Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation Book 4)

by Samanthe Beck

  “Ah, man. We really are twins, aren’t we? We go like Energizer Bunnies until we can’t keep up the pace anymore, and then we crash, and end up sabotaging ourselves. We’re our own worst enemies.”

  The observation sounded just enough like what Luke had said during their first session, it gave her pause. Callum didn’t seem to notice, though. “Still, Paradise Bay. That’s pretty sweet. Hey, I have an idea.” His excitement shimmered over the line. “Why don’t I get on a plane and complete the rest of my rehab there? We can keep each other company.”

  “Oh…” No. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. “I don’t think that’s such a good plan.”

  “It’s a great plan. They have a treatment program. Eddie suggested it at one point when he still handled me. I could stay with you. We’d be roommates again, and, you know, support each other.”

  Her stomach turned into a hollow pit. She couldn’t be in charge of him again. Not now. There was too much at risk and she couldn’t handle failing on all fronts. “Callum, there’s a lot at stake here for both of us.”

  “For you, you mean,” he argued, quick and defensive. “My stakes haven’t changed in a long time, and we both know it, so at least have the balls to be honest. You think I’ll fall off the wagon again, and I’ll take you down with me.”

  “You want honesty? Here goes. I’m not a recovery counselor. I think I proved that last time around.” Agitated, she dug into the goody basket. Before she questioned her intentions, she reached past the bananas, past the pineapple, to a renegade package of sugar-dusted polvorones that definitely didn’t appear on the McLean-approved diet plan. And clearly I have my own issues.

  “Please, Quinn. Pleeeaaase. I don’t think I can do this if you don’t believe in me. Don’t abandon me because you think it’s easier to outsource my problems to someone else.”

  Like you’ve done, was the unspoken part of that accusation. Never mind that he’d broken every promise he’d made as a condition to moving in with her. Never mind that she’d “abandoned” him to the care of a top-tier treatment program and couldn’t afford to keep him there if she forfeited the Dirty Games payday. Now, somehow, declining to do exactly what he wanted amounted to a vote of no confidence.

  “How would you even get here?” She asked the question around a mouthful of cookie. “You can’t travel on your own—nobody’s going to be down for that—and I don’t have the leeway to come get you.” Even as she devoured another cookie, she tried to feed herself a dose of resignation. She already knew what was coming.

  “Mom will do it.”

  Of course she would. Ann Sheridan came running whenever her son called. Callum was the shining star in their mother’s eyes—her golden boy with the looks and talent to captivate everyone. Quinn’s own early motive for participating in all the dance classes, drama workshops, and auditions had been a desire to win some notice. Luckily, she’d found performing satisfying in its own right, because it had never really worked as a way to claim any of their mom’s attention,

  “I can’t—”

  “Don’t say no. Please.” The ease with which he shifted modes from accusatory, to problem solving, to pleading left her off balance. As always. “I promise I’ll be a Boy Scout the whole time. I’ll make you proud of me again.”

  “Make me proud by finishing the program you’re in. When you’re done, and I’m finished shooting the movie, we can celebrate with a trip. Anywhere you want to go. You choose.” She ate another cookie without tasting it, and dug into the bag for another. “It will be a good incentive for both of us.” What the fuck are you doing? Stop eating.

  “You’re choosing a movie role over me.” Mr. Accusatory returned with a vengeance.

  “I can’t, Callum. I just can’t.”

  “You’re there with a guy—”

  “No.” But there was some shameful grain of truth in his words. For the last five days, she’d toed the line with Luke, and felt like she’d forced him to rethink his opinion of her. She didn’t want to expose this side of her life to his scrutiny.

  “You’re choosing a guy over your brother.”

  “For the last time, there is no guy.”

  “Yeah right. Enjoy Paradise, Quinn. Enjoy your fucking movie role, and this fucking guy, and your whole fucking life. Thanks for nothing.”

