by T. K. Leigh
His hand finds mine and he twirls me around, wanting the full effect of the cocktail dress Dana suggested I wear to tonight’s gathering. It’s more of a low-key event to celebrate the opening of Julian’s first overseas women’s shelter in the Middle East, something that wouldn’t have been possible without all the networking he did last summer.
He tugs my body into his as his free hand wraps around mine. Just like so many other times, I drape my arm over his shoulder, toying with the curls that fall over his jacket collar. Our bodies sway as he hums “Moon River”, which has become our song. There are times I hear it even when he’s fast asleep beside me. It’s the song of our love, one I hope will continue until we’re long gone.
He leans his forehead on mine, barely a breath between our bodies as we share this moment. We’ve done this same dance so many times over the course of our relationship. It’s never gotten old. I still feel the same spark, the same fluttering in my heart, the same craving to be in his universe. In fact, I feel it even deeper now that I finally know all sides of Julian Gage. And every day, I continue to fall more in love with every part of him.
When he stops humming, he lifts his head from mine and looks at me with a focused gaze. “You look beautiful, Guinevere.”
I bring my hands to the lapels of his suit jacket, smoothing them. “You clean up pretty good yourself.” I wink.
“I got something for you.”
“I told you…” I narrow my eyes on him. “No presents. You spoil me enough as it is. All I wanted for my birthday was to spend it with you.”
“What if I told you it’s not a birthday present?”
“I still don’t want it.”
“How about we test it out? I bought it to go with your outfit. Dana said it would really accentuate the jewels on the straps of your shoes. If you don’t like it, I’ll return it, okay?”
I playfully roll my eyes, feigning irritation. As much as I hate the thought of him spending money on me, I love that he spoils me. I love that he thinks of me so much.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He smiles, but it’s not as confident as usual. Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he pulls out a small box in that familiar blue hue unique to Tiffany’s. “I was planning on getting you something from Cartier instead, but figured Tiffany’s would have more meaning.”
My breath hitches as he repeats the same words he uttered on what was supposed to be our last night together. There’s only one possible way for me to respond to that. Tears fill my eyes as I stare at the leather box, knowing all too well what’s inside.
“It could be an empty box and it would be infinitely better than even the most expensive piece you could get from Cartier.”
“Phew.” He laughs nervously. “That’s a relief, because it really is just an empty box.”
“No, it’s not,” I whisper through the lump in my throat.
“You’re right. It’s not.”
He drops to one knee and pops open the ring box, then grabs my left hand in his. I exhale at the stunning diamond that greets me. It’s a princess-cut stone that’s easily three carats, the band thin and inlaid with even more diamonds.
“Guinevere Shea Fitzgerald, I couldn’t have planned for you to walk into my life even if I tried. I’ll never forget sitting in the corner of a bar after meeting with a client, wondering if it’s all worth it, hearing you tell the entire place how you were dumped. All I could remember thinking is that I needed to know you. I’d spent most of my life running from love. And then there was you.
“Our relationship may not have been conventional by any stretch of the imagination, but that’s what I love about us. We broke the rules. We weren’t supposed to find each other, but we did.” He brings the ring up to my finger, unshed tears forming behind his eyelids. “We weren’t supposed to fall in love with each other, but we did. And I fall in love with you all over again every day. I want to continue to fall in love with you every day for the rest of my life. Do me the honor of being my wife, of taking a risk on me, of loving all the pieces of me.”
His words are everything I could have dreamed for a proposal, and more. I never expected Julian to drop to one knee after only a year. I thought he’d need more time to get used to being in a real relationship. But that’s what makes this so exciting, so exhilarating. I never saw it coming. It was never planned.
“I’m not quite sure getting engaged was on the itinerary,” I joke, remembering our early days when I insisted on a firm schedule of events. “At least, I didn’t see it there.” I grin, playfully batting my eyelashes.
He’s on his feet in an instant, yanking my body hard and fast against his, stealing my breath. He doesn’t even wait for me to say yes as he slides the ring onto my finger, where I plan to leave it for the rest of my days.
“Fuck the itinerary,” he growls as he kisses me for the first time as my fiancé.
Fuck the itinerary indeed.
Thank you for reading DATING GAMES! I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
If you’re curious about Evie’s friends, have no fear! Chloe’s story is next, and it’s going to be quite the ride. WICKED GAMES will be releasing SUMMER 2019. Add it to your TBR here.
He’s forbidden in every sense of the word… Until one night changes everything.
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If you enjoyed Dating Games, check out WRITING MR. RIGHT, another fun, sexy poignant tale about a romance author who doesn't believe real love is real life. Keep reading for an excerpt!
She's a romance author who's always resisted serious relationships... But she can't resist him.
If you’re looking for something a little more gritty, check out INFERNO. NOW FREE! Keep reading for a peek at the start to this incredible saga.
A runaway bride who escapes to Rome. A handsome, mysterious Italian man. A proposition for one night of passion. Will one night be enough? Find out today!
