Truth or Dare (His Wicked Games #2) (2 page)

“What about dinner?” I ask him
frantically.

“Screw dinner.”

“I still have to change.”

“Go naked.”

“If you think I’m going to have sex with you
while my dad’s in the next room…”

“That just makes it more…
stimulating
,
doesn’t it?” His finger brushes against my clit, and I suck in a
breath.

Part of me wants to just give in, to
surrender myself to the pent up sexual energy that’s consumed me
since the last time we saw each other. But fortunately, the
rational part of my mind hasn’t completely jumped ship just
yet.

“Martin’s expecting us,” I remind him.

At the mention of his family’s former chef,
Calder sighs. His explorations of my body cease, and his grip
loosens on my waist.

“Martin was always quite the cockblock,” he
growls. But he moves his fingers across my sensitive nub a final
time, and amusement flashes in his eyes when I let out a soft
whimper.

“Tonight,” he promises, “you’ll be begging me
for it. And I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even remember
your own name, let alone annoying little things like dinner
plans.”

His words send a thrill through my core, but
I can’t let him see how much they affect me or we’ll never get out
of here. I wiggle once more beneath him, and he sighs and rolls off
of me. I give him a playful hit as I sit up. If we’re going to be
on time for our reservation, I don’t have much time to change and
freshen up my makeup.

“Just stay down there for a minute,” I say,
glancing around once more for my bag. “I’m going to run to the
bathroom and change.”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, grinning.
“Or you could just close the door and change in here. I promise
I’ll behave.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. Besides,
you’re not supposed to see me naked
before
the first
date.”

His eyes darken. “I think we’re already past
that barrier.”

“You know what I mean.”

He chuckles, but his eyes continue to burn
into mine. “It won’t stop me from trying to get your clothes
off.”

If we didn’t have a reservation—and if my dad
weren’t right next door—I would just give into his teasing. But we
aren’t locked away in his mansion, shut off from the rest of the
world. We’re in the Frazer Center, and we have a very important
reservation.

“Martin will be disappointed if we’re late,”
I remind him again.

“Fine. I’ll behave. But you better hurry, or
I’ll ravish you anyway. And I don’t care who in this place knows
it.”

I find my bag behind the door and grab it,
not bothering to respond. I don’t want to give him any
encouragement. Even the feeling of his gaze on me makes prickles
dance across my skin, and I know it wouldn’t take much to break my
resistance completely.

God, it’s just too easy for him, isn’t
it?

I race down the hallway and lock myself in
the bathroom. It takes me only about a minute to slip out of my
button-down and pencil skirt and pull on the black dress I brought
along. It’s sleek and sexy, but not too revealing—perfect for a
first date.

It feels so strange, preparing for an actual
date
with Calder. I mean, my primary acquaintance with this
man stems from those passionate, erotic days I spent with him on
his former estate. That whole weekend still feels like a very
strange but vivid sexual dream—I mean, we played hide-and-seek, for
God’s sake—and I can’t quite reconcile that experience with my
normal everyday life.

I put on my heels next, and then I pull my
hair out of its ponytail while I scrabble for my cosmetics bag. I’m
suddenly nervous, and an anxious lump settles in my belly as I
shake my waves of hair out around my shoulders. What will Calder
think of me, now that the erotic fairy tale is over? When I’m not a
desperate prisoner, and he no longer has the world at his feet?
When we’re just two ordinary people eating dinner?

I force myself to take a deep breath as I
give myself a final once-over in the mirror.

Everything’s going to be fine
, I tell
myself.
I’m going to have an amazing time tonight
.

I grab my things from the floor and hurry
back to my office.

Calder is no longer hiding behind the
desk.

“What are you doing?” I say, looking
nervously down the hall. “What if my dad walked by?”

He’s standing at my wall, looking at my
pictures. At the end of every instructional cycle, we take photos
of each of the art classes. I’ve taught more than a few classes
during my time here, and I keep every picture.

“I didn’t realize you worked with the kids,”
Calder says, still staring at the images.

