Wicked Games: A Forbidden Romance

by T. K. Leigh

  “Okay…,” I reply in a drawn-out voice.

  “You see… Jeremy’s best man has a…” She looks to him, searching for her words. “Reputation.”

  I shift my eyes up to Jeremy’s, hoping for a better explanation.

  “He tries to screw anything with a pulse.” He smirks.

  “Ah.”

  “And since all our guests are spending a lot of money to be here,” Nora continues, “we were hoping you’d—”

  “Make sure he keeps his dick in his pants,” I finish.

  “More or less. You have a low tolerance for bullshit.”

  I squint, vaguely recalling a conversation I’d overheard recently about Jeremy’s supposed best man.

  “I thought your best man was no longer able to make the wedding.” I place a hand on my hip, studying them. Their expressions exhibit a hint of nervousness. Nora doesn’t maintain eye contact, looking anywhere but at me, an overly enthusiastic smile on her face. “That his wife, who’s pregnant with twins, was ordered on bed rest so he’s staying with her.”

  Jeremy laughs, sheepishly running a hand through his hair. “That’s true.”

  “I thought you said you were going to go without one.”

  “He was, but…” She trails off.

  “But I changed my mind,” Jeremy interjects. “Nora didn’t like the idea of things being uneven.”

  “So you added a completely new best man? Why not ask one of your groomsmen?” My suspicions grow, fearing this is a set-up. Nora’s been on my case about meeting someone, thinking it would help me move on. But I have no interest in what I can only imagine is some elaborate scheme to set me up with a guy she thinks is perfect for me. There’s only been one perfect.

  “His brothers are his groomsmen. He didn’t want to pick one over another, so he asked a buddy from college.”

  I form my lips into a tight line, having trouble believing this story.

  “Please, Chloe,” Nora begs, clasping her hands in prayer. “It would mean the world to me if you’d just do this.” She peers at me with those sad puppy-dog eyes I can never say no to.

  “Fine,” I huff. “I’ll babysit.” If nothing else, it will allow me a chance to figure out what game Nora and Jeremy are playing.

  “Thank you so much.” She wraps her arms around me, squeezing me before releasing her hold. “We have to go. Take it easy. Go soak up some sun. And enjoy the view.” She passes me a devilish grin, then grabs Jeremy’s hand and tugs him down the hallway. “We’ll see you tonight.”

  “Wait. Tonight?” I call after them. “What’s tonight?”

  “It’s on the itinerary.”

  I glance down at the paper in my hand. Dinner with Nora, Jeremy, and this mysterious best man.

  Great.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I check my reflection one last time, smoothing a few strands of blonde hair behind my ear. I wasn’t quite sure what to wear tonight. I hadn’t exactly packed a dress that screamed emasculation. But since I’m in Hawaii, I figured I may as well attempt to fit in, deciding on a flowing floral sundress.

  Content with my appearance, I run a bit more gloss over my lips, then head out, glancing at the blasted itinerary for the location of tonight’s “dinner meeting”, as Nora referred to it.

  It takes me a minute to find my way around the large resort, but I eventually locate the waterfront restaurant. When I enter, I’m immersed in a laidback island vibe, the sound of a local trio entertaining the patrons with Hawaiian-style music filling the air. The entire perimeter of the restaurant is windows, apart from the areas where the sliding glass doors are open, allowing the gentle ocean breeze to fill the place.

  I float my eyes around the dining room for any sign of Nora or Jeremy, not seeing them anywhere. Normally I’m the one who’s late, not Nora.

  I walk to the host stand and a woman, who’s obviously a local, greets me warmly. She’s dressed in a slim-fit floral dress that has an Asian influence, a lone flower pinned in her slick, black hair.

  “Aloha, miss. Do you have a reservation?”

  “Actually, I’m meeting a few people here. Nora Connors and Jeremy Boyd.”

