The Dating Games Series Volume One

by T. K. Leigh

  I drop my hold on him, exiting the house and immersing myself back into the party. The sun’s begun to set, casting a glow on the pool deck. Without the hot rays beating down on me, the air is comfortable, especially with the gentle breeze coming off the ocean wrapping around my skin.

  As I search for any sign of Sadie, a hand clutches my bicep, forcing me around to see Julian’s determined stare.

  “Don’t ever think you’re a pawn to me, Guinevere.” His voice is harsh, powerful, yet sincere. As much as I want to think this is just another part of his game, something about it feels too convincing, too…real. “You’re not.” He takes a breath. When he speaks again, his words come out barely above a whisper.

  “Yes, we may be putting on a show to get what we need, what we both deserve, but don’t ever think for a second I view you as a piece of property. I respect you, more than you realize. Just because we have a bit of an unconventional relationship doesn’t lessen that.” He runs a soft finger along the contours of my face. I shiver, the reaction as surprising and unexpected as everything with Julian seems to be. “You are so much more than any of that. You are…”

  “Yes?” I lick my lips as I tilt my head, losing myself in the depth of his eyes.

  “You are…” He places a hand on the small of my back, pulling my body against his. My heart pounds against my ribcage. No longer out of fear or dread, but out of desire and anticipation. My chest rises and falls in a quicker pattern, every inch of me desperate for his next move. I shouldn’t be this turned on by him. I shouldn’t want his hands on me. Still, I can’t help but wonder what could be.

  “Yes?”

  “You are…unexpected.”

  “Good unexpected or scary unexpected?”

  He chuckles. “Good unexpected.” His buoyant expression turns serious as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. I can see a war raging within. “And scary unexpected,” he adds, releasing his hold on my lower back and bringing his hand to my face.

  When he runs his thumb along my bottom lip, I plump it out. Electricity courses through my veins as the heat of his breath grows closer and closer. I brace myself for his kiss. I welcome his kiss. In twelve years, I’ve only known one man’s kiss, one man’s arms, one man’s body. Perhaps it’s time I experience something new, too. I may regret it tomorrow. Hell, I may regret it in a few minutes. But right now, I just want to be kissed again.

  As I inch even closer, a body unexpectedly slams into me. Everything seems to play in slow motion as I struggle to regain my balance. Julian reaches out, scrambling to grab onto me, but gravity is not my friend, and with unceremonious grace, I fall into the pool.

  When I resurface, I wipe at my eyes, seeing all the partygoers staring in my direction, and my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I normally don’t care about making a complete fool of myself. But here, I’m self-conscious, especially when I notice everyone whispering amongst themselves as they gawk at the poor girl who got bumped into the pool.

  Thankfully, Sadie soon emerges from the crowd, a cool confidence about her. “Well, it is a pool party, isn’t it?”

  She steps out of her sandals that I can only imagine cost a small fortune. Leaving her drink on a nearby table, she dives into the pool with the practiced expertise of a swimmer. When she pops her head above the water, she meets my eyes, winking.

  I pass her a grateful smile, unsure how I’ll ever repay her for doing this. I shrug out of my now soaked coverup and take my shoes off, tossing them onto the pool deck just as I notice Julian removing his shirt. I keep my eyes trained on him, unable to look away from his chiseled physique, everything about it near perfection, except for the scars on his abdomen. In my eyes, those scars are part of the fabric that makes up who he is, although I’d love to learn the story behind them.

  With a smirk, he cannonballs into the pool, disappearing beneath the surface. Before I know it, dozens of people jump in, some of them wearing their street clothes, the alcohol encouraging them on.

  As my eyes scan the sudden festive environment, I notice Theresa and Trevor standing off to the side. She pulls on his hand, attempting to get him to join in the revelry. He refuses, excusing himself and heading into the house. I shouldn’t feel partly responsible for his sour mood, considering he broke up with me. But despite everything, I still care about him.

  I’m about to find my way out of the pool to talk to him when an arm loops around my waist. Spinning around, I meet Julian’s eyes, smiling. Like two puzzle pieces locking into place, I drape my arms over his shoulders, making anyone think we’ve done this dance dozens of times before. I do my best to ward off the electricity flooding through me as we remain chest to chest, our wet flesh pressed against each other.

  “I thought you wanted people to take you seriously,” I remark.

  “I do.”

  “I’m not sure this accomplishes that.”

  “That’s true, but I couldn’t resist.”

  “Resist what?”

  “Getting wet with you.”

  “Is that right?” I run my hand through his waterlogged hair, scratching at his scalp. He bites his bottom lip, groaning from the contact.

  “I have a feeling I’m going to have trouble resisting a lot of things about you over the next few weeks.”

  I bring my mouth toward his, remaining just out of reach. “Only time will tell.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Let me help you,” Julian says once the valet attendant pulls up with his car. We approach the Ferrari and he reaches for my hand. The instant he touches my skin, he flings his eyes to mine. “Jesus! You’re freezing!”

