Wicked Little Games - Book 1 (Little Games Duet)

by Dee Palmer

  “You know what I mean.” She sniffs dismissively.

  “I wish I didn’t.” I watch her lips pull into an impassive tight line. “She didn’t take the bracelet, Mother. I need to see her. I have to sort this out.”

  “And how are you going to do that, my darling? You have no passport, and until the investigation is quashed, you can’t leave the country.” She shakes her head lightly but wisely keeps her distance because her words aren’t what I want to hear right now.

  “I did before. I’ll be careful.”

  “You were reckless, and if you are caught, you’ll be in jail too. No, I won’t allow it. You’re uncle will sort the misunderstanding, but it will take time.”

  I curse, dragging a fretful hand through my hair as I feel the helplessness of my position begin to grip every part of me. My chest feels tight, blood rushes in my ears, and I swear my vision is tinged with a red mist.

  “Tia doesn’t have time. She needs me.”

  “Does she?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “She…look, it’s not important. Trust me, Atticus, you can’t help her.” My mother turns away, only to spin back when I yell.

  “Tell me!”

  “Fine, look…” She’s flustered, reaching into her bag and fishing around for something. She pulls a slim envelope and cautiously hands it to me, then steps back and around the other side of the table as if she needs a physical barrier. I feel a chill sweep my skin, and I have to shake the desire to rip more than the envelope to pieces. I open it and pull the papers free. My mother’s toxic words choke the air. “I was concerned about her influence over your grandfather, and I hired a private investigator to follow her. It took some time, but he took these pictures and there are transcripts of some of her conversations.”

  There are several photographs of Tia and a boy, a classmate, judging by the location. All are in and around her school, outside her art block and one outside the local pub. She told me she didn’t have friends, not real friends and certainly not anyone close. This guy is more than close.

  He has his arm around her waist and shoulder in several of the pictures, and the way she’s looking into his eyes is like a sucker punch to my chest. I’ve seen that look; I live for that look. I draw in a shaking breath, and my fingers are actually trembling when I slip the last photograph to the top. This one damn near tears my heart right out. He has her face cupped, lips smashed together.

  “I want the actual recordings. I want to hear them myself.’” I force the words through a jaw so tightly clamped, I feel like my teeth are about to crack. My eyes quickly scan the pages, the words are blurring with betrayal.

  “I will see if I still have them, but the point is she was cheating on you with this local boy and plotting to steal from us. What more evidence do you need?” She’s quick to dismiss my request with her own forgone conclusion.

  “I need to see to the girl I’ve loved for most of my life, that’s what I need!” I yell, and she jumps only to steady her self when my voice waivers.

  “Atticus, you have your own problems to deal with: the investigation and your engagement. Let me handle this little mess.” She softens her voice and steps toward me like you would a dangerous animal, a wounded dangerous animal.

  “I told you there isn’t going to be an engagement.” I drop the papers and photographs on the table, my hands braced on the table for support. My head hangs over the array of images and words that are destroying me.

  “That was before Tia broke your heart and stole from your family. Do you really want to throw everything away now?”

  “I…I don’t believe any of this. I need to see her.” I shake my head and let the tears blurring my vision fall.

  I never saw her. I couldn’t leave the country, and in all honesty, after looking at those pictures a million times, reading the transcripts, I was so damn angry I couldn’t see past the betrayal. My pride was battered, and my heart was fucking broken.

  I wrote to her, and she never replied, which I took it as a tacit admission of her guilt. Why else wouldn’t she answer my questions? Why didn’t she call? She fucking owed me an explanation, and I got nothing. I loved her so much, and hated her so much more. Still, when the trial came, I didn’t want her to go to prison. I offered a statement in her defence. It didn’t help. I had done all I could, and then I walked away.

  Two years ago, I found out the truth. It was too late, far too fucking late. She was already out on parole, gone off the grid. Then, out of the blue, she shows up on the Kruse payroll, just as millions of pounds disappears. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I do believe in motive. And the only thing I could see in that police cell was my second chance. Besides, what’s another hundred million?

