The Lover's Game (10 page)

W
ith my heart pounding in my chest and my throat parched, I neared the man. How could they be so sure he was the right one for me? Did Gina have night goggles, or what? I was barely able to see his face, let alone the rest of him. What if he was a creep? I wondered what he had said to the woman that had caused her to storm off in a huff. Even worse than what he might have said, he might have just stared off into empty space, as though he was crazy.

Or maybe he was a killer with disturbing things on his mind.

I laughed inwardly at the dark direction my thoughts were taking.

Of course, a killer would hardly lurk in a bar with lots of people, would he? Unless he was a predator who didn’t mind crowds—the kind I had seen in horror movies with lots of special effects and a creepy atmosphere—just like the HUSH HUSH bare. Even though this was real life, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that it didn’t differ too much from the movies. The bar was engulfed in darkness, and so was he, fitting right in.

Even from a distance, I could feel Thalia’s and Gina’s stares burning a hole in my back, eager for me to get moving.

“This one?” I mouthed and pointed at the man in my last attempt to sway their mind.

Please say no. Please say no.

Pointing toward the booth, I gestured again. But it was too late. The hairs on the nape of my neck prickled as something shifted behind me.

“Has no one ever told you not to trust a friend’s choice over your own?” The voice was dark and smooth—the kind of voice that could hypnotize and send one into a trance.

Oh, come on!

Did he hear me talking out loud? Had he been watching us? My brain already fighting to come up with a lame excuse, I spun around slowly. I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze, ready to apologize, but my heart lurched at the sight of him, and I stumbled a step backward.

Holy pearls!

He was tall, around six-two. So tall I had to push my head back to see all the way up. Peering up into the darkest eyes I had ever seen, I swallowed hard.

He had a wolf’s eyes. The kind of eyes that could undress a woman with as little as a glance—the kind of eyes that would haunt you in your daydreams. His raven hair was still wet, as if he had just stepped out of the shower. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing strong arms, which were crossed over his chest as he regarded me with a frown. Dressed in a black shirt and black pants that accentuated his broad shoulders and his narrow hips, he looked as magnificent as the night.

There was something dark and brooding about him, something dramatic, something I was drawn to. His forehead was creased with lines, and his mouth was soft but unsmiling. Without a doubt, he was attractive—not sexy so much as mysterious, maybe even untouchable and unattainable.

I instantly knew that he was the kind of man who would take a long time to figure out. The kind of man I’d probably date as a rebound, only for fun and to boost my confidence, without giving away my heart. He was someone who could see me through hard times and make me forget—if only for one night.

The possibility flashed in my brain.

If only I wasn’t scared as hell
...

“I’m sorry.” As I glanced back to my friends, my eyes searching for them in the crowd, I realized they were gone.

Of course.

They had done their job, and now I was left with a complete stranger.

“Sit down.” He pulled a curtain aside, his hand touching the small of my back, leaving me no choice but to enter the empty booth.

I knew I should get far away from him, but for some reason I couldn’t. I sat down on one of the chairs, my pulse racing so fast I was sure he could hear it. Nervously, I scanned the small space. His jacket was thrown carelessly over the back of a third chair. Car keys rested on the table next to a glass of scotch. The string curtain shielded us from prying eyes, but it also made the entire experience strange, almost intimate. The booth was small and poorly lit, and for a moment, I was happy that there were no walls—just hundreds of tiny black strings surrounding us. In case I needed to get away, it would be easy enough to make a mad dash.

The stranger pushed his chair close to mine. With my heart pounding against my chest, I watched him quickly close the distance between us and sit down. Maybe it was the violet lights reflecting in his eyes, giving them a brilliant, cold blue hue, but the way he looked at me, his gaze seemed to penetrate every layer of my soul. For a few seconds, I felt something between us.

Something clicked. Hot and tangible.

Passion?

Gina’s words came to mind.

This is your chance, Jenna. This is him: your guy of the night.

I realized she might have been right about that.

“Your name?” he asked. Even the way he asked me screamed dominance, as though he was entitled to all—not just my name but also my body and mind.