  “That’s what happens when the air cools down and you’re wearing nothing but a wet two-piece.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” His brows pull together in concern.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I insist as I climb into the passenger seat. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but if you’re uncomfortable, you need to tell me.” He takes the key fob from the valet attendant and pops the trunk. After rummaging around in it for a minute, he closes it, then ducks into the driver’s seat, handing me a sweatshirt.

  I look at the big, bold letters printed on the front. “SUNY?”

  He shrugs. “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Harvard. Yale. Columbia.” As I pull the enormous sweatshirt over my head, I inhale, instantly bathed in a scent that can only be described as Julian. It reminds me of waking up in his bed that first morning, panicked. I don’t even recognize him as that person anymore. I don’t recognize myself as that person, either.

  He finds my hand and brings it onto the shifter, our fingers intertwined as he puts the car into first. “Nope. I enjoyed my higher education years out here in Stony Brook.”

  “Interesting,” I muse, settling against the cool leather as he pulls around the elaborate driveway, navigating onto the quiet road, my hand glued beneath his as he shifts between the gears.

  “Interesting? How so?”

  “I had you pegged as more an Ivy League guy.”

  “I guess you had me pegged wrong.” When he glances at me with a sparkle in his blue eyes, I can’t reel in my smile.

  “I guess I did.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t find out about this when you Googled me.”

  “I must have gotten distracted by other information that your college education didn’t seem all that interesting in comparison.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Theodore Price.”

  When I say the name, he swallows hard, the mood shifting from playful to somber. He passed away over ten years ago now, but by Julian’s unfocused stare, it’s apparent he still grieves the loss of the man who, according to many reports, molded him into the person he is today.

  “He sounds like a good man,” I offer when he remains silent.

  “He saved my life.”

  I want to ask more, my mind immediately going to the scars on his abdomen.
r />   “Did he—”

  “I want you to promise me something, Guinevere,” he interrupts, his voice determined. His hardened expression is at complete odds with the way he clutches my hand, his thumb brushing against my skin haphazardly, as if it’s second nature.

  “What’s that?”

  “That you’ll stay as far away from Ethan Ludlow as you can. That you’ll come find me if he so much as breathes on you the wrong way. No matter what I’m doing, who I’m speaking with. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of some negotiation.”

  I shiver as I recall my earlier exchange with Ethan. The excitement of standing next to this Hollywood legend. Then the sickness filling me when I realized what kind of person he truly was.

  “I knew I’d need to warn you about him eventually, but thought I could put it off. Obviously not, because he’s already interested. Word’s gotten out you’re a writer.”

  “I’m not really—”

  “You are. Don’t let anything Trevor said make you believe otherwise. You are a writer. That’s probably why Ethan tracked you down. That, and you were there with me.”

  “Why? Is he one of the old money people who likes to constantly knock you down a few pegs?”

  “You can say that. He’s one of Theodore Price’s children.”

  I can’t hide the utter shock when I hear this. “What? I mean—”

  “He uses his mother’s maiden name in the industry. An homage to her legacy, I suppose. So yes, he has a tendency to make it difficult for me to get things done, considering he’s a shareholder of the company, albeit a minority one. Outside of that, he’s still a Hollywood slimeball. He’ll offer you the moon and the stars, success, money, everything you’ve ever dreamt of. But trust me when I say it will come at a high price. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

  I nod, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat at what could have happened if I hadn’t taken the opportunity to get away from Ethan when I did. How did I not know he was one of Theodore Price’s kids? I really need to read up on all my celebrity news.

  “I don’t want you to worry about me. You’re trying to network at these events. You shouldn’t have to stop what you’re doing to make sure I’m okay.”

  “But I will worry about you.” He laughs nervously, and I sense a chink in his armor, revealing a vulnerability I’ve yet to see. “It’s a personality flaw. I worry. I always will. I just want you to be okay.”

  He briefly glances at me, his eyes pleading. His grip on my hand tightens, like he’s scared something will happen if he lets go. I wonder if this protectiveness, this fear, is tied to those scars. I want nothing more than to ask about them, how they got there, if they’re connected to Theodore Price and how he supposedly saved Julian. Instead, I simply murmur, “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Julian breathes, as if my acquiescence allows a weight to lift from him. He brings my hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on the flesh, repeating, “Okay.”

  When he pulls his car into what he refers to as the carriage house a short while later, his property is devoid of all activity.

  “Are these like your day-of-the-week underwear?” I ask as he helps me out of the Ferrari. They’re the first words either one of us have spoken since our tension-filled conversation about Ethan.

  “Day-of-the-week underwear?” He cocks a brow.

  “Yeah.” I gesture to the line of luxury cars. It’s all I can do not to salivate over them. I’ve been living in New York so long I almost forgot what it’s like to drive. It’s one of those things I took for granted before moving to the city. Like grass. Now I yearn for that feeling of independence. “Monday is the Land Rover. Tuesday the Porsche. Wednesday is obviously the Ferrari.”

  “Obviously.” He smirks, linking his fingers with mine as he leads me up to the main house.

  “So what’s the deal with all the cars? Most people I know only have one. Well, now that I live in New York, most people I know have zero.”

  “I like cars.”

  “I gathered as much.”

