Wicked Games: A Forbidden Romance

by T. K. Leigh

  Izzy bursts out laughing. “Nice try, Chloe. You wouldn’t be eating your emotions right now if you didn’t still have feelings for him.”

  I pause with my mouth wide open, about to shovel in even more food. “I’m not eating my emotions.” I put down the fork, pushing the plate away. “I’m just hungry.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Like I said, we’ve agreed to pretend that Vegas never happened, or the few days that followed. It’s for the best.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Of course I do!” I retort loudly before lowering my voice. “Even if I didn’t, it doesn’t matter,” I remind her.

  “I get that. I just…” She trails off, blowing out a long breath.

  “Do you remember what you said while we waited for our flight out of Vegas before it was canceled? When I told you about the man I kept running into whose name I didn’t even know?”

  She subtly nods. “That maybe there was a reason you kept running into each other.”

  “The same can be said here. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me it would have never worked out anyway. That we really are too different to be compatible. You should see the man’s apartment! There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. And his closet?”

  Izzy smirks, crossing her arms in front of her chest, clearly amused. “Yes?”

  “The clothes were actually hung up. On hangers.”

  “What?” she shoots back in faux shock, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “You mean they weren’t thrown all over the bed and floor? This isn’t right. It must be some sort of witchcraft.”

  “You know what I mean,” I whine.

  Her joking expression lightens, and she looks upon me affectionately, placing a hand on my bicep. “I don’t know Lincoln all that well, but there’s something to be said about playing Never Have I Ever with complete strangers. You learn things. I don’t think you two are as opposite as you believe.”

  Footsteps sound from the hallway, and I snap my head up, expecting Tiffany to come in and berate me for being antisocial by hiding away in the kitchen and stuffing my face with food.

  Instead, Lincoln rounds the corner, coming to an abrupt stop when he sees Izzy and me. He hesitates, forehead wrinkling as he seems to weigh his options.

  “Lincoln,” Izzy greets, breaking through the silence. “What a surprise to see you, and here, of all places.”

  I pinch her side, an unspoken warning.

  He pulls his lips between his teeth, and I sense him mulling over his words. Then he recovers his composure, posture straight, eyes distant.

  “David said there’s coffee?”

  Pushing away from the counter, she passes him a sly smile. “Chloe can show you while I use the little girl’s room.”

  I dart my wide gaze toward her. But even with the death stare I give her, she doesn’t change course, floating out of the kitchen without a single look back as she sings, “Good to see you again, Lincoln.”

  He remains silent, not acknowledging her. Once we’re alone, he brings his eyes back to mine. But I can’t bear to look into their depths, spinning from him, my purposeful strides taking me toward the coffee bar in the corner of the kitchen.

  “I can do it.”

  “It’s fine,” I practically bark out, grabbing a pod and placing it into the one-cup brewer. I groan, realizing someone turned it off so now it needs to warm up and heat the water, drawing out Lincoln’s presence even longer. I press the power button, staring at the machine as it hums to life.

  “I’m sorry about what your father said before,” he offers after several moments of strained silence.

  “Don’t.” I whirl around, my hardened stare cautioning.

  “I just—” He steps toward me, but I hold up my hand, preventing him from coming any closer.

  “I don’t need your help,” I seethe, my nostrils flaring. “I’ve been dealing with that man fine my entire life. Got it?”

  He stares at me for several intense moments, then nods, his shoulders falling. “Got it.”

  “Good.” I spin around, staring at the screen on the brewer, willing it to stop preheating.

  “Has he always been that way?” he asks after a pregnant pause.

  I shrug.

  “You mentioned he’s why you didn’t want…” He trails off. “I guess a part of me thought you were over-exaggerating. I didn’t realize how…”

  “What?” I face him once more. “How much of an asshole your boss is?”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I knew he was a hard-ass. He has a reputation for being one, but that’s what makes him a great lawyer. He doesn’t stop pushing, even when facing adversity. But…”

  “You assumed he’d leave the job at the office?”

