His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1) (14 page)

His eyes widen. “I’m not sure you want to
hear any of those.”

“No?” I brush my finger gently across his
knuckles. “I bet you have some good dirt on some of those models
you dated. What was that one with the pink hair? Elise
something?”

He catches my roving fingers and holds them
tight. “Do you really want to start up a conversation about our
past lovers?”

Lovers? Who even calls them that?
Still, thinking about Calder and his perfect ex-girlfriends is
certainly one way to keep my wits about me. Just the thought of him
with some perky little waif is enough to make my stomach churn.

Calder gives my fingers a little squeeze, and
his eyes gleam.

“Besides,” he says, “why would I want to
think about them when I have a beautiful woman right here in front
of me?”

I shouldn’t let his flattery get to me, but I
find myself squirming in my seat at the compliment.

“Well you must have done something else,” I
say. “In Europe, I mean. Besides dating. And partying.”

Calder gives a little smile.

“Yes, despite how I’m sure the tabloids made
it appear, my father made sure I had plenty to do.” He releases my
hand and sits back in his chair. “He called it my
cultural
education
. Said I wouldn’t get my inheritance unless I was
fluent in five languages. And I served as his proxy with several
organizations. He had me sitting on the advisory boards of several
museums and one university.”

“Wow,” I say, genuinely impressed. “That must
have been amazing.”

He looks at me as if I just claimed the sky
was green.

“It was ridiculous, that’s what it was.” He
runs his hand through his hair. “There I was, some entitled
twenty-something who would’ve much rather been in a nightclub than
debating the finer points of Manet and Monet with some stuffy old
men. And yet my father had promised them some piece of his
collection or a new wing or something, and suddenly I’m at the
heart of all these important decisions. I never wanted that
responsibility, and honestly, they shouldn’t have given it to me in
the first place. No organization should rely on the whims of the
wealthy.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” I say.

He shrugs. “It’s the truth. I could’ve
suggested we keep live giraffes in the lobby and they would have
applauded my genius, all because they were afraid to lose my
family’s contributions. I might have driven them into the ground
with one ridiculous idea after another, and they would have
continued to grasp desperately at each one.”

I can only stare at him in shock. But he’s
not done yet.

“That’s the problem—desperation. These
organizations are desperate for money, and they’ll sacrifice their
better sense to get it. It’s a ridiculous model. What happens when
the money’s not there? What happens if they say no to the giraffes?
What happens if their rich donor suddenly decides he’d rather
invest in ice cream or jet-packs than a worthy institution?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Cunningham,” I say, my
voice hard. “What happens?”

He looks up, suddenly aware of what he’s
said.

“Lily, I—”

“No.” I drop my fork on my plate, no longer
hungry. “Tell me, Mr. Cunningham, since you seem to be an expert on
such things. What happens to that organization that dares to rely
on the goodwill of others?”

“I shouldn’t have been so blunt, but I think
I’m making a valid point here. People will, first and foremost,
look out for their own interests. If they have money and goodwill
to spare, then they might share it, but you can’t rely on that
generosity if you’re trying to run a successful business. In this
economy, you must be cutthroat, even if you are a not-for-profit
institution.”

“And you learned this how, exactly?” I say,
rising. “During your time asking museums to put giraffes in their
lobbies? Or was it from all those years you spent climbing the
corporate ladder?”

“Lily, if—”

“No,” I say, fighting the urge to punch him.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me how to run the
Frazer Center? The
only
reason we’re in trouble is because
of you, and somehow you’ve twisted it all around and made it our
fault. Your father signed a contract. A
contract.
Forgive me
for believing that was a legally binding promise.”

Calder tries to grab my arm, but I twist out
of his reach.

“I can’t believe that I thought, even for a
minute…” I shake my head, trying to dispel the onrush of strange
emotions I’ve built up over the past couple of days. How could I be
so stupid?

“Lily, please,” Calder tries once more to
grab my hand, but I yank it away from him.

