by Kresley Cole
T H E P L A Y E R
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Game Maker Series
Book 3
KRESLEY COLE
VALKYRIE PRESS
New York • Rothkalina • Dacia • Abaddon • New Orleans
Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author
KRESLEY COLE
and the first two novels in her Game Maker Series
THE MASTER
“Not all eroticas are created equal. The Master by Kresley Cole establishes a new standard in the genre.”
—Readaholics Anonymous
“Without a doubt, it is erotica at its best.”
—The Romance Reviews
“Kresley Cole has proven herself to be The Master with this incredibly provocative erotic story.”
—Harlequin Junkie
“This one was exceptional for the witty dialogue, fast moving plot, and the emotional growth of the characters. I loved this book!”
—Night Owl Reviews
“THE MASTER was an intense, passionate, and truly sensational read! My heart is still all a flutter. Kresley Cole is an absolute mastermind in this genre.”
—Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads
“The Master is FANFREAKINGTASTIC!! . . . I swear the book scorched my fingers.”
—Literati Literature Lovers
“The Game Maker Series is part of the upper echelon when it comes to steamy, sensual, and invigorating erotica. Ms. Cole has a way of weaving a spellbinding, sensual and seductive web in a reader’s mind. 5 Provocative, Carnal, Kinky, and Addictive Stars!”
—A Bookish Escape
“The best stuff is imbedded in the very very X-rated erotic scenes and it would make me blush too much to excerpt them here.”
—Alpha Heroes
“The Master is just incredible! I love everything about it! I love it even more than I loved The Professional which is saying something because I raved about the first book. . . . Kresley Cole is a master storyteller and once again out did herself.”
—Reading in Pajamas
“The Master should be at the TOP of your TBR pile or better yet, stop what you’re doing and read it now! It’s one of the best books of 2015 and is in a class all by itself. . . . Brilliantly funny! Blazingly hot!”
—Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
THE PROFESSIONAL
“Kresley Cole is getting hotter—sexy hot!”
—The Hollywood Reporter
“Every touch—every feeling—was palpable. Toe curling. Kresley Cole is a wicked genius with her words.”
—Romantic Book Affairs
“This combination of humor, heart, and heat is absolute perfection.”
—Fresh Fiction
“The hottest, most sensually erotic scenes I’ve ever read! The chemistry is beyond explosive. . . . I can’t tell you how many times I blushed, fanned myself, or squirmed in my seat while reading.”
—HEAs Are Us
“The suspense is addictive, the characters likeable, and the drama palpable. I found my new addiction, and it comes in the shape of a hot and sexy Siberian.”
—Sinful Reads
“The book crackled with sensuality. . . . The only thing I hated? That it ended.”
—Under the Covers Book Blog
“Full of beautiful descriptions, vivid imagery, great characters and humor. This isn’t a run of the mill, slapped together erotica. This is engrossing, well written literature that happens to be sexy as hell.”
—The Book Vixen
“Intriguing, smart, super hot, and just plain well written have come to be hallmarks of Cole’s writing, and it comes out full force in this new series.”
—The Brunette Librarian
“Five sexy CAN’T-WAIT-TIL-THE-NEXT-ONE, WHAT-AM-I-SUPPOSED-TO-DO-WITH-MYSELF-TIL-THEN stars.”
—Kayla the Bibliophile
“Intense, ridiculously sexy, and thrilling the entire way through. . . . One of the HOTTEST series I have ever read!”
—Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads
“Absolutely intoxicating! . . . The perfect balance of intrigue, chemistry, raw sexuality, and supreme storytelling!”
—Hesperia Loves Books
“Can someone please hand me a chainsaw to cut this sexual tension?”
—Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
“A riveting story that you won’t want to put down.”
—Fiction Vixen
“Scrumptious, scandalous, and scorching. . . . Natalie and Sevastyan’s gloriously descriptive and deliciously detailed stolen and wildly illicit moments demanded an immediate re-read.”
—The Lusty Literate
“Turns up the heat—the hot, molten lava kind! Cole delivers erotica on a platter of orgasmic proportions.”
—Readaholics Anonymous
Steps of the Long Con (for experts only)
1. Identify your mark. Target for greed, dishonesty, criminality.
2. Foundation work. Investigate background, eliminate impediments, and assemble team.
3. The Meet. Orchestrate for a memorable first impression.
4. Integration. Insinuate yourself into the mark’s life.
5. The Pitch. Gradually make a desire known to the mark.
6. The Sacrifice. Surrender something of value, to deepen the mark’s trust.
7. The Crisis. Create a sense of urgency through an ultimatum. The mark must act now or lose the possibility forever.
8. The Snare. Manipulate the mark toward an irrevocable commitment.
“Desire is like chess.
Do whatever you must to achieve your endgame.”
—DMITRI SEVASTYAN, COMPUTER PRODIGY, SELF-MADE BILLIONAIRE
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“Cardinal rule of the con:
never, never, never fall for your mark.”
