” 

“It might have been worth it.” He inched forward, farther into her space. “So what’s in the script, Tatiana? Aren’t you supposed to be begging prettily for your brother’s life?”

She eyed him, trying to draw the tattered remnants of her cool around her. “I came here because I thought you might be reasonable. All I want to do is work out some sort of payment plan. I have savings. I can loan that to Ron, and he can repay his debt. If, in return, you agree to not press criminal charges.”

“He
stole
from me. I can’t abide thieves. And fifty thousand dollars is hardly chump change.”

Oh. My. God. Neither Caitlin nor Ron had gone into the details, beyond saying thousands. Perhaps naively, Tatiana had assumed they had meant, at the most, ten thousand. Ron was a blackjack dealer who would be hard-pressed to find any kind of job if word of this got out. Caitlin stayed at home with the baby. How could he have ever thought he could replace this kind of money? Did he honestly think no one would notice it? 

Anger at her brother overwhelmed her, but she tried to focus. She’d rip the kid a new one later. 

She looked Wyatt in the eye and reached into her bag. Her fingers brushed against those damn letters, but she dug past them to her checkbook. “Fine.” She pulled it out, slid her pen free, and looked up at him. “Give me the exact amount, and we’ll make this right.” 

Oh, she loved the way he eyed her in that superior way. He named a figure, obviously expecting to call her bluff. 

She briskly filled in the blanks, trying not to think of the fact that she’d never put so many zeros on a check. Years of living the life of a starving artist, unwilling to take a dime from her parents after she’d bucked them and left college, had made her appreciate her success when she had achieved it. She’d saved like a squirrel hiding nuts for a cold, hard winter.

Wintertime was here, she supposed. Family above all. Plus she would get it back, if slowly, from Ron. It was worth it to save her stupid, loveable brother from prison. She made a mental note to transfer the necessary funds from her savings account that evening. 

Wyatt watched her tear the check off and lay it on the coffee table. “You don’t have that kind of money.” 

She capped the pen, tucking it back into her checkbook. “What makes you say that?”

“Your dress and shoes. If they even came from a department store instead of a supercenter, I’d be surprised.” His gaze dipped to her neck. “The gold in your necklace is real, I’ll grant you, but it’s hardly a liquid asset you can tap into.” 

“Since when did you get so good at women’s fashion?” He
was
good, too. She’d bought her dress and shoes at Target. On clearance. 

Oh she loved shopping. But not for boring, conservative clothes like these. Floaty fabrics, slinky dresses, impractical shoes, unnecessary accessories. If she splurged, those were her weaknesses. 

“Since my job consists of assessing the depth of my opponent’s pockets.”

“Is that how you see everyone playing downstairs? Your opponents?” 

“They’re betting against the house, aren’t they? I
am
the house. And I always win.” 

“Well, you’re wrong this time. The fact that I’m not wearing expensive clothes right now doesn’t mean I don’t have money.” She hooked the necklace in her finger and lifted it. “This
is
real. Wearable, precious art. And people pay dearly for my creations, Caine.” 

His black eyes glinted with an avaricious gleam as he studied the necklace, as if he was cataloging its weight and price tag. “You’re talented.” 

The small compliment smoothed some of her ruffled feathers. “I know.” She allowed the necklace to drop, to lay against her breasts. “I may not be as wealthy as you, but I’ve been as successful in my field as you’ve been in yours.” 

His lashes dipped. “Apparently.” 

She placed her fingers on the check and slid it across the table. “So I can afford to pay back my brother’s debt. I’ll speak with Ron. There’s no need to bring legal pressure against him.”  

“This feels like hush money.”

“It’s not. It’s restitution.” 

“And if I don’t take it? What then?” 

She met his gaze evenly. “Then maybe I do beg prettily a little.” 

He stilled. She didn’t know how long they were locked in a staring contest. Frankly, she didn’t care. Part of her, a frighteningly large part of her, was enjoying it too much. 

She’d handed him everything, all the power, and he knew it. She could pull out those letters she had as well. Remind him of the things he’d said to her, in his own words. Really strip them both bare.

Wyatt leaned back on the sofa. “What if I said I would promise not to press charges against your brother…” he spread his legs slightly, putting his palms on his powerful thighs, “…if you spent a night in my bed?”

Chapter Two

Her heart stopped. She had to struggle to find words. The right words, the socially appropriate ones. Ones that didn’t betray her illicit spurt of lust. “I would slap your face and tell you I’m not a whore.” 

He cocked his head. “You played one for me occasionally.” 

Ah, yes. She remembered that memorable night. Remembered showing up at his crappy apartment in the fishnets and old trench coat she’d procured at Goodwill. Remembered how she’d begged him to pretend that he’d purchased her for the night, his to use at his will.

He had used her that night. As much as she’d used him. 

They’d explored each other’s likes and dislikes from their third date onward. No one had told her a teenager wasn’t allowed to fantasize. She’d read dirty books voraciously when her mother wasn’t looking, downloaded smut from the low-tech version of the internet that had existed then, and imagined doing every single dirty, wrong thing with her sexy rebel boyfriend. He had happily complied, both of them learning kink and games turned their cranks hard. They might have been virgins when they met, but there had been nothing innocent about their relationship. 

“I’m not a real whore,” she said, aware of how ridiculous that sounded. “And I’m certain you don’t want or need a martyr in your bed.” 

“I don’t know. A martyr could be hot. It reminds me of all those coercion scenarios we used to act out.”

Don’t ask me if I remember those. Don’t.

“Remember?”

Christ.

His voice roughened, deepened. “You dirty little whore. You’ll take my cock and you’ll like it.” 

She knew he was only mocking her by repeating words from their past, words that were probably echoed in those letters of his. She knew she should walk right out of here. 

