Wicked Games: The Complete Wicked Games Series Box Set

by J. T. Geissinger

  I stand, pop one of her conch croquettes into my mouth, chew, and swallow. “And make it good. If I find out you’re just a pretty face, I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  Her smile is the definition of smug. With that seductive accent, she says, “A pretty face who can make a soldier who survived three shots to the stomach swoon from just a kiss.”

  She takes one of the conch croquettes and bites into it with the unstudied elegance of a queen. I want to grab her, throw her over my shoulder, take her upstairs to my room, and fuck the living daylights out of her until we’re both exhausted, but I smile at her instead.

  Time enough for that later. Right now I’ve gotta distribute some drinks.

  I grab the beers and Tabby’s water and leave Angeline with a wink. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she’s smiling, so I know she thinks I’m cute. Pretending my dick isn’t tenting the front of my shorts like the big top at a circus, I swagger back to the pool.

  When I get there, Darcy takes one look at my crotch and says, “Uh, Ryan? Unless you’re starring in a Viagra commercial we don’t know about, you might wanna wrap a towel around your waist. That thing needs its own zip code.”

  Connor hoots. Tabby and Kai look politely in different directions. Juanita says with perfect teenage disdain, “Ew.”

  “Cut the poor guy some slack,” says Connor, chuckling. “He’s on vacation.”

  Darcy snorts. “So that means we all have to be subjected to a front-row viewing of his monster boner? I don’t think so. I mean, it’s a beautiful thing, Ry, but seriously, you might as well be naked.”

  She stares right at my dick the entire time she talks. Kai frowns and nudges her with his elbow. She says innocently, “What? I’m telling him to put it away!”

  Juanita slides into the pool with a muttered “You guys are gross,” and swims off.

  I crouch down, set all the drinks on the edge of the pool, and say in a low voice, “So don’t be surprised if I miss dinner tonight. Somethin’ else came up.”

  Darcy cackles. “You don’t say!”

  I glare at her. Why the woman always has to use the volume of a carnival barker when she talks is beyond me. I think my hearing capacity has been reduced by at least twenty percent since I met her.

  Tabby says, “Why don’t you bring your new friend to dinner with us?”

  When I cast a doubtful glance at her, she sighs. “It’s our last night on the island, Ryan. Who knows when we’ll all be together like this again. C’mon. You can sacrifice one hour in between…” She waves a hand vaguely in the air. “Whatever it is you’ll be doing.”

  If I’m being honest, I don’t think I can. That one taste of Angeline knocked me flat on my ass. I feel like a junkie after a high. All I want is more, more, more.

  But tomorrow Connor and Tabby are off to island-hop for the rest of their honeymoon, and the rest of us are back to our real lives in New York, so Tabby has a valid point. It would be impolite to bail on our last dinner together just for some mind-blowingly hot sex with an incredibly beautiful, sensual, and fascinating stranger.

  I mean…right?

  Watching my face, Tabby says drily, “Don’t break your brain trying to decide, Boner Boy.”

  “Leave him alone, woman.” Connor wraps his arm around Tabby’s waist and drags her against him. He smiles down at her. “If he makes it, he makes it. If he doesn’t, I can’t honestly say I blame him.” He lowers his voice. “Seriously, princess. Look at her.”

  Tabby’s brows lift. “Oh, you think she’s hot, jarhead?”

  Darcy mutters, “Uh-oh.”

  “Not my type,” Connor says instantly. “But I can see the appeal.” When Tabby just keeps staring at him, he clears his throat. “For someone else. Not me, obviously.”

  Tabby says, “Mm-hmm.”

  Darcy makes an “ooo” sound that’s like You are so dead right now, while Kai watches the exchange with his typical batshit-crazy grin.

  My friends are so weird.

  “Okay, in the name of marital harmony, I’ll commit to dinner,” I say, itching to get back to Angeline and her strawberry-flavored mouth. I stand and salute Connor, who gives me a pleading look like he really wants me to stay and help defuse the situation.

  I leave him with a smirk. He’s my brother-in-arms and I love the guy, but I’d rather take another three shots to the gut than deal with a pissed-off Tabitha West.