  Silence sounded in her ear. She blinked rapidly to ease the sting of salt in her eyes. Recovery was a messy journey, full of swinging moods. Any expert would tell her not to take Callum’s words or actions to heart.

  Easier said than done, unfortunately. She lifted another cookie to her mouth. Then she looked up to find Luke standing on the other side of the kitchen like a shadow in his black T-shirt and shorts, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

  Oh shit.

  “Good cookies?”

  She swallowed quickly and crumpled the wrapper. “What cookies?”

  “Wrong answer, Trouble. In the gym. Now.”

  Chapter Seven

  Luke stalked toward the same open doors he’d entered through a minute ago when he’d been looking to track down his tardy client. She’d worked hard this morning, just like she had the entire week. He had no complaints about their momentum. Her conditioning was kicking in, and he planned to push her until they hit a wall, then back off and come at her from a different angle. He hadn’t seen the wall on the horizon yet, but that was before he’d walked into her kitchen and found her sneaking cookies while on a personal call with some fucker. Some fucker she missed.

  The knowledge simmered inside him, uncommonly volatile, and for the sake of his sanity, he chose to condense it down to, No. Just no. Then he mentally shoved the mess into a compartment, slapped a “Later” label on it, and closed the lid.

  Sneaking sweets to get through a difficult personal moment, though? That was something to tackle now, as well as something to draw a line in the sand over. The habit undermined their chances of success, and, more importantly in the long run, wasn’t an effective way to manage stress. He intended to put a stop to it, and he was prepared to use whatever method proved most effective.

  He heard the patter of her cross-trainers against the cobblestone as she chased him across the courtyard.

  “Wait. Luke…wait.”

  He continued into the gym, picked up his tablet and water, and turned to face her.

  She held up her hands and offered him a disarming smile. “Look, I’m not going to make excuses—the kitchen didn’t drop off my lunch.”

  Impeccable timing. Great delivery. He didn’t return her smile. “Maybe you’re not taking this seriously, but I am. I have a business to run, and I put a vacation on hold for this.” His anger wasn’t entirely manufactured, because everything he said was true, but he’d expected the cheating. Most clients deviated from the plan at some point—often early in the process when the food cravings hit hardest and the results of challenging workouts and a better diet weren’t yet visible. “You’re not willing to do what it takes to succeed.”

  “I am. I swear.” She rushed to him and raised her hands to his chest, as if her paltry hundred and twenty-five pounds could prevent him from moving. “I just lost track of myself for a moment.”

  “I can’t monitor you 24/7, Quinn. Nobody can, other than you, and if you’re not up to the job, then we’re both wasting our time. This won’t work if I can’t trust you.”

  “You can trust me. Please, Luke.” She looked up at him with a rare show of genuine panic in her eyes. “Give me another chance. I promise I’m not wasting your time. Let me prove it.”

  This was exactly what he wanted from any client at this stage—the wavering stage—a renewed commitment to fight for the goal, and the determination to prove she could do it. But for some perverse reason, with Quinn, he couldn’t let it go at just words. “Prove it? How? Losing the role clearly isn’t a sufficiently immediate and motivating consequence for you. What possible consequence can I impose that’s more persuasive?”

  Pink tinged her cheeks. She droppe
d her lashes, took a shuddery breath, and looked up at him again. “You’d have to…punish me.”

  No. No, this was going down the wrong path, and yet he felt the inevitability of it even as he tried to put on the brakes. Gently, he warned, “You couldn’t handle it.”

  “Try me. Let me prove you wrong.”

  She licked her lips after she tossed out the suggestion. No. Not a suggestion. A dare, which was essentially a default setting for Quinn. He walked toward the door.

  “Please.”

  Etched-in-stone rules faded like weathered hieroglyphics on an ancient ruin. The exquisitely fucked-up convergence of exactly what he shouldn’t do, and exactly what she needed him to do twisted inside him, becoming a single, inescapable imperative. He closed the door and clicked the lock.

