Playing Dirty

by Tiffany Snow

  “Now lock your elbows,” he said. “Or else I can just overpower you, like this.” He pushed against me until my arms gave out and his chest rested against mine.

  Our gazes caught and I couldn’t look away, their blue so deep and clear and framed by thick lashes I’d kill for.

  He froze, too. Against my will, my body relaxed, sending a message I had no business sending. My hips cradled his and my hands on his shoulders drifted to his arms, the biceps hard and flexed underneath my fingers. His response was immediate, pressing between my legs against my core. Arousal had danced in my veins since we’d started this whole thing, and now it flared to life.

  “You’re not fighting me,” he said in a low voice.

  I scrambled for what to say. “I, um, I guess I’m just tired.” Which would’ve been a totally valid excuse … if my voice hadn’t sounded take-me-to-bed-or-lose-me-forever.

  Parker’s eyes darkened and his gaze dropped to my mouth. He was hard between my legs and I was enjoying the feel of him way too much.

  “We should go,” I blurted. “Or we’ll be late to that-that fundraiser … thing.”

  His eyes met mine again and for a moment he didn’t respond. Then he was suddenly on his feet and pulling me up off the floor in one smooth move.

  “I’m going to shower,” he said. “My tux is in the car. I’ll change at your place. Give me ten minutes, okay? Don’t go anywhere without me.”

  My head was spinning from the abrupt change in topic and what had just happened. “Um, yeah, okay.”

  He waited a beat, his eyes searching mine for … I didn’t know what. I smiled brightly.

  “Thanks for the lesson, by the way,” I said. “It was, uh, really helpful. I hope I never have to use any of that stuff.” I gave a halfhearted laugh.

  But Parker didn’t smile back. “Me too.”

  I watched as he disappeared into the men’s locker room before hightailing it to the women’s to get dressed in my work clothes again. I didn’t bother with the nylons and was waiting for Parker only a couple of minutes before he came back out. This time he had damp hair and smelled like soap and fresh cologne. He’d put his slacks and shirt back on, but hadn’t bothered with the jacket or tie, and he carried a duffel bag.

  “Let’s go,” he said, glancing at his watch.

  He drove us to my apartment and by now it was full dark. I had a good hour before the fundraiser started, but knew it would take every minute of that time to get ready. So I hit the door running.

  “Make yourself at home,” I said, dropping my purse and coat on the kitchen table. “I’ll hurry.”

  “Take your time,” he said. “Fashionably late works for me.” He’d brought in a garment bag that I assumed held his tux.

  I showered in record time and blew my hair dry. I needed to figure out what I was wearing before I did my makeup, so I stepped out of the bathroom … only to stop short at the sight of Parker standing in my bedroom.

  He was dressed in his tux and stood with his back to me in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom. I was suddenly glad I’d taken the time to make my bed this morning.

  He must’ve heard me because he turned around and I was abruptly aware that I was still wrapped in a peach towel.

  Parker cleared his throat and took a few steps toward me. “I was messing with this tie,” he said with a sheepish grimace. “Bow ties don’t like me.”

  That’s when I noticed the length of black silk around his neck. It was obvious he’d tried tying it several times as the fabric was slightly wrinkled.

  “I can do it,” I said automatically, reaching up to take the fabric between my fingers. That’s when I realized what a bad idea that was.

  Being so close to him wearing nothing but a towel was trouble waiting to happen, but it wasn’t like I could back out now. I ignored the way he was watching me and prayed he wouldn’t look down to see my breasts about to pop out above the towel. Concentrating, I began tying, the loops and method drilled into me by my mother, who thought that “all ladies should know how to properly knot a man’s tie.”

  “You smell nice,” he said. “New perfume?”

  I avoided his gaze. “Yes, I wear something different at night than during the day.”

  “I like it.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

  I jumped, startled, when his hands rested on my hips.

  “What are you going to wear tonight?” he asked.

