by T. K. Leigh
Then he pushes a finger in, his motions measured and practiced. I exhale, the tension rolling off me.
“See, Chloe.” He meets my eyes, waggling his brows. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”
He waves the Jenga block in my face, jutting out his chest. With his head held high, he barely pays attention as he places the block on top of the tower we’ve spent the past hour building. It instantly falls, the pieces scattering across the table and the ground, the sound echoing throughout the patio.
Groans emanate from everyone as we watch our hard work topple over.
“See! That’s what you get for being so cocky,” I taunt.
“Don’t you know it, baby,” he says with a wink before turning his attention to the mess, picking up the blocks.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve played this game. It was probably in college. Back then, of course, it was more of a drinking game. When I stumbled on a collection of board games in the living room, I figured it would be a better way to spend our time than sitting around and drinking.
“What’s next on the agenda for game night?” Izzy asks once all the Jenga blocks are back in their box.
“Game night?” I repeat.
“Yeah.” She gives me a knowing look. “Game night.”
“Oh, no.” My response comes quick. “This isn’t game night. That’s something bored, married couples do to mask the fact that they have nothing in common with each other. The arrogant husband acts as if he’s a know-it-all anytime his wife answers a question wrong in Trivial Pursuit. And she realizes exactly how little her husband listens to her during a rousing game of Taboo. No thanks. Not interested.”
A sly smile crosses Izzy’s mouth, her eyes alight with excitement. “Not all games are boring.”
I’ve seen this look before, the most recent being when she dragged me to what she thought was an intimate Cher concert at a club in the Village. It sounded too good to be true. And it was. The “Cher concert” was a drag show. Regardless, we had one hell of a time.
“What did you have in mind?”
Her grin widens. “You’ll see.” She stands and heads back into the house, a bounce in her step.
“I’m not sure if I should be scared or intrigued,” Asher says, keeping his eyes trained on her.
“The one thing I’ve learned about Izzy is that she’s rather unpredictable.”
He blows out a laugh, nodding. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
Izzy reappears in the doorway seconds later and walks toward us, a box in her hand. She places it on the wicker coffee table between us, her expression smug.
“I told you, Chloe. Game night doesn’t always have to be boring. What do you guys think? Want to take things up a notch?” She grins mischievously. “Or are you too chicken?”
That’s all it takes for the guys to puff out their chests, raw masculinity oozing from them. I almost expect them to bang their fists against their pecs and roar like cavemen.
“Never Have I Ever?” I say, reading the words on the box. I didn’t realize they’d made a board game out of it.
She shrugs. “Why not? I thought you were an open book, that you had no shame.”
“I don’t.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” She smirks, briefly shifting her eyes to Lincoln before returning to mine.
“Fine,” I relent with a sigh. “But if we’re going to play this, I’ll need another beer.” I begin to stand from the couch when Lincoln places his hand on my arm, gently pushing me back down.
“I got it.” He meets my gaze, which seems to linger on my lips. Then he drops his hold on me, looking at Asher. “I’ll grab another round for everyone. I have a feeling we all may need it.” He focuses on me once more before disappearing into the house.
“I might as well take advantage of this break and go change.” I stand, stretching my arms over my head after sitting for the past hour.
We spent all afternoon lounging by the pool, drinking beers, eating burgers, and playing board games. But now that the sun has disappeared beyond the horizon, the temperature has fallen, making it a bit too cold to be out here in just a bathing suit and a flimsy coverup.
“Are you sure you’re not planning to take advantage of something else?” Izzy calls after me as I start toward the house.
I roll my eyes, ignoring her comment, and continue into the kitchen, glancing back at them to see Asher stealing my spot next to Izzy. I’m definitely intrigued by their obvious connection, wondering how long this has been going on. At least I have a five hour flight tomorrow in which to get some answers.
Distracted by concocting a plan to pry this information out of Izzy, I don’t pay much attention to my surroundings… Until a movement catches my eyes. I attempt to halt in my tracks, but velocity from my quick strides prevents me from stopping and I crash straight into Lincoln, the beers in his hands jostling and splashing.
“Oh, my god.” My face reddens as I stare at his linen shirt, which is now soaked with beer. “I’m so sorry.” I rush to take the fizzing bottles out of his hands and place them on the island. Grabbing a kitchen towel, I bring it to his shirt, dabbing at it.
“Don’t worry about it.” A smile illuminates his face as he looks down at me. “It’s just beer.”
“I know, but I—”
He wraps his hand around my arm, preventing me from fussing over him any longer.
“Chloe…”
I straighten, swallowing hard. “Yes?”
While we’ve spent all afternoon together, this is the first time we’re alone. The atmosphere is just as charged as it has been the previous times we’ve seen each other. I have to remind myself to breathe.
“I said it’s okay. Nothing a blow dryer can’t fix.” He pauses, pulling his lips between his teeth. “You wouldn’t happen to have a blow dryer, would you? All my stuff is back at the hotel.”
I pinch my lips together. “A girl never leaves home without her favorite blow dryer. Come with me.”
