Game of Love

by Melissa Foster

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Ellie hurried down the stairs with her purse over her shoulder and her suitcase thunking down the steps behind her. Seeing a naked guy was nothing new to her. Living in the dorms and then sharing an apartment with three women meant seeing more unclothed men than she cared to admit, usually running into them coming or going in the middle of the night on their way to the bathroom or coming out of the shower. But waking up to him so close to her had caught her completely off guard. And after what had happened when she lived on Carlisle Street, her mind screamed, Run. Get out. Now.

  The night air stung her cheeks. The streets were eerily quiet, except for the cachunk, cachunk of her suitcase as she dragged it along the sidewalk. Now what am I going to do? Her interview was in a few short hours, and she desperately needed to shower before showing up, not to mention sleep. She stopped into the nearest diner open at 4:45 in the morning for a cup of coffee, then leaned against the front of the building, both hands wrapped around the cup to warm them. She never saw the hooded man until he was already upon her. He slowed just long enough to snag her purse right off her arm, sending her coffee into the air, and took off down the alley.

  “Hey!” She grabbed her suitcase and ran after him, giving up a block later when he disappeared into the pre-dawn darkness. Ellie stomped her foot. “Fuck!” She went back out to the main drag, willing away the tears that threatened to send her legs crumbling beneath her. Suck it up. You’re fine. Figure it out.

  She had no money, no place to stay, and an interview she’d surely bomb on the horizon. She was screwed.

  Ellie pulled out her best pep talk. I made it through ten foster homes, almost being raped, college, and Bruce. I can’t give up now. This is a setback. That’s it. Figure it the fuck out.

  Dexy.

  No. She couldn’t do that to him. She shivered from the situation and from the cool air. I’m not a sixteen-year-old kid in the system anymore. Her asshole social worker’s voice came back to her—Once the system touches you, you’re always a product of the system—whatever the hell that meant. She’d said it with a slant of negativity in her voice. That damn social worker was the impetus for Ellie to pursue her master’s in minority and urban education. Even though she had no idea what she’d meant by “always a product of the system,” Ellie had felt the need to prove her wrong. Even if it took forever. Even if it sucked along the way.

  Ellie pulled her shoulders back and tucked her pride somewhere deep within her, where she could pull it out when she needed it, but not close enough to the surface to make her stop from going to the only place she could. And maybe even the only place she wanted to.

  Chapter Eight

  DEX ROLLED OVER to silence the banging noise in his head. He needed sleep, and whatever Regina was doing, she’d better stop. Now.

  His bedroom door opened, and Regina’s voice filtered into his exhausted mind. “Dex?”

  He flipped onto his back and laid his arm over his eyes. “Hmm?”

  “Were you expecting someone?”

  “What?” He lowered his arm and pushed himself up on one elbow. Regina stood in her tank top and underwear. Without a bra, she had little breast buds, almost nonexistent, her hip bones jutted out above the slim lines of her silk panties, and her straight black hair was now tangled and mussed. Dex had become so used to seeing her in her various states of undress that he had no reaction, as if she were his sister.

  “There’s a knock at the door. I was gonna get it, but…”

  “What? Knock?” Shit. Now what? He pulled himself from the bed and lumbered down the hall with Regina on his heels. He ran through the possibilities. Mitch? Had a key. Siena? Had a key. Another of his siblings? They’d have called. He looked out the peephole and unlocked the door as quickly as he could.

  “Ellie?”

  She blushed. “I’m sorry.”

  He pulled her inside and shut the door. “What’s wrong?” He looked her up and down, as if the answer might be written in indelible ink for all to see. He knew better.

  She lifted her eyes to Regina and took a step back. “I’m sorry. I’ll go. I just—”

  Dex looked from Regina to Ellie, then back again. Shit. “It’s not what it looks like.” He glared at Regina as if she’d done something wrong.

  Regina folded her arms over her stomach.

  “Ellie, come in.” He set her suitcase by the door and guided her past Regina and into the living room. “Reg, can you make some coffee?”

