His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1) (9 page)

He doesn’t answer. Instead he turns and
starts carrying me to the pool.

“Put me down!” I cry, pissed that I fell for
his trick a second time. “I swear, if you throw me—”

Suddenly I’m flying through the air, Calder’s
arms still around me. We crash into the pool, and water rushes all
around us.

He releases me when I start to struggle. I
kick my way back up to the surface, gasping and coughing as I come
up for air.

“What the hell?” Louisa’s dress is tangled
around my knees and my hair is clinging to my face. I flip the wet
strands away from my eyes.

Calder, meanwhile, is laughing his ass
off.

“Come on. It’s just a little water.”

“I’m wearing your sister’s clothes,” I remind
him. I felt bad enough about borrowing them in the first place.

“I offered you an alternative,” he says,
still far too pleased with himself.

He stands up, and the water spills down his
body. I try not to notice the way the drops slide down the grooves
between his muscles. The corner of his mouth twists upward.

“Ugh,” I say, before he can accuse me of
checking him out again. “You’re despicable, you know that?” I turn
and start trudging through the water toward the ladder.

I hear sloshing as he moves after me.

“Come on, Ms. Frazer,” he says. “Just a
little—”

“No!” I say, spinning back toward him. I move
my hand as I do, trying to keep him back, and in the process I send
a wave spraying up at him. I splash him square in the face. He
stops, blinking and sputtering as the drops spill out of his eyes
and mouth and nose.

It takes a moment for him to recover, and
when he does, he stares at me with astonishment.

“Did you just splash me, Ms. Frazer?”

“I… not on purpose. I—”

He moves toward me, and I stumble back,
instinctively throwing my arms out again and sending another surge
of water at him.

But he’s prepared this time, and his eyes
light up devilishly.

“Now it’s on,” he says, lunging for me.

I let out a squeak and splash him again, and
he responds by splashing me back in turn. I gasp as the cool spray
of water hits me in the face, but now the competitive side of me
kicks in.

Calder Cunningham is going down.

He makes another lunge for me, and I twist
out of his reach, diving underwater as his hands sweep past my
hair.

I shoot through the water, and when I come
up—some ten feet behind him—he has such a look of astonishment on
his face that it’s my turn to burst out laughing.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” I
inform him.

His eyes light up at the challenge. He moves
toward me again, and I send another spray of water in his face.
When he’s blinking and coughing, I dive under once more.

I don’t know what’s come over me. It’s
probably just the absurdity of the situation: swimming in a rooftop
pool—in the
rain
—wearing a dress that probably costs more
than my rent. I feel strange. Reckless. I’m playing along with
Calder, letting him chase me through the water. I’m laughing and
splashing and, dare I say it, actually enjoying myself.

But then, finally, I’m too slow—by accident
or not, I can’t say—and Calder catches me by the arms. I gasp as he
pulls me upright, spins me around to face him. The rain is coming
down a little harder now, spilling down our faces, and I shake the
wet hair from my eyes and look up at him.

His eyes are dark, intense, hungry. He’s
breathing hard from our little game, but I find that I can hardly
breathe at all. His fingers are firm around my upper arms, as if
he’s afraid I’ll try and escape his grip. But I can’t move. I’m not
sure I want to.

He moves so slowly that I sense more than see
him leaning toward me. His lips are slightly parted. My own lips
feel suddenly dry.

I want to say something—to stop him, maybe,
or perhaps to urge him onward—but the words die on my tongue. He’s
so close now that I can feel his warm breath on my cheek.

I can’t. I…

Thunder crashes overhead. I jump, and the
moment is broken.

What the
hell
am I doing?

“We need to get out of the pool,” I say,
pulling out of his grip.

“Lily—”

“I’d rather not get electrocuted.” As if to
punctuate my point, lightning flashes overhead just as I reach the
pool ladder. Apparently the universe agrees: this was a terrible
idea.