“I do a little bit of everything around here.
At a place as small as this, you learn to wear more than a few
hats.”

He nods, frowning a little. I wonder what
he’s thinking—whether he’s remembering his own part in the Frazer
Center’s troubles. But not
his
part—his father’s part. It’s
not Calder’s fault that he inherited financial troubles.

I walk over and place my hand gently on his
arm. The touch seems to bring him back to the present, and the
clouds disappear from his expression. He turns to me, and he opens
his mouth to speak, but then his eyes widen slightly. His gaze
drifts down my body.

“You,” he says, grabbing my hand and bringing
it to his lips, “are absolutely breathtaking.”

I’m blushing again. I try to tug my hand
away, but he holds it tight. He flicks his tongue across the tips
of my fingers, and heat rushes between my legs.

“I thought of your punishment,” he says.

“Punishment?”

“For forgetting our date.” He holds out his
hand. “Your panties, please.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I think it’s a suitable request, considering
the emotional distress you put me through.”

“Yeah, you seem
very
distressed,” I
tease. But I don’t object when he reaches out and pulls up the ends
of my dress.

“Go on, then,” he says.

I cast a quick glance back at the door before
grabbing my panties and pushing them down. Calder gives my bareness
an appreciative glance before dropping my dress, and I reach down
and grab the garment that has pooled around my ankles.

At least I had the foresight to wear a sexy
pair. They’re black and lacy, and Calder seems all too pleased when
I hand them over.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice low and
husky. “I’ll take good care of them for you.”

“And what am I supposed to do? What if I get
cold?”

He looks as if he’s about to devour me whole.
“Then I’ll just have to take care of that for you, won’t I?”

He slips the panties into his pocket, and I
press my thighs together. I’m already experiencing the effect he
desired, but I can’t let things get out of hand.

“Dinner,” I remind him.

“Of course.”

I lead him to the door, taking care to glance
around for Dad before slipping out into the hallway. I feel extra
scandalous without any underwear, but I can’t let that distract me.
We need to get out of here unnoticed.

We’re almost to the front door—almost
free—when I hear a small gasp to my left. Morgan, one of our new
teachers, stands at the door to her classroom, gaping at us.

Well, gaping at Calder, more accurately. He
has that effect sometimes.

Morgan blinks, then squints. I imagine she’s
trying to figure out how and why she recognizes the gorgeous man
standing in our lobby. She wasn’t here last year to meet Calder the
one time he visited the Center with his father, but she’s probably
seen his face on the tabloids more than a couple of times.

But as much as I’d love to indulge her
curiosity, Dad’s sure to spot us if we linger here too long.

“We’re late for dinner,” I tell her. “But
I’ll talk to you in the morning?”

Morgan’s eyes flick to me, and she nods. The
promise of an explanation tomorrow seems to satisfy her for the
moment. I make another dash for the door with Calder in tow, but I
pause at the threshold, glancing back.

“Do me a favor and keep this from my
dad?”

Her eyes widen in surprise, but she breaks
into a smile.

“I get it,” she says, winking. “Your secret’s
safe. You two have fun.” Her voice rises suggestively on the last
word, and I feel myself blushing once more as Calder and I escape
outside.

“Can she keep a secret?” Calder asks,
slipping a hand onto my lower back and guiding me across the
parking lot. “Or should I expect a murder attempt by your father in
the middle of the night?”

“He won’t murder you.”

“Ah, good.”

“He’s more of the torturing type.”

He grins in response, but I detect a hint of
worry behind his amusement.

“I’ll tell him about us soon,” I promise. “I
just need to figure out how to raise the topic.” But that’s not the
only thing I have to figure out. Even if I can come up with a
reasonable explanation for my current association with Calder, what
exactly do I call this thing between us? I know that we’re
attracted to each other, and I believe there’s a deeper emotional
connection here. But how deep? We’re not even technically
“exclusive”—right?

Look at me. We’re not even to the car and I’m
already overanalyzing things.

