by JA Huss
I don’t know what to say. I just sit in my living room, with a living legend I have admired and emulated my entire life, and weep.
She gets up, hard as it is with her health and age, and walks over to the couch to sit down next to me. She holds me as I cry. Strokes my hand, pets my hair, assures me everything is gonna turn out just fine.
Mothers me.
And I cry harder.
Chapter Forty-Eight - Ixion
I charter a jet to Denver. It takes me several hours to get myself together and drive out to the airstrip in Sheridan, so I don’t arrive in the city until almost seven PM. I get to the performing arts center in Downtown a few minutes after eight. But there’s no music yet—was she waiting for me?—so they let me in the doors, clutching my VIP pass in my hand, and direct me to the stairs, because I have a balcony seat.
I expect Jordan to be there, at least. Or Lucinda. But it’s a private box, so I take my seat just as the lights dim and the cacophony of voices dulls to a murmur.
The deep scarlet curtain opens and the entire theatre immediately becomes silent.
Evangeline walks onto the stage with no gloves. No hat, no coat, no scarf, no sunglasses.
The entire room erupts in a standing ovation.
I stand with them. Smiling.
She looks up at me, right at me. Like dead in the eyes.
And I stare back at her.
She’s holding the Stradivarius. Cradling it in her arms like a baby. She wipes a tear from her eyes, whispers, “Thank you,” to the crowd as they continue their applause. And then nods to me.
I nod back.
And when her bow touches those strings… the whole theatre cries. Tears of joy over the beauty of her gift.
I sit mesmerized. Barely able to remember to breathe. Still. Eyes only for her. And maybe for the first time since I gave up my life for my best friend, I feel… whole again.
She’s wearing the dress I left for her that last day. The whole ensemble. The diamonds and sapphires sparkle under the bright lights.
She keeps her eyes closed most of the time. But every time she opens them between pieces, she’s looking up at me.
And I understand why I’m up here in the box, and not down below with Lucinda and Jordan and a few other special guests she’s invited.
It’s so she could see me, seeing her.
It’s so the spotlight that erases the crowd right in front of her won’t erase me.
I am the only person in this entire theatre she wants to see.
So I watch her. I watch her shine the way I knew she could. I might even cry when she stops, and wish for more.
When it’s over—and man, it’s over way too soon—she accepts her flowers. She takes her bow, and then a curtsey, just like she used to when she was little, and says, “Thank you,” in a small, but very sincerely appreciative voice.
I don’t know what to do after that. So I sit in my box for a while. Eyes on the people down below. Jordan, Lucinda, Chella and her husband, Smith. And Dan. That guy from the used books and record store.
“Ixion?” a voice whispers behind me.
I shake my head, unable to believe it’s really her. But when I turn, there she is.
Augustine. Older than I remember. Sadder too. And alone. “I just want you to know—“
But I put up a hand and cut her off as I stand up. “Another time, huh?” I say it without malice. Just matter-of-factly. “This night isn’t yours, Augustine. It belongs to someone else. So… just another time, OK?”
She sucks in a breath, but nods her head as I pass her, pulling the curtain aside so I can enter the hallway and find my way backstage.
There’s only one person I need tonight.
And she’s got nothing to do with my past.
Chapter Forty-Nine - Evangeline
Mei Ling sits with me in my dressing room after the performance. Just her. Only her. I know Ixion came because he was up in the box I saved for him. I watched him watch me as I played my way through a spectacular comeback show.
And he has the pass to come back here and see me.
But he’s not here.
“He’s coming,” Mei Ling says, patting my hand.
She is more of a mother to me in this moment than my own mother was my entire life. And I have known her less than a day.
It’s a very sad realization. To understand that your parents never loved you. They only loved the opportunity that came with you.
I think this was my problem. And even though Ixion was the one who broke the prison walls I’d built around myself, it was Mei Ling who led me back out into the light.
I was going to play the show before she showed up, but I wasn’t going to enjoy it.
She changed everything.
A soft knock at the door has my heart beating out of my chest with excitement.
The door opens a crack as the stage manager pokes his head in and says, “Ixion Vanir to see you, Miss Rolaine.”
I stand, smooth my dress with both hands, and nod. “Please, show him in.”
Mei Ling gets to her feet, but I turn and say, “You can’t leave yet.”
She smiles at me and says, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” And then she leans up to kiss me on the cheek and turns away just as the door opens again and Ixion Vanir appears.
He smiles at Mei Ling, who takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. “Thank you,” she tells him.
Ix shrugs, like this is all just a normal part of his day, but graciously replies, “You’re welcome,” as Mei Ling leaves us to figure things out, closing the door behind her.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” I say, pointing at my long-lost violin.
Ixion smiles at me. It’s a familiar smile, but strange too. I saw that smile in the greenhouse. In the coffee shop. But this is the first time he’s smiled at me being… me. And not the scared little girl who couldn’t stand the heat of a gaze.
The first time he smiles at me being him, too.
