Games People Play (21 page)

“Anything you want.” His voice was husky, lower than usual. It shivered through her as he backed her onto the bed and crawled over her. Sliding his hands inside her pajama bottoms, he pushed them down around her hips and then slipped his fingers inside the leg of her panties to find her wet, swollen flesh.

As he stroked, stroked, his kiss was light, almost chaste, leaving her mouth open and hungering for more. His words brushed her lips. “What else do you want, Sydney? This?” He probed her with a single finger and slipped it inside her.

She arched her hips to meet him, but it wasn’t enough. She shook her head. “I want more.”

He kissed her again, her mouth, her chin, her throat, as he inserted another finger. “This?”

“Getting warmer,” she breathed.

“Tell me. Let me hear you say it, no holds barred.”

She paused. He was asking for something she’d never done: dirty talk. She didn’t know if she could manage it. He made her wild, made her want to be everything he craved. But those words had never left her lips.

Her breath quickened.

When Colm shifted up beside her and withdrew his fingers, she groaned. “I want you, Colm. Inside me.”

“There’s another word for that,” he whispered against her ear, “far more to the point.” Then he bit her lobe, hoop and all. The small of her back left the bed as though a sizzling line ran between her ear and the wanting place between her legs. “One phrase, Syd. You know what I want. Say it. For me.”

She swallowed and turned her head to stare into his eyes. Everything good in the world was written in their green depths: pleasure, the desire to give, the need for more, the need for her to answer his one simple request.

Clearing her throat, she gripped his shoulders and said low and shaky, “Fuck me.”

He moved so quickly she barely had time to draw a breath. He grabbed a condom from the bedside drawer, sheathed himself, and, true to his word, didn’t remove a single piece of her pajamas, just pushed aside the leg of her panties, found her and pushed into her, slow, deep, to the hilt. Breathing out, Sydney dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his back and met his slow thrust, feeling the slide of him, deep, ever deeper, until she couldn’t stand it. She needed him pressed tight and unyielding inside her. Then she lifted her hips and rocked up against him, and somehow, without being guided, Colm knew the pace she needed. He gripped the iron spindles of the headboard above her and adjusted his rhythm to short, tight jabs, and covered her mouth with his when she came, swallowing her cry of pleasure as she shuddered once, twice, three times beneath him.

She hadn’t quite recovered when he murmured some intelligible adulation and picked up speed, buried his face in the curve of her neck and pushed in again, again, as wild as though he’d never known control.

Sydney buried her fingers in his damp hair and held him tight, reveling in the delight she brought him as he quaked and muffled his cry against her throat. So many emotions battered her at once. They seemed suddenly foreign to a woman like her, she mused, tears stinging her eyes as she stroked her hands up and down the long line of his spine. And most foreign of all was the sweet, terrifying feeling that for a second time pervaded the silent satisfaction in which they both drifted.

* * *

L
ove.

The next morning dawned with a gloomy, icy drizzle. It didn’t bother Sydney a bit. She and Colm were holed up in their own little world that turned on waves of pleasure and the growing bond between them. Of course, there lurked the ever-present knowledge that at some point the sweet solitude they shared had to end, and the real world would invade with all its noisy, vexatious reality.

But not today,
she thought, as she drew on a long, slim sweater dress and belted it around the hips. Today Colm had just slipped out to buy bagels and coffee. They planned to have breakfast and then catch a movie in the afternoon. He had no modeling appointments this week, and Sydney had no commissions due any time soon, and her head was so far in the clouds, she barely heard the phone when it gave a muffled ring from the living room. It rang again, then again as she searched under the sofa and finally found it hiding beneath a cushion.

“Is this a convenient time?” Max asked, his tone dry.

The real world, invading her good time. Sydney sighed. “Perfect timing as always.”

“You sound breathless.”

“You sound ornery. What do you want, Max?”

“As I was telling you before, the client wants to meet with you and talk out the details of acquiring the ménage.”

“Why?” she said, sliding into a pair of boots. “Why are we not doing this the regular way, with me paying your percentage and you dealing with the client?”

“I don’t want your money,” he snapped.

Her spine straightened. “Well, you’ll get it. I appreciate you finding the client.”

“Are we doing the dinner or not?”