  I rest my palms on the handrail of the bridge and watch a glass top river cruiser full of tourists chug up the river and vanish beneath me and out toward the eastern docks and the Millennium Dome and Thames barrier. The muffled sound of the recorded commentary mingles with the constant mid level white noise of passing traffic and pedestrians. I try to clear my head of all the possibilities and focus on one thing at a time. My only problem is I can’t focus on anything other than her and that is a big fucking problem. I know if I was her, the first chance I got I would be hell bent on revenge, but she was never like me, was being the operative word. I glance at my watch, and although it’s only been maybe fifteen minutes, I push off the railing and start to walk back to the apartment. It was stupid to leave her alone. I should’ve known better; I do know better. I pick up my pace to a light jog, my long strides eating up the distance until I am taking some calming breaths in the lift.

  The doors open, and I release my held breath and actually chuckle from relief. The music is still blaring and looking at the mess still on the kitchen floor I doubt Tia even knew I’d left.

  I walk to my office door and quickly check the entry system for any breach and relax a little more when my suspicions are quashed at no sign of forced entry.

  I turn when the music gets louder. Tia’s head pokes around the open crack of the door.

  “What would you like for dinner?” I ask, closing my office door behind me and searching her face for any sign of…what? Guilt? I almost laugh out loud. There’s only one person who should be wearing that cap, and she isn’t standing before me. Tia gives a noncommittal shrug and is about to shut the door.

  “Homemade pizza?” I offer and watch her freeze. The memory hits just as hard as I hoped. Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the door, and she briefly closes her eyes. When she looks back at me, a tentative smile ghosts her perfect lips, and I have to fight my own smile to avoid scaring her away. Yes!

  “I’d really like that, Cass.” Her soft voice is like a balm and a shot of pure electricity at the same time. My heart jolts. She steps into the corridor, glancing over her shoulder before padding silently toward the kitchen. We always made pizza together. Always.

  “Logan!” I call out as I slam the front door and walk to the bottom of the sweeping staircase. I tried to call his cell phone and the landline, but he wasn’t picking up, and I have a riot of nervous knots in my tummy that something might be wrong. I don’t know why. It’s not like he always picks up when I call. It’s just things are shifting and changing so fast, I can’t help the rising levels of anxiety. I fucking hate anxiety. I take one step on the first rung and scream with shock when I find myself lifted high into the air. Logan spins me mid-air and catches my hips, only to drop me over his shoulder with a groan-inducing thud. He slaps his large hand on my arse and heads off, taking the stairs two at a time and winding me with every step.

  “Logan, what the hell! Put. Me. Down!” I grunt with each stride, clenching my tummy to brace and at the same time trying to breathe. I attempt to gain some stability on his naked arse, which although it is mighty fine and firm, doesn’t give me much to hold on to. Not like a pair of sweatpants, jeans, or even some boxer briefs might.

  “All in good time, angel, all in g
ood time.” This time, he lifts the hem of my skirt and starts to nibble the soft flesh at the top of my thigh right around to the curve of my cheek. I drop my head and let out a tortured moan. Oh, that mouth. The stubble on his face must at least be a whole week gone from the feel of the long soft hairs. God, I bet he looks feral packing a full beard. He leans back briefly and tilts his weight, kicking the door to my bedroom flying. I’m so wet right now, he’s probably got a damp patch on his shoulder. I squeal when he drops me from shoulder height onto the soft bouncy bed. I am just about to burst into a fit of giggles when his eyes scorch the humour right out of me. He doesn’t look feral; he looks lethal.

  Deep chocolate coloured eyes swirl and shimmer with flecks of gold and onyx and bore right through me. Searing heat courses through my veins like he has ignited an inferno inside me with just that look. I’m burning up, and when my eyes trail the length of his body, I swear I’m going to combust. His broad chest heaves with deep steady breaths, and each perfectly sculpted muscle on his abdomen ripples with the movement. His strong arms and muscular thighs could be carved from golden granite, they look so solid. Ultimate perfection. The icing for me is the spattering of dark hair in the perfect happy trail. Not that my eyes needed guiding to the goal, not when his impressive rock solid erection is all but dominating this sexy-as-all-hell view.