—VICTORIA VALENTINE, A.K.A. VICE, PROUD PRACTITIONER OF CONFIDENCE ARTS
CHAPTER 1
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“I know my fairy tales,” I told my cousin. “And there’s a beast up in that lair.” Pete and I stood on the spacious terrace of the Calydon Casino’s penthouse, peering at an even higher observation deck.
We were already so elevated, I felt as if we could reach up and graze the full moon.
“You’re calling Dmitri Sevastyan a beast now?” Pete’s expression was amused, the dark blue of his smiling eyes a contrast to his light blond hair. Like my sister and me, he got his coloring from my dad’s side of the family. “Even though you’ve never met him?”
“Yep.” The Sevastyans’ lavish party was in full swing—music boomed and hundreds of revelers crowded inside the enormous four-suite penthouse—yet Dmitri had sequestered himself up on that deck, apparently on his worst behavior. “And just like in the fairy tales, you plan to sacrifice this maiden.” Pete wanted me to go scope out the combative man.
“That’s crazy talk. Everybody knows you’re not a maiden.”
I punched his arm. “Funny guy.” I might as well be a maiden. My three notches hadn’t been worth it.
“And Dmitri isn’t a beast,” he said, adding, “Much. Hardly at all.”
Pete knew everything there was to know about the Sevastyan family. Well, everything a grifter could find out with choice sources. As the casino’s VIP host, he catered to the whims of his rich high rollers—our very own inside man.
I didn’t know how much juice he’d had to use to snag his plum position, but for weeks, we’d targeted the Calydon’s degenerate whales, mainly for blackmail.
; A curl escaped my up-do, and the warm August breeze made it flit around my face. “Since I started casing the deck, Dmitri’s chewed out a dozen women, sending them packing.”
Another group of hopefuls had ascended a few moments ago. Every female on the Strip seemed to have heard about this party—free food, free booze, and an eligible billionaire in attendance.
Pete shrugged his buff shoulders. I swore he was still growing at twenty-nine. “I’m not asking you to run game”—work a con—“on Dmitri. Just give me your take before we cut the Sevastyan crew loose for good.”
Half talent manager, half con coach, Pete had positioned me and my sister in the VIP lounge as cocktail servers/honey traps.
Toe the line, boys, or you’ll feel the sting.
Unfortunately, the three brothers, two wives, and one tagalong friend were toeing the line.
They didn’t ask for drugs, and their tastes didn’t run toward the illegal or immoral. Both of the married couples were devoted. In fact, the middle brother and his wife were here to celebrate their four-year wedding anniversary.
No dirt, no dinero; no sins, no in.
“Besides, you gotta get a looksee at Dmitri,” Pete said. “He’ll be the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on.” My sister Karin had said the same. She’d served the group drinks in the lounge last night.
“Even finer than his brothers?” I’d passed them in the penthouse, two built, black-haired hotties who’d been glued to their lovely wives.
“Much finer.” Pete made his eyes look guileless as he said, “Trust me.”
“Trust you?” Despite our circumstances, we had to share a chuckle. I could make my eyes guileless too, had learned that trick before I could even read with them.
Grated words sounded from the deck above as Dmitri chewed out the latest females who’d dared to breach his lair.
Not long after, a bevy of babes in vagina-length dresses flounced down the steps. They all talked at once. “What a prick!” “I don’t care how gorgeous he is; who says shit like that?” “Could he have been hotter? Or more insulting?”
I recognized Sharon, a bottle-service girl who lived in my apartment complex. The buxom brunette was no stranger to the grifter life herself.
Champagne flute in hand, she waved her friends onward toward the bar, then sashayed over to us; with her every step, her strapless red dress valiantly struggled to contain her rack.
She rose on her toes to kiss my cousin’s cheek and murmured with affection, “Petey Three Times.”
Grifter nicknames might be cliché, but Pete’s was spot-on. He was so good he could con you twice more, even if you caught him the first time. Also known as Re-Pete.
I’d gotten the nickname Vice as a baby. I’d earned my Cold-as-Ice designation from my family’s stock-investment schemes.
For years, we’d found men who wanted something for nothing, so we’d sold them nothing for something.
But those days were over. . . .
Pete smoothly said, “Sharon, you’re looking fabulous as ever.”
“Charmer.” She smoothed her hair, giving me a once-over. “Great dress, Vice. All classy.”
“Thanks, doll.” I’d made this white, one-shoulder drape a few months ago for a job. Tonight, my look was sexy good-girl, a change from my usual racy/alternative. My black nails were now nude, my glam makeup neutral. I’d exchanged my spike earrings for diamond—read cubic zirconia—studs and secured my long hair into an elegant knot. Instead of platform heels, I wore ankle-strap d’Orsay pumps.
Sharon sipped her flute. “You dress up for that Sebastian gull?” A gullible, anyone outside the grift.
“It’s actually with a V,” Pete said. “Suh-vast-yun.” Details were our job.