“Jenna,” I said my sister’s name without hesitation and stretched out my hand in what I thought was a confident manner, though truthfully, all my confidence had flown out the door the moment he had turned his gaze on me. He made me nervous, even more so because he was hard and beautiful.

Beautiful to look at, hard to hold on to.

He was like a beautiful angel carved in stone—not a peaceful seraph but the punishing kind, one who wouldn’t hesitate to draw his sword and go to war to fight anything or anyone that stood in his path. An angel to fear. And fear was what I felt.

“Check.” His hand reached out, and the moment his fingers curled around mine, an electric tingle ran down my spine. His hands were strong, warm, and callused. The kind of hands I wanted to grab and hold me right there, in that space, where I was floating.

My pulse raced.

“Check?” I asked, unable to stop the amusement from creeping into my voice as I repeated his name. “Check, as in...paper money?”

“Yeah, but more like a bill of exchange.” He nodded slowly and for the first time, he smiled, revealing two rows of perfect, white, gorgeous teeth—teeth I could imagine nibbling on my lips. “It’s not about the money though. It’s about getting what others owe you. Do you like owing, Jenna, or would you prefer to be owed?”

My heart skipped a beat at the way he looked at me, and his voice sent shivers up my skin.

He leaned forward, closer, until I almost choked on my breath.

“How about I give you something so you’ll owe me?” he asked quietly.

His words spun in my mind as I struggled to make sense of them. He looked like a lone wolf: wild, powerful, ready to pounce and ravish my body in a hard way. He was what Sylvie liked to call a DBM: a dark, broody, moody guy—someone who couldn’t be held on to.

As I regarded him through the hazy curtain before my eyes, I realized I was drawn to him, not because he was my type—he was every woman’s type—but because I recognized my own misery when I looked into his dark eyes. Something about him was like balm to my tormented soul, and I felt as though I was darkness longing to be with my own kind. He was the kind of man who could quiet a heart through the calmness he excluded, but most importantly, he was like the elixir I needed to become myself again.

“What do you want me to give you?” I asked quietly.

He raised an eyebrow at me and moistened his lips. Round, full lips that were worth kissing, and yet they were not Jett’s. I hated that fact, but I hated myself more for thinking it. I hated myself for wanting Jett when Check was sexy and available, when he could help me.

Wanting a man only to use him to get over a broken heart was pathetic and yet...

“Sex.” Coming from him, the word sounded like a demand. My skin tingled from his straightforward approach.

“Sex?” I repeated and laughed, the sound echoing eerily in my ears.

He didn’t reply. Instead, his fingers began to tap on the table in a slow rhythm. They were long, the nails manicured. I stared at them, fixated, captured by the tiny movement that seemed to cause a rumbling roll inside my brain.

“And what would I get in return?” I asked, my gaze still glued to his fingers, which seemed to shimmer in the violet light.

“More sex. Better sex.”

“Right.” I giggled nervously. “Sex for sex?”

“And satisfaction,” he added, “pleasure.” He let the word roll on this tongue. “Quick, hot, toe-curling pleasure that you will never, ever forget.”

As if it was even possible, he leaned just a little bit closer, so close I could almost feel his energy and his breath on my lips. Waves of something strong seemed to pour from him and into me, as though he was invading my mind, filling it with his, until I could no longer form a coherent thought.

“Sex can mean a lot of things, Jenna.” His voice was calm, more forceful than before, and there was a hard edge to it. Or maybe it was his eyes, all dark and deep, as if they had somehow captured the entire ocean in them. They were so beautiful I could hardly focus on anything else anymore. “It can be meaningless,” he continued, his fingers brushing over my hand, “or it can be full of adventure—the kind you’ve never experienced before. Which one do you prefer? The one that comes with no strings attached?”

I almost jumped back in shock as his hands brushed my knee, his thumb trailing the delicate skin.

“Or the kind that makes you feel you’re being owned?” A flash of a grin grazed his lips, and I couldn’t help but think that he was a master of seduction and persuasion. Not in an obvious kind of way, but his technique seemed to work.