I leave the towel on the island and lead him up the stairs, doing everything to settle my overwrought nerves. When we reach my room, I walk to my suitcase sitting on an ottoman by the window.
“Please don’t tell me that’s how you pack,” he comments as I rummage through my haphazardly arranged things.
“What’s wrong with it?”
He shakes his head. “It’s so…unorganized.”
“Perhaps to some people…” I grab the dryer, a satisfied look on my face as I wave it in front of him. “But I thrive on the chaos. If you think that’s bad…” I spin around and head into the bathroom, “you should see my desk at the office.”
He follows, leaning against the doorjamb, observing me as I plug in the dryer.
“And what is it you do?”
“I work at a magazine.”
He raises his brow, obviously surprised. “Doing what?”
“I’m a celebrity news columnist.” I offer a forced smile.
He studies me for a moment, gaze narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling you wish you were doing something different?”
My posture stiffening, I peer at him. This guy barely knows me, yet he’s picked up on something my close friends haven’t. That Evie never picked up on, even though she works at the same magazine.
I shrug. “It’s a good job. It pays the bills. That’s the important part. And I don’t hate it. People would kill to have the job I do.”
I’m not ungrateful for the opportunity I have at the magazine, but I didn’t exactly get it on my own merits. My father’s the only reason I’m lucky enough to have that job.
After I was forced to drop out of college to support my mother, who’d been fired because of her alcohol problem, I begged him to help me out with money. Instead, he called in a favor.
I thought I’d eventually go back and finish my degree, be able to get a job at a different magazine because of my own qualifications. Maybe Rolling Stone, or even Time. But life always seemed to get in the way.
Correction.
My mother always seemed to get in the way. I’m just waiting for the bottom to fall again. That’s why I’m only taking a few classes at a time, inching toward my degree. I figure even if the bottom does fall, it won’t be impossible to juggle my job, a couple of classes, and my mother.
“Chloe? You okay?”
I snap out of my thoughts, meeting Lincoln’s concerned eyes.
“Sorry. Just thinking about…work.” I clear my throat, then turn on the blow dryer. “Come here,” I order, and he walks toward me. I point the air stream at the beer stain on his shirt.
He instantly flinches. “Damn. That burns.”
“Well, what do you expect? The only way to dry something is with hot air.” I return the dryer to the spot, and he cringes again. Men. No wonder women are the ones who get pregnant. They probably wouldn’t survive period cramps, let alone pushing a watermelon through a straw.
“Enough.” He steps away and I turn off the blow dryer. “New idea.”
He unbuttons his shirt, allowing it to fall open, which has the unfortunate side effect of my mouth growing dry. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasized about what he’d look like without a shirt. The reality certainly lives up to the fantasy. Broad shoulders. Sculpted biceps. Firm abs. And a little trail of hair disappearing into his shorts.
“Fuck me,” I murmur, entranced with the thought of what he has farther south.
He lifts his eyes to mine, his lips curving into a flirtatious smile.
“I mean…” I look away, flustered, trying to come up with an excuse for my verbal vomit.
His grin widens as he steps toward me, his gaze narrowed. Warmth spreads through me, my heart drumming a feverish rhythm. It’s so intense, I expect it to leap out of my chest at any moment. I remain locked in place, unable to move, fearing my knees would buckle if I tried to walk. He curves toward me and I swallow hard, barely able to breathe.
When his mouth is a whisper from mine, my eyelids flutter closed and I crane my head. My body aches in anticipation of his kiss, desperate to finally know how his lips taste.
“Allow me,” he murmurs in a seductive voice that makes me even more light-headed. Then he removes the blow dryer from my hand. I fling my eyes open as he pulls back, a smirk on his lips.
In an attempt to steady myself, I place my hand on the vanity counter, drawing in several deep breaths as I try to make sense out of what just happened. What did just happen?
“You’re familiar with the story of the tortoise and the hare, correct?” He glances at me before returning his attention to his shirt. Flicking on the blow dryer, he aims the air at the material.
“Yes…,” I answer in a drawn-out voice, confused about this line of questioning.
“My litigation professor in law school often spoke of it in relation to a trial.”
“So you’re a lawyer.” I place a hand on my hip.
I’m not sure what I thought Lincoln did, but I didn’t expect him to say he’s a lawyer. I grew up around lawyers. My father’s chief general counsel for the biggest newspaper in the country, if not the world. None of the lawyers on his staff ever looked like Lincoln. If they did, I might visit him more often, attend more of his work functions.
“Not master of the universe. Master of the courtroom.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. But that’s beside the point.”
I saunter toward him. “Then what is the point?”
He shuts off the blow dryer, running his hand over the fabric to check for any dampness. Content, he shrugs his shirt back on, much to my disappointment. A shirtless Lincoln Moore truly is a sight to behold. In the shirtless Olympics, he’d wow the judges with a near perfect score.
“Do you know what the hare’s mistake was?”
“Yes.” I smirk. “He was cocky. Thought he’d get what he wanted no matter what.”