Sharon shrugged, her dress hanging on precariously. Her enhanced boobs dwarfed my 32Cs; she could legit carry drinks without a tray.
I always pictured her balancing martinis on her mammaries with circus music teed up. “No, not for him. I had a high roller on the line.” Wardrobe was critical in cons, and this look played to rich guys. My mark, Nigel, had approved. Until he’d inexplicably abandoned me in the Caly lobby a little while ago. “My con went south, so Pete invited me here.” To dig. These days, I wasn’t good for much else.
This honey trap might be stingerless.
“Looks like you’re having a shit week,” Sharon said. “I saw an eviction notice on your door.”
I lowered my voice to say, “I forgot my neck brace one freaking time.”
Pete’s blond brows rose. I hadn’t told him about my eviction, not with all my other recent failures.
“Happens to the best of us.” Sharon finished her champagne. “Two tears in a bucket; motherfuck it.”
I grinned. “I will never stop saying that saying.”
“How’d you hear about this party?” Pete asked her.
“Some crazy chick named Alicia or Jessica or something invited the entire Strip, telling everyone about a whale she’s trying to hook up. I came here to harpoon said whale. No dice. He actually told me, ‘I have a woman in mind for myself, and you are not her.’ Russians suck.”
Pete and I shared a look. We had a Russian KA, a known associate, who was like our grandfather.
“I’m gonna go find some real action. Ciao, babies.” Sharon blew air kisses as she rejoined her friends. Just before they headed inside, she yelled over her shoulder to Dmitri, “Go fuck yourself, Russki!”
When a tirade of Russian boomed out from above, I raised my brows at Pete. “Maybe he’s not interested in women. If Karin bombed with this guy . . .” Last night, he’d ignored my breathtaking sister as if she were invisible. “Maybe Dmitri’s gay.”
“I should be so lucky,” Pete said, a wistful note to his voice. “For a guy like that, I would turn honey trap in a heartbeat.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks, chief.” I would know. I was supposed to have run my first badger game tonight. In a badger, a honey trap would maneuver a married mark into a compromising position while an accomplice snapped photos and took video. Voilà, blackmail.
Nigel had been my ideal man—a hitched skirt-chaser with a cheating clause in his prenup, wandering hands, and a tan line on his ring finger. Tonight the older man’s watery gaze had beamed at the sight of me—right up until the moment he’d checked his phone, sputtered at whatever he’d read, then all but fled the casino.
My fifth busted con in a row. I was as superstitious as the next grifter and knew what this streak meant. “Pete, I’m pretty sure I’m jinxed.” And yet I would drag myself back to the VIP lounge tomorrow to troll for yet another sleazebag. It’d taken me three double-backs—sixteen-hour stints in stilettos—to scare up Nigel.
Pete said, “It could be the badger that’s giving you trouble, since it’s your first and all.”
“You’re making me sound like a noob.” Sure, every grifter had a specialty—mine had been those pump-and-dump stock cons—but a skilled confidence artist was versatile.
“Until you get your footing, you should help out with Karin’s kid another night or two a week, so she can close more. Just till we settle the debt.”
I blinked in disbelief. “We’re in the middle of a crisis, and you want me to babysit?” Not to mention that Mom and Dad would cage-fight me if I tried to limit their grandbaby time.
Pete scrubbed a palm over his handsome face. “Nigel should’ve been . . . well, he should’ve been low-hanging fruit.” In a grudging tone, he broke it to me straight: “Karin could’ve run him in her sleep.”
Ouch. Though one could definitely tell we were sisters, I was like a short, less-endowed indie version of her. At twenty-eight, she was all long-legged grace, confidence, and effortless sex-appeal; around men, if I didn’t concentrate, I could come across as standoffish—a kiss of death for a honey trap.
Pete rushed to say, “You’re an ace at cards, and your grift sense is the most honed of anybody I know. Your instincts in those stock schemes kept the lights on for the entire
family. But stocks are out forever.”
We’d conned the wrong people, and they wanted their money back—plus interest. “Our deadline is only twenty days away, and you’re benching me?” No wonder everyone had texted me encouragement tonight! Yet I’d failed to pluck the low-hanging fruit.
“It’s because the deadline’s on us.” He exhaled. “You’re wasting marks that Karin could close.” Over the last several weeks, she’d run a ton of lechers. She even had a two-timing congressman in the pipeline for tomorrow.
I hadn’t gotten a mark anywhere near our hidden-camera prop house.
Karin was my best friend, but sometimes I felt like screaming, “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”
In a softer tone, Pete said, “All you need is a little brushing up on your, you know, sexual manipulation skills, but we don’t have time right now.”
Sexual manipulation skills? Really? How did he think I got all those lowlifes to invest in our bogus stock deals?
By making sure they read my cleavage instead of the writing on the wall!
“When you’re not so exhausted, you’ll see where I’m coming from,” Pete said. “Why don’t you skip Dmitri and rest up?”