Thus begins the Madness of Lily Frazer.

Still, I put on a smile. I’m on a date with
Calder Cunningham. I need to stop worrying and enjoy myself.

He stops in front of a silver sedan.

“Your chariot, my lady.” He eyes the car
sidelong. “This is where I wish I’d found a way to keep the
Lamborghini.”

I laugh. “You’ve seen the death trap that I
drive. This looks like pure luxury.” I should tell him that it
doesn’t matter what he drives—that he could carry me to the
restaurant on the handlebars of a bicycle, for all I care—but that
sentiment sounds way too sappy. So I bite my lip and let him guide
me into the passenger’s seat.

I cross my hands in my lap as he walks around
to the driver’s side. My nerves have returned in full force. Back
on his estate, I felt wild and wicked and seductive. In that
strange, secluded mansion, I discovered a passionate, confidently
sexual side of myself that I never even knew existed. Now? I feel
like a freaking high schooler on her first grown-up date—uncertain
and awkward and terrified.

Please, don’t let me vomit in his car…

He flashes me another one of his killer
smiles as he slides into his seat. It sets off an entire circus of
butterflies in my stomach. He puts his keys into the ignition, but
he doesn’t start the car. Instead, he leans over and takes me by
the chin, pulling my lips to his.

I lean into his kiss, sinking into the
sensations sweeping through me.
This
I can handle. This
fire, this physical passion. I open my mouth beneath his, let his
breath mingle with mine. His hand skims over my breasts, teasing my
nipples to hard points beneath the thin fabric. I want to forget
dinner. Forget the awkward formality of a real “date.” I want to
slip out of this dress and let him fuck me right here in this car.
I shouldn’t have stopped him before. I should have let him take me,
because I know that as soon as we’re joined I’ll forget all these
silly worries and remember that this, right now, is perfect.

But Martin is expecting us.

This time Calder is the one who pulls away
first, but I can tell by the lazy curl of his lips and the dark
gleam in his eyes that he wants to give into the same urges I
do.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he says. “I
promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman at the restaurant.”

I nod and sit back against my seat.

It’s just a date
, I tell myself.
I’m just nervous. I bet if I told him, he’d think it was
cute.

But somewhere, deep down, I know this
isn’t
just a date, at least not for me. And that’s the part
that’s terrifying.

<<>>

I’ve only been to a few nice restaurants in
my life. And by a “few” I mean, quite literally, two or three. Fine
dining isn’t exactly a priority when you’re living off of the
salary I am, but I’ve treated myself once or twice, when the
occasion has called for it.

But Ventine’s makes all those other
restaurants look like those cheap family chains—you know, the ones
that offer “Two For” Tuesdays and $6 pitchers of margaritas on
Ladies’ Night. Ventine’s is swanky with a capital “S.” White
linens, silver fixtures, soft golden light designed to arouse all
sorts of appetites. The walls are covered in dark, glossy wood
paneling, and there’s a long, marble bar backed by a mirror with
silver filigree along the edges.

It’s the grand opening, so the crowd is chic
and lively and well dressed. I feel a little out of place among
these people, even though I’m sure none of them will spare me a
second glance. My dress might have come from a department store,
but it’s as sleek and classic as anything from a designer boutique.
Still, I feel like I’m walking into a scene from someone else’s
life. Someone who goes to fancy parties and ribbon cuttings and
drinks champagne with their dinner every Wednesday
just
because
.

Okay, I’m exaggerating. And I’d be lying if I
said I wasn’t thrilled to be here. I glance up at Calder. He’s used
to events like this, places like this, people like this. I wonder,
suddenly, how it feels for him to walk in here after this life was
stolen away from him. But he smiles down at me, looking completely
confident and comfortable. And when he catches the eye of the
maître d’, the man comes rushing over as if Calder owns the
place.

“Good evening, Mr. Cunningham, Ms. Frazer,”
the maître d’ chirps, nodding to each of us in turn. “Please, let
me take you to your table.”