“And I’m about to ask you to walk right back in on him.” He spun, his fingers clumping into his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with me.”
“Absolutely nothing,” I said, sharper now. “You seem to keep forgetting, I’m not your little puppy. I’m doing all this because I want to.”
Theo rounded on me. “How could you want something like that? Or choose to return to a situation where your attempted killer is known to hang out?”
“You mean, what the fuck is wrong with me?” I stepped so close, my toes hit the tips of his shoes. “Why don’t you just ask what you wanna ask, Sax. Like, how am I so screwed up that I’m right back in the situation that nearly killed me? Or, why is it I’m so mental that you were forced to reveal yourself at the sake of getting arrested? Of contacting an FBI agent in order to trap me? Of doing all the things that expose you, because your ex-girlfriend can’t seem to get her act together—”
“Those are your issues, not mine,” he snarled. “I’m only here to get my brother back to my father, as requested.”
I reeled, anger popping like a soap bubble. I was nothing but a task at hand. I needed to remember that. “How can you be so…?”
“Cruel? Because telling me you got that bullet wound willingly is like me saying I got this”—he indicated the scar on his face—“because I volunteered for it.”
“How did you get it?”
Theo balked, as if he were readying for my retort but received honest concern instead. I was surprised at myself, since I’d much rather spar with an opponent than try to understand them. But this was Theo. My former Theo. And he was hurt, when I wasn’t there and stopped looking for him, when I’d given up. Somehow, that added a layer of guilt to my anger, in the way that during these years, I assumed I was the only one who suffered, and how utterly wrong that was.
You still love him because he’s broken.
Brows pulled in, I dismissed the thought.
“I…” His lips pressed together, jaw hard.
“Was it Trace? Did he do that to you?”
Theo remained silent, but I caught the almost imperceptible movement of his chin to the side.
“It was your father,” I said.
“It’s nothing for you to be concerned over,” he said, and it shouldn’t have, but the dismissal hurt.
“Why? What happened?”
“I told you. Don’t worry about it.”
“Talk to me, Sax.”
“Scarlet,” he warned.
“Do you think I’d consider you weak if you told me?”
Theo had been staring at something behind me, refusing any sort of contact. But, the instant I asked the question, his eyes clinked against mine.
I should have heeded his warning.
He strode forward and tangled his fingers with mine, still gripping the towel.
“My scar is apparent every time you look at me,” he said. “Yours isn’t. You can’t know what that’s like.”
Unblinking, I pushed his hands away. And dropped the towel.
He hissed in a breath.
“I changed my mind,” I said, watching how he roamed, a panther stalking its territory. “Stare all you want.”
“This is how I want you,” he said, though it was gravelly. Not his natural voice at all. “Naked and standing.”
Somehow, I felt strengthened, despite being in my birthday suit while he was fully clothed. Standing straighter, my quickened breaths heaving my breasts, I was empowered in front of him. Not on the floor, not folded up into a protective ball. Standing, as me. A natural brunette.
A scarred woman.
“Take my clothes off,” he said.
I grasped his suit jacket and pulled it down, locking his biceps in place. Then I unbuttoned his shirt as he heaved out his breaths, chin down, mouth parted, those crystalized blue eyes watching my every move. Gripping the sides, I peeled his shirt open, untucking the flaps and exposing the deep V of his pelvic muscles.
The belt was next. I unbuckled it within the electrified silence and pulled it loose in a smooth arc. Button, zipper, peel. I shoved his pants down and he stepped out, and after I released his arms from the lock of the blazer, he assisted with the rest. But it was smooth, unhurried, and had me pausing. I expected Theo to take me, to throw me against the bathroom tiles or prop me against the sink and thrust. My body ached for it.
Instead, he offered his hand and guided me into the glass-walled shower.
He twisted the faucet. Almost like a waltz, he had us change positions, my back to the spray. Ever so gently, he tipped my chin up, then combed his fingers into my hair, stroking, coaxing the color to leave in dark rivulets down my body and pool at my feet before disappearing down the drain.
Theo’s massage had me closing my eyes, giving in to his tender touch. When I reopened, droplets had collected in his eyelashes and put a shine to his lips. In the lackluster lighting, his scar seemed to disappear, just like mine had, as he continued to comb and stroke. Still, he made no moves to press me to him, to feel his erection, to do anything other than simply be sweet.
I lifted to my toes, nuzzling against the stubble on his jawline, closing my eyes again as he finished washing out my hair.
A man like this wasn’t supposed to know how to be kind.
These moments were too tender. These seconds too special. They would turn into the kind of memories that had the power to ruin everything.
I landed on the soles of my feet.
Grasping his chin, hard, I threw him off-balance enough to step closer. Yet, I stopped the propulsion mere millimeters from my lips.
“Control, Theo,” I murmured. “Do you have it?”
He allowed enough time for one quick breath. “Fuck, no.”
Theo’s mouth slammed against mine.
18 Fingering Cucumbers
Theo’s body was a water slick against my fingers, but I hopped on the slide, gliding down the ridges of muscle, the hard lines of him satin beneath my touch. The spray of the shower washed over our faces, pooled against our lips, but my tongue was only wet from him. He tilted me to the side, kissing me with tongue.