  “We all have our guilty pleasures.” He narrows his gaze on me as he grins slyly. It’s sinful to hear the words guilty and pleasure roll from Julian’s tongue. I fight to silence the voice in my head telling me how nice it would be to be one of his guilty pleasures, if just for a day. “What’s yours?”

  “Sex,” I answer, not even thinking.

  He inhales a sharp breath, his eyes widening. I pull my hand from his, slapping both of them over my mouth, my face reddening to a shade that would probably rival my hair color.

  “I mean—”

  “Why would you consider sex a guilty pleasure? The term in and of itself infers it’s not essential. If you ask me, sex is essential for the continuation of the human race.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” I flounder. “It just popped out. That happens sometimes. I don’t have a brain-to-mouth filter.”

  He regards me in quiet contemplation as he opens the front door to the house, allowing me to enter before him. It’s dark, apart from a few dim lights illuminating our path to the bedrooms.

  “So you were thinking about sex?”

  “What? No!” I exclaim. “I…” Trailing off, I exhale deeply, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. “I’d like to retract my original response. Books are my guilty pleasure, okay?”

  “Books?”

  “Yes.” I face forward as we crest the top of the stairs. “Books. Final answer.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to phone a friend?”

  Pinching my lips together, I smile coyly. “Did Julian Gage just make another joke?”

  “What can I say? I think you’re rubbing off on me.”

  As we come to a stop outside the door to my room, I’m about to reply with a flirtatious retort. Before I can do so, he faces me, zeroing in on my mouth. It reminds me of the tension sizzling between us when he dropped me off Friday night. But it’s more pronounced, more intense this time. We’ve only spent a few hours together, but in those few hours, I have a better insight as to who Julian Gage truly is. Friday I was attracted to him. Now I like him. He’s more than just a pretty face with an enormous bank account. And I want to know even more, despite the voice in my head warning me against it.

  “So…” I chew on my lower lip as I fidget with the hem of the sweatshirt. Then I realize I’m still wearing his sweatshirt. “Crap. You probably want this back.” I start to pull it off my body when he touches his hand to my arm, stopping me. I drop my hold on it, allowing it to fall back down.

  “As fantastic as you looked in that bathing suit, I like you in my sweatshirt more.” He advances toward me, the heat in his eyes forcing me to back up against the wall. He leans his forearm on it, curving toward me. “I had a wonderful time with you tonight, Guinevere.”

  “Me, too.” I close my eyes as lust blinds me, the same craving that’s teased me all day flickering through me, my skin, my core, my soul aching for this man’s touch.

  I hold my breath, bracing for his lips to meet mine. Instead, the warmth disappears and I flutter my eyes open. Julian steps back, readjusting his composure, clearing his throat.

  “You have a spa appointment tomorrow at noon.” It’s like he’s flipped the switch from fun, lighthearted, sensual Julian Gage to the practical and pragmatic businessman.

  “A spa appointment? You didn’t have to—”

  “Yes, I did. It’s part of the ritual, so to speak. If I want people to take our relationship seriously, you need to spend the afternoon at the spa with all the other wives and girlfriends. Sadie will be there. It’s all part of the act we need to put on.”

  “Well then, who am I to complain?” I smile, but it’s forced.

  “Reed will be waiting for you out front at 11:30. Before then, make yourself at home.”

  “And where will you be?” I ask flirtatiously in an attempt to bring playful Julian back, but he’s gone.

  “I need to attend to business-related matters during the day. I’ll be
back in time to escort you to the gala.” Without giving me a chance to ask any more questions, he turns, continuing down the hallway before disappearing into his bedroom.

  “Good night,” I murmur once I hear the click of his door.

  I stare into space, trying to reconcile the two very different versions of Julian Gage. One minute, he tells me how much he worries about me. The next, he runs from me as if he can’t stand the sight of me. What could cause these wide swings in demeanor in such a short time? I can’t shake the feeling it’s all related to the scars marring his perfect skin.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Oh, Miss Guinevere…,” Camille breathes after she finishes zipping up my gown, clasping her hands together as she admires my reflection in the mirror. “You are absolutely exquisite.”

  The person staring back at me may as well be a stranger. My red locks are pulled out of my face and curled into loose beach waves. The cosmetologist at the spa gave me a natural look, only emphasizing my eyes with smoky shadowing, which if I were to try and recreate would end up making me look like a raccoon on a bender.

  As amazing as my hair and makeup is, the real attention grabber is the sapphire blue dress. It’s something I never would have taken a second look at, with the plunging neckline and slit that goes up to my mid-thigh, but it’s a gorgeous gown. The fitted bodice is encrusted with jewels before ending at the waist and transitioning into a flowing tulle skirt. It’s unlike any dress I’ve ever worn, and I doubt I’ll ever wear anything this elegant again.

  “Mr. Gage will be quite pleased.”

  I force a smile, pretending to be enthusiastic about the notion. It’s a little bittersweet to know I currently feel more beautiful than I ever have, yet it’s being wasted on someone who will never appreciate it. This is what I signed up for, though. There are worse ways to spend my Fourth of July than being pampered at a spa, then attending the social event of the summer on the arm of a dashingly handsome man. Who cares if he switches from hot to cold in the blink of an eye?