What am I doing, splashing and flirting and
encouraging him? I almost let him kiss me, for freak’s sake! This
guy stands for everything I hate—am I really going to fall for his
stupid little tricks?

I haul myself out of the water. The air is
startlingly cold, and I wrap my arms around myself as I march back
toward the pavilion. Louisa’s dress clings to my legs, but I try to
move as gracefully as I can. I can feel Calder’s eyes boring into
my back.

But why should I care if I look graceful or
not? I let things get carried away in the secret passageway last
night, but I thought I had enough self-control to behave rationally
when we were face to face.

You hate him
, I remind myself for the
hundredth time today.
Think of the Center. Think of your
dad.

And I do. I close my eyes and remember my
dad’s face the morning I left. He was poring over a stack of
invoices, so absorbed that he never realized I was standing in the
doorway. He looked so tired, so defeated, so
old
—and it’s
all Calder’s fault.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t
realize he’s behind me until he tries to wrap a towel around my
shoulders. I jerk away and glare up at him.

“You’re freezing,” he says, holding the towel
up again.

I grab it out of his hand without another
word. He has another towel for himself, and it only reminds me of
the scene I witnessed last night in his bedroom. I turn around and
begin drying myself off.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he
says after a moment. “It’s all right to admit that you’re attracted
to me.”

“I’m not embarrassed. And I’m not attracted
to you.”

I don’t sound very convincing.

“Why don’t we swing back by your room,” he
says. “You can change, and we can continue our tour.”

He’s challenging me. I hear it in his voice.
If I say no, if I refuse to go on with this tour, I might as well
admit that he’s gotten under my skin.

“Fine,” I say.

I’m strong. Yes, I’ve had a few moments of
weakness, but I’ve learned my lesson. It won’t happen again.

I only wish my body shared those
convictions.

<<>>

The first thing I do when I get back to my
room is check my phone.

There’s a new message.

I take a deep breath and press the voicemail
button before I have the chance to lose my nerve. I know without
even looking at my missed calls that the message is from
Garrett.

“Hey, Lils. Got your message. Give me a call
back when you can.” His voice is casual, as if my calling him was
perfectly ordinary—as if I haven't spent the last several months
actively ignoring his attempts to contact me. There’s no anger in
his voice, but there’s no pleasure, either. His tone gives no
indication of what he thinks of my request. I’m instantly
suspicious. For all I know, he wants me to call him so he can laugh
in my face.

But I'm not going to let myself take the
coward's way out any longer. This isn't about me or my pride. It's
about the Center. Before I can talk myself out of it, I click the
button to call Garrett.

This time he picks up on the first ring.

“Hey,” he says.

My stomach twists at the sound of his voice,
and it's all I can do not to hang up on him.

I take a deep breath. “Hey. Did you get my
message?”

I immediately want to smack myself.
Of
course
he got my message.

“I know it's a lot to ask,” I say quickly.
“And I know you have no reason to help me, but I just wanted
to…ask. You know how much the Center means to my dad. If you saw
him, you'd see what this has done to him. We're trying everything
we can. I'm desperate…” I cut myself off when I realize my rambling
has twisted itself into begging.

“You'd have to be pretty desperate to call
me,” Garrett says after a moment. I still can’t tell if he’s
pissed.

“I just thought—well, you seemed to care a
lot for the Center back when you worked with us,” I say carefully.
“I know things didn't end well between us, but I thought you might
still have some affection toward the Center.”

For a minute, he doesn't respond.

“I do,” he says finally. “You know I do,
Lils. I have a deep respect for the work you and your dad do.”

I'm standing next to the fireplace, and I
reach out and run my finger along one of the carved stone
vines.

“Well?” I say softly. “Will you help us?”

Garrett sighs. “I don't know, Lils. What
happens if I do? Will you start talking to me again? Or will you
cut me out of your life again once you get what you want?”

“That's not fair,” I argue.

“Isn't it? You've refused to talk to me for
months. You're only friendly now because you need something.”

