by J. Kenner
I wander without purpose, once again thinking about Cayden’s prophetic words—blue balls.
Yup. He definitely got that right.
My phone chirps, and I yank it out of my pocket hoping it’s Sam, only to see that it’s the only other person in my thoughts at the moment—Cayden.
“You just can’t live without me,” I say.
“How’s it going?”
“Not bad. The resort’s beautiful.”
“And the girl?”
“She’s beautiful, too.”
“I meant has she gotten you in bed yet?”
Almost, and damn did I want to.
“You’re an ass,” I tell him. “You know that, right?”
“Just giving you shit. And one more piece of advice.”
“Great.”
“All I’m saying is that you need to look at what’s in front of you, not some screen that Brody’s thrown up to block the view.”
“Cayden—”
“I’m serious, man. Connor just about lost Kerrie because he was too stubborn, and I almost didn’t see Gracie because I was so blinded by what happened before. Sam’s a grown woman, not an appendage of Brody. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I hear you. Is that really why you called? Because that seems a little too touchy-feely, even for you.”
“Hey, I’m a born again romantic. But, no. Actually, I need to ask you about the Mendez workup. Kerrie says you updated the file, but I don’t see a hard copy or an electronic version.”
“Shit,” I say, as I relax into the rhythm of work, a much safer mindset even if there’s a minor crisis. “Maybe it’s stuck on my hard drive. We really need to get a dedicated IT person, because this has happened more than once.”
I continue my gripe about the dysfunctional automatic file sharing system until he gets to my office, and I walk him through how to access my files. We go over a few key points about the workup, then wrap it up.
“Great. Thanks. Sorry to bug you during your vacation.”
“No sweat. And Cayden—”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “Nothing. I’ll call you when I’m back in town. You can come drink a beer and watch me unpack.”
“You sure know how to show a fellow a good time.”
He ends the call, and I draw a deep breath as I think about Brody. I should call him. Especially since I’m damn sure that hearing his voice will chill my lustful thoughts about his sister.
I’m still holding my phone, and now I pull up Brody in my contacts. I start to hit the button to dial, but my finger can’t quite manage it. And then, with a sharp, heartfelt curse, I shove the damn thing back into my pocket and head back to the suite so that I can change for cocktails.
Chapter Eight
If I didn’t have to talk to Reg, the cocktail party would be just about perfect. The drinks range from wine to fancy cocktails to straight up whiskey. The ambiance is incredible. The bride and groom are charming and happy. And there’s not even a hint of awkwardness between Sam and me.
On the contrary, she’s all smiles as she brings me a fresh Scotch and water, then offers to track down a slice of Snickers cheesecake, a featured treat on the dessert cart that she promises is entirely coincidental.
“Stay,” I urge when I see Reg heading in my direction, willing to sacrifice even a Snickers fix in order to not see him alone. “We’re supposed to be so sappy he goes into sugar shock.”
“Nope. I just need him to know what an amazing guy I landed. So amaze him while I go find you cheesecake.” She rises up to kiss my cheek, then disappears into the throng as I stand still, wondering why she didn’t issue me a cigarette and blindfold, too.
My initial impression of Reg as a thoughtful guy has long since faded. He struck the first nail when we were at the concierge desk, and every time we’ve crossed paths—which has been far too many times this evening—his coffin is sealed tighter and tighter.
“Busy day,” he says, raising his own drink to me. “I haven’t yet gotten the vice-president position, but everyone is so sure that it’ll be mine officially next week that I’m fielding all the VP calls.”
“You must be very busy.”
“It’s a non-stop kind of life that really only suits a certain personality type. Someone who can tackle different problems every day. Who can manage people as well as business. Who can look five steps into the future and see what’s coming.”
“Mmm,” I say, because what else is there?
“And the double-dealing. You can’t imagine the extent of corporate espionage in this industry. Considering our business is games, it’s ridiculously cutthroat. Hell, there are probably spies here at the resort trying to find out about our upcoming roll-out or get a glimpse of next quarter’s financials.”
“I think it’s the underlying technology that’s driving the espionage. Not the actual games.” Shouldn’t a guy in the industry understand that better than a security specialist who only plays the things on occasion?
He waves my words aside. “I’m sure this is all dull to you. Certainly not the kind of environment you would thrive in. Or even understand. Though I suppose actors do need some surface knowledge of the careers their characters are in.”
“Mmm.” Though actor wasn’t my first choice—I suggested test pilot—Sam had reasonably pointed out that I could fake being an actor much easier than a pilot. Especially since Reg’s father owned a single engine Cessna.
Now, I consider making up a production company that’s getting bought out by Disney and will turn me into a multimillionaire overnight, but I decide against it. I’m not an actor, but he is a prick. So we might as well just stick with the status quo.
And with any luck, Sam will be back soon.
“I’m lucky, really. Even with a talent like mine, it’s not always recognized. Fortunately, Lisa’s father saw that in me. I have him to thank for my upcoming promotion. Well, him and some remarkable assets I’m bringing to the table.”
“Lisa?” I ask, pretending I have no idea who he’s talking about.