  Angeline watches me return with the focused concentration of a predator contemplating a meal. Why that should be such a fucking turn-on, I have no idea.

  I stop beside her and lean an elbow on the bar. “So. What’d you come up with, Angel?” When she opens her mouth, I warn, “And remember, it better be good.”

  She waits a beat and then says tartly, “Is it my turn to talk now?”

  Mercy. A goddess and a smartass. I’m done for. I say mildly, “Be my guest.”

  A secret smile hovers around her lips. She crooks a finger, inviting me closer. I’m in her face so fast, I’ve probably set a new land speed record. She puts her lips against my ear and whispers, “You don’t really think I’m going to sleep with a man I met five minutes ago, do you?”

  Something inside my chest does this flopping, dying fish thing that doesn’t seem healthy. I have to stifle a groan. I want this woman so bad, I can taste it.

  I turn my head a fraction and now we’re nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes. Hers are a gorgeous caramel brown, twinkling with mischief.

  I say, “Of course not. I’m a gentleman. I was gonna let you finish those conch croquettes first.”

  She slow blinks and smiles.

  My titanium boner is in serious jeopardy of exploding in my shorts.

  “You haven’t even asked what I’m doing in St. Croix.” Angeline leans back and lazily selects another of the croquettes from the plate. “I could be vacationing with my husband.”

  “No ring,” I counter, watching her make eating a piece of fried seafood look like dirty fetish porn.

  She swallows and licks her lips, obviously enjoying torturing me. “My boyfriend, then.”

  “You don’t have a boyfriend.”

  My tone of total confidence makes her arch an eyebrow. “No? What makes you so certain of that?”

  “Because you kiss like you’re starving, you look at me like a little kid looks at all the presents under the tree on Christmas morning, and you’re not the type of woman who cheats on her man. You’re too serious for that, even though you try to seem carefree.”

  Something crosses her face, a look of surprise or irritation, instantly erased. She says, “I had no idea I was so transparent.”

  Though her tone is casual, I can tell she’s disturbed. She doesn’t want me to look too closely, to notice things about her. Naturally, that makes me want to notice even more. I’m a bloodhound with the fresh scent of fox in my nose.

  Let the hunt begin.

  “Ignore me,” I say, watching her compose herself. “I’ve been out in the sun too long. So tell me, Angel, what brings you to St. Croix?”

  She flips a lock of long brown hair over her shoulder and swivels on the stool so she’s facing the bar counter, her eyes turned away. “Work.”

  I look at the infinity pool, the lush green mountains in the distance, the sparkling Caribbean Sea dotted with sailboats. Then I look back at her, in all her exotic glory. “Lemme guess. You’re a model.”

  “I’m a travel writer, doing a piece on the fine resorts of the Caribbean.”

  “A writer.” Sure you are. And I’m Dolly Parton. I slide onto the barstool next to her and take a slug of my warm beer. “Guess you’re not just a pretty face after all.”

  I’m gifted with her full-throated laugh again. “You mean you couldn’t tell from that line I used on you when you came back from the pool?”

  “So it was a line,” I drawl, gently bumping her shoulder with mine. When she looks at me, I grin. “You are gonna sleep with me.”

  She tries to look offen
ded but completely fails. “You think you’re extremely charming, don’t you?” she says, all prim and proper. Now it’s my turn to laugh.

  “Hardly. My mama always said I’ve got the manners God gave a goat. I’m just a beer-drinkin’ good ol’ boy from Georgia with more balls than brains.”

  Angeline eyes me. She lets her gaze linger on my tattoos, the scars on my stomach, and my hands, which have spent near equal time on the keys of a piano as they have on an M16 rifle. She says softly, “Or maybe that’s what you want people to think.”

  Our eyes lock. A strange sensation makes its way through my stomach. It’s fizzy. Fluttery. If I didn’t know fucking better, I’d describe it as butterflies.

  “I’m leavin’ tomorrow,” I say abruptly, holding her gaze.

  “Me, too.”