  “Um, I’m not sure,” I said, my voice much too high. Almost done with the tie …

  “I’d say wear that, but I’d get in too many fights for the way men would look at you.”

  His words were low and roughened and went straight through me. I felt like there was a vise around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I finished the tie, knotted perfectly, and glanced up at him with a tight smile.

  “Yeah, I’d look pretty ridiculous showing up wearing just a towel.”

  But he didn’t laugh. Instead, he leaned down and put his lips at my ear.

  “Please tell me there’s nothing but skin underneath this.” His grip tightened on the fabric covering my hips.

  “It doesn’t matter because you won’t see it,” I retorted, irritated at him for touching me, and myself for my reaction. I should take a step back, but I didn’t.

  “I already have,” he murmured, his mouth still near my ear. “Remember?”

  Ah. He was talking about when I’d been falling-down drunk in New York and had decided to take a bath, a predilection of mine when I was three sheets to the wind.

  “I try not to,” I said.

  “I can’t forget it.” His breath was warm against my skin, his nose nuzzling my hair.

  My eyes fluttered closed at the touch, then flew open. Covering his hands with mine, I pulled them off me and took a step back.

  “Me coming out here in a towel wasn’t a come-on,” I said stiffly. “Don’t treat it as such.”

  His expression shuttered. “I never said it was.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you just so you can get back at Ryker for not believing you all those years ago,” I continued, laying it on the line. “And you’re not going to convince me your sudden interest isn’t all about that and not about us.”

  I spun around and hightailed it back to the bathroom before I lost my nerve. Locking the door behind me, I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

  “This is bad,” I whispered to myself. Because I couldn’t deny it. As much as I cared about Ryker and felt like our relationship was growing … my heart was still tied to Parker. And I didn’t know how to cut the strings.

  * * *

  We weren’t late … very. Just enough so that a few heads turned as we walked in. I held my head high and pretended I belonged at Parker’s side.

  Since he was wearing a tux, I’d chosen a black gown with long sleeves—handy for covering the stitches on my arm—which sounded boring. But it was made with sheer and Lycra netting with geometric embroidery. So the neckline plunged and the sides were cut out, sheer netting holding the dress onto my body. It was backless despite the long sleeves, cutting into a deep V down my lower back. It was classy and sexy all at once. I’d put my hair up to show off the back of the dress to full advantage.

  When I’d stepped out of my bedroom, Parker had gone utterly still.

  “Is this okay?” I’d asked, nervous when he hadn’t said anything. I vividly remembered his disapproval of the cocktail dress I’d worn in New York.

  “You look … I have no words,” he’d said, which had made me smile. “No, wait. Yes, I do. Beautiful. Sophisticated. Elegant. Sexy as hell.”

  I was still riding high on the glow those compliments had produced as Parker walked us around the hotel ballroom. There had to be at least five hundred people there and I sipped sparingly on the champagne a passing waiter had given me, not wanting to have a fuzzy head when Parker was counting on me to help him remember our clients.

 
“So anyone famous here?” I asked in between greeting people.

  Parker laughed lightly. “Doubtful,” he said. “And you’d probably recognize them before I would.” Which was true. He rarely paid attention to popular culture, whereas I could rattle off who was dating who in Hollywood quicker than I could recite the alphabet.

  He spotted someone who raised their hand in greeting.

  “Who’s that?” he asked in an undertone as we headed that way.

  I searched my brain. “Lucas Miller and his wife Shelly,” I said. “He used to be the CFO for Bradley Investments. Then he quit for a comparable job at KCG. Rumor was he was having an affair with the boss’s wife.” I finished in a whisper just as we stopped in front of the couple.

  “Lucas, so good to see you,” Parker said, shaking the man’s hand. “How are things at KCG?”

  We chatted with them a little—“How’s your oldest? Isn’t he starting at Stanford?”—then moved on. Parker knew most of those who approached us, but occasionally needed a reminder.

  “She’s the marketing analyst for Dugen & Little,” I said, nodding toward a woman standing in a group a few feet away. “Renee Jones. Her husband William is retired, paints in his spare time and fancies himself the next Van Gogh.”