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Playlist
Memories Are Made of This - Dean Martin
Live Learn - The California Honeydrops
Little Black Dress - Sara Bareilles
S.O.B. - Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats
Showboat - Josh Ritter
Anybody Else - Jon McLaughlin
A Little Fire - Parker Millsap
Falling Slowly - Glen Hansard
Classic - MKTO
Fool In the Rain - Led Zeppelin
Fight Song - Rachel Platten
Run - Matt Nathanson
Reaching - Jason Reeves
Moon River - Henry Mancini
Summer is Over - Jon McLaughlin
Always Midnight - Pat Monahan
Put Me Back Together - Grace Grundy
What About Us - P!nk
3 Hours - Canyon City
Scarecrow - Alex & Sierra
The Shape of Us - Ian Britt
This Will Be Our Home - John Lucas
Never Got Away - Colbie Caillat
Capital Letters - Halloran & Kate
Dammit - Jana Kramer
Dear John - Julian Sheer
Extraordinary Magic - Ben Rector
Guiding Light - Mumford & Sons
I Hear a Symphony - Cody Fry
Have It All - Jason Mraz
First Try - Johnnyswim
Say You Do - Graham Colton
You - A Great Big World
Writing Mr. Right Excerpt
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Chapter One
Seducing My Boss
“Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up.” I rocke
d on my heels in the packed elevator as I watched the numbers ascend at a languid pace. Carefully balancing two coffees, one on top of the other, I checked the time on my cell phone. 9:02 Monday morning. I would love to have a job where it wasn’t a big deal if I ran a few minutes behind, particularly on a Monday.
Particularly after having to stop at Starbucks every day to get my boss his expected triple venti soy no foam latte, the lamest drink known to man.
Particularly after having to leave my apartment an hour earlier than normal, without pay, to stand in line at the Starbucks closest to the literary agency in Rockefeller Center where I worked to get said lame excuse for a coffee.
Particularly because I had to start ordering the same coffee for myself in case I dropped it, as happened one time. The fallout was something I’d like to avoid in the future.
I preferred a basic Americano with milk from an actual cow, not this fake bullshit. I knew all about my boss’ allergies. He didn’t have any sort of intolerance to dairy. He was just an asshole, and his choice in drink proved it.
Finally, the ding of the elevator snapped me out of my vengeful thoughts and I barreled through the doors into a large, modern reception area.
“9:03,” the receptionist sang after me, her voice almost smug.
“I know. I know.” I dashed past the desk with Bartlett, Derringer, and Price in big bold letters on the wall behind it, not letting anyone who exited that elevator forget where they were. I wondered if the partners were trying to overcompensate for something.
“And he’s in a mood,” she added in warning.
“And that’s different how?” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible.
Running past cubicle after cubicle, I prayed today wouldn’t be the day I slipped on the slick marble tile and fell ass over tea kettle. Since I’d started here more than six months ago, I had that vision in my head daily.
When my desk came into view, I breathed a sigh of relief. My gaze shot past it to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows separating the big bad wolf from the rest of us sheep. I observed him on the phone, pacing his office, a fierce expression on his face. At least he was preoccupied. Perhaps he wouldn’t even notice I was four minutes late.
As I set my heavy messenger bag on the ground with a thump, my shoulder screaming with reprieve from the welcome lack of weight, I realized my wish wouldn’t come true.
“Avery!” his powerful voice bellowed. “Get in here!”
“Shit.” Subtly rolling my eyes, I opened my desk drawer to retrieve a small notepad, shoving it into the pocket of my suit jacket. Running my hands over my cream-colored sheath top and gray pencil skirt to straighten the lines, I grabbed his sorry excuse for a morning beverage. I paused just outside his office door, took a deep breath, then entered the devil’s lair.
“You’re late,” he barked at me the instant my foot crossed the threshold.
“I apologize, Mr. Price.” I met his hardened gaze. All my other friends could saunter into work five, ten, maybe even twenty minutes late. When they did arrive, it wasn’t expected they get straight to work. They were able to ease into the day, talk about their weekends, which bars they went to, what movies they saw. But not me.
I’d considered quitting at least once a week, but reminded myself that I had a rare opportunity to get my foot in the door of an industry that typically shut people out. This was my chance to have a say in who could be the next Stephen King, Nora Roberts, or J.K. Rowling. I just needed to put in my time and learn the industry. Then I could start my own firm and, hopefully, family.
“What’s the excuse this time, Miss Rollins?” He ripped the coffee out of my hand.
“No excuse, sir. I should have planned better and left my apartment earlier,” I responded, all too familiar with what he liked to hear. It would have been useless to tell him the real reason — that the barista at Starbucks messed up my order twice. He would simply say I should have prepared for that to happen.
“And where is it you live exactly?” He came around from behind his desk and sat on the corner, his expression and voice softening. I glanced behind me, wondering if we weren’t alone.