  “Bend over the hyperextension bench and pull your shorts down.”

  Her breath hitched, but a glimmer of relief shone in her eyes. “You dirty pervert.”

  “Over the bench. Now. You’ve got five seconds.”

  Hands slapped the sides of her thighs as her eyes darted around the gym. “Which one is the hyperextension bench?”

  He pointed. She marched to the angled apparatus, hooked her heels behind the crossbar, and leaned into the padded bench designed to support her hips. Then she draped herself over it and gripped the handholds while she squirmed around looking for the least demanding position. Finally she reached around and slid her tight, white shorts down to expose the top half of her ass.

  He drew in a breath to clear his head. Get his bearings. “Lower.” His voice sounded gruff to his own ears.

  She made a compliant sound, and pushed the shorts down to bare her ass properly. He stepped up and ran a fingertip along the back of her knee brace—a reminder to both of them that she wasn’t as invincible as she liked to project. “Comfortable?”

  “Just ducky. Wake me when you’re done.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be very awake by the time we’re done.” He brushed his fingers up her leg, along her hip, and brought them to rest at the base of her spine. “Head up.”

  All her muscles tightened as she obeyed.

  “That’s good. Now, tell me the rule, Quinn.”

  “W-what rule?” Her question revealed genuine confusion and only a little distress.

  He placed his hand across the small of her back, reassuring. “The rule you broke. You know the one.”

  “I…um…” She shifted again, as if the air itself itched her bare skin. “I’m only to eat the prepared menu, unless you tell me otherwise?”

  “Exactly. And did I tell you to eat the cookies?”

  Her head drooped. “No.”

  “How many did you have?”

  “Oh God. Three?”

  He smoothed his hand over her back once more. “I think it was more like ten.”

  “Five!” Her head popped up again. “I ate five.”

  “Okay.” He patted her once and then removed his hand. “You’re going to count them off. Nice and loud. I want to hear each number clearly. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Respond verbally, please.”

  “Yes, dammit. I understand.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Her body tensed. “Yes.”

  “All right. Let’s get started.” But then he waited another long moment. Waited until she dug her toes into the floor and pushed her hips up a barely perceptible degree. Not just consent. A request. Her low moan vibrated with anticipation.

  He slapped his palm across one cheek…

  “One,” she cried, then added a surprised, “two,” when he immediately backhanded the other unsuspecting cheek.

  “That’s one,” he corrected, and watched a tinge of pink bloom across the smooth, pale skin. “Are you prepared for the rest of your punishment? Be sure of your answer, because I’m not going to stop and check in again.”

  “I…yes. I’m prepared.”

  He doled out the rest in rapid succession, giving her just enough time to draw in a breath after she called out each number. By the end, she was breathing heavy, her skin flushed with histamine-dilated blood vessels inflamed by the minor impact of his callused palm against her pampered ass. He was in a hell of his own making—a hell he’d entered as soon as he’d agreed to take her on. A hell that only got deeper and more damning the more time he spent with her. He wanted…

  Unable to resist, he skimmed a fingertip low. She eased her thighs apart in what might have been a sneaky little move, except her body betrayed her. His head went light and his cock went heavier than humanly possible. If he accepted her subtle invitation, and instructed her to lift her hips, he’d find her hot and ready. But if he did that, right now, he wouldn’t have the self-discipline to leave without taking a taste. And once he catered to that pussy, she’d have all the power and she’d know it. He’d be the next thing to useless in terms of motivating her to follow the program. Instead, he drew a figure eight along her tender skin. Goose bumps rose in the wake of his touch. “Relax. We’re done with the preliminaries.”

  She parted her legs as far as the shorts would allow. “There’s more?”

  It took everything he had in him to keep some semblance of the higher goal in mind. The point was to break down her defenses and get to the true reason she undermined herself. “Yeah. Now we’re going to have some cognitive therapy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Time to talk.”