  He brings his bottom lip between his teeth. I look away, the memory of how those lips felt against mine only making this more difficult. It’s one thing to have to watch him during class, but at least there’s distance between us. Now that distance seems to decrease with every beat of my heart.

  “Yes, I did.” He takes another step toward me. My brain tries to tell my body to retreat, but I’m still drawn to him, the magnetism I felt that first meeting ever present. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “You think I come here so he can use me as a verbal punching bag? Hell, I’m only here because I assumed he’d be working. Like he always is. If I had known he’d be here, I never would have made the trek out of the city.”

  He peers at me thoughtfully, peeling away layer after layer. “I don’t think that’s true. You do this for her.”

  “Who?”

  He floats his eyes to my wrist where the beaded bracelet Midge made me sits. She put so much effort into it, telling me how she learned to spell “sisters” so she could make it. It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received. But it allows Lincoln a peek into who I am, even more so than he’s already had.

  “Your sister.”

  I quickly cover the bracelet with my free hand, shifting my feet.

  “Midge, right?”

  I nod, the movement borderline imperceptible.

  “You come here for her, don’t you?”

  “It is her birthday party.” My tone is sarcastic as I try to shrug off his insinuations. “Everyone is here for Midge.”

  Slowly shaking his head, his eyes rake over my face. “That’s not what I’m talking about. You leave the city and come to suburbia, which probably stands for everything you despise, just so Midge feels loved. You’ll do whatever you can to make her realize she’s perfect, that everything she does is perfect.” He smiles, laughing slightly. “Even if she misspelled sisters and mixed up two of the colors in the bead pattern, you’d never point it out to her. You probably told her how much you loved it, how you’d always treasure it, more so than some ridiculously expensive piece of jewelry from Cartier or Tiffany’s some guy bought you just to have a shot with you. Isn’t that right?”

  Bewildered, I stare at him, his words so accurate it’s frightening. “Maybe.”

  He forms his mouth into a tight line, squinting, as he continues to analyze me, the space between us decreasing. “You’re quite the conundrum, Chloe Davenport.”

  “What makes you say that?” My voice is low, wanton, husky, his nearness casting a spell over me.

  “That morning in Vegas, you made it sound like you were incapable of being loved. That you were incapable of loving anyone. You may not have come right out and said it, but I’ve been practicing law long enough to know how to read between the lines, to make educated assumptions.”

  “And what assumptions did you make?”

  “That you wanted to take a risk but were scared of the potential ramifications. Worse, that you were scared people would think you aren’t as strong as you want them to believe because of your feelings. But you can love someone and still be strong.”

  “I don’t see how,” I manage to croak out. “Love makes you weak.”

  “No. I
t makes you human.” His breathing increases as his lips hover even closer, barely a whisper away. “Don’t you want to feel human again? Don’t you want to feel again?”

  I close my eyes, convinced this is a dream. There’s no other explanation for this conversation, for this moment. Not after he insisted we keep our distance, that we forget each other, that we pretend we don’t know each other. But if it were a dream, I wouldn’t feel the heat of his breath ghosting against my lips. I wouldn’t feel the tingle of what’s to come overtaking me. I wouldn’t feel my knees growing weak in anticipation.

  I lift my chin, my heart drumming violently in my chest as we flirt with the devil. The fact that touching Lincoln is forbidden only makes me want him more. Makes me want him in ways I’ve never craved another man.

  “I do want to feel,” I whimper, the past several weeks of not tasting his lips pushing me past my breaking point.

  “Then feel me.” His voice is a low growl as he erases the final distance between us. Suddenly, footsteps echo, crowing closer, cutting through our trance.

  My eyes widen, breath catching, at the same time Lincoln jumps back, the tenderness mixed with yearning that covered his expression replaced with fear…and regret.