“What was I supposed to do all this time?” I
say. “I needed the space to get over you. Our relationship was…
honestly, it was fucked up. And then Lauren—”

“I've told you a million times, Lils. Lauren
was a mistake.” He lets out a heavy breath. “I know I can't expect
you to just come running back to me, but I think I deserve some
common courtesy here.”

“You don't deserve anything,” I whisper.
Hearing his voice again, listening to him say
her
name,
having to defend our breakup after all this time—it’s too much. It
just brings up all those old memories again. I thought I could
handle this, but now I’m not so sure.

“Forget it,” I say. “I don’t need your help
after all.”

“Lils,” he says, his exasperation clear in
his voice. “There’s no reason to—”

“No. Forget I ever called.”

Before he can respond to me, I hang up and
throw the phone down on the nightstand.

Ugh
. I flop down on the bed and close
my eyes. This is all a fucking mess. I should have let my dad talk
to Garrett. Now I've gone and blown it.

I knew talking to Garrett would be difficult,
but I told myself I'd suck it up for the sake of the Center. Why
couldn't I just tell him what he wanted to hear? Instead I let my
anger get in the way, and the Center was still screwed.

I still remember those last, horrible months
we were together. I was desperately afraid that Garrett was
slipping away from me, and I was torturing myself trying to keep
him happy and interested. The day I caught him, I was planning on
making his favorite dinner as a surprise. I ducked out of work
early so I could get everything ready, and instead I walked in on
him with Lauren, a fellow journalist who he’d always insisted was
just a “friend.”

Even now my stomach twists at the memory. To
be honest, it’s not even
him
that I’m pissed at. It’s the
fact that I gave up so much of myself—and became such a pathetic,
sniveling mess there at the end—that really makes me angry. I never
told my dad the truth about our breakup. It was too
humiliating.

Never again.

A knock at the door snaps me out of my
thoughts.

“Lily?” Calder says. “Is everything all
right?”

Damn it. I completely forgot about changing.
I haul myself off the bed and avoid looking back at the wet patch I
probably left on the comforter.

“Just a minute!” I say. I run into the closet
and pull the damp dress over my head. Fortunately, Louisa seems to
have no shortage of cute clothes in here. I find a short black
skirt and a green top, and I pull them both on quickly. Again,
there’s not much to do with my damp hair, so I pull it into another
loose bun and try not to look at myself in the mirror as I go back
out. Why do I care what I look like, anyway?

Honestly, though, I have far more important
things on my mind. My conversation with Garrett left me feeling
hopeless and sick to my stomach. I threw away a valuable
opportunity because I couldn’t get past my own twisted emotions. I
didn’t realize how much I was relying on his help until that course
of action slipped completely out of the window.

And then there’s Calder. It’s pretty clear he
doesn’t want to make good on his father’s pledge, but I don’t have
the luxury of giving up on him just yet. If I’m going to convince
him to give us the money his father promised, I’m going to have to
step up my game. I might just have to get creative, that's all.

Just get creative
, I repeat to
myself.

An image of his naked body pops into my mind,
and my body responds almost immediately. I can think of a few ways
I might try to convince him.

The prospect is both terrifying and strangely
exciting.

* * *

I don't even know where to begin seducing a
man.

I mean, I suppose I know how to bat my
eyelashes and push my breasts together with my arms, but that just
seems so amateur, especially when we're talking about a man like
Calder Cunningham.

He's already made it clear that he wants me.
But how do I play that to my advantage without seeming too
obvious?

I study him once more from the corner of my
eye as we continue our tour. He hasn’t made any references to what
happened at the pool, and I’m perfectly fine with that. Still, I
wish I knew what he was thinking. Is he angry with me? Confused?
Indifferent? How am I supposed to know how to flirt with him if I
can’t figure out his current feelings toward me?

He’s perfectly pleasant as he leads me
through the house. And I must admit, the house is freaking amazing.
More than once I find my attention wandering from my self-imposed
task to my incredible surroundings.