“Hey,” Ix says. “What the hell am I gonna do with millions of dollars anyway? My apartment up in Wyoming goes for six hundred and fifty dollars a month and my Jeep still runs, so not in the market for a new car yet.”
“How did you know she had it?” I ask.
“Dan called your phone and left a message. Said you’d asked about the violin and he knew who had it. I might’ve been prying into your personal life and found that message. And then I might’ve called Dan back and told him to wrap that shit up, we were taking it home.”
I shake my head and look down at my feet, but quickly recover and meet his gaze as I say, “I never want you to stop looking at me, Ixion.”
He nods back. “Well, I guess you’re in luck. Because I don’t think I can. I think you might be stuck with me, Miss Rolaine. And even though I have a shitload of money, I’m not really much of a catch. I was in jail this morning, ya know.”
My laugh escapes as a huff of air. “Jordan told me. Told me what you did, too. Beat the shit out of a truck. Twice.”
He shrugs. “Asshole had it coming. I’m not really a creepy spy, Evangeline—“
“I know that,” I say, cutting him off. “Jordan told me all that stuff too. You’re an investigator, right?”
He nods. “I do watch people, that part’s true. I expose them, just like I did you. But it was never my intention to hurt anyone.”
“You didn’t hurt me, Ixion. You saved me.”
“No,” he says. “That was all you, Miss Rolaine. You were always the one with the plan. I just supported you.”
“It’s what I needed,” I say.
“Me too.”
“And now… now what?”
He swallows hard, like this question makes him very nervous. “Tell me what you want. And I’ll give it to you.”
“No,” I say. “I’ve taken more than my share in this lifetime. I want to give you something.”
He laughs.
“I’m serious, Ixion. Tell me what you want.”
He
sighs now. A long breath of air escapes him. Like he’s getting rid of things. Like he’s considering my question. And finally, after many long seconds of silence, he says, “I just want you. No games. No cameras. No lies. Just you.”
I walk towards him. He opens his arms and embraces me. Kisses me on the head, then the cheek, then the lips.
Our kiss is brand new.
And when we step out of my dressing room door our life together is brand new too.
Totally exposed for who we really are underneath all the fear, and regret, and mistakes.
And ready to live with it.
Epilogue - Jordan
“So listen,” Chella says. “I have an interesting job for you.”
We’re sitting in her tea room, having tea, of course, just catching up after the shitstorm called Augustine blew through town and upended everything about my life. She’s still here, still not talking to me after I admitted it was me, not Ixion, who filmed her and sent the footage to Alexander all those years ago.
Still driving me fuckin’ nuts.
Augustine already knew. Alexander told her the truth after they got married. But hearing those words from my own mouth… well, that’s something completely different.
So I’ve been in a funk ever since I came clean, and Chella, annoyingly perceptive person that she is, picked up on it. I can only imagine that’s why I was invited to tea today.
“Does Smith know you’re doing this?” I ask her.
“Smith,” she huffs as she rubs her very pregnant belly. Chella is the most adorable pregnant woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. “He’s all about helping people. You know that.”
“So he doesn’t know,” I say.
“I mean, look,” Chella says. “I can’t help it if he’s too busy to really pick up what I’m throwing down, right? I tell him all kinds of things, Jordan. Everything I do, I report at dinner.” She opens her hands, palms up. “I am an open book.”
I laugh. “So Smith hears what Smith wants to hear? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Exactly,” she beams. “Like, I told him I have this friend who might like to spice up her life.” I raise an eyebrow at that. “And she’s looking for a game, OK?”
“What did Smith say?”
“He said, ‘Game’s over.’” And then we both laugh. “And that’s it. Right? So I told him. Basically spelled it out as far as I’m concerned. And he just heard what he wanted to hear.”
Fuckin’ Chella. “This shit is gonna catch up with you, ya know that, right?
“What shit?” she asks, innocent, bewildered look on her face. “I’m just trying to help a girl out. You know, kinda like you do.” And then she winks at me.
“I dunno,” I say. “I’m kinda sick of games. Maybe I should just... be a fuckin’ lawyer? Ya know? Stop all this bullshit. Settle down with a girl or something.”
“Just one?” she teases. “And no men?”
I roll my eyes at her. “My point is, maybe it’s time to just butt out let people live their lives.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Chella laughs. “And besides, people need this, Jordan. Like this girl I know. She’s a really cool chick, right? Got her shit so together… I mean, her life is sewed up tight.”
“Sounds kinda boring,” I sigh.
“Exactly! She’s dying of boredom.”
I shake my head and give in. “What kind of game is she looking for?”
“Well, there’s the thing, OK? She’s not exactly looking for a game. But she totally needs one. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Chella,” I say, my tone cautioning.
“Trust me,” she says, “I know what I’m doing. She needs this, Jordan. Just give her what she needs.”
I shake my head. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Listen.” She says, putting up a hand to stop my objections. “The game is called… The Pleasure of Panic.”
“You got a name for it already?” I ask, kinda chuckling at her audacity.
“It’s good, right?” She laughs. “So much better than Total Exposure. Say it with me, Jordan. The Pleasure of Panic.”
