His Wicked Games: A Billionaire Romance (The Cunningham Family #1) Page 9

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  “Did you finish your calls?” he asks when he arrives at my door.

  I nod, pretending that I'm not stressing over the fact that Garrett has yet to respond to my message. I'm not even sure I want him to. The thought of talking to him again makes my stomach turn, but the thought of losing the Center isn't any better.

  “I thought we'd start at the top,” he says, his eyes drifting across my body. “Then work our way down from there.”

  My stomach twists. “What?”

  “The top of the house,” he clarifies, flashing an amused smile.

  I look away. He’s doing that on purpose, trying to make me blush, but I won’t let him think he’s unsettled me. He can’t know I’m attracted to him—and he definitely can’t get any hint that anything might have happened last night.

  “That sounds good,” I tell him evenly.

  I study my host out of the corner of my eye. Today he's wearing a gray T-shirt and dark jeans. He looks so normal. If I passed him on the street I'd never guess he came from all this. My eyes linger on the way his sleeves stretch over his shoulders, the way his hair curls down around the collar. He still hasn't shaved, but he doesn't look sloppy. Just deliciously sexy.

  I glance away before I get worked up again. I'm not here to ogle Calder. I'm not some sort of animal or sex fiend. I'm a professional woman who came here to save her dad's life’s work.

  Calder leads me up a flight of stairs. My bedroom was already on the second floor—where the heck is he taking me? My question is answered when we reach the top and he throws open a door. Cold air rushes in around us. He's brought me up to the roof.

  “I hope you’re not afraid of getting a little wet,” he says, his eyebrow quirking.

  I try to ignore the sexual implication of his words.

  His hand grazes my lower back as he ushers me outside. A tingle races across my skin. I step away from him, but the heat from his touch lingers on my spine.

  The roof is, no surprise, spectacularly beautiful. This section is covered by a high pavilion ceiling, and globe lanterns dangle from the beams. There's an entire freaking kitchen up here—complete with a large stone oven—a full bar, and of course the sort of furniture that puts the grungy couch in my apartment to shame. Beyond the pavilion, a pool stretches across the roof, its silvery surface dappled by rain. The surrounding patio is done in gorgeous red-brown stone. The whole scene looks like something I've only ever seen on one of those fancy television design shows.

  “What do you think?” Calder says. “Want to go for a swim?”

  I must show my shock on my face because he lets out a laugh.

  “Haven’t you ever been for a swim in the rain?” he asks. “You get damp either way.”

  I’m not sure if he’s being serious or not.

  “I don’t have a swimsuit,” I remind him.

  The corner of his mouth curls up. “Not a problem.”

  Before I can utter another word, he pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing his perfectly chiseled chest.

  My mouth falls open, but I snap it quickly shut again.

  “What are you doing?” I say.

  He grins. “Swimming.”

  His hands move to the button of his jeans.

  “Are you stripping?” I’m unable to keep the shock out of my voice.

  “I’m not going to swim in my jeans,” he says matter-of-factly. His fingers pause on the zipper. “You’re welcome to join me, of course.”

  “I—” My entire face is on fire. “I’m not going to take off my clothes.”

  He shrugs. “Suit yourself. You’re missing out, though.” He unzips his jeans and slides them down in one movement, revealing a pair of dark boxer-briefs.

  Once more I’m bombarded with memories of last night, of his naked body reclining on the bed. Of the way I touched myself at the sight of him.

  My body responds in turn now. I clench my hands and unclench them again, trying to gain control of myself.

  Calder hooks his thumbs in the waistband, and my heartbeat quickens. Is he going to pull those off, too?

  “For someone who’s shy about skinny-dipping, you certainly have no qualms about watching,” he says.

  I almost fall over.

  “I—I’m not watching,” I say, quickly turning away. “You’re the one who tore off your pants without warning.” I imagine I’m the color of a ripe tomato right about now.

  He chuckles. “Come, Ms. Frazer. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

  My blood runs cold. Oh my God. He knows about last night.

  “What—what’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, still refusing to turn and look at him. “What are you implying?”

  “Forgive me,” he says, his voice thick with amusement. “I didn’t mean to give offense. I was only suggesting that by this point in your life you’ve probably seen a naked man or two—unless I’m mistaken?”

  “I’m not a virgin,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with men just stripping off their clothes in front of me.” No, but I’m all right with spying on those same men while they pleasure themselves in their bedroom.

  Forget the ripe tomato—I’m probably as red as a fire truck right now.

  “Well,” says Calder behind me, “if you’re not comfortable with complete nudity, then maybe we can keep our undergarments on.”

  “I’m not swimming.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” he says. “May I remind you that you broke onto my property? That I had to wrestle you down in the mud? Certainly you can’t be afraid of taking a little dip in the rain.”

  “I’m not afraid,” I say, spinning on him angrily. He’s closer than I thought—just in front of me now. There’s still a bit of amusement around the corners of his mouth, but his dark eyes bore into me. Butterflies dance in my stomach.

  “If you’re not afraid,” he says, his voice breathy and low, “then why are you resisting?”

  He’s so close that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, so close that I can smell the musky scent of his soap—or is that only him? All it would take is the smallest of movements and I could brush my fingers against his bare stomach, learn if his skin is as soft and smooth and hot as I imagined last night.

  “I…” I don’t know what to say. I don’t have an excuse, not really, except for the general sense that this is a bad, bad idea.

  Oh, I’m in trouble.

  Calder must sense my indecision, because his eyes suddenly darken. Before I can react, he grabs me around the waist, just as he did on the lawn yesterday.