Sydney’s eyebrows went up. “So you’ll be joining us, then.”

“This man is a stranger to you. Of course I’ll be joining you. How does tonight at Claude’s sound? Seven o’clock?”

A trickle of foreboding slid through Sydney, but she glanced at her studio where portraits sat scattered and shook it off. The sale of this painting was a milestone. The last of her erotic works to go, except for the one version of the ménage, which she was saving for Colm’s birthday in May.

“That will be fine,” she told Max. “See you then.” But when she disconnected the call, she sank to the sofa and stared at the phone, unable to shake the sense that she’d just committed to something too big to grasp.

Chapter Twenty-two

S
ydney drove through the streets of Georgetown, looking for a parking space near Claude’s Restaurant. She finally snagged a prime spot less than a block away, slid her Mazda sedan into the space, and sighed. A few deep breaths, a quick glance in the rearview mirror to make sure she didn’t look as uncomfortable as she felt, and she climbed out.

Dimness reigned inside the rich leather and mahogany-enhanced restaurant. Max waved to her from an intimate, candlelit table, and for a moment, as she crossed the restaurant to meet him, it felt like the old days. The usual lift to her heart upon seeing him was missing, though. Gone for good. In its place sat a leaden sense that somehow she’d been bamboozled into this dinner.

“Hello, Max,” she said when she reached the table. “Where’s the client?”

He glanced at his watch. “Not here yet. I haven’t heard from him, so he should be here any minute.” Pulling out the chair at his right elbow, he said, “Take off your coat and stay a while.”

Those were the same words she’d said to Colm the first night they made love. Cheeks warming, Sydney slid out of her coat, hung it on a nearby rack, and waited while he wheeled back, drew out her chair and helped her sit. Everything stiff and oh-so-polite. She wondered what Colm was doing. When he’d heard she was meeting Max, he made other plans to check his house and to visit his sister, who Sydney wanted to meet. Instead she was stuck here with her past staring her in the face.

At first they didn’t say much. She ordered a glass of Shiraz, to which Max said, “So the new Sydney drinks wine, eh?”

“I’ve always liked wine.” She didn’t have to explain herself to him. Truth be told, hard liquor would have done a better job of making all this bearable.

He sat back to look at her. “Tell me more about yourself. How’s the portrait business?”

“It might surprise you to hear it’s going really well.”

“Maybe I was wrong to doubt you. I’ve heard your name in certain charity circles, and people are anxious to get their hands on a Sydney Warren portrait. It’s almost as though the erotic artist has dissolved into thin air.”

“That phase would have fallen out of favor at some point, Max. It’s a fickle crowd.”

“Yes. You did the Marilyn Monroe trick. Step out while you’re still shining. And now look at you. You’ve never been more beautiful or successful. You’ve got a whole new life.”

Sydney frowned and took a sip of wine, her gaze skimming the group of people standing in the entry. “Max, I can’t wait all night for this man.”

His hand slid along her blouse sleeve. “He’ll be here. Talk to me a little, Sydney. Tell me about your life.”

She sighed and glanced at him. In the flickering candlelight, he was the same handsome Max she’d met four years ago. He still turned female heads, and the wheelchair seemed no deterrent. If anything, it fascinated people, especially because Max radiated the same charisma and power he had when he could walk.

“Tell me about
your
life, Max. That would be much more interesting.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got three new artists who are keeping me busy. I’m looking for a condo in the city since the commute has become tiresome.” He slid his gaze over her. “The house in Virginia is for sale.”

A soft nostalgia swirled through her. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

“You could buy it.”

“What would I do with all that room?”

He smiled. “Well, you wouldn’t be alone there, would you? Not anymore.”

Sydney stopped and looked at him. “It was too much space for you, me, and Hans. It needs a family.”

A waiter interrupted to refill their water glasses and inquire about the still missing third party.

“Let’s go ahead and order,” Max told Sydney. “The client will understand, considering he’s almost a half hour late.”

She glanced briefly at the menu then ordered a salad. Her stomach felt strangely queasy. “I’ll eat with you, but then I have to run.”

“Ah,” he said, smiling at the waiter as he handed back the menus. “Hot date?”

“Max, don’t start.”

“I’m just curious how long you’ve been seeing him, that’s all. Would you humor me?”