  He reaches under my skirt and rips my panties down my legs in one smooth move, taking my pumps off at the same time.

  “Spread your legs, baby.” The words rumble from deep in his chest and sound like he’s been chewing on gravel all night. My skin instantly prickles with a million goosebumps. I pull my knees up and out, watching his eyes darken as I slowly obey his command.

  “Wider,” he growls. The word is a soft whisper, though, and I smile at the way his cock twitches every time I move. “Show me how wet you are for me.” Holy shit! That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m pretty sure he can now see exactly how wet I am. Pretty sure I’m dripping on my bedcovers. “God, you’re beautiful.” He exhales, and I melt. I love the way his filthy words can make my jaw drop, just as much as those sweet ones make my heart swell.

  “Touch yourself.”

  “What?”

  “I know from the colour of your cheeks you heard me just fine, angel. Do I really need to repeat myself?” He palms his cock, and I can see from the tension in his jaw that this is causing him some sort of agony. I don’t know if I’m feeling mortified at the thought of such a private act or so turned on I can’t get my hand there quick enough. I opt for a slow hand, as that seems to make Logan stiffen in all the right places. I lightly trace my finger down the centre of my body, over my skirt, which is gathered at my waist, and I hesitate, only for a second, when I reach my tiny landing strip of hair. I shiver and suck in a sharp breath. My back arches a little with anticipation. I watch his eyes widen as I slide two fingers along my slick, wet centre. I tilt my hips and push into the bed with the ripple of pleasure washing over my body at my light touch.

  “How do you taste?”

  “How do I…oh.” I let out the last word with an elongated sigh and an understanding tone. My mouth is dry, and wetting my lips makes him swallow thickly. His eyes are hawklike on my every move, raking over every inch of my body. He’s definitely enjoying the show. I push my fingers in a little deeper before pulling them out and lifting them to my mouth.

  “Good girl.” His skin seems to glow with perspiration, and the raw lust and desire radiating off him is intoxicating. It’s empowering, I’m doing that to him. “Holy fucking shit, Tia.” His groan is a guttural, manly sound that makes my tummy do flips and makes my toes curl.

  “Here, I saved some.” I hold my wet fingers out, and he swoops to devour them, scraping any trace of me off with his teeth.

  “Needs a little salt.” His eyes flash with a sexy mix of deviance and mischief. He stalks up my body, licking and nipping anywhere there’s a soft piece of flesh he can get between his teeth. Even through my clothes, I can feel his incendiary touch. He holds his body millimetres from mine, his heavy cock resting at my aching entrance. I whimper at the nearness, and he grins.

  “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you, Tia. You’re everything, you know that?” His words tumble from his perfect mouth, and the sincerity and truth hit me hard. I feel winded all over again.

  “I feel the same, Logan. I love you.” I place my hand on his cheek, then tuck the hair that’s falling across his face behind his ear. It’s the only time I don’t like the length of his hair, when it’s covering his handsome face. His eyes flash with something I wish I didn’t recognise—worry. But about what exactly, I couldn’t guess. At this point in time, there are just too many variables.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Whaaa…oh …ah, God, yes!” Any rational thoughts of concern regarding his vagueness are gone the second he drives into me. Powerful precision, perfectly aimed to distract me, no doubt, but it works. I can’t breathe, let alone think straight. He’s everywhere, moving inside me, filling every part of me. His hands caress and tease, skimming my body and leaving a wake of heated prickles. He pulls my body this way and that; we roll and tumble, grasping at each other. He tears my clothes from my body with an urgency that borders on aggressive, and I’m just trying to get to as much of him as is physically possible. I want everything he has to give. I want him.

  He rolls onto his back, and I take a moment to catch my breath and sit up when he breaks the kiss. My hands rest on his chest, and his hands settle on my aching, heavy breasts, his thumbs working the tingly pointy parts like a pro.

  “Ride me, baby, take what you need, and give me what I want.”

  “What you want?”

