Midnight Games

by Elle Kennedy

  He gave a mock gasp. “A nerd? How dare you?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Actually, no. You’ll be surprised to know that I was the first-ever jock-nerd in existence. I think I even started a trend.”

  That got him another round of melodic laughter, and damned if he didn’t feel a spark of male pride. He liked making her laugh. He liked bringing that twinkle to her eyes and seeing her let down her guard.

  “What sports did you play?” she asked curiously.

  “Keep me company while I change my dressings and I’ll tell you.”

  Her hesitation lasted only a few seconds. Much shorter than usual, he noted in satisfaction. She followed him to the guest room, where he flopped down on the bed and unlaced his boots.

  All traces of humor drained from Isabel’s eyes when she saw the blood on his socks.

  “What the hell?” she demanded. “What happened?”

  He waved off her concern. “This? It’s nothing. I was barefoot when the shit hit the fan back at the compound.”

  Anger colored her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me when I cleaned you up at the clinic?”

  “Holden had just taken off, and then I had to deal with D not listening to Sofia, so, yeah . . . I forgot.” He peeled off his socks and rested his ankle on his thigh so he could study the sole of his foot. “Ah, it’s just this one nick that reopened. Everything else is starting to scab over.”

  Isabel wasn’t listening to him. She’d marched into the bathroom, and he could hear her rummaging around in the cabinets beneath the sink. When she returned, she held a wet washcloth and a first-aid kit.

  “Why do men always insist that every injury is no big deal?” she grumbled.

  “’Cause we’re stubborn?”

  “And foolish,” she said darkly.

  “And foolish,” he echoed with a grin.

  Although his feet really weren’t as bad as Isabel seemed to think, Trevor decided to humor her. He sat patiently and without a single complaint while she cleaned the sole of his foot and taped a fresh piece of gauze to that one obstinate cut that refused to heal.

  Once she was done, Trevor stood up and peeled off his shirt.

  Isabel huffed out a breath. “Why are you constantly undressing around me?”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Are you implying that I shouldn’t be complaining because your body is so dreamy and therefore I’m lucky to be around it?”

  A laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. This was the Isabel he liked—the confident, funny Isabel whose compassion drove her to tend to his injured feet and whose candid nature never failed to inspire him. The other Isabel, the one who hid behind her various disguises, was too confident. Too easygoing, too composed, too perfect.

  He didn’t want that version of Isabel. He wanted a woman with flaws, a woman who wasn’t scared to be vulnerable around him.

  It was a damn shame she couldn’t grasp that.

  “My body is just a body,” he answered with a shrug. “Flesh, blood, bones, muscle.” He couldn’t resist teasing her. “I’m happy to know you find it dreamy, though.”

  When he unzipped his pants, she grumbled again. “Seriously, will you stop getting naked all the time?”

  “I’m not naked. I’m in my boxers.” He tossed his discarded clothes on the chair next to the bed before heading to the bathroom. “Give me a sec.”

  A few minutes later, after he’d used the john and washed up, he returned to the bedroom and was pleased to find that Isabel hadn’t budged from her perch at the foot of the bed. He’d half expected her to sneak off while he was in the other room.

  But when he stretched out on top of the duvet, she shot to her feet. “What are you doing?”

  “I was planning on catching some shut-eye. It’s three in the morning in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “And yet you lured me into your room under the pretense that you were going to tell me about your high school years.”

  He stacked two pillows behind his head and got comfortable. “It wasn’t a pretense. I still plan on talking your ear off. It’ll just be after we wake up.”

  “We?”

  Patting the empty space beside him, Trevor met her suddenly panicked eyes and loaded a whole lot of challenge into his voice. “What, you’re too scared to take a nap with me?”

  She visibly swallowed.

  “Come on,” he coaxed. “What’s the worst thing that could happen? You’ll fall asleep? Good, because the dark circles under your eyes tell me you’re exhausted.”

  “I am,” she admitted.

  “Come lie beside me.”

  His pulse kicked up a notch as Isabel approached the bed again. She wore a loose blue shirt and black leggings, and she stopped to kick off her sneakers before gingerly getting on the bed beside him. She lay down, but maintained that same aggravating distance.

  This time, he refused to give it to her.

  Reaching out, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against him. When she yelped, he simply chuckled and said, “This is happening, Iz. Deal with it.”

  He expected another objection, but what he got was a soft laugh. Then, to his extreme surprise, her limbs relaxed and she rested her head on his bare chest.

  Warmth spread through him. Isabel snuggled closer, her silky blond hair tickling the bottom of his chin. It felt nice. It felt damn nice.

  Like an idiot, he’d forgotten to turn off the lights, but he didn’t want to get out of bed. He feared that if he moved, Isabel would change her mind and bolt like a frightened deer, and he didn’t want this opportunity slipping through his grasp.

  He absently stroked her back, but the cotton fabric of her shirt served as an annoying barrier. Before he could stop himself, he yanked the shirt up a few inches and ran his palm over her bare skin.

  Her quick intake of breath echoed in the bedroom.

  “We’re just lying here, sweetheart. Nothing to freak out over.” He moved his fingertips over her warm, supple flesh.

