His Wicked Games: A Billionaire Romance (The Cunningham Family #1) Read online

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  Morning comes too quickly. My hair is still wet from the shower I took after returning to my room last night, but I don't care. I switch out of Louisa's pajamas and back into my clothes from yesterday. They're stiff and crusty from the dried mud, but that doesn't matter. I'm eager to get out of here as soon as I can. If I can sneak out without running into Calder, then all the better. He doesn't really deserve more than a thank-you note, I tell myself. Not after what he's done to the Center. It's cowardly, I know, but I don't know how to face him, not after last night. I don't think I can look at him again after what I've done.

  But luck isn't on my side. When I open the door to the hallway, hoping to slip out quietly, I find myself face to face with Calder. He stands there in front of me, fist raised as if he'd been about to knock on my door. A slow smile slips across his lips.

  “Well look at that,” he says. “Perfect timing.” His eyes slide down my body, and his smile fades as he takes in my clothes. “Why are you wearing that? Certainly you can find something clean that fits you.”

  My stomach flips, and not entirely because of his scrutiny—though admittedly that stings, too. I can't look at him without remembering last night, without picturing him naked and lounging on his bed, his hand around his hard length. Without recalling how much it had aroused me. My body reacts even now to the memory, and I reach out and grab the door frame to hide the fact that my legs are quivering.

  “I… I thank you for your hospitality,” I say. “But I really need to be going.”

  His frown deepens. “You can't go anywhere. Haven't you looked outside?”

  My fingers tighten on the doorframe. I throw a glance over my shoulder, back toward the long windows on the far side of the room. One of the curtains is slightly ajar, and through that sliver I can see that the sky is still gray and rainy. I hadn't even considered the possibility that the storm might still be raging outside. How long am I going to be trapped here?

  Calder is studying me.

  “There's no need to look so upset. There's breakfast waiting downstairs. You haven't lived until you've tried Martin's French toast.”

  I'm still a little shaken by the thought that I'm going to be stuck here another day. I can't look him in the face. I can hardly speak to him. I just keep seeing him naked, keep hearing the moans from the women on the television. Even now, my body has started to react once more. I want to slam the door in Calder's face. I want to run back to the bed, throw the covers over my head, and hide until I forget what I've done. Until the heat leaves my skin and I feel like a normal person again.

  But no—freaking out won't solve anything. I force myself to take a deep breath. Calder's given no sign that he knows I watched him last night, and my weirdness will only tip him off. I have to be calm. Pretend it never happened. Put on a smile and act like I don't feel more awkward than I've ever felt in my entire life.

  “Let—let me change,” I say. “I'll be right down.”

  “I'll wait. I don't expect you to find your way there by yourself.”

  I can't argue with that, so I give him a nod and retreat to the closet. I let myself browse through my clothing options for longer than I should, but it gives me a minute to settle down.

  You can do this, I tell myself. Forget about last night. He'll never know what happened. Remember what he's doing to the Center. Remember how much you hate him.

  It helps, somewhat, to embrace the anger. That I can deal with. I select a casual day dress from the rack and quickly change. I've got to face him sooner or later, and putting it off isn't going to make it any easier.

  Calder flashes one of his charming smiles when he sees me.

  “Another fine choice,” he says, giving me an appreciative once-over. I ignore the flutters in my stomach.

  “Thank you,” I reply. I force myself to take the arm he offers, but when he closes his hand over mine, all I can think about it how I watched that same hand move up and down himself last night. My skin burns under his fingers, but I can't pull away without looking rude or suspicious.

  We walk in silence. His thumb brushes against the back of my palm, and I can't tell if it's an intentional caress or an accident.

  The Center might close because of him, I remind myself over and over and over again.

  “I trust you slept well?” he says, his fingers tightening on mine.

  “Fine, thank you,” I squeak out.

  “Good.” I sense him watching me out of the corner of my eye. “If there’s anything I can do to make your stay here more enjoyable, please let me know. The satisfaction of my guests is very important to me.”

  The way he says satisfaction sends a shiver through me. I pray he doesn’t feel it through our interlinked hands.

  Breakfast is even worse. I can't even appreciate the amazing French toast because I'm so aware of Calder's every movement. I'm afraid he'll touch me again, accidentally or otherwise, and every time his skin brushes against mine, I remember the way I longed for that very contact last night, how I imagined his hands on me instead of my own. My knuckles are white around my fork. I'm going to go insane unless I can trick myself into thinking about something else.

  Think about the Arts & Hearts dinner, I tell myself. Remember how aloof and disinterested he was? He never cared about your work. He didn’t even bother to pretend.

  The rage gets me through a few more bites of food, and when that memory starts to fade, I think about my dad—about the sadness and the fatigue that seem a permanent part of him now. His whole life is in the Center. He's sacrificed so much over the years—the great salary, the cushy lifestyle, even his marriage to my mom—all so he could bring arts and hope to a struggling community. And now it's all about to slip away from him. Because of Calder.

  “You seem a little preoccupied this morning,” Calder says. “Aren't you enjoying your food?”

  “No, it's great,” I say quickly. “Martin outdid himself.” I push at a piece of syrup-drenched crust with my fork. “I'm just not a morning person, that's all.”

  He seems to accept the explanation.

  “Are you certain you slept well?” he says, looking at me a little too intently.

  I squirm in my seat. Does he know?

  Please, dear God, no.

  “I was going to suggest that since we're stuck here together, I might give you that tour after all. We'll have to skip the maze in this weather, but if you like, I can show you a couple of those secret passages.”

  I nearly choke.

  “I don't want to trouble you,” I say, coughing. “I'm sure you have work to do. You don't have to entertain me just because I'm stuck here.”

  “It's no trouble at all. I've got some things to take care of later, but there's plenty of time for me to show you around before then. At the very least, I'll point out a few places you might entertain yourself while you’re here. The house has a number of surprises.”

  There's no graceful way out of this. The last thing I want is to end up in one of those dark, hidden corridors again, especially with Calder, but I'm still too flustered to come up with a good excuse on the fly.

  “I need to make a few calls myself,” I say.

  “A short tour, then. And it's still early. You'll have plenty of time to make your calls first.”

  I have no other arguments, so I just nod. “A short tour.”

  He smiles at me, but it’s not one of his usual disarming, charming smiles. This one is wicked, hungry. There’s a dark gleam in his eye.

  “Trust me,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. “I'll make sure you enjoy it.”

  That's exactly what I'm afraid of.

  CHAPTER SIX