Truth or Dare (His Wicked Games #2) (4 page)

His face is growing dark again.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have brought
it up.”

“Don’t apologize.” He looks down at his
plate. “Honestly, if you take away the…
family
element, I
actually find myself enjoying the work. It’s very diverting.
Productive.”

He glances back over at me. “But it’s not
exactly good conversation for a date, is it?”

I don’t want to discourage him from talking
about it. Honestly, I’ve been worried about him, and I’m glad to
hear that he finds some satisfaction in the work, that he feels
like he’s doing something constructive.

But he’s already moved on, launching into
praises of the duck.

The call comes halfway through the entrées,
right after we’ve started a second bottle of wine. Calder looks
sheepish as he tugs the buzzing phone from his pocket.

“I’m sorry. I thought I turned this off.” But
as his thumb moves to the power button, his eyes flick down at the
screen and he frowns.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Forgive me, Lily,” he says. “Do you mind if
I…”

“Go ahead.”

He gives a nod and answers the call. Normally
I knock off a few points if a guy pulls out his cell on a date, but
Calder’s been dealing with a lot recently, so I’m willing to give
him the benefit of the doubt. Still, I’m only expecting him to
exchange a few quick words with his lawyer or something, so it’s a
bit of a shock when he stands up.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells me.

I watch his retreating form as he weaves
through the dining room, back toward the restaurant entrance, then
I take up my fork and grab another piece of duck. I pick around the
various plates of food, trying a little bit of everything as I
wait. But as the minutes tick by and Calder still doesn’t return, I
start to get a little antsy.

He probably just doesn’t want to discuss
delicate financial matters in a room full of people
, I tell
myself. Even in this secluded corner, there’s no telling who might
hear something. He’s doing his best to protect what’s left of his
family name. I refuse to fault him for wanting a little
privacy.

But it’s impossible to keep my gaze from
drifting back to the door again and again. I try to distract myself
with the food, tearing my way through the rest of the duck even
though I’m more than full at this point. I’m already digging into
the venison steak by the time I finally spot him moving back across
the restaurant toward me.

He looks tense, scattered. His brows are
drawn together, and he jerks his hand through his hair as he
strides back toward me. When he sees me watching him, though, his
hand drops and he puts on a smile.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says when he
rejoins me at the table. He tips my head up, kisses me sweetly on
the lips. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You better,” I joke.

His smile widens, but it still doesn’t reach
his eyes.

“Is everything all right?” I ask.

“Of course.” He says it too quickly, too
lightly. “It was just Tim. He had a few questions for me.”

He’s being purposefully vague, and though I
don’t want to pry, I also don’t want him to have to deal with this
on his own.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing, I promise.” He grabs my hand
and brings it to his lips, kisses the fingers one by one.
“Certainly not important enough to spoil our date.”

I want to believe him, but as the night
progresses, it’s clear he’s preoccupied. Or maybe “preoccupied”
isn’t the right word—it’s as though he’s trying too hard to pretend
that nothing’s wrong. He’s still sweet, complimentary—but there’s a
formality to it that wasn’t there before. The anxious awkwardness I
feared earlier returns in full force. Something’s shifted between
us, and I don’t know how to fix it.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t try.

“You have to taste this,” I say, offering him
a bite of the rich marquise cake from among our spread of
desserts.

Calder plays along, opening his mouth for my
fork. His eyes never leave my face, but his intent gaze makes it
all the easier to sense the distraction lingering beneath.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” I ask after
I’ve set down my fork again.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ve just had a lot on
my mind recently. But I don’t want to think about any of that right
now. I’m here, with you, and
that
is what I want to focus
on.” He raises my hand to his mouth once more, only this time he
plants a kiss on my palm. The heat of his lips sends a little
shiver up my arm.