My arms wound their way around his neck while his traveled down my torso, met my hips, and lifted my thigh, balancing it between the glass partition and his body.
I felt him between my legs, the stiffness of his against mine, but he didn’t demand access and instead drew out the tease.
“Please…” I breathed.
“Tell me you want it.”
I told myself to exhale through the swell, the ache of having him near, but not near enough. “I…”
“Admit you want me.”
“I’ve…”
He lingered near my opening, the tip of him stroking, tempting, a temperance of demand where, if he didn’t make a move already, I was going to take his dick and ride him on my own terms.
“Stop fucking around, Sax.” I sounded out of breath, though I hadn’t even exerted the effort of lifting my own leg.
“That’s exactly what I aim to do, but you need to ask for it.”
“You know I want this.”
“You want me inside you.”
“Yes, Sax.”
“Say it. Say my name.”
“Sax!”
“Wrong one.” Theo pulled back, the shower’s tears trickling down his nose, bringing his hair flat against his forehead until he flicked it back. His stubble glittered, his lips so dewy I wanted to suck on them like my favorite cherry lollipop.
“Goddamn you,” I said. “Theo. I want you, Theo. I’ve always wanted you. I haven’t had anyone since you.”
That admittance, though completely unplanned, had his pupils flaring, his growl of dominance echoing within the shower walls. His irises had gone dark, the grey-blue of an incoming coastal storm.
“Don’t you dare stop now,” I breathed out.
We’re making a mistake.
I staunched the conscious thought, giving into my subconscious need instead. For him. For Theo, the
man who’d left a second hole in my heart and made no promises to fill it up again. And I showed it by gripping his neck and pulling him back.
Theo released his hold—so briefly I barely felt when he used two fingers to part me—but God, I felt it when he plunged.
The wall tiles were ice against my back at the slam, the hot and cold of the mixing temperatures culminating into my voice-filled gasp drenching the air between us.
He lifted my hips, positioning so he could have the deepest access, and I torqued my head back, drowning from the pleasure of having him fill me. The shortness of breath I felt could have been from the water cascading over my mouth until his lips covered mine. Theo’s fingers tangled at the back of my neck, the white noise of the shower doing little to disguise his moans and my cries.
“Theo, I’m going to…”
Theo brought his mouth near my ear, his head dipping with passion and landing near my collarbone. “Not until I want you to.”
He pulled back, emptying the space between us, and before I could voice my disapproval, he spun us on the wet stone floor, throwing me off enough so that my hands slammed against the shower wall, and entered me from behind.
“Oh … yes,” I said when he hit my G-spot, my palms skidding across the tiles. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
His smacks became pounds, and he palmed my ass, squeezed, before yelling out and thrusting as deep as he’d ever gone.
Both of us, in tandem, yelled out our orgasms, muscles in my thighs twanging and releasing, a flow of pleasure I hadn’t felt in years, since him, replenishing my bloodstream, awakening the woman lying dormant inside, her sexual prowess released with a wave of true, ultimate pleasure.
Theo’s hands cupped my waist, the water doing nothing to prevent the bruising that would surely show the imprints of his fingers. Theo’s marks of passion on me, indicating the ecstasy both of us received, was not something I remembered missing until the instant his grip released.
In pure cliché, my legs turned to jello without his steadying hands. I straightened, but shoulder-bumped into the wall, breathing heavy, lids so low Theo’s movements were mere flickering shadows in my vision.
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “That was…”
Amazing.
But I said nothing, catching my breath and my balance in the moments it was taking him to come back to reality.
His chest rose and fell, Theo’s body receiving all of the spray, a sparkling dew outlining every border and crevice on his delicious form. “Do you need time to finish getting ready?” he asked through his hard exhales.
I couldn’t help but crack a smile. Movies never panned to this part, where literally, right after the sexual crescendo, people had to finish making plans while naked and recovering in a place that didn’t contain a bed.
He remained exposed to me, and I to him.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing off the tile. “Sure.”
Theo nodded, scratched at his jaw again, and stepped out, giving me a perfect view of his taut, round melon of an ass, golden just like the rest of him.
Orgasm abated, I re-entered the spray, tilting my face up and letting the hot water coat my breasts, run down my stomach, collect near my thighs.
It wasn’t nearly as hot as Theo.
Sighing, I turned off the stream. When I exited, I was one towel down and Theo was nowhere in the vast expanse of this bathroom. Probably for the best.
I toweled off and helped myself to the various lotions and potions on the vanity. Once thoroughly scented and moisturized, I turned on the hair dryer, allowing the dry heat to evaporate any remaining water from my hair as well as my eyes.
I did it all without looking in the mirror.
God, I was afraid.
Cassie hadn’t been in my life for almost a decade—that newt-finger of a blogger had been correct in his article—yet, it would always feel like I’d lost her this morning.
Time was meant to be the ultimate Band-Aid, a healer of all woes, the giver of strength. But it seemed to have skipped me, because thousands of days later, my heart couldn’t stand to be a twinless twin.