“I’m done,” I say. “Don’t worry, Mr.
Cunningham, I don’t mean to impose upon your
generosity
ever
again
.
”

I turn and storm out of the room, breaking
into a run as soon as I reach the hallway. I don't bother looking
back to see if he's following me. By some divine intervention, I
manage to find the front door of the damned place without too much
trouble, and I tear out into the rain.

I'm soaked through almost instantly, but I
don't care. I strip off my shoes and run down the driveway, my feet
slapping against the cobblestones.

Damn him. Damn him straight to hell.
After everything he’s put us through, who the hell gave him the
right to lecture me about how to run the Frazer Center?

Screw him. We don't need his money
anyway
. Garrett's helping us now—maybe he can scare up an even
bigger donor. Or maybe Dad and I will find a way to revamp our
classes without leaving our students to make up the difference in
our funds. We'll make do without Calder’s help. We have to.

I reach the gates and climb through them once
more, jumping down next to the front bumper of my car. It's then,
only then, that I realize I've left my purse back in my room. My
wallet, my phone, my
keys…

My car's still unlocked, thank God, which is
the only thing that keeps me from having a complete and total
breakdown in front of the Cunninghams' gate. I open the door and
throw myself down on the backseat. I rub my cheek against the rough
fabric of the cushion and force myself to take a couple of deep
breaths.

It's all my own fault, I know. I don’t know
how to keep my emotions at bay. I should’ve just let him rant and
focused on winning the bet. Now I’ve let that final opportunity
slip out of my fingers.

My physical reaction to him doesn't help
anything. It only gets me worked up, and my efforts to fight down
my attraction only make me more frustrated.

I try to focus on the patter of rain against
the roof of my car.

He's a cheap, heartless bastard
, I
remind myself, but it doesn't make me feel any better. At the end
of the day, he has no respect for the work Dad and I do. I repeat
that thought in my head, over and over again, until eventually,
mercifully, the sound of the rain sends me off to sleep.

* * *

I'm woken by a sharp rap against the
window.

My eyes fly open. I jerk upright, looking
frantically around as I try to remember where I am. By the time the
details of my current situation come back to me, Calder has already
opened the door, bringing a rush of cold and rain with him as he
slides inside.

“Move over,” he says.

Still half asleep, I obey without a word. I
push a strand of damp hair behind my ear as he settles down beside
me and pulls the door closed once more. He seems even taller and
broader in the backseat of my tiny Honda, and his leg and hip are
pressed against mine. He's warm, even through our damp clothes.

“I've been looking everywhere for you,” he
says, an edge to his voice.

Our argument comes rushing back to me, and my
own annoyance flares up.

“I told you I wasn't going to rely on your
generosity anymore,” I say.

“I didn't think you'd go running out in the
storm!”

As if to add weight to his words, thunder
crashes overhead, making the car tremble.

“What was I supposed to do? Go sulk in my
borrowed room in my borrowed clothes?”

“It wasn't my intention to kick you out.”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“What's that supposed to mean? Do you intend
to stay in your car?”

“For now, yes.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Lily. You don't have
your keys. It's cold out here. You don't know how much longer this
storm will last. It might still be a couple of days before the road
clears.”

There comes a point sometimes in arguments
when you know you've lost. When your pride and your anger have
backed you into a corner and a sensible person would throw up their
hands and walk away. I'd like to think that I'm normally a sensible
person, but the past few days have left me with a confusing jumble
of emotions. I panic.

“I'll stay out here,” I tell him. “I'm sure
I'll survive somehow.”

He makes an exasperated sound and runs his
hand through his wet hair. “This is crazy.”

“No. I think I'm being pretty reasonable,
actually. Unless you feel like continuing our earlier argument, I
think it's better if we stay apart.”

“We can stay apart in the house.”

“But I'd still be your guest. Believe me, I
don't want to be out here, but I won't go back in that house. I
refuse to owe you anything.”