  “What the—” I cry as he hoists me off my feet. “What are you doing?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead he turns and starts carrying me to the pool.

  “Put me down!” I cry, pissed that I fell for his trick a second time. “I swear, if you throw me—”

  Suddenly I’m flying through the air, Calder’s arms still around me. We crash into the pool, and water rushes all around us.

  He releases me when I start to struggle. I kick my way back up to the surface, gasping and coughing as I come up for air.

  “What the hell?” Louisa’s dress is tangled around my knees and my hair is clinging to my face. I flip the wet strands away from my eyes.

  Calder, meanwhile, is laughing his ass off.

  “Come on. It’s just a little water.”

  “I’m wearing your sister’s clothes,” I remind him. I felt bad enough about borrowing them in the first place.

  “I offered you an alternative,” he says, still far too pleased with himself.

  He stands up, and the water spills down his body. I try not to notice the way the drops slide down the grooves between his muscles. The corner of his mouth twists upward.

  “Ugh,” I say, before he can accuse me of checking him out again. “You’re despicable, you know that?” I turn and start trudging through the water toward the ladder.

  I hear sloshing as he moves after me.


  “Come on, Ms. Frazer,” he says. “Just a little—”

  “No!” I say, spinning back toward him. I move my hand as I do, trying to keep him back, and in the process I send a wave spraying up at him. I splash him square in the face. He stops, blinking and sputtering as the drops spill out of his eyes and mouth and nose.

  It takes a moment for him to recover, and when he does, he stares at me with astonishment.

  “Did you just splash me, Ms. Frazer?”

  “I… not on purpose. I—”

  He moves toward me, and I stumble back, instinctively throwing my arms out again and sending another surge of water at him.

  But he’s prepared this time, and his eyes light up devilishly.

  “Now it’s on,” he says, lunging for me.

  I let out a squeak and splash him again, and he responds by splashing me back in turn. I gasp as the cool spray of water hits me in the face, but now the competitive side of me kicks in.

  Calder Cunningham is going down.

  He makes another lunge for me, and I twist out of his reach, diving underwater as his hands sweep past my hair.

  I shoot through the water, and when I come up—some ten feet behind him—he has such a look of astonishment on his face that it’s my turn to burst out laughing.

  “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” I inform him.

  His eyes light up at the challenge. He moves toward me again, and I send another spray of water in his face. When he’s blinking and coughing, I dive under once more.

  I don’t know what’s come over me. It’s probably just the absurdity of the situation: swimming in a rooftop pool—in the rain—wearing a dress that probably costs more than my rent. I feel strange. Reckless. I’m playing along with Calder, letting him chase me through the water. I’m laughing and splashing and, dare I say it, actually enjoying myself.

  But then, finally, I’m too slow—by accident or not, I can’t say—and Calder catches me by the arms. I gasp as he pulls me upright, spins me around to face him. The rain is coming down a little harder now, spilling down our faces, and I shake the wet hair from my eyes and look up at him.

  His eyes are dark, intense, hungry. He’s breathing hard from our little game, but I find that I can hardly breathe at all. His fingers are firm around my upper arms, as if he’s afraid I’ll try and escape his grip. But I can’t move. I’m not sure I want to.

  He moves so slowly that I sense more than see him leaning toward me. His lips are slightly parted. My own lips feel suddenly dry.

  I want to say something—to stop him, maybe, or perhaps to urge him onward—but the words die on my tongue. He’s so close now that I can feel his warm breath on my cheek.

  I can’t. I…

  Thunder crashes overhead. I jump, and the moment is broken.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “We need to get out of the pool,” I say, pulling out of his grip.

  “Lily—”

  “I’d rather not get electrocuted.” As if to punctuate my point, lightning flashes overhead just as I reach the pool ladder. Apparently the universe agrees: this was a terrible idea.

  What am I doing, splashing and flirting and encouraging him? I almost let him kiss me, for freak’s sake! This guy stands for everything I hate—am I really going to fall for his stupid little tricks?

  I haul myself out of the water. The air is startlingly cold, and I wrap my arms around myself as I march back toward the pavilion. Louisa’s dress clings to my legs, but I try to move as gracefully as I can. I can feel Calder’s eyes boring into my back.

  But why should I care if I look graceful or not? I let things get carried away in the secret passageway last night, but I thought I had enough self-control to behave rationally when we were face to face.

  You hate him, I remind myself for the hundredth time today. Think of the Center. Think of your dad.

  And I do. I close my eyes and remember my dad’s face the morning I left. He was poring over a stack of invoices, so absorbed that he never realized I was standing in the doorway. He looked so tired, so defeated, so old—and it’s all Calder’s fault.

  I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t realize he’s behind me until he tries to wrap a towel around my shoulders. I jerk away and glare up at him.

  “You’re freezing,” he says, holding the towel up again.

  I grab it out of his hand without another word. He has another towel for himself, and it only reminds me of the scene I witnessed last night in his bedroom. I turn around and begin drying myself off.

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says after a moment. “It’s all right to admit that you’re attracted to me.”

  “I’m not embarrassed. And I’m not attracted to you.”

  I don’t sound very convincing.

  “Why don’t we swing back by your room,” he says. “You can change, and we can continue our tour.”

  He’s challenging me. I hear it in his voice. If I say no, if I refuse to go on with this tour, I might as well admit that he’s gotten under my skin.

  “Fine,” I say.

  I’m strong. Yes, I’ve had a few moments of weakness, but I’ve learned my lesson. It won’t happen again.

  I only wish my body shared those convictions.

  CHAPTER SEVEN