“My fiancée,” he says. “Lisa Bronwyn. We fell head-over-heels for each other.”
“Is she here?”
He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, she had to cancel at the last minute. But since Cherry’s my cousin, I wanted to be here for her.”
“Kind of you,” I say, then smile more broadly than is usually required of cheesecake when Sam returns.
“None for me?” Reg asks. His voice is teasing, but Sam’s reply is harsh.
“I think you’ve gotten everything you’ll ever get from me.” She turns to me. “Honey, you haven’t had the chance to talk much with Cherry. Let’s go find her.”
In fact, she introduced me to Cherry when we first got to the party, and we’d had a long, pleasant conversation after which I told Sam that I thought the bride to be absolutely worthy of Sam’s friendship.
“Where are we really going?” I ask.
“Away from Reg. I figured that was enough.”
“I could kiss you right now,” I tell her, in response to which she tilts her head up.
“Do,” she says. “He’s watching.”
Unlike earlier, I don’t hesitate. Earlier was bonus content. This is the actual show, and I take her into my arms, then use my finger to lift her chin as I close my mouth over hers. I’m planning on sensual and romantic. A solid show-kiss for a mixed audience.
But things don’t always go the way they’re planned. Her lips part, her mouth opening wide to me, and I don’t even hesitate. I claim it hungrily, reveling in the way our tongues war and our teeth clash as she clutches the back of my head and pulls me tighter against her. This is more than a kiss, it’s a full-on sensual assault, and I feel the effects of it burning through me, heating my blood, firing my senses.
My head spins, and I don’t want this to end, and when we break apart, she takes my hand. “We need to go to the room now.”
“Why?” My defenses are down, b
ut despite that kiss, my pre-Brody position hasn’t changed.
“Because they’ll all think that we’re going off to fuck—Reg among them. And that’s what we want them to think.”
“Right.” I draw in a breath, feeling a bit cheated that they’ll think it even though we aren’t doing it.
“It’s still an option,” she says a few minutes later once we’re inside the suite.
We’ve walked halfway across the resort, but I still know what she’s talking about. Primarily because that’s all I’ve been thinking about. “Samantha…”
Her eyes narrow, then she cocks her head toward the bedroom. “Follow me.”
“Sam, you know we’re not…”
“A game,” she says. “We’re just going to play a game.”
She climbs onto the bed, gathering her skirt around her bent legs. Then she pats the mattress in front of her.
I hesitate, but I’ve had a few drinks and a nice little buzz, and why wouldn’t I want to play a game with this woman?
So, yeah. I join her. Albeit with a tiny bit of trepidation.
“What are we playing?” I ask.
“Truth or Dare. Or Never Have I Ever.” Her mouth curves in a magnanimous smile. “Your choice.”
“You do realize we’re not in school anymore.”
“Yes, thank you, I know. But I also know what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I want to play this game with you. Why? Are you too shy?”
“Maybe I’m not sure I want all my secrets revealed.”
“No problem,” she says cheerily. “Truth or Dare it is. Then you never have to tell me anything—you can always choose a dare if you want.” She points toward the sitting room. “We’ll keep the whiskey, by the way, and I’ll take Cherry the gin when I meet the girls at the spa in the morning.”
She waves her hand again. “Well, go on. The bottle’s on the desk and there are glasses in the serving area.”
I should protest, but I don’t. Why? Because even though I should, I want to play. And I hope she chooses truth most of the time, because I want to hear her secrets. And because if she takes the dare option, I’m really not sure what I’ll make her do.
I bring the glasses and the bottle, but forego the ice as I pour us each a shot. “We drink on the questions or the dares,” she says, and although I’m quite sure those aren’t the formal rules, I nod in agreement.
She says I can start, and when I pose the question, she chooses truth.
“Who was the last person you slept with?”
“Reg,” she says. “But tonight I’ll sleep with you.”
“Beside me,” I correct.
She lifts a shoulder. “We’ll see. Truth or dare.”
“Dare.”
She takes a sip as she ponders, and even though we’re only drinking on questions, I don’t stop her. For that matter, I take one myself. Spirit of the game and all.
“All right,” she says. “Take off your shirt.”
I figure I’ve gotten off easy. I’m wearing jeans and a gray linen button down, and as soon as I’ve taken it off, I toss it off the side of the bed.
Her teeth drag over her lower lip as her eyes explore me. “Nice,” she says, and that simple word pleases me more than it should. Then her brows arch in confusion, and she points to a spot a few inches down from my shoulder.
“Shrapnel,” I say before she can ask. “Caught it in Afghanistan. And we’re not talking about my time in the military. This game isn’t supposed to be serious.”
“Oh, it’s serious,” she counters. “But I’m fine with that rule.” She finishes her whiskey and holds out the glass for more. “Your turn to ask,” she says as I pour.
I do, and this time she chooses dare. And for a moment—one moment for which I should be desperately ashamed—I consider the possibility of daring her to suck my cock.
I shove the thought away, though. Because we are not going there.
Still … even if I’m not going to fuck her, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view. “Take off your dress.”