“I'm not going to let you sleep in your car,
Lily.”

“If it weren't storming, I'd be halfway home
right now,” I remind him. “We'd probably never speak again, and I
don't think either of us would have a problem with that. Let's just
make this easy.”

He stares at me for a long moment, and I'm
afraid he's going to keep arguing. But he only runs his hand
through his hair again.

“Fine,” he says. “I won't drag you back.”

I wait for him to get out of the car, but he
doesn't move.

“One thing before I go,” he says. His eyes
move down my body. “I'm going to need Louisa's clothes.”

I gape at him. “What? I'll ship them back to
you, I promise.”

“I'm afraid I can't take that risk. As you
said, after you leave here we'll probably never see each other
again.”

“You have the contact information for the
Center,” I remind him. “You can find me there. Plus you have my
purse back in the house.”

He shakes his head. “You said yourself that
you no longer want to owe me anything. I'm assuming that extends to
my sister's generosity as well.”

Fuck. He's turned my own words against
me.

“Fine,” I say. “Get out of the car and I'll
hand them out to you.”

“So you can lock me out in the rain? I don't
think so.”

“If you're that concerned, the keys for this
thing are back in the house with my purse.” If I could get him to
bring them out here, all the better, but he doesn't fall for
it.

“I'm not leaving here without those clothes.”
He leans back in the seat and stretches his arms over his head,
waiting. “You have two choices: give them to me, or come back to
the house with me.” He finishes with one of those smug little
smiles of his.

He thinks he's won the argument, that by
insisting the return of the clothes he'll get me to go back inside.
He doesn't realize that I've already abandoned my sense in favor of
my pride, and I'm willing to go down with this ship. I only have
one weapon left to use against him.

I reach behind me and slowly pull down the
zipper of my dress. His eyes widen when he realizes what I'm doing,
but I don't stop. When I've finished unzipping, I slide the
shoulders of my dress off one by one, rolling the fabric down to my
waist and revealing the lacy black bra I found in Louisa's closet.
His gaze follows every moment of my hands, and his eyes linger on
my breasts, then my stomach, before flicking back up to my eyes
again.

He wasn't expecting this, and in his surprise
he lacks the composure to hide the hunger that burns in his eyes. I
feel wanton, powerful, as I reach around my back once more and
unclasp my bra. I pull it off and shove it into Calder's hands. It
nearly falls out of his grip, he's so focused on my newly exposed
breasts, but he manages to grab one of the straps. Still, his eyes
remain on me, burning with such an intensity that my entire body
goes hot, despite the fact that I'm half-naked in the back of a
car.

I grab the fabric at my waist and raise my
bottom off the seat just enough to sidle the dress down over my
hips. I didn't feel comfortable borrowing Louisa's panties, so I'm
bare beneath the skirt. Calder watches the fabric fall around my
ankles and then raises his eyes to mine once more. It's all I can
do not to throw myself into his arms.

I pass the dress over to him, but he hardly
seems to notice. Meanwhile, I'm hyper-aware of everything: the
rough fabric of the seat against my bare skin, the cold air on my
nipples, the tiny hairs lifting on the back of my neck. I'm aware
of the way Calder smells, his natural, manly scent only enhanced by
the damp in the air. I'm aware of each of his breaths, to the point
that my own breathing begins to match its rhythm.

“Enjoying the show?” I say, my voice husky.
Maybe all isn’t lost. The universe seems to have taken pity on me
after all—it’s handed me the perfect chance to win my bet against
Calder.

He gives a slow nod. His shoulders are tense,
and for a moment I think he's about to lunge toward me and grab me
to him. My heart careens madly at the thought, but as much as I
want to, I know it's a terrible idea to just fall into his arms. In
this moment, my restraint gives me the power—and I'm not about to
give that up anytime soon.

“Here are the shoes,” I say, grabbing the
sandals from the floor and tossing them at him. “That's
everything.”

He looks down at the pile of clothing in his
hands and then back at me.