  She looks at her computer screen. “Yes. I have their reservation right here. They haven’t arrived yet, and we don’t seat our parties until everyone is present.” She gestures to the open-air bar and lounge to my right. “But if you’d like to have a drink while you wait, the view is beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” I consider waiting in the foyer, knowing Nora won’t be too long. But the view undoubtedly is stunning. So I head into the lounge, searching for an empty table, since the bar seems to be full.

  “A table just opened up right next to the railing,” a man wearing all black and carrying a tray of empty glasses instructs. “Grab it before someone else does.” He winks, then continues past me.

  Shifting my eyes in the direction he indicated, I see a small hightop table and walk toward it. Luckily, I’m able to reach it before anyone else and hoist myself into the chair. A gentle breeze comes off the ocean, and I smooth a few wayward locks behind my ear, listening to the trio play. The sky is an impressive mixture of orange, pink, and red, the hue unlike any I’ve seen. Couples walk hand-in-hand on the white sand, stealing a few kisses as dusk sets in. I can’t help but sigh.

  “Maybe one day,” I say to myself.

  “Here you go, miss,” a voice cuts through. I tear my eyes to my right to see a petite woman wearing a crisp white shirt and black pants removing a martini from her tray, placing it in front of me.

  I furrow my brow. “I haven’t placed my order yet.”

  The similarities between this and that night in Vegas aren’t lost on me. But Lincoln’s not here. He’s back in New York. Unless my father has him pulling an all-nighter because of some big deadline, he’s probably sleeping in his bed.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat at the thought that another woman may already be in that bed with him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the server apologizes. “I’m all mixed up today. Let me go check the ticket, then I’ll be back to take your order.”

  She hurries toward the bar, and I look back to the horizon. For a split second, there was a part of me that did think Lincoln was here. But he’d made it more than apparent when I attempted to talk to him at graduation that he wants absolutely nothing to do with me. I can’t blame him. No one deserves to be treated the way I treated him.

  “Um… Actually, miss…”

  I turn to see the same server approaching with the same martini.

  “This is for you. A gentleman saw you walk in and asked the bartender to send it your way.”

  “A gentleman?”

  I look past her, searching the bar, holding out a twinge of hope that I’d see a familiar silhouette standing there when, in reality, it’s probably just some overweight man wearing a gaudy floral shirt who’s going through a midlife crisis.

  Suddenly, her gaze widens and she backs away, leaving the martini.

  “I took a guess at what kind of vodka you’d prefer,” a deep rumble sounds.

  Paralyzed, every muscle in my body stiffens, my pulse skyrocketing. I blink repeatedly, praying this isn’t just a dream, a side effect of sitting by a couple of college students smoking pot during my afternoon on the beach.

  “But something made me think you were a Belvedere girl.” The heat of his breath closes in on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. Then a finger runs the length of my arm. “Smooth. Layered. Sophisticated. And so fucking stubborn.” He grasps my hand, stepping in front of me.

  I stare into Lincoln’s brilliant eyes and part my lips, struggling to say something, anything, but no words come. I don’t know what to make of this, considering the animosity and pure hatred that covered his face the last time we saw each other. But it’s no longer there. In its place is a look of unmatched devotion, complete admiration, and wanton desperation.

  “I am so sorry.” His voice is choked with emotion, everything about him exu
ding the same passion and intensity he has since the first time I felt his body against mine.

  “Sorry? What are you—”

  “That night I took you to dinner.” His hands go to my face, gripping my cheeks. “Our first official-unofficial date. Do you remember what I promised you?”

  I swallow hard. “That you’d always fight for me.”

  “No matter the battle. But I broke that promise.”

  “I didn’t give you a choice. You just said it yourself.” I laugh slightly. “I’m really stubborn. I’d already decided what I needed to do. No matter what you said, nothing would have made me change my mind. Not after…” I trail off.

  “Not after your father saw us together and reminded you of everything I would lose if you didn’t break it off with me.”

  I briefly close my eyes. “He told you.”

  “Yes, and so did you.”

  “Me?” I fling my gaze to his.

  His lips curve up. “Your father left an early issue of Time on my desk this morning, along with a note that said if I didn’t get on the first flight to Hawaii, I’m not as smart as he thought and he’d seriously reconsider his decision to hire me.”