“No. My life is my business, especially because I know how you feel about Colm.”

Max laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Any man would feel the same. After all, I hired him to model for you, and look how it turned out?”

“Don’t—”

“Did the relationship start right away with him? Working in that isolated studio, just the two of you, him naked, and you—”

“Max!”

He went silent, but his cheeks were flushed, his gray eyes black and piercing in the candlelight. “There are things you don’t know about your new boyfriend, Sydney.”

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”

She pushed back her chair and started to rise when he said, “I paid him to do more than model for you.”

A chill slid down her spine. She reached for her coat and scowled as she slid into it. “You’ll say anything to hurt me. I knew I shouldn’t have come to this meeting. Is there even a client?”

“Yes, damn it. Me!”

“I knew it. I knew it! Then the painting isn’t for sale.” She paused in the midst of wrapping her scarf around her neck and offered him an arid smile. “Anyway, what would you do with an image of Colm hanging in your living room? Throw darts at it?”

“Sydney, listen to me.” His hand shot out and caught her wrist firmly enough to make her wince. “Sit down for just a second. There’s something you should know before you get hurt.”

“You honestly think I would trust anything you tell me, Max? You only have your best interests at heart.”

“Listen to me—”

“No. Max, I swear to God, if you don’t let go—”

“I hired Hennessy to test your fidelity.”

Everything went silent. Sydney sank to the chair and stared at him. “You hired Colm because you thought he might tempt me to cheat on you? My God, Max. I know things hadn’t been good between us, but were you really that insecure?”

“You’re misunderstanding me, Sydney.” His fingers around her wrist went from gripping to caressing. “I hired Colm to seduce you.”

She jerked free from him, her pulse commencing an erratic thud. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“He’s a prostitute. His job was to try to sway you. According to Azure, his pimp, he failed. Yet I don’t understand why he was at your condominium in such a state of undress—”

She didn’t hear the rest. The room spun. Perspiration broke out on her upper lip. “Colm’s not a prostitute, you bastard! He’s not . . .”

And just like that, all the disjointed pieces fell into place. Colm’s hazy background. The women she’d seen him with. Azure . . . his pimp?

While she sat there in stunned silence, Max withdrew a business card from inside his suit jacket and slid it across the corner of the table to her. “You don’t have to believe me. Call Azure Elan and ask her. She’ll undoubtedly set you straight.”

Sydney blinked and focused on him. “Why, Max? Why would you do something like this to me?”

“Simple,” he said. “I knew eventually you’d leave me. And I wasn’t wrong, was I? Given the right circumstances—one week with a man like Hennessy—and off your pedestal you go.”

Hollow. She’d gone hollow inside. Tears burned her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry in front of Max. She stood slowly and reached for her purse. “Thank you, Max.”

“For what?”

“For saving me from spending the rest of my life thinking you were capable of love. You never were, even before the accident. I guess your assumptions about me leaving you are coming true, because you really are alone.”

She didn’t give him time to speak before she slipped through the crowd and out into the December night.

For a long time she didn’t know where to go, just paced up and down the street, her brain on pause. Then she stopped.

It was one thing that Colm was a prostitute. It was another thing entirely that he had been hired to deceive her and that he had followed through. For deceived she was, and in love, and shattered.

It couldn’t be true. Max was just cruel enough to concoct something so horrendous. Her fingers were trembling, stiff with cold as she stopped beneath a streetlight and dialed the number on Azure Elan’s business card.

“Hello,” said a sultry feminine voice.

Shivering, Sydney said, “This is Sydney Warren. I got your number from Max Beaudoin. You know who I am.”

“Of course,” Azure exclaimed. “How could I ever forget so lovely and talented an artist?”

She grimaced, her stomach roiling. “I’m calling to talk to you about Colm Hennessy.”

Pause.

Let the games begin.
Sydney clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. “Please don’t lie to me. Max said . . . Max told me everything. He told me what Colm is, and what you are.”

“Mm-hmm. Oh, and what I am, as well? Shame on Max.”

“I’d like to give you the chance to tell me he’s lying.” Sydney closed her eyes, her heart beating in her throat. “What are you?”

“I am a club proprietor.”

“What club?”

“A pleasure club for women, darling.”