I groaned inwardly as the realization dawned on me. As I stared at him, I understood why the woman had run away. The guy wasn’t a creep. Check wasn’t there because he was single or looking for a date.

Come on. A handsome stranger called ‘Check’, asking for instant sex. What do you think he is, Stewart?

Holy dang. He was a male prostitute and anytime now he’d disclose his price per hour. It was so obvious I almost slapped my forehead for not realizing it sooner.

I stared at him, disgusted.

“How stupid do you think I am?” I asked, shame and humiliation burning through me. I gulped down a large mouthful of air before I continued, “I don’t have the money, and even if I wanted to have sex, which I don’t, and even if I wasn’t a $100,000 in debt, I’d never sleep with a prostitute.”

I grabbed my bag and stood on shaky legs, ready to storm through the curtains, just like the other woman had, when the room started to spin so fast that I fell. Somewhere to my right, a glass smashed against the floor. Strong arms grabbed me before I hit the floor. I flinched, fighting the urge to sink into them.

If only he wasn’t—

“I’m not a prostitute,” he hissed in my ear as he helped me up.

He wasn’t?

I tried to stand and apologize for knocking over his glass, but my words remained trapped behind my lips. The alcohol rushing through my veins was strong enough to make my knees give way beneath me. Were it not for his hands holding me, I would have tumbled to the floor.

“I’m sorry.” I felt silly for my outburst, for knocking over his glass, and for the nonsensical accusation; for my body being so drunk I was out of control.

As much as I wanted to explain, my words failed me. My mind was a blurry mess, my thoughts rushing around like the tumult at the bottom of a waterfall. Everything, from the stranger to the room, was spinning fast. I closed my eyes again, and before I could stop myself, I leaned my head against his chest, until the spinning slowed down and I felt better.

“Are you high, Jenna?” he asked from what seemed like a million miles away.

I shook my head. The thought that I was high was so absurd I laughed out loud. “I’m most certainly
not
high. Trust me, I would know if I was.” I peeled myself off his chest and met his gaze.

For some reason, I expected him to smile, but he didn’t. His face was a serious mask, his mouth was pressed into a thin line, and that frown was on his face again.

Clearly, he didn’t believe me.

The thought that the handsome stranger thought I was a drug user when I had barely had a cocktail enraged me, and my temper flared.

“You know what? You have no right to judge me.” I pushed a finger into his chest, marveling at how hard his body felt. “It’s not your right to be accusatory when you don’t know me. I’ve had a rough day. Maybe I look like I’m high and sound drunk, but you know what? You sound and look like my cheater ex.” I pushed out my chin defiantly as I stared him down.

He looked taken aback.

Pushing his arm away, I tried to put some distance between us, but he held on to me tight, until I could almost sense the beating of his heart, calm and steady.

“A man who doesn’t respect his woman isn’t worth keeping,” he whispered against my earlobe, his voice caressing every nerve ending. “No woman deserves to be cheated on. I’m glad you ditched the bastard.”

“Yeah, so am I,” I replied and wiped a hand over my eyes before the telltale moisture could give away my state of mind. His words, short and superficial as they were, touched me.

For a few moments, silence lingered between us, but in that moment I felt as though he understood me and the pain that seemed to creep up on me again.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he said eventually.

“I’m sorry I insinuated that you are a sex worker,” I replied and stifled a giggle.

Maybe it was the way he touched the small of my back—so tenderly, as if his hands knew how to make me feel good—but my anger faded instantly. Or it might have been the warmth of his body, but something about him seemed to calm down the storm brewing inside me.

I leaned my head against his chest, wondering what would happen if I let him in and took him up on his offer. Would my heart be free of pain—if only for one night? I pushed my dark thoughts to the back of my mind, where they could no longer reach me. On that night, I didn’t want to be alone with my demons. I didn’t want to think about the past. I wanted to be with a stranger, with someone who would make me feel good. Then, as soon as the night ended, he could just disappear from my life.

Gina was right. I needed something uncomplicated.

“I want to try it,” I whispered.