I offer him a smile, but his answer doesn’t
completely satisfy me. Something happened during that call, whether
he wants to admit it or not. But I don’t want to spend the rest of
our date arguing over what may or may not be my business. Calder
and I aren’t used to leaning on each other for emotional support
just yet. In the meantime, our time together is an escape—a few
moments stolen away from the ups and downs of everyday life. I can
still be that for him, if nothing else.

By the time dinner is over and he’s driving
me back to my car, I feel much better. I was putting too much
pressure on us too soon. I had an amazing time tonight, and I’m
looking forward to showing Calder exactly how amazing.

He insists on following me back to my
apartment and “walking me to my door.” The entire drive there I
imagine exactly what I’m going to do to him—how I’m going to touch
and taste and tease him. How I’m going to get him back for leaving
me without my underwear all night.

When we get to my apartment building, he
follows me up the steps toward my door, and the butterflies return
to my stomach. Why the hell am I so nervous? Calder is nervous,
too—or am I just reading too much into the way he curls and uncurls
his fingers around his keys? Have years of dealing with that
uncomfortable post-date will-he-or-won’t-he dance at the door
conditioned me to expect the worst?

“So,” I say, trying to make light of my
nerves. “Should I be worried that you’re going to sleep with me and
never call again?”

He takes the joke well, at least. He chuckles
as his fingers close around the keys once more, and his free hand
moves to my waist.

We’ve reached the door now, and he turns so
that he’s facing me. He looks as if he wants to say something, but
the words never come. Instead, he just stands there, staring down
at me, and I can almost feel the distance stretching between
us.

Time to nip that in the bud.

I grab him by the front of the shirt and yank
him down to me, capturing his mouth with my own. He gets over the
initial shock surprisingly fast. Before I can even catch a breath,
he’s moved—forcing me back against the door, trapping me beneath
his body. His lips force mine apart, his hands run up and down my
hips, my waist, my breasts…

Any awkwardness I feel disappears with his
touch. With the heat of him, the taste of him, the smell of him.
This
is how we connect, how we communicate—through our
bodies. I know everything he can’t say, and he knows all of my
fears. We can play at dating all we want, but the truth lies right
here, between us.

I reach up and go for the buttons on his
shirt, pulling them apart one by one. Calder growls and reaches
around behind me, his hands sliding down to cup my ass. He begins
to tug the fabric of my dress up toward my hips, and I hear myself
moan in anticipation of his touch against my bare flesh.

He pauses.

I’ve reached the last button on his shirt,
but in my excitement my fingers are fumbling.

“Wait,” he says, his hands closing around
mine.

“It’s a quiet building,” I assure him.
“Everyone else is probably in bed already.” Still, I reach for my
purse, for my keys. It will probably be more comfortable in my bed
anyway.

But Calder shakes his head. “That’s not what
I mean.”

My keys are already out of my purse, but I
don’t turn around to face the door. “I don’t understand.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath—in that way
people do before they tell you something they know you won’t want
to hear. Something clenches in my stomach.

“What is it?” I prompt.

“Lily,” he says slowly. “I was thinking, back
in the car… Maybe we should slow things down for a bit.”

There it is. Like a punch to my gut. I
suddenly feel like I can’t breathe, but I don’t want him to see how
much of a shock his words are to me.

“What do you mean by ‘slow things down’?” I
ask, impressing myself with how calm, how emotionless my voice
sounds.

He’s studying my face closely, I can feel it,
but I don’t dare look him in the eye.

“Maybe…” he says. “Maybe we should just try
dating for a little while. No sex.”

No… sex. It takes my brain a moment to
process what he’s suggesting. “Why?”

“I just don’t want us to get in over our
heads,” he says.

I finally summon the nerve to look up at him,
and when I do, he’s raking his hand through his hair. He’s having
trouble looking at me.

“Is that okay?” he says. “I think it might be
good for us. Think of it as a game.”

Good for us?
I’m not sure how to
interpret that, but I’m afraid to ask.

“All right,” I agree, because I’m not sure
what else to say. “Just dating, no sex.”

