Play My Game Read online

  Gravel and sand crunch under the vehicle’s tires as we turn off the road onto the short driveway out front. The whole property is classic and laid-back, a far cry from the staid, Old-Money glamour of Rush’s mansion in the city.

  I slide out of the parked car’s backseat while Rush speaks briefly with the driver. Fresh, salty air engulfs me, bringing with it the scent of blooming flowers and the low, rhythmic roar of the waves rolling against the beach on the other side of the property.

  No wonder Rush’s demeanor seemed to change the moment we landed at their airport. Even my own nerves smooth out as I drift toward the house and its inviting front porch and huge veranda.

  Eyes closed, I pause and inhale deeply, allowing myself a moment to savor the calm. Having grown up poor in the city before being saddled with multiple jobs just to make ends meet, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been this close to fresh ocean air. And I’ve never breathed it from in front of a multi-million-dollar beach house in the Hamptons.

  The car door shuts in the distance behind me, followed by the whine of the Toyota’s engine as the driver leaves the property.

  I sense Jared Rush’s approach even before I feel the deep rumble of his voice at my back. “Welcome to my studio, Ms. Laurent. Ready to get started?”

  He moves beside me and I glance at him, unsure how to answer. One part of me simply wants to be done with our arrangement, while another is desperate for it never to begin.

  This man has already put an indelible stamp on my life. Whether I follow him inside or not, I know my life can never be the same. There will always be the time before I met Jared Rush, and the time after.

  A challenge glints in Rush’s smoky brown eyes as he waits for my response.

  Does he think after the way he acted with me yesterday I won’t have the nerve to see this contract through? I’d gotten the sense he’d been trying to test my limits, possibly scare me off. If anything, his behavior has only made me more resolved to prove to him that he can’t intimidate me.

  How far will he go to prove otherwise?

  I’m not sure I’m ready to find out.

  But then I think of my mom and Katie, of how this opportunity will make life better for both of them—for all three of us. I think of Daniel, too, despite how conflicted those thoughts have become these past few days.

  I meet Rush’s piercing gaze and hold it, my chin rising a notch. “Lead the way.”

  A smile tugs at the sculpted curve of his lips. “All right, then. Come on.”

  13

  MELANIE

  I follow him onto the covered porch as he unlocks the door and gestures for me to step inside ahead of him.

  There is no doorman waiting to greet us, no household staff ready to tend his every need or whim. It’s just the two of us beneath the soaring, dark wood rafters of a spacious great room painted in shades of white and ecru.

  The simple, inviting furniture is similarly neutral, accented by a wall of filled bookcases and art of various styles and materials. The room in its entirety is like a blank canvas that’s been arranged to make the most of the real star of the show, the tall windows looking out over a sandy, grass-covered dune and the sparkling expanse of dark blue water with its gently rolling waves that spread out as far as the eye can see.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s lovely.” I glance over my shoulder and find him looking at me. “This isn’t the kind of place I imagined you working in.”

  “No?” He cocks his head slightly, a quiet grunt emanating from low in his throat. “How exactly have you been imagining me, Ms. Laurent?”

  It’s a loaded question, and I don’t doubt for a second that he’s aware of that fact. If I admit I’ve been thinking about him, picturing him at work, wondering about the unreadable man beneath the very public facade, I’ll only feed into his already gargantuan ego. Not that my denial would hold any water with him, either. He’s invaded my thoughts from the moment we met. He’s dominated them, the way his presence dominates all of my senses now.

  I avert my gaze back to the sun-dappled waves, because looking at Jared Rush only makes me intensely aware of the heat and size of him. Not to mention how insanely good he smells. Spicy and fresh, enticingly male. God help me, I’d be aware of all that even if he were standing in another room.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s in that pretty head of yours, or are you going to leave me to guess?”

  His deep voice slices through my resistance the way nothing else can. If my curiosity wasn’t so piqued I might ignore the bait he’s daring me to take. His probing gaze is even harder to ignore. I can feel it boring into me, daring me to face him.