  “Okay,” she murmured.

  He felt her relax again. Her arm came out and folded against his chest, her delicate hand resting on his right pec. When he covered her hand with his own and held it there, she didn’t jump or flinch. A quiet breath left her mouth and heated his skin.

  As they lay there in silence, Trevor was overcome by a hot rush of emotion. His throat tightened, making it hard to draw a breath. His hand trembled over Isabel’s. He hadn’t cuddled with a woman in two years. He and Isabel had shared a bed in New York, but it hadn’t been like this. Back then, he’d allowed her the distance she’d craved.

  Tonight was different. He was so achingly aware of her nearness. The flowery scent of her shampoo, the sweet fragrance of her skin, the rapid beating of her heart vibrating against his chest.

  The last woman he’d been this close to was Gina. His feisty, beautiful Gina, whose face no longer haunted his nightmares. Nowadays, he didn’t dream of a curly-haired brunette. He dreamed of the blue-eyed blonde who’d managed to sneak past his defenses before he’d even seen it coming.

  “Trevor?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “This is nice.”

  Serenity washed over him. “Yeah, it is.”

  He held her until she fell asleep. Listened to her quiet breathing and the steady vibration of her heartbeat. For the first time in five months, he felt utterly at peace again, and that feeling of tranquillity followed him into the best sleep he’d had in a long, long time.

  • • •

  Tomas Meiro was a man who was used to making things happen. He didn’t sit around and wait for good fortune to come his way. No, he made his own luck.

  Most of the VIPs staying here at the Crystal Palace shared that mind-set, but not all. Not the hungry faces currently gracing the wall of monitors on the security floor. Not the groups of tourists who streamed into the casino and told themselves they’d be leaving it as millionaires.

  Those people were fools. You didn’t r
ely on games of chance to make you rich. You relied on your intelligence, your cleverness, your drive.

  Sometimes, though, you had no choice but to enlist another man to do your bidding.

  And sometimes, that man you placed your trust in was a total fucking idiot.

  “You took care of the problem?” Meiro said into his cell phone as he absently studied the security screens.

  “Lassiter is no longer in business,” Roussel assured him.

  “Good. And our little friend?”

  “There’s no way of confirming whether he died during the attack, but if he didn’t, our people will find him.” Roussel paused. “Perhaps we can use the woman to lure him out.”

  Meiro’s tone sharpened. “You’ve found the woman?”

  “Not yet, but I suspect she’ll surface now that our friend has disappeared.”

  “Will she, though? They’re no longer together—she might not care about him anymore. Do we know why they went their separate ways?”

  “No, but if they are enemies now, we can use that to our advantage,” Roussel pointed out. “Use them against each other.”

  Meiro wasn’t as convinced. “First find the woman. Then we will discuss what to do with her.”

  He disconnected the call and turned back to the dozens of screens that occupied the enormous space. A flash of silver winked at him.

  “Zoom in on Table Eight.” He directed the order at Keller, one of his most trusted security experts.

  As commanded, Keller enlarged one of the screens, and a raven-haired woman wearing a red strapless gown and half a million bucks’ worth of diamonds appeared on the monitor. She was young, early twenties, maybe late teens. And she was spectacular.

  As his groin stirred, Meiro glanced behind him and said, “Who is she?”

  There was a flurry of activity as the staff manning the computer banks worked hard to get him an answer.

  “Alicia Montoya,” one of the techs announced. “Nineteen years old, daughter of the Spanish ambassador.”

  “Staying in the Emerald Villa,” someone else said. “With her mother and younger sister, Magda.”

  Meiro examined the screen. The lovely Alicia was all alone at the roulette table. No mother or sister in sight.

  He swiftly headed for the door, where his two bodyguards awaited him. “Invite Alicia Montoya to the VIP lounge,” he told the assistant who greeted him outside the security room.

  “Right away, sir.”

  • • •

  There was a hand on her breast.

  A big male hand.

  Cupping her breast.

  Isabel’s eyelids flew open as the thought registered. Almost immediately, her pulse went off-kilter and her breath got stuck in her lungs.

  She and Trevor were spooning—how the heck had that happened?—and either she had the dirtiest imagination on the planet, or there really was a long, hard cock pressing against her ass.

  A low groan broke the silence, and suddenly that thick bulge was grinding into her buttocks and Trevor’s hand tightened over her breast, squeezing hard.

  She moaned before she could stop herself.

  And just like that, his hand was gone, his rock-solid body no longer nestled behind her.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” came his husky voice. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

  She gulped. “It’s okay.”

  They both sat up. Isabel rubbed her eyes, ignored her pounding heart, and glanced at the window. The sun had already risen, the sky a gorgeous, cloudless blue. She checked the clock on the bedside table and saw that it was nine thirty. Wow. Some nap—they’d slept for more than six hours.

  She just hoped that no other catastrophes had occurred during the night.

  “Baseball.”

  Isabel blinked at the abrupt announcement. “What?”

  “I played baseball in high school.” Trevor wore a sheepish expression. “And rugby. Oh, and I was on the honor roll every semester, except for the years I took art and writing.”

  She had to laugh. “You really were a jock-nerd, then.”