  “On it,” she answered.

  Ellie was trembling. She had that faraway look in her eyes again.

  “Ellie, what happened? Did something happen with your friend?” The protective urges he’d carried with him whenever she was around came back in full force. Every muscle tensed.

  She licked her lips and fiddled with the edge of her T-shirt. Her eyes skirted over his chest, lingering at each of his tattoos. “Nothing happened with her.” She dropped her eyes and they locked on his boxers and held just long enough for his body to warm.

  Shit. No matter how much he tried, Dex couldn’t separate his feelings for Ellie from his need to remain numb and protect his heart, and if she continued to stare at his groin, it would take less than a minute before she’d see just how much he wanted her.

  She looked away, and Dex let out a relieved sigh. He watched her survey his belongings. The distressed leather sofa, marble fireplace, expansive hardwood floors, and balcony overlooking Central Park. He could almost see the doors to her emotions slamming and locking as she noted each item. Dex glanced behind him, seeing his apartment through Ellie’s eyes for the first time. Exclusive. Extravagant. Even if not furnished as such, with recycled furniture and eclectic pieces that looked distressed, more worn than new. He took her hand and pulled her down beside him on the sofa.

  Regina came out with two cups of coffee. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry I woke you guys up.” She pushed to her feet, and Dex tugged her down again.

  “Sit.”

  “No, really—” She tried to rise to her feet again, but he held on tight, pinning her to the couch.

  “Ellie, tell me what happened.”

  She looked at Regina, then lowered her eyes again.

  “You know, I think I’ll go back to bed. Sorry for whatever happened, Ellie, but whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be okay. Dex is good at fixing things.” She flashed a friendly smile and left the room.

  “Oh my God, Dex. You should have told me. I never would have showed up,” she whispered, whipping her head around toward the hall.

  “Would you stop? Regina and I aren’t…we don’t…she’s a friend, and not that kind of friend. We worked until four in the morning, so she crashed here.”

  Ellie pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows in a gesture that Dex remembered to mean, You don’t think I believe that, do you?

  “Ellie, come here.” He tugged her to her feet, glad to feel her trembling had subsided, and he walked her to the hall. “See the open door? That’s my bedroom.” He pointed to another door. “See that one? Guest room. That’s where Regina stays.”

  “You don’t have to answer to me. I’m not even sure what I’m doing here. I just had no place else to go.” She headed for the front door, and he settled a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t run, Ellie.”

  She stood stock-still. Silent.

  Dex couldn’t believe he’d said it aloud. He’d never called Ellie on her inability to stick around before. She’d stopped. She was still there. Thank God. He stepped in front of her and brushed her hair from in front of her face, noting the fear that still hovered in her eyes. He pulled her close and felt her resist. He wondered what it would be like if she didn’t resist one day. Her face rested on his chest, and he held her there, fighting against her tension and holding her still once again, until her demons left her and her body melted into his. Only then did he take her hand and guide her back to the couch.

  “Wanna tell me about i
t?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. Her silent head shake confirmed his thoughts. “Just tell me this. Do I need to get dressed and go kill someone?”

  She leaned against his chest and shook her head. Her hand pressed against his abs, and despite his best intentions, his body reacted to having her close again. He scooted away before she could notice and crouched to remove her boots.

  “Let’s take these off.” He set her boots on the floor, as he’d done a million times when they were kids. He placed his hand on the couch, and she set hers on top of it.

  “Old habits die hard, huh?”

  He shifted his eyes from her hand and nodded. The cold, determined Ellie he’d seen earlier in the evening was gone, replaced with the vulnerable girl he’d known as a teenager. Her eyes softened, drawing him in, and he felt his numbness fall away.

  “I’m not that girl anymore, Dexy. I don’t need to climb in your window.”

  Of course she’d read his thoughts. He probably had his feelings written all over his face. If he couldn’t deny them, how could he expect to hide them from Ellie? She knew him better than anyone in the world did.