  “So…ticktock, beautiful mademoiselle.”

  She knows exactly what I mean. Her lips curve upward. “I appreciate your candor, Mr. McLean—”

  “Ryan,” I correct her. “Good friends call each other by their first names, Angel.”

  Her eyes do this incredible thing when she smiles. They sparkle like sunshine glimmering off water. Or is that the stars in my own eyes I’m seeing?

  Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, I’m losing my shit. Pull it together, dickhead!

  “Okay,” Angeline says. “As I was saying, I appreciate your candor, Ryan. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. You’re very sexy.”

  Her gaze travels hungrily up and down my body as she says “sexy.” If she keeps looking at me like that, I might have an accident in my shorts.

  Then she lets out this sad little sigh and lifts a shoulder. “But I don’t do one-night stands. It’s not my thing.”

  Like I’m gonna let that stop me. I immediately switch into problem-solving mode. “No one-nighters. No problem. You live in Paris, right?”

  Her brows pull together. “Yes. Why?”

  “I’m in New York.”

  She cocks her head, waiting.

  I say, “It’s only about an eight-hour flight between the two, and I’ve got a shit-ton of frequent flier miles. And since you’re a travel writer, I figure you probably do, too.”

  She stares at me without blinking. Then she says, “We’ve known each other for ten minutes and you’re suggesting we enter into a long-distance relationship?”

  I shrug but don’t break eye contact. “You want me. I want you. You don’t do one-night stands. You got a better solution?”

  I’m not sure if her expression is horror or amusement. “You’re actually serious.”

  “As a heart attack, Angel.”

  Shaking her head, she lets out a small, astonished laugh and mutters something to herself in French.

  I lean closer, wrap my hand around her arm, and give it a squeeze. When she looks at me, I say softly, “The way you move. The way you look at me. Your laugh. That kiss. I’m thirty-four years old, Angel, and I’ve had my share of women. Not a single one has ever challenged me, made me laugh, called me on my shit, looked at me like they understood me, and given me a boner that could cut glass while at the same time makin’ me feel like a teenager with his first crush. I wouldn’t care if you lived in fuckin’ Antarctica. This is gonna happen.”

  Even if you are lying to me about who you are.

  After a long time, she simply says, “Wow.”

  I grin at her. “You just fell in love with me, didn’t you? You’re totally in love with me now.”

  Her laugh is disbelieving. “Or I’m wondering where the nearest police station is so I can file a restraining order!”

  “Nah. I’m tellin’ you, it’s love. A year from now, we’ll be back here on our honeymoon.”

  She drops her face into her hands and groans. “Mon Dieu, please stop talking.”

  From the pool comes a shout. “Whatever he just said, he meant, sweetheart!”

  It’s Connor. Over my shoulder, I casually flip him the bird. His booming laugh echoes across the pool and through the bar.

  I say, “Listen.”

  Angeline looks at me warily.

  “We’re havin’ dinner tonight in the hotel restaurant, the six of us.” I jerk my thumb in the direction of the pool and the gang of misfits I call friends. “Now seven, including you. After dinner, you and I will go up to my room, we’ll talk, we’ll have a drink, we’ll pretend like you’re not already madly in love with me and wild to have my babies.”

  She interrupts me before I’ve got the last word out of my mouth. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Ryan McLean. Are you aware of that?”

  “Yeah, but you still think I’m cute. Which means there’s somethin’ seriously wrong with you. Which makes us a perfect match.”

  She starts to laugh and can’t stop. I go right on talking.

  “Then you’ll decide if your one-night stand rule applies to the beginning of a long-distance relationship with the man of your dreams. And I’m just pointin’ out here that it wouldn’t be a one-night stand if it’s at the start of a relationship. Anyway. Whatever you decide, we’ll spend some time, get to know each other better, share a few stories, make out. Probably mostly make out.”

  She continues to laugh. I’m having a hard time keeping a straight face too.

  “So whaddya say, Angel?”

  When she finally catches her breath, her eyes are alight, her cheeks are pink, and her smile is as brilliant as the sun. She says, “Okay, cowboy. You’re on. But don’t even think about stepping out of line with me, because I’m a knife-fencing expert. Put a hand where it isn’t wanted, and you’ll lose it.”