  I draw in a breath as I look at him. “Do you want to know the truth?”

  “Always. Especially from you.” It’s a crisp answer. A coldly serious one.

  Something quick and dark flashes across his expression. A warning. Which is rich, coming from him.

  I scoff quietly and it lifts one of his brows. “Is there something funny about expecting honesty from someone?”

  “Not at all. I just think it’s ironic that you’d demand it when you practically pulse with private agendas and secrecy.”

  “Is that so.” I can’t tell if he’s amused or annoyed with me in the long moment that passes before he speaks again. “I thought my agenda couldn’t be spelled out more clearly. You have a signed copy of it, in fact.”

  Until a few days ago, Jared Rush was nothing more than a distant name to me. An enigma in a city full of mysterious and sinister figures who existed far beyond my orbit. Now, here I am, alone with him in a remote, empty house for the next several hours with the full understanding that at any moment I will be obliged to take off my clothes for him.

  Again.

  The thought of being naked in front of him doesn’t unnerve me as it did before. Jared Rush doesn’t scare me, even though he probably should. He’d like me to be afraid, I’m sure. All the better to peel me apart, bit by bit, on his canvas the way he’s done with everyone else who’s come before me.

  But I’m not going to play that game with him.

  If I’m to be examined and dissected, exposed to the very core of my being, then so will he.

  I pivot away from the glass to face him fully. He’s unearthly handsome in the gilded morning light. Smooth, bronzed skin. Chiseled cheekbones and a stubborn, squared chin under the dark whiskers framing the generous line of his mouth. His absorbing, intense eyes are the only part of his face that seems immune to the warmth of the light. Filled with impenetrable shadows, they could pull me under with him if I’m not careful.

  “I know what your contract states. What I haven’t figured out yet is what you really want to get in the end.”

  “I want what I’m due, Ms. Laurent.”

  “You’re not just talking about money. Are you?” In his cold silence, I scoff again, more sharply this time. “If that’s all this was about, you wouldn’t have offered double what Daniel owes.”

  “I offered double because that’s what it took to get you here. I would’ve paid a great deal more.”

  A dark look smolders on his profanely handsome face. He holds me in that unnerving stare of his, the one that makes me feel like I’m already naked. It sends a shiver of heat through my veins, a look that should send me bolting for the door and the nearest escape out of here, away from him.

  Instead, it does the opposite. It makes me determined to unlock whatever it is Jared Rush keeps walled up behind the cold indifference of his eyes. He’s got secrets hidden behind the mask of his cool control, the kinds that carry deep pain and scars.

  I want to uncover them all. Against every shred of logic and self-preservation I possess, I want to understand who Jared Rush really is on the inside.

  “Come,” he says. “My studio is on the other side of the house. I only have you for a few hours, so we should get started.”

  I swallow, then fall in beside him as he leads me away from the expansive
living area and down an airy atrium hallway. Windows overhead frame blue sky and frothy clouds, inviting an abundance of natural light into every corner of the welcoming house. It’s an artist’s house, no question, each tastefully furnished room presenting an interesting and ever-changing backdrop of form and light and shadows.

  Still, as polished and beautiful as it is on the surface, there’s an emptiness to this place. A vacancy beneath the outward charm.

  It’s the same kind of aching hollowness I see when I look into its owner’s eyes.

  “Do you spend a lot of time here?”

  “Not as much as I used to. And not lately.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugs. “I have other things in the city that keep me busy.”

  “Too busy to paint?”

  “Busy enough.”

  “I thought artists lived for their work.”

  “Some do.”

  “But not you?” I walk alongside him for a moment, waiting for his answer. When it doesn’t come, I can’t help thinking about the question that’s been plaguing me since that first night at his mansion. “You’re one of the most talented, acclaimed painters of the last decade, but you act as though you could just throw it all away.”