  “Tonight just threw me for a loop, and I really had nowhere to go.” She sat up, and he slid in beside her.

  Had he misread her? Or was she hiding again, too? “I know you’re not. But, Ellie, clue me in here. You can stay here as long as you need to or as long as you want to, but at least give me a hint as to what’s going on.”

  She stared at him for a long time. Dex’s chest tightened as he waited. He’d pushed too hard. He should have let it go. He knew better. Hell, he knew better than to let his heart open to her again. She’d already crushed it twice, but he’d felt it soften with each passing second they were together.

  “You have tattoos. Lots of them.” She reached up and traced the dragon that wrapped around his forearm. She nibbled on her lower lip and touched a larger, heavily scaled dragon that started above his biceps, its tail traveling lower in a sexy, dangerous sway across his muscle.

  “I guess,” he said.

  Ellie hesitated before reaching for the markings on the left side of his chest.

  “It’s okay. You can touch them.” Every gentle stroke of her finger sent searing heat to him down below. She closed her eyes as she traced the fringe of the tattoo that rode over his shoulder and touched his collarbone. Christ, how he loved her touch. By the time they were teenagers, he’d craved so much more of her than just friendship, and when she’d come to him four years ago, he’d thought they’d finally fall into each other’s arms for good and he’d be able to finally show her how much he loved her. But at first she’d just wanted to be close to him. She needed him to hold her as he had when they were teens, and he respected that, because he’d needed it just as much as she had. But when they’d laid together as adults rather than teenagers, the love he felt for her multiplied, and he’d told her how he felt. And the next morning she was gone. He’d thought about what it would feel like to be touched by Ellie ever since, but nothing came close to feeling her delicate fingers trailing along his skin.

  She drew her shaky hand back to her lap. “Why did you get so many?”

  Because I needed to feel something after you left, and pain was better than nothing. “I don’t know. Tell me what happened, Ellie.”

  She nodded and lowered her eyes to her lap. She drew her brows together, then clenched her eyes shut tight and blew out a breath. When she opened her eyes, she looked at him quickly—for a second, maybe—then dropped her eyes again.

  Dex held his breath, unable to believe she might actually let him in.

  “I woke up to the guy Dina brought home bent over me, with his awful breath in my face and his…He had no pants on.”

  Dex pushed away from her, fully awake now. “Did he hurt you? Touch you?” He’d kill the bastard.

  “No. I think he was still drunk and trying to figure out who was on the couch, but it freaked me out and brought up all sorts of memo—” She cleared her throat. “All sorts of awful things. So I took off.”

  Dex pulled her close again. “I’m glad you had sense enough to come here.”

  “I didn’t really have any other options. After I left, some guy stole my purse.” She tucked her feet beneath her and leaned against him.

  “Jesus, El. Did you call the police?” Dex hated that she was going through this kind of shit. Ellie was such a good person. He remembered one day when they’d been taking one of their silent walks home from the bus stop and she’d seen a cat for the second day in a row, sitting in the tall grass by the creek. The next day she’d saved part of her lunch and given it to the cat. She’d done the same thing every day thereafter until she’d been sent away, at which point Dex began to feed the damn cat.

  “No. I figured the guy was long gone, and then the only place I could think to go was here. I promise I’ll find another place to stay tomorrow.”

  “Stay, Ellie. I like having you here.” He wrapped both arms around her and brought his legs up on the couch beside them. She nuzzled against him, and fifteen silent minutes later, she was breathing the peaceful rhythm of deep sleep. Dex couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so whole and so scared at the same time. Oh wait. Yes, he could. He remembered it all too well. As he rested his cheek on her head, his heart already wrapped around her again like a cocoon, he knew she might do the same thing to him again, but having her in his arms was so much better than having her only in his dreams. He closed his eyes, willing to put his heart at risk one more time and praying she’d still be there in the morning.