  “I don’t need to talk.” Her rebuttal was instant.

  He traced the figure eight again. “You don’t know what you need. That’s how you ended up here.”

  “Fine.” She let the word out in a long-suffering sigh before she wrapped her hands around the handles and started to push herself up.

  He restrained her by cupping the back of her neck. “No. Stay there. I didn’t tell you to move.”

  “Luke…” Her hands fluttered up for an instant, like restless wings. “I can’t talk like this.”

  She sounded more than a little distressed, which told him she felt vulnerable now that the predictable punishment was over. And that’s how he wanted her—vulnerable, unable to anticipate what came next, and less likely to muster up her typical countermeasures.

  “That’s unfortunate.” Tempting his fraying control, he knelt and placed a whisper-soft kiss on a mark that hadn’t quite faded. A spot where he suspected the sting still lingered. “I thought you could handle this, Trouble. Apparently we’re just going through the motions.” He straightened and backed away.

  “Okay, okay. Wait.” She lowered her head and wrapped her fingers around the handles, accepting his requirement. “What are we discussing?”

  The compulsion to demand to know whom she’d been talking with hit him hard, but he banked it for two reasons. First, he wasn’t sure she’d tell him, and she’d be within her rights not to, because certain areas of her life were private. Second, the thirst to know originated in an uncharted part of him—a jealous, territorial part of him he hadn’t even known existed before he’d met her—but it sure as hell existed now. It didn’t care about rules, and he feared giving in to it at all would be like putting out a fire with gasoline. He didn’t need the information to get to the heart of her motives for cheating on her diet.

  “Why did you break the rule?”

  “I was hungry and distracted.” She lifted her hands in a jerky, exasperated gesture. “I barely even realized I was eating, much less what I was putting in my mouth.”

  He came around to the front of the machine, crouched, and lifted her chin until their eyes met. Then he shook his head. “Uh-uh. You dug through all kinds of healthy options to get to those cookies. You sought them. Chose them. Try again.”

  “Luke…”

  “Quinn.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I was weak, and I thought I could get away with it. Satisfied?”

  “Not at all. Look at me.”

  When she did, every ounce of her acute
misery shined like unshed tears. She honestly didn’t know. He steeled himself against her plea for him to tell her the answer, and continued. “We’ve got five weeks to figure it out.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Because he heard the exhausted relief behind her go-fuck-yourself bravado, he let it slide. He’d pushed her far enough for one day. Just to remind her he was on her side, he hiked her shorts up and snapped them into place, before making his way to the door. At the threshold he paused. “You don’t like to show weakness to anybody. I get that. You prefer to handle your problems privately, on your own terms. I get that, too. But your coping mechanisms flat-out suck.”

  Somehow, despite her position, she managed to roll a shoulder. “Add it to my list of flaws.”

  “It’s not that simple. This particular flaw jeopardizes your goal, which makes it my problem. Luckily, I have a solution.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t say?”

  “I do. For the duration of our time together, Quinn, you don’t have the privilege of exercising your own discretion. When you have a weak moment, you don’t attempt to deal with it on your own. You tell me. When you need help, you ask me. Day or night. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  Her capitulation told him he’d wrung the fight out of her for today. He decided to press his luck. “Want to color in the rest of the picture about how sprained your knee?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Nope. She still had some fight in her. But he didn’t. “I think you do better with clear expectations, so let me make one more thing absolutely clear. I’m giving you my best, and I expect the same from you. Our contract requires you to follow the diet and exercise regimen I’ve designed to meet your goals. Anything less than full compliance and that deal isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. You’re not just wasting our time, you’re wasting your money, and we might as well cut our losses and call it quits. Take the rest of the afternoon to think that over.” He sure as hell couldn’t train her right now. He’d be spending the foreseeable future jacking off like his life depended on it. “I’ll see you here at nine tomorrow.”