by Tracy Wolff
But that’s not good enough. Not when Aria is so vulnerable. So lost. So fucking empty. And knowing that I did this to her—that I sent her spiraling into this state when all I wanted to do was give her pleasure—makes me crazy.
I’ve never been this careless before, and the fact that I made the mistake with her makes it ten times worse.
I try to talk to her a couple times, to run a soothing hand down her back or give her a squeeze on the shoulder, but when she just stares at me blankly I end up feeling like every other asshole who’s been trying to fuck with her while she’s doing her job.
It’s not a good feeling.
And so, finally, I settle myself onto a stool at the bar where I watch the second hand on my watch spin its way slowly, slowly, slowly around the numbers. Again and again and again. Sixty seconds—sixty minutes—never took so long.
The moment the clock reads two-thirty, I’m off the stool and across the room, my arm around Aria’s waist.
“I need to clock out,” she tells me.
I start to tell her to forget about it, that I’ll take care of it, but once again I stop myself. This whole thing was supposed to be about helping Aria gain control of her life, not about taking control away from her.
So I wait a little longer, watching as she strokes a few keys on the computer and logs out for the night.
When she’s done with everything she needs to do, when she’s logged out and gathered her things, I take her hand. Lace our fingers together. “Do you want to go upstairs?” I ask, putting the control firmly in her hands. “Or do you want me to take you home?”
She looks startled—a good sign, I think, considering it’s the first emotion she’s shown since she came, crying out my name. “I’m fine. I can get myself home.”
My good intentions go right out the window in the face of her stubbornness. “That wasn’t one of the options, Aria.”
“It should be.”
I incline my head, because she’s probably right. It probably should be. But she needs someone to take care of her tonight and leaving her alone isn’t a choice I can give her. Not right now when it’s taking every ounce of control I have not to sweep her into my arms and carry her through the damn casino. Not when I want nothing more than to take her up to my suite, to my bed, and keep her there for a week. Or forever. Whichever comes last.
“Choose,” I tell her when I finally have my shit together enough to speak. “Now. Because one way or another, you’re leaving this casino with me.”
Play Me #3: Play Me Hard is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Loveswept eBook Original
Copyright © 2014 by Tracy Deebs-Elkenaney
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.
eBook ISBN 9780804177832
Cover design: Georgia Morrissey
Cover photograph: Vasilchenko Nikita/Shutterstock
www.readloveswept.com
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Contents
Master - Table of Contents
Play Me Hard
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One: Aria
Chapter Two: Sebastian
Chapter Three: Aria
Chapter Four: Sebastian
Chapter Five: Aria
Chapter One
Aria
“I don’t respond well to ultimatums, Sebastian.” I’ve had too many of them in my life, been told too many times to make a choice when there really was none. Pretended too many times that I had real control over my own life when it was nothing but a lie.
I’ve spent the last fourteen months making sure that I do have control—that I’m living my life away from my family and as close to how I want to as I can manage—to just fall back into old patterns. And yet, here I am, four hours after having sex with him, being told what to do. And worse, taking it.
“And I don’t respond well to watching the woman I just made love to collapse from exhaustion.” He sounds as adamant about this as I do.
“I’m fine.” It’s a lie. I’m nowhere close to fine, but that’s not his problem. It’s mine. And since I don’t even have a clue what’s wrong with me—why all of a sudden I feel so tired and sad and lonely and lost—I figure I’ll just ignore it and it’ll go away. It’s probably just all the sleepless nights I spent worrying about my sister catching up with me. All I need is a good night’s sleep.
“You’re not fine and we both know it.” His hand is on my elbow now, not tight enough to hurt, but more than tight enough to let me know that he means business. That he has no intention of letting me go until I do what he asks.
Well, to hell with that.
I wrench my arm away, but for whatever reason I’m not as sturdy as I usually am and I end up stumbling back a few steps. Sebastian lets me go at the first tug, but then he’s right there to steady me. His hand on the small of my back, his body pressed too close to mine.
“Don’t make me force you,” he tells me and I find myself bristling all over again. Force me? Who the hell does this guy think he is?
I start to tell him off once and for all, but a quick glimpse of his face has me freezing. He doesn’t look like he’s threatening me, doesn’t look like he’s laying down the law. In fact, he looks an awful lot like he’s asking. Like he’s actually asking me not to force him into doing something neither of us wants him to do.