Sydney braced a hand against the metal lamppost to hold herself up, its chilled steel seeping through her skin and into her bones. “Colm does work for you, then.”

“Make up your mind, Sydney. Would you like me to say yes or no? After all, I’m in the business of fulfilling women’s fantasies.”

Sydney hated her almost as much as she hated Max. “Colm’s a prostitute?”

“He’s a fine companion. It’s not always about sex, darling. You should know that. After all, he claims he failed Max’s directive, which was to get you into bed. I’m not sure I believe him, but that’s what he says.”

Sydney might hate the players in this game, but the one thing that still felt sacred—even though its memory had crashed and crumbled—was the lovemaking she’d shared with Colm. She wouldn’t hand it over to someone like Azure, no matter how defiled the memory now felt.

Anger revived her, although the tears kept coming. “I would like to speak with him.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible just now,” Azure murmured.

“Is he there now? At your . . . pleasure club?”

“He’s somewhere around here, but busy.”

“He’s working?” The tears clogged her throat, thickened her words. “He’s with a client?”

“He’s doing his job.” Silence fell between them, and Sydney couldn’t stop the sobs welling in her chest. The phone slipped from her numb fingers and cracked on the sidewalk. For a moment she left it there, then she snatched it up in a fit of rage. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here, waiting for you to tell me if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

Sydney shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m so . . . I’m . . .”

“You’re curious about his world, aren’t you, Sydney? Any red-blooded woman would be.”

Sydney closed her eyes. If she let herself cry the way she wanted to, she would throw up.

“I’m willing to allow you to make an appointment with him,” the other woman said gently.

Sydney sucked back a harsh laugh, a fresh wave of ire reviving her. “You think I would come to your—your club and—?”

“Careful, darling. I’m offering you an opportunity to put this all behind you and set your life on its proper path. Most women, even lovely, talented ones like you, don’t receive invitations to Avalon. Consider before you insult me.”

“You were part of this game.”

“And it’s nothing personal. Surely you can understand that.”

Damn Colm Hennessy.
Damn all of them.

And then a soul-sickening idea began to form in her mind. She let it swirl, and though it stripped another piece off her very being, she finally said, “You’re right, Azure. I’m . . . curious. I’ll make an appointment.”

“And you understand you’ll have to pay handsomely for his services?”

She closed her eyes.
I already have.
Heart. Body. Soul. She’d given them all.

“Money is no object,” she said.

A group of giggling college girls danced by her on the sidewalk and she turned to shelter the call from their raucous good time. When the noise had faded, she added, “But I have one more request.”

“What’s that?”

“I want one more of your men there to . . . to service me. At the same time.”

Azure gave a laugh of delight. Sydney could picture her applauding. “Really, darling? How fabulous and uninhibited of you. Shall I handpick him for you?”

Agony sharpened and twisted her thoughts. “No. It’s Garrett. I want Garrett there, and I don’t want Colm to know I’ve made this request.”

“Speaking of surprises, are you planning to shock Colm with your appearance?”

“On the contrary. You can warn him I’m coming. In fact, do it as soon as possible. I want him to think about it for a while.”

“Your desires are of utmost importance, Sydney.”

“I’d like this appointment as soon as possible. Tonight. Now.”

“That isn’t possible, Sydney. We’re booked tonight.”

Colm’s booked tonight.

A silent sob shook her shoulders.

“But what about two nights from now, darling?” Azure said. “I see Garrett has a cancellation, and I can move clients around for Colm to accommodate you.” She paused. “Of course it’s New Year’s Eve . . .”

“I have no plans,” she said, tears turning cold on her lashes as she thought about the romantic dinner she’d planned to cook for Colm at her loft. “Two nights from now will be fine.”

“Splendid. My secretary will call you to arrange a time.”

Sydney pressed the Off button and stood there, her chest heaving. A homeless woman passed her, matted head turning to stare at her in the purple-white light. Sydney felt naked suddenly, stripped to the bone, the way Colm had always left her feeling when his eyes slid over her. Flayed and bare. Now she knew where that ability had been honed. Azure had taught him everything he knew.

She climbed into her car, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes, resisting the urge to simply weep and weep. She would step into Colm’s world, invade his soul space the way he had hers.

By God, she would bring him to his knees before this was over.