  “There you are,” my father’s familiar voice bellows. He comes to a stop when he sees me. “Oh, I apologize. Was Chloe bothering you? She should know better than to try to butter you up just because she’s realized you work for me.”

  I turn around, taking a moment to settle my flushed complexion as I finish preparing the coffee. “I wasn’t buttering him up. I offered to make him a coffee since he’s a guest in this house.” I whirl around, gritting a smile. “Then again, I suppose I am now, too. Here you go.” I hold the mug out toward Lincoln. “I prepared it how—”

  His sharp intake of breath, coupled with his frantic expression, cuts my statement short. I snap my mouth shut, horrified at what I was about to say. The last thing I need to mention is that I know how Lincoln likes his coffee. That’s not exactly something a professor includes on the class syllabus.

  “How I like it,” I finish, recovering. “I hope only a hint of sweetener is okay.”

  “That’s fine.” His lips curve up in the corners. I wonder if he’s recalling the few times I brought him coffee in bed. Along with another kind of morning “pick me up”.

  “Tell her if it’s not,” my father insists. “You shouldn’t have to drink something you’re not happy with because Chloe wasn’t paying attention. I taught her better than that.”

  “Actually, it appears I take my coffee like she does.” His eyes remain locked on mine. “Even if I didn’t, I’d never depreciate someone’s kindness and generosity that way,” he adds, but my father glosses over his comment.

  “Right. I just got off the phone with the legal department of a small newspaper down in Texas where that school shooting happened.”

  Lincoln nods. Normally, I tune out once my father discusses anything work-related, since it acts as a reminder of how he’d never love anyone as much as he does that job. But something about watching the wheels spin in Lincoln’s head turns me on, has me glued to him. The same way I find myself mesmerized in class when he plays devil’s advocate with the other students, sometimes to the point of almost being an asshole. The passion he exudes for the subject is unmatched by anything I’ve ever witnessed.

  “The court sealed the criminal record of the accused’s father, from whom he stole the gun he used in the massacre. They’ve asked us to help prepare an emergency motion unsealing it. I don’t have to tell you the importance of this information, so let’s get back to work.”

  He spins on his heel, walking out of the kitchen, past the living room, not acknowledging Midge. I wonder if he even wished her a happy birthday. Based on my experience, he most likely didn’t.

  Lincoln hesitates, his gaze locking with mine, and I can sense a part of him wants to stay to clear the air we’ve now muddied.

  “Are you coming?” my father calls from down the hallway once he realizes Lincoln didn’t immediately follow him.

  My eyes beg him to tell my father no, to ask me to go somewhere with him, regardless of how wrong it is. This once, I want a man to choose me, to want me, to fight for me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shakes his head, turning from me without a single glance back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Earth to Chloe,” Owen sings. I lift my eyes to his, wondering what we were talking about, having zoned out. “Welcome back, sunshine.”

  “Sorry.” I offer an apologetic look. “I’m a bit preoccupied.” I shift my attention to the front of the room where Lincoln will deliver his lecture. It’ll be the first time I’ve seen him since our near kiss this past weekend, and I’m not sure how to act.

  I’ve spent the past several days convincing myself that everything having to do with Lincoln Moore has been one big mistake. From sleeping with him in the first place, to agreeing to give him a chance, to nearly kissing him during Midge’s birthday party.

  With a few sweet words, I allowed him to see behind the mask, to peer into my soul. Never again. From now on, I’ll treat Lincoln exactly how he’d asked when we started this charade back in January. I’ll act as if I have nothing more than cold indifference toward him.

  “Everything okay?” Owen asks.

  “Yeah. I’ve had a lot on my mind. The last thing I want to do today is sit through this class.”

  “Well, you might get lucky.” He gestures to the clock right above the doorway. “It’s ten minutes after. Five more minutes and we get to leave.”

  “That’s odd. Li— Professor Moore is usually punctual.”