But she stayed and watched him, her nipples painfully hard. 

“Take those goddamn clothes off,” he taunted. “Before I rip them off you.” His gaze lingered on her throat, aware, she was certain, of every beat of her heart. “You like the way my cock feels, don’t you? I felt you come, you little slut.” 

He wasn’t any more immune to his words than she was. A quick glance down showed her the hard bulge beneath the fine twill of his trousers. 

“Remember?” he asked softly.

Who was he kidding? She’d always remember Wyatt. That was the problem with having your first lover be spectacular in the sack and so attuned to all your dirty needs. Other men might be equally proficient, but he was the only one with whom she’d felt that particular
click. 

Still. She wasn’t
really
a whore. She only played one in bed sometimes. 

She raised her chin. “The difference is I don’t barter in sex. Um, for real, I mean.” 

He studied her for a beat of time before giving a shrug that was a little too casual for her to believe. “Fair enough. Would it make a difference if I told you I’ve already dropped the charges against your brother?”  

Her mouth fell open, and she straightened. “What. Did. You. Say?”

“I dropped the charges against your brother earlier today. The publicity would have been an annoyance I can deal without. We agreed to a payment plan, so I won’t need your money.” With that, Wyatt picked up her precious check and ripped it cleanly in half, letting the paper flutter to the table. 

“I’m supposed to believe you? Boom, like that?” 

He rose from his seat, towering over her. With a few long strides he was at his desk. He picked up the sheaf of papers there and brought them back to her. “I got these from my attorney not long ago.” 

Regarding him warily, she accepted the crisp papers. It took her barely a few sentences to see past the legalese and realize it was, indeed, an agreement between Wyatt and one Ronald West, to accept responsibility for the stolen money and set up a payment plan. 

“I’m surprised your brother didn’t call you.” 

Mentally, Tatiana groaned and placed the agreement on the table. “I never took my phone off flight mode.” She reached inside her deep bag and pulled her phone from its cluttered depths. She switched it on and waited a few seconds. Sure enough, she had four missed calls and a text from her brother.
Boss agreed to drop charges!!!!!! AMAZEBALLSSSSS. 

Tatiana hit reply, lest her brother be worried over her lack of response.
Yeah. Amazeballs. TTYL.
She slipped the phone back into her purse. “Well. It wouldn’t have hurt you to tell me about this when it became clear I had no idea you’d already dropped the charges.” 

“You caught me off guard. And you may not remember, but I really hate someone sticking their nose in my business. Even if it is a pretty little nose.” 

Ugh. She did remember that, and if she had been using her brain, she might have realized that a different, more subtle approach was called for in dealing with this man. 

Still, that didn’t make her any less annoyed. “What the hell was up with that proposal? What do you think this is, some cheesy movie?
I’ll drop the charges if you sleep with me.
” She mimicked his deep, cool voice.  

Was that…? Yes. That mischievous glint in his eyes might have been swiftly disguised, but she’d seen it before. Back when getting a rise out of her had been his favorite pastime. He shrugged. “I wanted to see your response.” 

She rose to her feet, unable to stand him looming over her any longer. Sadly, he was much, much taller than her, so this only decreased the extent of his looming instead of banishing it altogether. She stalked forward until they were toe to toe and poked him in his chest. His firm, muscular…

No! 

“I’m not a bug under some microscope. When I was a teenager, all of this emotionally unavailable brooding crap was sexy, but I’m an adult now. Do you think women enjoying feeling cheap like that?”

He grabbed her wrist before she could poke him again and drew her in until she was so close his hot breath fanned her cheek. His hand surrounded her wrist completely, his fingers overlapping. 

She loved feeling delicate and small. It fed her fantasy of being taken. No! No, she wasn’t being taken. Not right now. 

“It wasn’t meant to make you feel cheap.” His lips touched her ear. “It was meant to make you hot.” 

A tremor ran through her. 

“Because the girl I remember would have found that kind of proposition very, very hot. Are you still that girl, Tatiana?”

“I’m not a whore.” 

“There was nothing to barter over. It was a fantasy.” 

“Only you knew that.” 

“Yeah. And it still got you hot, didn’t it?” 

“You’re a freak,” she whispered. 

“The best kind. Why did you come here?” Very delicately, he licked the outer curve of her ear, as if he couldn’t stop himself from tasting her. 

“I told you.” 

“You didn’t have to come see me. You could have called or sent me an email. If you’re as wealthy as you say, you could have hired a lawyer to rival my team.” 

“So why did I come here?” 
Tell me. Because I don’t know if I can even figure it out.

The pause before he spoke told her he was giving the question serious consideration. “Because you were curious. Curious to see if I was still the man you remembered. If you still found me appealing, or if I’d turned into a disgusting toad. If you still responded to me the way you used to. If the sex was as good as you recall. Basically everything you wonder when you meet a former lover again.  A former lover as memorable as me, at least.” 

“You’re pretty arrogant.” 

“I’m smart, not arrogant.” 

He was. He was very smart. From the second she’d learned who Ron’s boss was, she’d been bombarded with fantasies. They had grown with every glass of wine, and had become overwhelming when she’d dug through her memory chest for his letters, letters she hadn’t glanced at in years and years. 

She could have gotten back in touch with him, as he’d listed, in a number of less personal ways. She could have done nothing, let Ron handle it all, and given her brother financial and legal support quietly in the background. 

But she’d been curious. Her curiosity would be the death of her. 

Like now, with her fertile imagination wondering if he could still keep up with the horribly dirty scenarios her brain kept spinning about him. And her. And the things they could get up to as adults, things they’d barely scratched the surface of as kids. 

Him, wrapping her hair around his fist.

Her, on her knees. 

Him, binding her hands.

Her, surrendering.