I know it’s strange to look at it like that, especially considering the nature of what went on in his office earlier tonight. He has to know he’s got the upper hand here—sexually and because he’s my boss. So why does he care whether he has to force me or not? He’s stronger than I am. And though I’d put up a fight, if he really wants to he can carry me out of here and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
It’s a humbling realization, one that confuses me even as it makes me want to go for his eyes. But I can’t do that—because he’s my boss and because the last thing I really want to do is hurt him. I was the one who freaked out in his office, the one who walked out before we could so much as exchange after-sex pleasantries. He’s been nothing but kind to me and just because I don’t trust him, just because I get nervous around anyone who’s that big of a control freak—anyone who I think wants to control me—it doesn’t mean that I have the right to treat him like shit.
That knowledge has me sighing even as the tension leaves my muscles and I find myself relaxing next to him. “I’m not planning on going anywhere but home,” I tell him. “It’ll take me twenty minutes to get there and then I’m going straight to bed. I’ll be fine.”
“Let me take you.”
“I’m twenty-four years old. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No, you need a lover.” He reaches out, trails his fingers down my cheek. “We’ve already done the making love part. Now let me do the rest.”
It shouldn’t get to me. His low, husky voice. The intense green of his eyes. The way his body is curved protectively around mine even though my cheek is the only place he’s touching me. And yet it does. It really does. It’s such a good line and even if it really is nothing more than that, it’s enough right now.
I find myself nodding before I even know that I’m going to do it.
“My car—”
“Will be safe here overnight. I’ll send someone to pick you up tomorrow. Or I can have your car delivered, whichever you’d prefer.”
Of course he can have the car delivered. He has enough money to do just about anything he wants. Hell, he can buy a hundred cars and probably not even notice the cost to his bottom line. My family is rich,
but Sebastian is RICH.
The reminder of our differences—since I walked out on my family I’m as poor as Sebastian is wealthy—bothers me, but not enough to keep me from saying, “Okay.” I don’t know why I do it. I really don’t, except that ceding this small amount of control to him somehow makes me feel better. Less confused, less lost than I’ve felt since I walked out of his office. I don’t understand why, after I’ve fought so long and hard to be in total control of my own life, giving control to him can make me feel more in control than ever, but somehow it does.
But I’m too tired to figure it out right now, so I just nod.
It’s not until Sebastian takes a deep breath and releases it, his body almost vibrating with relief, that I begin to comprehend just how much my acquiescence means to him.
It doesn’t make any sense.
We’ve known each other barely thirty-six hours. Yes, we had sex—and it was absolutely the best, most intense sex of my life—but still. That shouldn’t be enough to make things this weird. To tie our feelings all up in knots like they are and bind us together in this strange and comforting way.
And yet, when he wraps an arm around my waist, when he pulls me into his body, I can’t help but sag against him. He supports my weight easily, one hand on my hip as he half-walks, half-carries me through the casino and out the front doors.
There’s a sleek, black Mercedes sitting next to the valet stand and Sebastian ushers me toward it, holding the door for me as I slide into the car’s plush interior. The door slams shut and I rest my head against the back of the seat, close my eyes for a moment.
But I still feel fuzzy, like the world is just a little out of focus, and it’s hard for me to concentrate. Hard for me to do anything, really, but just sit here and stare out into the bright, bright lights of the Strip.
Then Sebastian is climbing in next to me. He’s watching me, I can tell, but I don’t turn my head. Don’t look at him, don’t speak to him. It’s rude, I know, but I can’t seem to help it. Not when it takes so much effort. Everything feels like it takes too much effort right now, even just sitting here.
“Aria.” He says my name softly and I feel myself responding to the soft gravel of his voice, my body straining weakly against the seat in an effort to respond the way he needs me to.
I wait impatiently, breath held and body taut as a violin string, for him to say something else. But he doesn’t speak again. Instead, he leans over me and for a moment, just a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. More, I think I’m going to let him even after everything I’ve told myself in the last few hours. That’s the kind of effect he has on me, the kind of control he exerts without trying.
But instead of kissing me, he just grasps the seatbelt and pulls it across my body before buckling it.
I take a shaky breath, feeling relieved and let down all at the same time. But then Sebastian’s hand is there again, rubbing my arm, stroking the sensitive skin at the inside of my wrist. And I feel the tightness leach out of my body. He’s breathing slowly, steadily, as he starts the car, and I can feel my own breathing syncing up with his.
It’s a strange feeling, this being so in tune with another human being. It’s not something I’m used to and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean, there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to curl my body up against his and let his warmth leach into me, getting rid of the cold I’ve been feeling ever since I walked out of his office all those hours ago.
But there’s another part of me that wants to climb out of the car right now. To run to the safety of my own car, my own life—one that has nothing to do with rich casino owners who have dominance issues. One that has nothing to do with anything but waiting tables and struggling to make ends meet. It’s not a great life, but it’s mine and I’ve built it by myself.