  “Painting is everything to me,” he replies with about as much emotion as he might announce the sun is shining outside. “It’s the only reason I’m alive.”

  “Then why has it been so long since you produced anything new?”

  He barks out a sharp laugh. “Have I been on a time table? Forgive me, I wasn’t aware.”

  He doesn’t pause. If anything, his long-legged stride takes on a stiffer pace as he leads me through the bright passageway to whatever awaits me at the end of it.

  “Do you want to know what I think?”

  He grunts. “Not especially.”

  “I thought you appreciated the truth, Mr. Rush. Just a minute ago, you said you expected it.”

  When he doesn’t stop, I do. I watch him stalk away from me, impatience and coiled aggravation in every muscled line of his big body. I should let him go. I shouldn’t care what he’s running from or what’s made one of the most singularly gifted artists of his time trade his talent for a bunch of flashy night spots, private clubs, and high-rise hotel projects.

  It shouldn’t matter how Daniel and I have gotten tangled up in Jared Rush’s world. But I’m here now, and I’m getting more and more entangled every minute. I can’t look away. I can’t ignore the pain I see in this man, no matter how much every warning bell in my brain is trying to convince me otherwise.

  “I think you’re hurting, Jared. I think behind all your confidence and swagger, behind your scathing talent for stripping everyone else down to their soul with your paintbrush, all this time you’ve been the one who’s bleeding.”

  He turns slowly, his face an unreadable mask. He walks toward me, the distance between us in the corridor closed with just a few measured strides.

  He fills my vision, crowding out everything else that surrounds us.

  “That’s why you drink, isn’t it? To dull whatever pain lives inside you.”

  “What’s inside me, Ms. Laurent?” There is an airless quality to his deep voice now. The growl of sound holds both a threat and a darker challenge. “Trust me, that’s one place you don’t want to look.”

  “I think you’re afraid I’ll try. I think you’re afraid to have someone expose you the way you enjoy doing to everyone else.”

  “You think you know a lot, don’t you?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  I stare up at him for what feels like minutes, hours. I can almost see the shutters sealing closed behind his deep-brown eyes. I can feel how determined he is to bar me from getting inside. In the heat rolling off him as he looms over me in threatening silence, I can all but taste the electric current of his anger . . . and his arousal.

  I take a step back in retreat. His answering chuckle is as cold as his smile.

  “If you want to analyze me, Ms. Laurent, you’ll have to work a hell of a lot harder than that. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re not here for conversation. You’re here to pose for me and do as I ask for the next few hours that I have you in my studio. Those were the terms of our agreement, were they not?”

  “You mean our rules of engagement,” I toss back at him. “Isn’t that how you described them? Battle lines.”

  He scowls. “You and I aren’t at war.”

  “Are you at war with Daniel?”

  Those penetrating brown eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “Is that what he told you?”

  “No. When I asked him about you, he said the two of you hadn’t even met until recently, when you hired his firm for your project. Is he lying?”

  “The fact that you have to ask tells me he’s already lost your trust.” He studies me, contemplating for a long moment, perhaps waiting for me to defend Daniel. When I don’t Rush lets go of a short breath. “He told you the truth, at least about this. Until recently, I didn’t even know he existed.”

  I should be relieved, but all the confirmation does is bring more questions. “You only recently met, yet somehow in that short time he’s managed to make you hate him?”

  “Daniel Hathaway is nothing more to me than a red line to settle in a ledger.” The words are so cold and toneless, I can’t help but believe them. “Once his debt to me is paid to my satisfaction, I’ll be finished with him.”

  “What about me, Jared?”

  Oh, God. I don’t mean to speak my thoughts out loud, but my blurted reply escapes before I can hold it back. Rush lets it linger between us for a long moment, so long it’s all I can do not to squirm under his deliberate silence.

  He tilts his head, his gaze searching mine. “What about you, Melanie?”