  “True. Unless he got distracted with Professor Gordon.” He playfully nudges me in the side. “If you know what I mean.”

  Heat washes over my face, my heart plummeting. “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Everyone knows about Professor Gordon and Professor Moore.” He looks at me as if I just asked what color the sky was, as if it’s a fact that just is. No explanation necessary.

  “Professor Gordon and Professor Moore are an item?” My voice comes out more like a squeak.

  “I figure you knew. Like I said—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Everyone knows.” I chew on my lower lip, doing my best to pretend this news has zero effect on me. It shouldn’t, but I can’t stop the myriad of questions that pop into my mind. Was he dating her when we met? When he begged me for a chance? When I gave him that chance?

  The relationship makes sense. He’s ridiculously handsome. Intelligent. Successful. And Professor Gordon is what many of the guys in the department refer to as a solid eleven on a scale of ten. Like Lincoln, she’s young and incredibly ambitious. In fact, she’s the driving force behind a website, the sole purpose of which is to give unbiased news in an age when corporations and big money buy newspapers and television stations in order to skew the message.

  “I guess I just kind of tune out all the gossip here at school,” I add, my voice lacking any emotion. Owen doesn’t seem to pick up on my sudden change in demeanor, though.

  “I can understand that, considering you must get your fair share at work.”

  “Yeah.”

  When the door opens, all eyes shift in its direction, watching as Lincoln walks into the room. His hair is a bit disheveled, his tie not as tight and straight as it normally is. I do my best not to glare, but fail miserably.

  “Well, I guess he was able to pull himself away, after all,” Owen mutters.

  Jealousy, raw and ugly, rears its head. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for his harried appearance and tardiness. Maybe an emergency filing at the paper. But a sinking feeling forms in my stomach that it has nothing to do with work.

  “I apologize for the delay. I had something to take care of. Now, who wants to tell the class about the infamous ‘cake’ case?”

  Owen leans toward me. “I bet he did.” He waggles his brows.

  “Mr. Campbell.”

  “D
ammit,” Owen utters under his breath, barely audible.

  “Why don’t you tell us the background of this case.”

  Owen straightens in his chair, looking through his notebook. When he speaks, his voice evidences his nerves. It doesn’t matter how often he gets called on in class. It’s more than apparent he hates public speaking.

  “A couple went to a popular local bakery to discuss a design for their wedding cake, but the owner refused to serve them because they were gay.”

  “Did the owner refuse to serve them?” Lincoln shoots back. “Or was it something else?”

  “Well, he refused to make the cake for them.”

  “Better, Mr. Campbell. It may not seem it, but there is a difference. Technicalities are extremely important in the law. Now, what did the couple do?”

  He hesitates, flipping through his notes, searching for the answer. I shift my notepad so he can see, subtly pointing to my own scribblings on the case.

  Owen offers me a grateful smile as he glances at my notes, which are surprisingly much more organized than his. “Filed a complaint with the local anti-discrimination commission.”

  “And why does that matter?”

  Owen looks at his pages again, but it won’t be in there. He can talk about social injustice and current events with an understanding and expertise I doubt I’ll ever possess, but when it comes to the law, he has trouble wrapping his head around procedure and how it all fits together.

  I tap loudly on my notebook, getting his attention once more, and he steals a glance.

  “Oh,” he says after reading, lifting his eyes to address Lincoln. “Because the state had enacted an anti-discrimination statute, preventing any business from discriminating on the basis of race, gender, or sexual orientation, among other things.”

  “Correct. So it sounds like this is an anti-discrimination suit. Then why are we studying it in a First Amendment class?”

  Owen stares, uncertain, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he attempts to formulate a response. “I—”

  “I’ll wait while Miss Davenport gives you the answer.” His tone is biting, and I hate that he seems to pick on Owen disproportionately to the other students in class simply because we’ve formed a friendship over the past several weeks. Well, I’m done playing this game. Done letting Lincoln use Owen as his own verbal punching bag.