He smiles, but it’s a small smile, as if he’s
still uncertain at my response—or is he uncertain about his own
suggestion? I’ve dated enough to know that one partner wanting
“slow things down” is never a good thing.

But I won’t argue with him here. I won’t let
him see how much his words have hurt me.

“In that case,” I say, “I guess this is
goodnight.”

He nods. I can’t read the expression in his
eyes—is that regret?—but I’m not sure I want to know the truth. I
turn and unlock the door with shaking hands. His eyes bore into my
back, but he doesn’t try to stop me.

“Goodnight, Lily,” he says as I retreat
inside the apartment.

I stand by the door long after I’ve closed
it, hoping, in my pathetic little heart, that he’ll change his
mind. That he’ll come back and knock on my door and tell me it was
all some sick joke.

But he doesn’t.

<<>>

“What’s wrong with you this week?” Morgan
asks. “You seem distracted.”

She’s brought me the supply list for her
upcoming classes, and I’ve spent the last five minutes trying to
find the master list on the computer. I can’t remember the damned
file name.

“I’m fine,” I assure her, but Morgan’s too
astute for that. She plunks down in the chair across from me and
props her elbow on my desk.

“Trouble with Mr. Hunky McBillionaire?”

As promised, I talked to her the morning
after my date with Calder. Once she realized who he was, she wanted
to know everything. And I mean
everything.
I haven’t told
her the full story, of course—a girl needs to keep her secrets,
especially when they involve sex games and mysterious mansions. I
didn’t tell her about the way our date ended, either. I’m still
trying to process it myself.

I mean, he spent all evening teasing me with
his wicked promises, touching me and whispering about the things he
would do to me later. He took my panties, for freak’s sake. What
the hell happened? What could his financial advisor possibly say to
him during that call that would change everything so
drastically?

“Everything’s fine with us,” I assure
Morgan.

“Mm-hm.” She clearly doesn’t believe me.

Honestly, I don’t want to get into it with
her. I’ve been trying to keep myself from thinking about it, since
I know that over-analyzing these things only makes them seem worse.
He only asked to slow things down. He’s probably just trying to be
a gentleman. Maybe he’s right—maybe this will be good for us.

Whatever the reason, I refuse to dwell on it.
I’ve poured myself into my work these past three days, trying to
concentrate on something productive, but if Morgan’s noticed that
something’s wrong then I must not be doing a very good job of
hiding my mood.

I finally find the file containing the supply
master list, but I can still feel Morgan studying me as I plug in
the new numbers.

“He hasn’t called you, has he?” she says.

I’ve been trying not to think about that,
either. I mean, no matter what all those dating rules say, it
doesn’t matter whether he waits one day or three to call after a
date. Couples have lives outside of each other.

And we’re not even officially a couple yet,
so none of this matters anyway.

God, I’m a mess.

Morgan leans across the desk and grabs my
arm.

“Please, Lily,” she begs. “You went out with
Calder-freaking-Cunningham. You’re the only one of us allowed to
have scandalous dating adventures. Let me live vicariously through
you.” Morgan’s getting married in the spring. In fact, she moved
out here this past summer to be with her fiancé, who works at one
of the large banks downtown. She hasn’t had the chance to make many
friends, which works out for me since I don’t have many either. I
work such long hours that I rarely meet anyone outside of the
Center.

“Come on,” Morgan teases. She leans forward.
“Ooh, was he bad in bed? Wait—does he have a small dick?”

“What? No! No, of course not! His dick is
fine. More than fine.”

“Ah, so you’ve slept with him then.”

Damn—she’s an expert at this interrogation
thing.

“No! I mean—” My cheeks are on fire. I didn’t
want to talk about this.

“You have! I knew it. Tell me
everything.”

“Morgan, I—”

“Excuse me, ladies. Are we interrupting?” My
dad has appeared in the doorway, a man I’ve never seen standing
just behind him.