His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games 1) - Page 40/56

He gives a chuckle and twists his hand slightly in my grasp, stretching the scar and making it stand out all the more against his golden skin.

"I was nineteen when I got that. I was an idiot. Got a little over-zealous trying to fix the rudder on our boat." He flexes his fingers. "My father said I was trying too hard to impress my date."

“I didn’t realize you had a boat.” Not that I should be surprised. He probably inherited an entire fleet. My mind automatically tries to calculate the value of a boat compared to the size of his father’s pledge, but I suppress the thought. I don’t want to think about it.

“Not anymore,” Calder replies to my question, suddenly somber. “I sold it a couple of months ago.”

Oh. A “couple of months” means he probably got rid of it shortly after his father died. Maybe he thought he’d never use it himself, or maybe it reminded him too much of his dad. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean to bring up memories of his father, especially not while we’re here in bed together. His eyes are distant, sad, and I reach down and touch him gently on the cheek.

His gaze snaps to me, and the melancholy disappears as quickly as it appeared. In its place is something akin to annoyance.

He bats my hand away. "I'm fine.”

I sit back, startled at his sudden shift in mood.

"You don't seem fine," I say carefully.

"Don't start that." He twists away from me and throws his legs over the side of the bed. He pauses for a moment—just long enough to sweep his hand across his face—then rises and goes back to the cart of food.

I remain frozen, stunned. I was only trying to offer my compassion, but if he doesn't want it, then fine. I won't pretend to give a damn.

I force myself to unclench my fists and sit back on the bed. I'm not his girlfriend. I'm not even his friend. We even said it out in my car—after this weekend, we'll probably never see each other again. There's no reason for me to get worked up over his moods or try to help him with his daddy issues.

Still, I can't help but feel saddened at the pain he's clearly suppressing. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he resumes the task of laying out the food. His shoulders are stiff, his normally-sensual mouth drawn in a hard line. I can't read the expression in his dark eyes, but he looks like he's about to explode with some dark emotion.

I sigh and close my eyes. Who am I to judge how someone deals with the loss of their father? I'd be a mess, too.

I know better than to raise the issue with him again, but I don't think it's a good idea to let him stew on his feelings, either.

"What did Martin send?" I say pleasantly.

It’s a risk. For a moment he doesn't respond, and I wonder if I crossed the line, but then he lets out a slow breath.

"Oysters," he says casually. "And pasta in a light cream sauce." He moves the trays over to a small table set against the wall. "I hope you're hungry?"

"Starving."

When he looks up at me again, all hints of his previous surliness are gone. Instead he smiles at me, and the expression makes my insides twist.

"Good." He holds out his hand. "Come on. You'll need your energy if you're going to survive the night ahead of you."

I don’t believe for a minute he’s forgotten all his emotions of a moment ago, but if he wants to pretend that he’s not hurting, then fine. I’ll play along. It’s not like I’m not suppressing my own tumultuous feelings about Calder’s role in the current state of the Frazer Center.

No, tonight isn’t about delving into our emotions. It’s about forgetting about the troubles of the outside world and focusing on the joys our bodies can bring each other.

And honestly? One look at the wicked expression on Calder’s face, and I’m perfectly okay with that.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

If I thought Calder was magnificent before, it doesn't take long before I'm convinced he's a genuine sex god. A couple of hours after dinner, we lie tangled among the rumpled sheets, sticky with sweat and breathless from our exertions.

"Wow," I whisper into the darkness.

Calder chuckles and pulls me closer to him. My arm rests across his chest, my leg across his thighs. I feel his lips press against the top of my head.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," he murmurs against my hair. He runs his hand up my arm.

I give a contented sigh. My entire body aches. Calder bent me into positions I've never even imagined before, let alone attempted, and my arms and legs feel like jelly. He brought me to the peak of ecstasy and back again, and my flesh still quivers at the memory.

"You're a feisty thing,” he tells me. “Anyone who sees my back will think I was attacked by an animal."

I start to pull away, embarrassed, but he laughs and grabs me closer again.

"That's a good thing. I like a woman who's not afraid to get wild, and you, sweet Lily, are the wildest one I've ever met."

Now it's my turn to laugh, and he grabs me and kisses me. I draw him closer. Maybe this is just sex. And maybe I don’t really know him that well. But there's a part of me, deep down, that knows I've glimpsed a deeper side of him, however briefly, and I know I've exposed a bit of myself to him, too.

And that terrifies me.

"Go to sleep," he says, and kisses me again. "I plan to wake you again in an hour."

I bite my lip, and he gives a low chuckle and closes his eyes. In minutes he's asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath my arm. I'm exhausted, too, but I know slumber won't come for me anytime soon. I've got too much on my mind.

I wait for a few more moments, just to make sure he's completely out, before I slowly ease my way out of his arms. There's just something too… intimate about lying entwined while we sleep. This is just sex. Just a few crazy days of indulging some wild lust. After I leave this place, I'll never have a reason to contact Calder ever again, and he has no reason to contact me either. I need to remember that.

I climb out of bed and fumble around in the darkness for my jeans. I finally find them in a rumpled pile at the foot of the bed, and I reach in the pocket and pull out my phone.

My heart almost stops when I see the number of missed calls. I thought I heard my ringtone go off a couple of hours ago, but Calder and I were a little preoccupied at the time. Now I wonder how I managed to miss it ringing eight times over the course of the evening.

All of the calls are from Garrett.

I panic. Has something happened at the Center? Or to Dad? I click into voicemail and hold my breath as it connects.