  My pulse throbs at the sound of my name on his lips, the first time he’s uttered it. Somehow, he’s made those few syllables sound dark and sinful, full of demand even though his voice is as smooth as velvet. Awareness arcs in the small space separating us in the hallway. The current is heavy and pounding, like the coil of heat suddenly blooming in my core.

  My heart hammers in my breast, in my temples . . . in all the places Jared Rush’s nearness seems to awaken inside me. I draw in a breath and push the rest of my question out in a raspy whisper. “What am I in all of this?”

  His mouth softens, but only at the edges. “That’ll be up to you to decide.”

  His gaze travels over me, as palpable as a caress. But he doesn’t touch me.

  He doesn’t press his mouth to mine, not even when his eyes drift to my lips and linger there.

  On a low growl, he moves away from me, his dark brows furrowing. His hands are down at his sides, his fingers curled into tight fists.

  “The studio is the last door at the end of this corridor. I’ll give you a few minutes to get settled and undressed. Be ready to begin when I return.”

  14

  JARED

  A curse explodes off my tongue as soon as I’ve stalked away from her.

  My hard stride carries me into the kitchen where the light from the morning sun is practically blinding in its brilliance. A few hundred yards out from the beach house, small blue waves capped in white froth ripple toward the shore. Normally, the sight of the ocean calms me the way nothing in the city ever could. Being here, away from all the noise and the claustrophobic press of skyscrapers and ceaseless noise, reminds me of wide pastures and simpler, easier times.

  Normally, being here smooths out all the jagged edges in me. Edges that have only been getting sharper and deeper these past couple of years.

  Right now, though, I feel anything but calm.

  Not when the woman I crave more than any other in a damn long time is waiting for me at the other end of the house. I look at the endless miles of changeable blue-gray water and I see Melanie’s eyes carving me up with each glance, searching for answers. Looking for truths I’m not ready to give her.

  Truths she can never know, not if I have anyt
hing to say about it.

  I’ve lived my pain and the shame that followed it. I survived it. I buried all of my dead and moved on. So I’d thought.

  Until a name I’d never heard before landed in my email, sent by someone I’d hired more than a decade ago to be my eyes and ears. It’s true I hadn’t met Daniel Hathaway before securing his firm for my newest hotel project. It’s also true that the man means nothing to me, outside of what he owes me.

  I might have been satisfied with ruining Daniel Hathaway, exposing him as the fraud I know him to be.

  But then I saw her.

  I saw her, and I knew I had to have her. On my canvas. In my bed. At my total mercy.

  Except the more time I spend with Melanie Laurent, the less clear it becomes to me just who of us is the one with the most control.

  “Fuck.”

  I walk over to an antique cabinet I keep fully stocked with every quality liquor known to man. It’s damn early to be drinking, even by my own questionable standards. I don’t consider it to be a problem for me, although I can’t deny that the harmless glass of whisky here and there is becoming more of a habit than I’d like.

  A fact Melanie picked up on after only a few hours in my presence.

  She’s the reason I reach for the bottle now. Frustrated desire courses quicksilver and hot through my body. My cock is heavy and aching in the confines of my pants, the bulge barely concealed by the loose drape of my untucked shirt. Jesus, I’m hard as stone and all I’ve done is look at her.

  I should have kissed her like I wanted to. I should have shut up all of her questions and probing observations with a brutal mating of our mouths. I don’t think she would have complained. Hell, the yearning in her eyes practically begged me to take whatever I wanted from her.

  Instead, I retreated like a fucking coward.

  My hands are clumsy as I retrieve the Macallan and a cut-crystal glass from the cabinet. Seeing the way my fingers tremble only adds fuel to my beastly mood.

  It’s getting worse over time.

  The tremors that started out as a faint and fleeting lack of dexterity a few years ago are almost a daily annoyance now. I’ve been able to conceal it so far, but I know it can’t last. It won’t last. The whisky helps. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I pour an oversized shot into my glass and throw it back in a single swallow.