Without any protest, she unzips the back and pulls the whole thing over her head. Then she tosses it on top of my shirt.
Now she’s sitting about two feet away from me in tiny panties and a strapless bra. I’ve seen her in less—like absolutely nothing— but damn me, I’m harder now than I was this afternoon.
I slam back the rest of my drink and try to find some sort of equilibrium.
“My turn,” she says. “Which is it?”
“You know.”
“Fine. Another dare.” Her eyes dip. “Take off your jeans.”
Shit. I really should have seen that coming. “No can do,” I say. “You’d be getting a disproportionate response.”
“In English?”
“I’m commando.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious.” I realized when I was getting dressed that I forgot to pack underwear. I shrug. “It’s no big deal. Except during truth or dare.”
“I still think you’re bullshitting me.” As she says it, she scoots to my side.
“What the hell?” I ask as she tugs on my waistband, then slides her hand inside. “Christ Sam.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, but I wasn’t prepared for her warm palm against my stiffening cock.
“You’re turned on,” she says softly. “Me, too.” She eases her hand out of my jeans, then resettles on the mattress across from me. Only this time, her legs aren’t primly together and tucked behind her. Now she’s in a lotus position, giving me a full view of her obviously wet panties. “Okay,” she says, “truth or dare.”
My heart is pounding. And, yeah, my resolve is fading. “It’s your turn to choose.”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyes never leave mine as she slowly slides her fingers inside the band of her panties. “Stroke your cock.”
“Jesus, Sam … we said weren’t going to do this.”
“It’s just a game.” Her voice is low, heavy with sensual possibilities, and I can see her nipples harden under the thin satin of the bra. “You didn’t make any promises to Brody about not playing games.”
“Then let’s play it,” I say, my voice cracking with lust. “And it’s your turn to choose.”
She sighs in defeat, but her fingers linger where they are. “Truth,” she says.
“Favorite sexual position?” Wonder why that was the first thought to come into my head.
“Yet to be determined. Want to help me figure it out?”
“Sam. Don’t.”
“Fine. Truth okay?”
I sigh. “Sure. Fine.”
“What exactly did you promise my brother?”
I think about it, trying to replay the conversation. “That I wouldn’t make a pass.”
“Good info. I think we can work with that.”
I shake my head. “No. There was subtext. That I wasn’t going to fuck his sister.”
“Not fuck,” she clarifies. “He’s afraid you’ll seduce me. But that’s not what’s happening here, is it?”
No, I think. It’s definitely not. But all I say is, “Sam…”
“Play the game.”
“It’s late, and you can barely keep your eyes open.” It’s true. She’s finished her second whiskey, and she’s definitely starting to fade.
“Just play the damn game.”
“Fine. Dare.”
“Watch.” The fingers that had barely dipped into her underwater now ease lower to her clit. I can’t see everything, but just knowing what she’s doing under that thin scrap of material…
“God, Sam.” She’s driving me crazy. “You can’t—”
“This is the dare. I’m daring you to watch. No touching me. No touching yourself. Just keep your eyes on me. Do you think you can?”
As she speaks, she tugs off the panties, then unfastens the bra. She’s completely naked now, her skin practically glowing from arousal.
“I like you watc
hing me,” she says as she plays with her clit. Her eyes meet mine. “Do you like it, too?”
“It’s dare,” I say. “Not truth.”
She closes her eyes and lifts her hips as she thrusts two fingers deep inside. “Just tell me. Please, Leo. I want to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” I admit, so turned on now it’s all I can do not to toss my promise away and fuck her right then. “I’m hard as a rock, and you’re killing me. Truth or dare.”
“Dare.”
The word hangs in the air.
I draw a breath, knowing I’m about to cross a line. But that’s okay, because it’s the only line I intend to cross.
“Leo?” Her voice is soft. “Tell me. What’s my dare?”
“Come for me,” I whisper. “I dare you to come while I’m watching.”
A smile dances on her lips, and I watch, mesmerized, as she fingers herself, her hips shifting and her body trembling as she comes closer and closer.
My cock’s hard as steel, but I have no desire to jack off. I’m mesmerized by her sounds. By the way her muscles tighten and release. The rhythm of her hips.
And just when I think that I could watch her all night, she cries out, then arches up as she gasps for air, her fingers tightening in the mussed bedcover.
When her body finally stops trembling, she falls back against the pillows, then reaches for the decorative blanket that’s folded at the foot of the bed. I put it over her, and she tugs it up around her shoulders as she smiles innocently at me.
“Night, Leo,” she says, then rolls onto her side, the blanket hugging her bare body as she drifts off into a sex and whiskey induced sleep.
Chapter Nine
When I wake up, Sam’s side of the bed is empty, and the inside of the suite is both quiet and pitch black.
I sit bolt upright, then I click on the bedside lamp, terrified that she regretted putting on that surprising, amazing, seriously fucking hot show for me.
I check my phone and see that it’s already past eleven. My imagination goes into overdrive, seeing her in a ride share, halfway to Austin by now. Or at the very least, sharing Cherry’s room, since the bride and groom are in separate suites until after the ceremony.