  “Oh.” I pull away, unsure how to react to Lincoln reading that article. I knew it was a possibility. I figured he wouldn’t care anymore. That my words wouldn’t matter. Judging by the anguish in his eyes, they still do.

  He lifts his hand to my nape, not allowing me to escape him. “Every man in your life has disappointed you. It kills me that I’m one of them. So I’m here to make it up to you. To promise that I’ll do my best to never disappoint you again. I can’t promise I won’t, but if you just give me a chance, I’ll do everything in my power not to deliberately piss you off, like slurp my soup or leave my shoes in the middle of the floor so you trip on them. Hell, I’ll even stop stealing your panties.”

  I playfully slap him. “Don’t you dare. My panties will always belong to you.”

  A peaceful smile crosses his mouth as he closes the distance, his lips so close to mine. “And what about your heart?”

  “That will always belong to you, too.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” He goes to erase that last bit of space between us, but I put my hand on his chest, preventing him from doing so. He pulls back, an eyebrow raised in question.

  “That still doesn’t mean this will work. Just because we want to be together doesn’t mean we should. It still doesn’t fix the fact that I was your student. That you lied for me. Intentionally kept our relationship a secret so no one would find out you violated the code of conduct. Not even the strongest love will fix this. I’m not sure I’m—”

  “You’re not sure you’re worth it?” His tone is full of fire and zeal as he finishes my thought.

  I simply shrug. I’ve done quite a bit of soul-searching these past few weeks. Have come to terms with my past and know I’m worthy of love. I just don’t know if I’m worthy of Lincoln’s love. Not with what’s at stake.

  He shakes his head, looking around, his expression wracked with indecision, as if frantically trying to come up with something…anything to make me reconsider. Then a devilish smile tilts his mouth and he leans toward me, kissing my temple.

  “Wait right here.”

  Dropping his hold, he rushes from me, leaving me confused and a bit intrigued, which quickly changes to utterly horrified when he walks up to the stage where the small band has been serenading us. During a break in the music, he talks to the singer, who happily welcomes him up on stage, offering him the microphone.

  I meet his eyes, vehemently shaking my head, a heat spreading from behind my ears to my face and chest.

  “Aloha, friends.” Lincoln’s voice comes over the speakers, to which the audience replies with a polite “aloha”. “I won’t be long, because I’m sure you’d much rather listen to this beautiful island music than me. My name is Lincoln Moore. As you can tell, I’m not from around here.” He gestures at his suit, looking incredibly out of place, especially when surrounded by people in casual island attire. Several patrons chuckle, nodding in agreement. “I work as an associate attorney at a little newspaper called The New York Times.”

  My pulse steadily increases as I stare at him, wondering what he’s doing, other than making a complete ass out of himself in front of the crowd, and eventually the entire world once someone decides to upload this to YouTube.

  He loosens his tie, sweat forming on his brow, the combination of the June humidity and the lights on the stage beaming down on him. When he shrugs out of his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his crisp shirt, a few women whistle.

  “Thank you very much,” he says in his best Elvis impersonation.

  I laugh as I’m treated to this side of Lincoln, one I haven’t seen in too long now.

  “You see, almost five months ago, I met my boss’ daughter, although I didn’t realize it at the time. And I made the colossal mistake of falling in love with her.”

  A few ooh’s sound from the crowd. I have no idea what game Lincoln’s playing here, what he hopes to get out of telling our story, but I can’t take my eyes off him. Either can anyone else.

  “That’s not even the worst of it. You see, in addition to being an attorney for the Times, I teach First Amendment Law in the journalism program of a local university. And my boss’ daughter?”

  Gasps echo from the crowd, and he points to the group of women who appear to be celebrating a bachelorette party.

  “They guessed it. She walked into my class that first day as a student. Now, I know what you’re thinking. How did I not know that not only was she my boss’ daughter, but also set to be a student of mine when the semester began?” A devilish glint flashes in his eyes. “Suffice it to say, the early days in our relationship weren’t exactly filled with philosophical questions about the meaning of life.”