  Now I’m the one laughing, but not because I don’t believe her. I do. And this is major progress.

  It’s the first thing she’s told me about herself that’s the truth.

  3

  Mariana

  There’s a part of me that’s thrilled about the way things are going. Ryan’s making this all extremely easy on me, that’s for sure. But there’s another part of me—a bigger part—that’s worried.

  I like him.

  For someone in my line of work, that can be deadly.

  It’s not just the way Ryan looks or kisses, or his straightforward, no-bullshit style. It’s not only his wacky sense of humor or his obvious intelligence. It’s all that, plus he’s this big, macho Marine with a cocky swagger who’s strong enough to survive gunshots but touches me with true gentleness, both with his hands and his eyes.

  The man has a sensitive side.

  There’s nothing more irresistible to my cynical heart than rugged masculinity paired with tenderness. Every other man I know is ruthless to his core.

  It’s times like these I wish I weren’t so observant.

  “Dinner’s at eight,” says Ryan, smiling his signature cocksure smile. “What room you in, Angel? I’ll pick you up.”

  No matter how much I like him, the odds of me letting this man into my room are about as good as the odds that lightning will strike me dead where I sit. “Let’s meet in the lobby.”

  Before he can ask why, I lean forward and kiss him.

  It proves an effective distraction.

  He takes my face in his hands—another thing I like more than I should—and softly groans into my mouth as our tongues sweep together. Dangerous adrenaline floods my veins. I try to maintain intellectual distance, like an outside observer, but the man is a champion kisser. His lips are filled with mind-altering chemicals. They must be, because within seconds, I’m lost, clinging to him like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing that can save me from going under the next big wave.

  “I dig the little noises you make,” he whispers, gently biting my lower lip as he cradles my head.

  “Noises?” I repeat, too blissed out to be horrified I might be making some kind of unattractive animal sounds into his mouth.

  When was the last time I was kissed like this?

  Never.

  “Little growly kitten noises.” He kisses one corner of my mouth, then the othe
r. He says hotly into my ear, “I wonder what kind of noises you’ll make when I have my face between your legs.”

  I summon a vivid picture of myself naked on my back in a bed, Ryan’s golden head between my thighs, writhing and screaming my way through a thermonuclear orgasm. I try not to pant.

  He allows me to pull away, but the expression on his face is dark and intense. I think he might grab me at any moment and haul me off into the bushes, caveman style.

  Over the roar of my pulse, I say coolly, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, cowboy. You’re still in the friend zone. Any more assumptions about where this is headed and the friend zone is where you’ll stay.”

  I amuse him, evidenced by his gruff chuckle and jaunty salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I toss my hair and rise from the barstool. Instantly, he’s on his feet, too.

  “See you at eight,” I say.

  He looks crestfallen, like a little boy left alone at the playground. “You’re leavin’ already? It’s not even four!”

  Mierde. Why does he have to be so adorable? The contrast between his sweet, boyish side and his macho, mouthy side is maddeningly disarming. “I have some work to finish up this afternoon. My article’s due to my editor today, and I haven’t wrapped it up yet.”

  He looks at me for a beat. His expression changes into something unreadable. Gone is the little boy. In his place is a man who is watchful and speculative, his eyes the chilly blue of an iceberg. It’s the wolf I saw earlier, the one lurking behind the swagger and smiles.

  “Of course,” he says, without a shred of emotion in his voice. “I understand. Duty calls.”

  This time when he smiles, it sends a shiver down my spine.

  I dig some cash from the clutch I brought with me to the pool and leave it on the bar for the conch croquettes. Ryan looks skyward and sighs. He picks up the money and waves it in my face. Confused, I take it.

  Ryan says, “Don’t insult me, Angel. And before you get any other dumb ideas, I’m buyin’ dinner, too, compris?”

  My heart skips a beat. “You speak French?”

  His shrug is the picture of nonchalance. “A little,” he says. “Used to date a French girl.”