  “Your pleasure…I want all your pleasure. I want you to come so hard on my cock that I can’t help myself from exploding inside you. I want you full of me, now, tomorrow, always.” He couldn’t be clearer if he was burning my skin with a branding iron. The primal need to mark me as his runs deep and strong, like a life force, through him. I can see it in his eyes and feel it in his every touch, so what did he mean when he said, ‘we’ll see’? The thought is barely there a second when it’s forced from my head with a shooting bolt of pleasure.

  “Oh, oh, God, Logan that’s so deep!” Logan sits up and pulls me down onto his cock with a jerk. He’s buried so deep, even as he holds us completely immobile, I can feel every twitch, every pump of blood through the thick veins throbbing inside me.

  “Stay with me, Tia.” His voice is strained and husky. I couldn’t be anywhere else if I wanted, and I don’t want to be. I want him.

  “I am, every inch of you.” I grind and secure my arms under his so I am holding his shoulders from the back, locked and ready. I start to roll my hips, and the movement flows up through my body like a gentle wave lapping the shore. We writhe together. It’s almost instant, the first spark of pleasure igniting at the base of my spine. I can’t move fast since we’re anchored so tightly together, and he’s in control of the hold and gripping me to him like I am some sort of lifeline.

  Still, the depth of penetration and pressure is so fucking perfect, I start to tremble with the impending climax as it starts to take hold of every nerve ending in my body. Flashes of pure pleasure rip up the length of my spine, shooting an explosion through me like New Year’s Eve fireworks on the Thames; igniting every cell and where all I see are bright lights, shooting stars and I quake to the thunderous tremors consuming every part of me . My body takes over, climbing higher and higher.

  “Look at me, angel.” My eyes fly open; I’m more than a little dazed from my high and I didn’t realise I had them so tightly shut. The slickness from my climax is worked and spread from where we’re connected and is now it’s on the tip of his finger between my arse cheeks, swirling in a pleasant motion. I feel the pressure pushing inside my back hole, a single digit. I clench down, which feels all kinds of strange and good. “Relax, baby, feel me, feel all of me.” He works his finger inside, pressing ag
ainst the tight ring of muscles and against his cock. It’s too much.

  “Oh, fuck!” I cry out, as every muscle in my body seizes, and I gasp in a silent scream of unbelievable ecstasy. Logan’s other hand moves to my hips since I am frozen in some sort of euphoric catatonic state. My vision is hazy, but I can see him looking into my eyes the whole time he continues to move my body where he needs, chasing his release.

  “God, Tia, you feel so fucking amazing.” I feel his warm pants on my lips like a caress just before he crashes his mouth to mine. I swallow the groan of pleasure he releases into my mouth, smiling against his soft lips as he pulls us both to lie back on the bed in a sated heap of tangled limbs and sweaty bodies.

  We lay entwined, my leg resting over his hip, his cock still pretty sizeable and solid, considering I can still feel how much he came running down my thigh. He hasn’t opened his eyes in twenty minutes. He’s not asleep, I’ve slept with him as a friend many, many times, so I know when he’s just resting, and this is one of those times. I haven’t taken my eyes from his peaceful face. He’s so beautiful, inside and out. I can’t for the life of me think why Ghost would say what she said. The notion that Logan would kill me is ridiculous. It would be funny if it wasn’t so unnerving coming from her. How could she possibly make a claim like that? Based on what? She doesn’t know him. I’ve lived with him, and there is not an ounce of killer in this gentle giant. He might be a little damaged, but who am I to judge that? And it’s not a problem, not for me, not for us.

  Even if it was, we’re together now, and we’ll handle anything, together.

  Ghost may be a lot of things, but I know she wouldn’t shack me up with a murderer just because he has really, really good wifi.

  Still, I hate that she has me doubting. I trust her more than anyone, mostly because she couldn’t lie if her life depended on it. She told me in our very first conversation that telling the whole truth was a particular personality trait or flaw in her case. It was all part and parcel of her type of autism. It’s how we ended up serving time together, not because of her autism but because she confessed to her crime. Regardless of every other problem she has, that she has my back. It’s not that I don’t trust Logan, I do; it’s just different. Ghost knows everything.