  Chapter Nine

  ELLIE’S PHONE ALARM sounded at eight in the morning, startling her. She scrambled to pull her cell phone from her pocket and turn it off. Dex mumbled something and tightened his grip around her waist. Shit. What was I thinking? How could I let us get close again? And why do I want to crawl right back into your arms? She felt as if she’d slept for two days, even though she’d had only a few hours’ sleep, and she knew it was because she was with Dex. She peeled herself from his grip and stepped from the couch. He rolled over and she caught sight of his formidable erection. What was it with New York men and erections? Unlike the reaction she’d had the night before with the drunken stranger, she felt a thrill run through her.

  The last time she’d slept beside Dex, she’d asked him if he’d love her forever, no matter where they were or who they were with. She’d thought she meant love her like a friend, but she’d realized as the word left her mouth that she hadn’t meant like a friend at all. Without hesitation, he’d smiled with that cockeyed, sexy grin of his and responded, You can always be sure of me. Always. He’d leaned over and kissed her then. A heart-stopping, toe-curling kiss that had scared the shit out of her. She’d felt his arousal against her belly, but he hadn’t made a move beyond the kiss, and she’d been too scared to. Dex had been her best friend, and she loved him. God, how I loved you. I had no choice but to leave you.

  Ellie surveyed the living room. It looked different with the sunlight streaming across the hardwood and the fright of the evening not hovering around her. She saw more of Dex in the room. The leather couch was distressed. It wasn’t dark brown but a caramel color with low, thick wooden feet that gave it a homey, broken-in appearance. There were two large television screens and chunky wooden furniture with an enormous computer monitor on the top. She smiled as her eyes danced over stacks of gaming and computer magazines and piles of books.

  She warmed at the sight of pictures of his family that were haphazardly placed around the room. She looked over the family photo that sat atop the marble mantel. His father’s stern eyes and stoic expression, above his starched white collar, contrasted sharply with his mother’s smiling eyes and long gray hair, which flowed wildly over the shoulders of her colorful bohemian blouse. She remembered each of his brothers, even though she’d only met Jack once or twice. They could have been cloned, their handsome faces and dark hair were so similar. But their eyes told different stories. His mot
her, Joanie, his brothers Kurt and Rush and his sister, Siena, had vibrant blue eyes, while the others’ blue eyes were as dark as night. A smaller photo of Dex and Siena when they were little was placed beside a larger photo of Jack, Sage, and Dex. In it, Dex looked to be about thirteen years old. She ran her finger along his lanky body, all elbows and knees at that age. She glanced back at him snoozing on the couch, broad chested and rippled with strength. His tattoos made him look even manlier than he had four years ago. Oh yes, he had grown into a fine specimen of a man.

  She went into the foyer and retrieved her suitcase, then wound her way down the hall looking for a bathroom. She passed the closed door where Regina was sleeping and wandered into Dex’s bedroom. The bed was unmade, and the room carried a chill. She touched his dresser, a bold, manly wooden piece of furniture with thick legs and solid wooden handles. The top of the dresser was littered with gaming magazines and drawings. A small frame caught her eye, and she picked it up. She should feel as though she was snooping, but with Dex, she never felt that way. She’d come in and out of his bedroom so many nights that it had felt like it was hers as well. That was stupid, and she knew it, and she’d never been in this bedroom. So why did she still feel as close to him?

  Her hand shook a little as she studied the photograph of the two of them. She remembered the day the picture was taken. I remember almost every day we’ve ever spent together. She ran her finger over his image, shocked that he’d not only kept it, but framed it and had it on his dresser. He must think about me as much as I think about him. Along with the realization came a stab of guilt, which she tucked away, focusing instead on the photograph. Dex had been seventeen and she was sixteen. It was June, just before the end of the school year. Dex had needed a haircut. She remembered teasing him about it. His hair fell over his eyes and he wore no shirt. She was pressed against his chest. I was always pressed against his chest. A stranger would never know who was behind that mop of dark hair that his hand was buried in. She could still feel his heart beating against hers, his hand covering her lower back, the other cupping the back of her head, and the way his embrace had felt like he was claiming her as his own.