I reach for the door handle, think one more time about jumping out. But then he’s pulling away from the curb, driving down the hotel driveway toward the Strip and it’s too late. I’ve missed my chance. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
“I live in the east,” I tell him after a minute, preparing to give him directions. After all, guys like Sebastian never make it to the side of Vegas that I live in.
“I know. I’ve got your address.” He doesn’t touch me, but his voice is warm, vibrant, and it feels like a caress all on its own. So much so that it takes a moment for his words to register.
When they do, alarm spikes through me. “How do you know my address?”
“I looked at your personnel file.” He doesn’t sound the least bit sorry—or the least bit concerned about what he found there.
Still, my alarm turns to panic in an instant. My application and fake ID were good enough to get me a job as a cocktail waitress, but that’s because the hiring manager wasn’t really looking at anything. But once someone starts to dig, my credentials and the legal name change won’t stand up five minutes against anyone who is seriously looking for something. “You looked at my file? Why?”
I try to sound calm, unbothered, but some of my worry must make its way into my voice because Sebastian shoots me a concerned look. “Because I wanted to take you home. It seemed the most expedient way to find out where you live.”
“More expedient than asking me?”
“When I thought I was going to have to carry you out of the casino over my shoulder, yes.” He’s smiling now, his eyes warm, but there’s a wariness in them. I don’t know if it’s because he’s already started to dig into my background or if it’s because he’s waiting for me to freak out on him. Either way, me getting upset will only make him more curious—make him think I have something to hide.
I do, but he doesn’t need to know about it. No one does.
Which is why I give him a smile I’m far from feeling right now and simply say, “Touché.” The less important I make it sound, the less suspicious he’ll be. Or at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it—for my own sanity if nothing else.
He glances at me again, before turning his attention back to the traffic—only in Vegas are the streets this packed this late at night. It’s one of the things I love, and hate, about this city. It’s so easy to get lost.
“You took that better than I thought you would.” There’s a bit of a question there, which makes me second-guess myself. Maybe I did give in too easily.
I don’t know. It’s hard to judge when I barely know Sebastian, let alone how he deals with things or how he expects others to react. It’d be hard enough to guess if everything was normal, and right now, things are far from that. Beyond the worry about my application fraud, my head still feels all weird. Fuzzy and heavy, like my brain is wrapped in cotton and my body is slogging through mud. It makes it hard to think clearly.
Makes it hard to decide how I’m going to play this, even though there’s a part of me that wishes I didn’t have to play him at all.
In the end, though, I don’t have the energy for a hissy fit. I don’t have the energy for much, to be honest, beyond resting my head against the back of the seat and staring out into the night. “It’s already done, right?”
“Yes.”
“So there’s no use freaking out about it at this point. Besides, I’m exhausted and the fact that you looked up my address and Googled it saves me from having to give you directions to my house, so we’ll just call it a win for both of us.” The last of my words are slurred, but I barely notice. I’m having such a hard time keeping my eyes open right now. It’s not that I’m sleepy so much as mentally exhausted.
Sebastian does touch me then, a rough hand on my bare knee that feels way better than it should. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me take care of you.”
The words seem to echo in the car, sounding a lot more important than they should. I force my eyes open, force my muscles to work so I can turn my head and look at him. “You make it sound like I had a choice.”
We’re stopped at a red light, and suddenly he’s
looking back at me, his eyes a penetrating, laser pointer green. “You always have a choice with me, Aria.”
He sounds so intense when he says it, like he wants me to understand something bigger, deeper, than what we’re talking about. For a moment I get lost in his gaze, in the deep growl of his voice. It feels almost like I’m floating, and he’s the only thing tying me down. The only thing keeping me grounded.
The thought only makes me more confused. Especially when he starts to stroke the inside of my knee with his strong, calloused fingers. Heat coils deep in my belly, spirals through me. It’s a strange kind of heat, muffled by the fact that I feel so removed from my own body. My own thoughts.
Nothing makes sense, not even the knowledge that I don’t want him to stop touching me. Especially that.
The rest of the ride to my apartment is silent, at least until we pull into the dingy parking lot. I direct him to park in my space, expecting a disparaging comment or two on where I live. This is the bad part of Vegas—the way bad part—and my building is one of the worst. Broken down, ill-repaired, in desperate need of a couple coats of paint—or an arsonist to burn it to the ground—it’s not a good place to live. Just walking from my car to my apartment can be treacherous some nights, especially when the local gangs are out.
But it was all I could afford when I fled my old life and got a job as a cocktail waitress. Now that I’m working the high roller tables and my tips have gotten about a million times better, I should be able to afford a better place soon. If I can hold on to the job a little longer, that is, and convince myself that the money really isn’t going to disappear out from under me, maybe I’ll start looking for a nicer place. Nothing grand, nothing like what Sebastian is used to—or where I used to live, even—but better than this. Safer.