“So this girl you’re just looking to help out—she needs…?”
“Take a guess,” Chella says, her Cheshire Cat smile wide and wild. “You’ll never guess.”
I can take a good guess at what The Pleasure of Panic Game might look like.
Copyright © 2018 by J. A. Huss
DESCRIPTION
From NYT Bestselling Author, JA Huss, comes a new sexy standalone in the Jordan's Game series. Issy is about to have the night of her life! Her sexual fantasy is about to come true thanks to Jordan Wells and his little fantasy fulfillment business. Or is it?
A new day. A new game. A new girl to (try and) please.
Issy Grey is a control freak. There's no problem she can't solve. Issy's also a successful self-help author, presenter, and life coach. She has every answer, every time you ask for it.
That is... until her BFF butts into her life and signs her up for a sexual fantasy fulfillment game she never asked to play!
Now she can't turn it off! She can't quit, because Jordan Wells refuses to admit she's even a player!
And she can't get rid of the man assigned to pleasure her with panic, because he's her new bodyguard!
Just... WTF?
PROLOGUE - JORDAN
The many ways in which people find sexual pleasure will never stop fascinating me, but those who enter my world typically fit into a few neat little packages.
You’ve got your standard whips-and-handcuffs people. Some like it soft, some like it hard, some stay right in the middle. But the one thing they all get off on is pain. The threat of pain, I should clarify.
Because then you’ve got your standard fighters. Lovers who like all the extremes in every direction. Anger and bliss. Honesty and lies. Loyalty and cheating. It doesn’t matter what the two extremes are, it is always black and white. They get off on pain too, but it’s mental anguish that lights their fire.
There’s a third category. The ones who crave drama outside the relationship. They’re adrenaline junkies, addicted to the portrait they paint—of themselves, of others, of the world—and how they can make people react. They like the rush that comes from unfortunate circumstance.
Then you’ve got your mind-fuckers. It’s pretty much an all-of-the-above kinda worldview. Physical pain that becomes pleasure, that becomes mental pain, that becomes pleasure, that becomes panic, that becomes pleasure.
I might be a mind-fucker.
But I don’t play the games, I just run them. So it doesn’t matter.
There are as many types of games as there are people who play them.
There are simple games, there are elaborate games, there are boring games—but who am I to judge?—and then there are games within games.
I’m sitting at the table overlooking the now-defunct lobby thinking about this next game, while Darrel Jameson, my full-time investigator since he quit the FBI and came to town to help find a lost girl for my friends, looks over the file in front of him. It’s pretty interesting if you know how to read between the lines. I do, and so does he. That’s why I use him.
“Huh,” he says.
“Right?”
“I don’t know what to think about this one.”
“So don’t think. Just get me what I need.”
“We’re gonna make waves.”
“I’ll ride them.”
“We’re gonna piss people off.”
“When don’t we?”
Darrel and I chuckle and do a fake cheers with the cut-crystal glasses we’re drinking from. There was still whiskey behind the fucking bar. Good whiskey.
“OK.” He sighs, then tips the rest of the amber liquid in his glass down his throat. He enjoys the burn for a few seconds before adding, “If you say so. I’m just the hired help.”
“Yeah, right.” I laugh. “I need it by Wednesday. This shit needs to happen on V-day, got me?”
/> “Got ya, boss.” And then he gets up, tips an imaginary hat, walks across the room, and disappears down the stairs with the file clutched in his hand.
I drink the rest of my Scotch, thinking about how this one might go down as I trace my target’s name in the construction dust that’s settled on the table.
I’m sitting in the old Turning Point Club. I broke in. Couldn’t fuckin’ take it anymore. I had to see what the hell was going on in here.
Which is a big, fat nothing. Just a lot of plastic over the tables and chairs downstairs, a lot of dust up here, and a lot of darkness, since the security shutters are all closed and the revolving door has been boarded up.
A whole lot of… emptiness.
Back when I used to play games, I came here. I fucked a lot of willing, deviant men and women here. But it was sold over a year ago now and it’s been sitting idle ever since. It’s driving me crazy. I’m on the brink of distraction wondering what will become of it.
I gotta get this under control.
So many things are happening in my life right now.
This new game I’m playing is risky, no doubt.
Never done anything like this before.
Probably won’t ever do it again.
So I better make it count.
CHAPTER ONE - ISSY
“Say it with me!” I’m yelling that to the ladies in my women’s empowerment masterclass.
“GO FUCK YOURSELF!” they all yell back.
“One more time!” I urge.
“GO FUCK YOURSELF!”
“What are you gonna do from now on?”
“BE IN CONTROL!”
“And how ya gonna do that?”
“TAKE NAMES!”
“And what are you gonna do with those names?”
“KICK SOME FUCKIN’ ASS!”
I smile, fold my hands in front of me, and admire my clients one at a time. I always do this at the end of my masterclass. I acknowledge every one of them, hold their gaze for exactly two seconds as I picture how much stronger they are now than when they came here, and then repeat that until I’ve given everyone in the room their due.