He laughs, the sound causing my demeanor to momentarily crack. “That’s true. But his problem was sloppy execution.”
“Sloppy? How so?”
“He went out of the gate at full speed. There was no warm-up…” Fire builds in his gaze. “No buildup. And when he saw he was in the lead, he took a break.”
“You don’t think it’s okay to take a break?”
“I think it’s lazy. Certain aspects of life require a bit more finesse, a bit more planning, a bit more…effort. And let’s not forget the most important part.”
“And what’s that?”
“That the tortoise is the one who crossed the finish line first.” He leans toward me, so close I can taste the sweetness of the beers he’s consumed. “And I am very interested in crossing that finish line.”
A shiver rolls down my spine, the double meaning in his words driving me wild with need.
Then he straightens, buttoning his shirt the rest of the way. “But not until I’ve fully run the race.”
“Well… I guess it’s time for me to fire the starter pistol.”
I start to walk past him, but he grasps my arm and yanks my body against his. It feels like all the air’s been sucked from my lungs as I stare into his striking green eyes.
“Haven’t you figured it out by now?” His lips skim against mine.
“What’s that?”
“I already fired that pistol Saturday night, Chloe. We’ve just been running laps around each other since then.”
“But even when you run laps, you need to stop for a drink of water. You need to quench your thirst.”
“Is that what we’re doing now? Quenching our thirst?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
His grip on me tightens as a groan falls from his throat, heady and sexy, forcing a stirring deep in my core. He licks his lips, yearning covering his expression as he closes the distance. I brace myself for his kiss, mouth tingling, synapses firing, when every light in the room suddenly snaps off, shrouding us in darkness.
We both stiffen, remaining still, waiting for the lights to come back on. When they don’t, he pulls away, releasing me. I look around, but the bathroom is pitch black. Of course, we’d be stuck in the one room with no windows.
“I’ll go see what’s going on,” he states with authority. “The door’s around here somewhere.”
I put my hands out in front of me, reaching for something to tell me exactly where we are in this ridiculously opulent bathroom that’s probably bigger than my entire apartment.
“Why did you close it to begin with?”
“In case we needed a bit of privacy.”
I follow Lincoln’s scent, confident we must be near the door. “And why would we need a bit of pri—”
My leg hits something, the velocity of my strides catapulting me forward. Without being able to see, I wave my arms around, grasping onto the first thing my hand finds, which also happens to be Lincoln, and we land on the floor with a loud thump. At least my fall was cushioned by his body. He, unfortunately, didn’t fare as well and grunts.
“You okay?”
“Great,” he answers in a high-pitched falsetto.
“Did I…” I trail off, noticing my knee’s putting pressure on something. “Shit. I’m sorry.” I adjust my position and hear his exhaled breath.
“I had a feeling you were a ball buster,” he groans. “I didn’t think you’d literally bust my balls.”
“Want me to massage them to make them feel better?” I joke.
He’s silent for a moment, then breaks into a throaty laugh. It echoes against the tile, filling the space. “Thanks for the offer, but right now, I’m pretty sure my dick is shriveled up. It’ll need some coaxing to come out and play again.”
I run my hands up his firm chest, the sensation of being this close sparking a need for even more. To feel more of him. Bringing my mouth toward his, I murmur, “Challenge accepted.” He instantly hardens beneath me, and I crook my mouth into a smile, feeling powerful that I have this kind of effect on him.
Cautiously raising myself back to my feet, I step
around the room, extending my arms in front of me. When my hand brushes against a metal object, I stop, wrapping my fingers around it. I turn the knob and open the door, the light of the moon illuminating the bedroom through the windows.
“There you are!” Izzy says breathlessly as she rounds the corner into the room. Asher follows, carrying a flashlight. When Lincoln steps into the bedroom, she halts. “Both of you,” she adds, her tone not quite a statement. Not exactly a question, either.
“Did we blow a fuse?” I ask in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the curiosity in her gaze.
“I don’t know,” she responds slyly. “Did you?”
“I don’t think it was a fuse,” Lincoln interrupts.
I look in his direction to see him staring out the back window that displayed a beautiful view of the Strip earlier. Now the only lights visible are those of cars snaking up Las Vegas Boulevard. No green glow from the MGM Grand. No Eiffel Tower at the Paris Hotel beckoning people to have their photo taken. No gigantic Ferris wheel spinning a slow circle. It’s all dark, the sky black, apart from the moon and stars.
“Like I said,” Lincoln continues when we all remain silent, congregating around him and staring into the darkness. “I don’t think it was a fuse.”
Chapter Seven
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” I say, struggling to capture a breath, my stomach aching from laughing so much over the past hour as we played a toned-down version of Never Have I Ever on the back patio under the light of the moon.
After realizing there was nothing to do but wait for the electricity to come back on, we decided to continue on with our game night. What else could we do? It took our minds off what could have happened to cause all of Las Vegas to lose power.
“You were cursed by a…cat?”
“Fluffy was not a normal cat.” Lincoln sips on his beer, but keeps his eyes focused on me.
“The cat’s name was Fluffy?”