  “Yep.”

  He climbed out of bed and raised his arms in a stretch that made every mouthwatering muscle on his bare chest ripple. He was in amazing shape, posing a seriously alluring picture as he stood there in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs that hugged his impressive package. A shiver ran through her at the knowledge that his erection had been straining against her butt only minutes ago.

  Damn it. The lust was back, stronger than ever. Pressure gathered between her legs, and the raw need coursing through her stunned her with its ferocity.

  “I haven’t had sex in three years,” she blurted out.

  Her out-of-the-blue announcement caused Trevor’s dark eyebrows to shoot up to his forehead. Raking one hand through his sleep-tousled hair, he stared at her with bewildered eyes.

  “Um . . . all right.” A faint grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “It’s been two years for me.”

  She nervously licked her lips. Felt the heat of embarrassment staining her cheeks. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Sure you do.” The grin widened. “You were turned on, you got scared, and you felt compelled to make it known that sex isn’t something you treat lightly.”

  Her jaw fell open, even as amusement danced over her. “Oh, really?”

  “Yep.”

  She rolled her eyes at his careless, somewhat smug tone. At the same time, she was caught completely off guard. She’d thought she had Trevor Callaghan all figured out back in New York. He was the strong, serious type. Honorable and sweet and tender.

  Well, he was still all of those things, only now he was showing her a few more unexpected facets of his personality. Playfulness. Sensuality. Pigheadedness.

  He was opening up to her. Revealing a new side of himself with each private moment shared.

  And in return, she was revealing . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing, as always.

  Despite the rush of self-loathing that flooded her body, she managed an uneasy smile. “I guess I just wanted you to be aware of it.”

  “I told you I wanted all or nothing, but I didn’t say I wanted it all right this very second. It’s not a race to the finish line, Iz. I’m a patient man, and I’m willing to wait as long as you need.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. She quickly averted her gaze and ordered herself to pull it together.

  But . . . wow. Who was this man? And what the hell was the matter with her that she couldn’t lower her guard and give him what he wanted? What they both wanted?

  He deserves better.

  Pain lodged in her chest. And there it was, the root of the issue. Trevor deserved someone better. Someone less . . . flawed.

  Taking a deep breath, she pasted on another smile and slipped into her sneakers. “I’m going to take a quick shower and get changed. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  She could practically hear Trevor’s thoughts as she darted out the door. She was thinking the same damn thing.

  Coward.

  Chapter 10

  Later that morning, Trevor finally had a chance to speak to D and Ethan away from prying eyes.

  As much as he appreciated Isabel’s help, he didn’t feel entirely comfortable around Noelle. Or Juliet, who’d spent the past hour picking every lock in the house simply because she was “bored.” Eventually Isabel had dragged the brunette into the den, claiming she wanted to catch up, but Trevor suspected Isabel was looking for new ways to avoid him.

  Ah, well. He would let it go for now. He’d given her a lot to think about, not just last night but this morning, and now he simply had to wait and see if he’d gotten through to her.

  The three men were alone in the central courtyard. It was another hot and beautiful day, which made Trevor wistfully think of home. The streets in Aspen would still be covered in snow, the late-March chill still lingering in the air. Christ, he wished he was there instead of here.

  He noticed that D and Ethan looked as frustrated as he
felt. None of them liked waiting around with their thumbs up their asses, but until they had a lead on who Lassiter had been doing business with, their hands were tied.

  “That woman pisses me off,” Ethan muttered.

  Trevor chuckled when he realized Ethan’s frustration was about more than the absence of action.

  “You know she only keeps needling you because you’re such an easy target,” he told the guy. “Stop taking the bait.”

  “Hard to do when everything is a frickin’ game to her,” Ethan retorted. “She doesn’t give a shit that Morgan’s AWOL.”

  The rookie’s concern was palpable, and when Trevor glimpsed the steely determination in Ethan’s hazel eyes, he realized the man was a lot more shaken up about this whole mess than he’d been letting on.

  Made sense, though. To Trevor and the others, Jim Morgan was a boss and a friend. To Ethan, Morgan was a father figure.

  All Trevor knew about Ethan’s background was that the kid hailed from a small town, had no family, and was recruited by Morgan after one tour in the Marines. But since the day Ethan had come on board, it had been obvious to everyone that he viewed Morgan as a role model of sorts. And he was incredibly protective of the boss.

  “Forget about Juliet,” Trevor advised. “All that matters is that we give a shit.” He glanced at D. “Have you spoken to Sullivan today?”

  When D shook his head, the snake tattooed on the base of his neck seemed to ripple as if the deadly creature had come alive. “Nah, but I spoke to Kane. He and Sinclair have everything under control at the new base. B-Team’s still heading up the extraction in Kabul. They ran into a few snags.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” Trevor rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Luke’s going nuts in Colorado. He’s pissed that there’s nothing for him to do.”

  And since there was nobody who craved action as much as Luke Dubois, Trevor could understand why the man didn’t appreciate being grounded.

  “There’s nothing for any of us to do,” Ethan said in aggravation. “Where the fuck is Morgan? Why the hell hasn’t he checked in?”