  “Renee, what a pleasure to see you again,” Parker greeted her. “And William, how’s the painting going?”

  I could tell by the smile on Renee’s face and the way that William launched into an animated description of his latest work that it had been a nice touch, asking about the painting.

  And so it went. It felt a little like a high school pop quiz, but I passed with flying colors. By the time Parker was seating me at dinner, I’d allowed myself a whole glass of champagne and was starting on my second.

  In the back of my mind, I worried about Ryker. What he was doing and if he was safe. It gnawed at me and my helplessness was frustrating.

  “Parker Anderson. It’s been a while.”

  I turned to see a man standing behind me, shaking hands with Parker. Tall and broad, he had dirty blond hair, green eyes, and a strong jaw. His smile was easy and pleasant, and I nailed him for a politician instantly.

  “Senator, yes, it’s good to see you,” Parker said. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

  “I try to help out party candidates when I can,” the man said, glancing down at me.

  “This is my assistant, Sage,” Parker said. “Sage, this is Senator Kirk.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I replied with a smile.

  “Likewise.”

  Now that the smile was turned my way, I could see the appeal he had to have for voters. He looked as all-American as it was possible to be. Trustworthy, honorable, courageous … all adjectives I could easily see describing him. And I didn’t detect the bullshit factor that politicians usually exuded despite themselves.

  “Would you care to join us?” Parker asked, but the senator shook his head.

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I’m heading home for a quick visit—checking in on my new nephew and sister-in-law while my brother’s out of town—then it’s back to D.C.”

  “Excellent. How old is he?”

  “Three months,” he said. “It’s their first.”

  “I hope she’s doing well then. Best wishes to her, and you,” Parker said.

  “Thank you, I appreciate it. She seemed to be managing … last time I spoke with her.” Something flickered in his eyes at that, so briefly I thought I must have imagined it. Then he turned to me.

  “A pleasure meeting you, Sage.” He smiled again, gave Parker a nod, then he was gone.

  Parker took the seat next to me. “I didn’t think I’d see him here.”

  “Haven’t you donated to his campaign before?” I asked, remembering a listing on one of his accounts.

  He nodded. “He’s a good man, and God knows there are precious few of those in Washington.”

  “Is he married?”

  Parker eyed me. “No, why? Did you like him?”

  Was that a jealous note in his voice? Good gravy. I rolled my eyes and let it drop. Men.

  Dinner was good and the dessert especially. I savored the flourless chocolate torte, popping a raspberry in my mouth and chasing it with more champagne. Parker was talking to the man seated next to him and I eyed the untouched raspberries on his plate, wondering if he’d notice if I snagged one.

  He glanced at me, his lips curving slightly as he talked. Picking up the pristine raspberry, he offered it to me. I reached for it, but he moved it beyond my grasp. Glancing quizzically at him, I saw him watching me, his conversation at an end as the man was now talking to his companion.

  He offered the raspberry to me again and I could tell by the wicked gleam in his eye what he wanted. My eyes narrowed and I’d had just enough booze to lean forward and wrap my lips around the red fruit.

  Parker’s eyes darkened as my tongue touched his fingers. He brushed my lips ever so lightly, then I leaned back in my chair. The juice of the raspberry exploded on my tongue and my gaze was locked with Parker’s.

  The strains of a waltz filled the room and Parker stood and took my hand, drawing me to my feet.

  “Dance with me.”

  I shouldn’t.

  But the words didn’t come and I found myself on the dance floor in Parker’s arms. We said nothing as he swirled me around, and I tried not to think. I wanted to enjoy the moment—a moment that had never been before and would likely never come again.

  His arms were strong and solid, the scent of his cologne a lingering aroma that surrounded me. The touch of his hand was low on the exposed skin of my back, his fingers trailing up and down my spine. I couldn’t look away from his eyes, the blue deep enough to drown in.