With his booming voice, broad shoulders, tall height, and impeccable good looks, Mr. Jackson Price had a commanding and intimidating presence. In the half-year since I began working as his assistant, a position that had been like a revolving door before I came around, he’d never exhibited anything but his egomaniacal side. Not only did he get off on being in charge, I had a sneaking suspicion he took pleasure in everyone else knowing that fact, as well.
“Miss Rollins?” He raised his eyebrows at me when I didn’t immediately answer, caught slightly off guard by his change in demeanor.
“Umm… Queens, sir.”
“Do you have a roommate?” He sauntered away from his desk, roaming his office. He shut the door, closing the blinds. I remained firmly planted in place, his interest in me unsettling, to say the least.
“I wouldn’t be able to afford an apartment in Queens on this salary without one,” I quipped, then cringed, bracing for his response. Despite months of practice, I still had trouble controlling my innate sarcastic nature around him at times.
His presence loomed behind me, towering over my five-foot, three-inch frame. A shiver rolled down my spine, my skin prickling with goosebumps. His coffee-laden breath heated my neck, my entire being on high alert. My reaction to him took me by surprise, confusing me. It certainly wasn’t the first time we had been alone together. But today, my body buzzed with anticipation and hunger.
Perhaps it was because I’d spent my weekend reading a trashy insta-love romance where the main characters probably spent more time naked than they did clothed. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t had an orgasm at the hand of another person in what seemed like an eternity. Perhaps it was because I missed the touch of a man, my boyfriend of nearly four years having recently broken up with me because I was always working. Regardless of the reason, I found myself inexplicably turned on by this complete asshole.
I continued staring at Mr. Price’s immaculate desk. Fantasies of his rippling body bending me over it as he had his way with me seeped into my subconscious. I imagined he would be as demanding and assertive as he was in his professional life. He would take what he wanted and teach me things I never thought possible.
“Pity.” His deep, sensual voice broke through my perverse thoughts. I tried to shove them deep down and forget they ever crossed my mind. This man was my boss.
His hand swept aside my blonde hair, exposing the back of my neck. I swallowed hard, a delicious tremor overtaking me as his breath drew closer and closer to my skin. When his heated lips landed with delicate ease on my flesh, fireworks erupted in my core. It was confusing, wrong, and desperately wanted all at the same time.
My desire for him grew with each flick of his tongue on my milky skin. A voice in my head whispered this was a bad idea. I knew it was, but damn, it felt good, as if he had an Avery Rollins instruction manual and knew precisely what to do to drive me insane with lust.
His strong hand skimmed the front of my blouse. The sensation of the silky material against my bare flesh heightened my awareness. He clutched my hips, forcing me against his hard stomach. His cock pushed against my back, the reality of the situation snapping me out of my erotic daydream.
I spun around, meeting his blue eyes, my mouth agape. “Wha—”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about this,” he said coolly. He ran his fingers through my hair, tugging, forcing my head back. “I have been since the day I hired you. You had everything I was looking for in an assistant. Beautiful. Smart. Sarcastic. But most of all, subservient.”
“I’m not—”
“You are, Avery. You may think you’re a strong woman, and I’d be inclined to agree, but you have a submissive side to you. A side I’m interested in exploring deeper.”
Did he have a point? Did I have a submissive side? I didn’t know, but the image of this man tying me up, blindfol
ding me, leaving me completely at his mercy didn’t turn me cold. In fact, it excited me.
He ran his tongue from my ear to my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire across my flesh. I whimpered, my eyes nearly rolling into the back of my head. The forbidden nature of what we were doing made my hunger for him grow with each nip of his teeth on my skin.
His hands found their way back to my hips. With incredible ease, he picked me up and pinned me against the wall. Hiking up my skirt, he forced my legs around his waist. I closed my eyes, an unexpected moan leaving my throat when I felt what could only be his enormous erection pushing against me. A slave to my libido, I no longer cared that this man was my boss. That this was wrong on every level. That this could jeopardize everything I had worked hard for since my freshman year at NYU. All I knew was we were both wearing far too much clothing than necessary.
Greedily, I clutched his face in my hands and forced his lips to mine, trying to prove I wasn’t the submissive little girl he thought me to be. A sexy rumble fell from his chest, the kiss growing deeper. His tongue swept against mine with alarming expertise. Hands were everywhere — pinching, pulling, tugging. His teeth nipped my lips, sending a jolt straight to my core.
“Avery,” he groaned, pulling away, his breath dancing on my mouth. It smelled like a combination of peppermint, coffee…and raw sewage.
Sewage?
I snapped out of the trance I was in, staring at the laptop screen in front of me, a perplexed look on my face. An abhorrent stench wafted to my nostrils.
“Oh, Pee Wee! What the hell did you eat?” I shot my gaze to the slightly overweight Labrador retriever curled up beside me on my large sectional, his snores loud enough to rattle even the deepest sleeper. He ignored me, his large paws moving as if he were chasing something in his sleep. I covered my nose with my shirt long enough for the offending stench to dissipate, then returned my eyes to my laptop, trying to get back into the groove.