Save for surgical modification, I’d done everything possible to stop looking like her, and I’d managed it for a record eight years. Hell, I’d become a different person on the inside and out, Cassie properly buried both in a cemetery and at the bottom of my soul.
Now, for reasons unknown, she was asking to reappear, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
After blow-drying for twenty minutes, my hair was so dry as to resemble burned tumbleweed, and I couldn’t find any more excuses.
“You’ve become a strong-ass bitch in the poker underworld,” I reassured myself. “You can handle a little self-reflection time.”
Okay. One, two…
Closing my eyes, hands to my stomach, I turned to the mirror, and ever the strategist, even to myself, I opened my eyes before three.
“Cassie,” I wrenched out. Hands bracing the countertop, I leaned forward, her smoke-filled blue eyes stared back, her straight, Roman nose, the high cheekbones, the slightly-pointed chin.
The dimple, although it didn’t appear in her smile this time. It showed with a trembling frown.
“I can’t do this,” I said to her, legs beginning to shake. “I can’t—”
You can.
“No,” I whispered.
Look under your right eye. See? No freckle.
I gulped but strayed to where the dot should be.
And your chin. Where’s the scar after flying over the front handles of your bike and landing jaw-first on summer-baked asphalt?
Not there, because that was the day I’d had a stomach bug and Cassie was forced to bike to swim class on her own.
Your freckle, Scarlet Rhodes’s beauty mark, is under your right brow, low enough that the corner of your lashes touch it when your eyes are open.
I touched the spot, my lashes flickering against my finger.
And your stripes are on your hips, the lightest white stretch marks, from losing weight so rapidly then gaining a bit of it back after my death. Whereas mine are right on top of my ass.
That was right. Cassie often bemoaned her randomly acquired stretch marks when we were changing in the locker rooms or in our bedroom swapping clothes, whereas I had none. Not at that time, when she was alive, complaining, and being the most annoying person on the planet to share a room with.
And your scar. It’s on your ribcage. See? A bullet wound I never received, because I’m not you.
“I’m not you,” I said, grazing over the wound.
You’re not me.
“You’re dead.”
I waited for a response, but the voice, whatever or whoever it was, said nothing. It was gone.
With its absence came a steadying of my trembles, a rhythm to my breathing. I was the sole resident in this bathroom, had always been. It was only me, contributing to the silence.
A knock came at the door as I was smoothing down my newly glossed strands.
“Scarlet?” It was Rada’s voice. “Are you ready for the dress?”
“Yes—” I scrambled around the floor for my underwear. Out of the corner of my eye, pastel blue caught my attention. Upon further inspection, it turned out to be a neatly folded (and perfume scented) bustier and lace thong. “Just a second!”
When did Theo do that? Did he reopen the door as I was drying off and quietly sling an arm around the frame, dropping off the expensive, fragrant package? Or did he do it when he originally came into the bathroom, before seeing me curled into a ball on the floor? Did Rada drop this off during Theo’s and my water-soaked sex?
“Jesus, this place,” I muttered. But shook out the bustier anyway and clipped it on.
Expectedly, it was gorgeous and hugged my curves in all the right ways. Theo flung himself into my vision, his gaze raking up and down, drinking in every lace detail before moving to reveal the skin underneath. I told his image to fuck off.
The shower scene would be the
last last time, damn it.
I opened the door to Rada, who held the red vision on a hanger, her other arm crooked at the mid-length so it barely touched the floor.
“This should fit you seamlessly,” she said. Her expression showed no indication she knew what Theo and I had been up to, but I’d be a fool to take Rada at face value. I was dealing with people who’d mastered the art of poker long before I entered into their town. Rada earned her crown years before me. Possibly at birth when she was born to a crime lord.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the dress carefully. “I truly mean it.”
Rada’s attention lowered, then stopped at my collarbone. “Don’t take that necklace off. It will go lovely with the dress.”
I unconsciously fingered Kai’s gold chain but dropped my hand as soon as I became aware.
“I … uh, I’ll be out soon.” I started to shut the door, but she gently palmed it to remain open.
“Sax and I will be waiting for you in the drawing room. We have a few things to discuss before you go.”
“Of course.”
She nodded, and clicked the door shut.
I slipped into the dress, finding it slightly difficult to zip up on my own, but I wasn’t about to call Rada or Theo back in for help. There weren’t any shoes provided, and I realized, with a deep, despairing sigh, I’d have to wear my bear traps again. After folding up my old clothes and hanging my damp towel, I made my way back downstairs in bare feet, idly wondering why, in a mansion with so many rooms, we were returning to the drawing room. I would’ve been keen to see the rest of this place, but perhaps Rada had her own secrets to keep.
The room was directly to the left of the staircase, so I had no trouble re-finding it. Theo was already there, in his surprisingly unrumpled suit, his short brown hair still damp from the—our—shower together. He was turned away, his profile a lemon-soaked outline from the setting sun out of the tall windows.
At the sound of my approach, he faced me, and his carefully constructed mask of indifference slipped. In that remarkable way he could, he took in every part of me, so much so that even my pores were exposed to his scrutiny, before he landed on my hair.
WIN THE GAME Page 14