  “We should go,” he said after we’d danced to an endless stream of music.

  I glanced around, realizing that the place was clearing out of people. “Yeah, sure,” I said, my face flushing. I’d gotten a little too wrapped up in the dancing.

  The valet brought around his car and Parker held the door for me as I slid inside.

  “Thanks for coming with me tonight,” Parker said as he drove.

  “Mmmm,” I replied, leaning my head back on the seat. I was pleasantly warm and in a good mood, my mind finally quiet. Worry for Ryker nagged at me, but I tried to ignore it. I watched Parker, the dim glow from the dash casting his face in light and shadows.

  His lips twisted slightly and he reached across to take my hand in his. It was sweet and nice and I didn’t pull away.

  We ended up at my apartment and Parker took the keys from me to unlock the door. He checked out the inside while I stood in the kitchen.

  “So what’s your plan if someone had been in here?” I asked him when he returned. “You don’t have a gun on you.”

  “Don’t I?” he asked.

  Hmm.

  “But I guess with those moves you were pulling on Mac, you might not need a gun.”

  He stopped in front of me and I had to lean back to look him in the eye.

  “You liked the moves?” he teased, bracing a shoulder against the same wall I was propping up.

  “Pretty badass,” I said with a shrug. No need to overdo it. Parker’s ego didn’t need stroking.

  The sound of a key in the lock had me turning toward the door in time to see Ryker walk in.

  Surprise and relief flooded me and I flew at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His in turn circled my waist, holding me tight.

  “You said you couldn’t come tonight,” I said, worry surging again with a vengeance. “Is everything okay?”

  “No, everything’s not okay,” he said grimly.

  I leaned back so I could look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  But he didn’t answer that; instead he frowned, his hands moving from my waist up my back. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “I told you I had a work thing tonight,” I said, moving back so his arms dropped to his sides. I wondered what my dress had to do with a
nything, and I hadn’t liked the tone of his voice.

  The buzz of Parker’s cell phone interrupted us.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I said, lowering my voice as Parker answered.

  “What the hell do you want?” The tight fury in Parker’s voice caught my attention and I glanced over at him. “Go to hell.”

  My jaw dropped and I took an unconscious step toward him. Who in the world was he talking to?

  Parker’s head whipped around toward the windows.

  “Incoming!”

  Before I could figure out what that meant, Parker yanked me down to the floor in one smooth move, his body flattening on top of mine. Ryker reacted to Parker’s shout instantly, dropping the same as Parker had. I opened my mouth to ask them what was going on, and that’s when all hell broke loose.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A hailstorm of gunfire shattered my windows and I screamed. Parker moved his body to lie even more fully atop mine, smashing me into the carpet, his arms and chest covering my head.

  It seemed to go on forever, endless bullets whizzing by above us and shattering everything. A cacophony of glass and porcelain, stoneware and wood, all being destroyed. My entire apartment was disintegrating around me, and the only thing protecting me from being ripped apart, too, was Parker.

  At last it ended, as suddenly as it began. I was so terrified, I was sure I was about to pee my pants. Was I okay? Was Parker? And Ryker? Oh God, what if one of them was hurt? What if both of them were hurt?

  “Sage. Sage, are you okay?” Parker’s voice in my ear. He was alive. He’d lifted off me slightly and I could breathe easier.

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I managed to rasp. I twisted, trying to get out from underneath him. I had to check on Ryker, but felt Parker’s palm on the back of my head. “Stay down,” he ordered.

  “But Ryker—”

  “I’m fine,” Ryker said. “You two all right?”

  “Yeah,” Parker answered.

  “Let’s get out of here. I’ll cover you; get her in the hall.”

  Parker didn’t reply but his arm moved to wrap around my waist, lifting me as he crawled toward the door, which was half hanging from its hinges. Ryker stayed behind, weapon in hand and his eyes trained on the view outside the broken windows, but we made it to the hallway without any more gunfire. Then Parker was on his feet and lifting me up to set me on mine.