  The entire audience erupts in cheers and whistles. It takes a lot to make me blush, but as his gaze catches mine and he winks, causing nearly everyone to turn in my direction, my cheeks heat even more. But it’s one of the most fulfilling and satisfying feelings I’ve ever experienced.

  “That’s her, ladies and gentlemen.” He jumps off the stage, heading toward me. “The woman I am madly in love with. I’d have to be if I’m telling a group of complete strangers about the fact that I’ve been sleeping with one of my students, which is a very big no-no. The truth is, I loved her before she was one of my students.” His voice becomes sincere as he approaches, his eyes trained on mine. He smiles a small smile before addressing the crowd once more.

  “But the problem is, she doesn’t think this will ever work. In some respects, she’s absolutely right. Our love was doomed from the beginning. Like Heathcliff and Catherine. Romeo and Juliet, except for the suicide part.”

  “Jack and Rose!” an enthusiastic young woman adds.

  Lincoln turns around, finding her in the crowd. “We all know there was room on that plank, so that wasn’t a doomed relationship. It was murder. Or, at the very least, negligent homicide.”

  The crowd’s roar of laughter echoes against the still night air. When Lincoln turns back to me, his voice grows sincere. “Like Orpheus and Eurydice.”

  A small breath escapes my mouth.

  “Do you remember what Orpheus’ problem was?” he asks softly.

  I nod, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth to stop my chin from quivering. “He looked back,” I barely manage to say.

  “He looked back,” he repeats. “Something I refuse to do. Not where you’re concerned. I only want to look forward. Nothing that happened before this moment matters.”

  “But—”

  “But what? You still don’t believe you’re worth the risk?” He steps back, spreading an arm and turning in a slow circle. “What do you think I’m trying to prove to you? That you are worth the risk. Do you think I care about my job as much as I care about you?”

  I wish I could give him the answer he wants to hear, but it’s not that easy. D
espite this incredible gesture — getting on a plane, flying halfway around the world, making a scene in front of all these people — it’s hard for me to trust blindly, to put all my faith in someone’s words. Nearly thirty years of experience has taught me otherwise.

  He brings a hand to my face, and I melt into his touch. “What do you need me to do to prove it to you? That you’re all that matters. That no matter what happens, my life will be full as long as you’re by my side.” He swipes a tear from my cheek. “I know what life’s like without you. And I mean really know what it’s like. I can survive without my job, without my apartment. Hell, I’d even give up my season tickets to the Mets.”

  “You can’t do that,” I sniffle. “You’d probably have to pay someone to take them off your hands instead of the other way around. It’s a terrible business decision.”

  The crowd breaks out in laughter, and I join them, my emotions a wild pendulum. One minute I’m crying. The next I’m laughing through my tears.

  “See, Chloe? We’re still good together. We still make sense. That hasn’t changed. What do I have to do to prove that you deserve that fairy tale? I’ve already declared my love in a way that would put any cheesy romantic comedy to shame. What more can I do?”

  At that instant, the band begins playing the opening chords of “Hawaiian Wedding Song”, apparently thinking this moment required background music.

  “Please, Chloe,” Lincoln murmurs over the opening verse of the classic Elvis song. “If I have to sing to get you to be mine, I will.”

  My eyes widen, horror crossing my expression. “You wouldn’t.”

  “For you, I certainly would.”

  Before I can stop him, he takes over the vocals, his hand wrapping around mine. The crowd erupts in applause and cheers that would probably rival if the real Elvis had come back from the dead and were here singing to me. I’m surprised he even knows the lyrics to this song. It’s not exactly one you hear on a daily basis, unless you watch Blue Hawaii on repeat.

  I cover my mouth with my free hand, laughing, crying, then laughing again. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens in the real world, is it? At least not in my world. I was never the type of girl who necessitated a call from a guy the next day. And here is this amazing, incredible, sophisticated man, singing horribly out of tune in front of dozens of people, passersby on the beach stopping to listen and watch the scene with interest.