Sex, Lies, and Joysticks

by Lynn Chantale

“I chased off Matteo. Then I was supposed to turn around and say, Hey, Selena and I had a kid I didn’t know I had until now? Yeah, that woulda gone over real well.”

  “And deception is what?”

  “Happy wife, happy life,” Linc muttered.

  She snorted. “Yeah. Thing is she doesn’t know what you’ve done, and I do.” She folded her arms over her chest. “And I’m furious.”

  He held out his hand, palm up. “Jacqui, baby…”

  “Don’t ‘Jacqui, baby’ me!” She smacked the desk. “You always do that. Make decisions for the women in your life and never consult their opinion until after they find out later.” She gathered the papers and neatly stacked them on the desk. “Here’s a decision for you, Lincoln. Until you fix this mess with your wife, you’re sleeping alone.” She held out her hand. “And give me the key to my room.”

  Lincoln gaped at the woman before him. How the hell had that happened? First Randa and now Jacqui? “No. My reason was valid. Did you not see the part where he’s supposedly deceased?”

  “I saw it, but we both know clerical errors happen. Since you tossed him out without even talking to Randa about your findings, it was more about how threatened you were and are by him than anything else.”

  She shrugged and crossed the room to the nightstand where both keys and his wallet sat. She snatched hers and stuffed it in her pocket. If Jacqui was going to walk out over something trivial, then he’d let her.

  “And I also know her number. You’ve got twelve hours to practice that ‘open communication’ you’re so fond of spouting before I call her myself and tell her everything.”

  “Jacqui. Wait.” Lincoln stepped forward and stopped when his phone rang. Shai’s “Baby, I’m Yours” blasted through the tense silence. That was the tone he used for Randa.

  With her hand on the doorknob, she glared at him over her shoulder but didn’t open the door.

  He tapped the Answer button and raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, sweet—”

  “Matteo is here,” Randa said.

  “What do you mean?” Icy knots of apprehension gripped his belly.

  “He showed up with bruises and told me you told him to leave.” Her voice was utterly calm.

  Lincoln swallowed and motioned for Jacqui to go ahead and leave. If his wife was going to yell at him, he wanted to hear it in private. Jacqui nodded and left the room. He sank into the leather executive chair at the desk.

  “I can explain.”

  “I’d love to see you try, Lincoln Arnold. Do you also have an explanation as to why someone else is trying to kill me?”

  Damn, he was hoping she wouldn’t bring that up. Especially after the flower fiasco. God, he could almost see the look on her face. Hurt and furious, her eyes would be snapping fire by now. And he had no one to blame but himself. Wait. Did she say someone else?

  “Keep your explanations and excuses. I don’t even want to hear them when you get home.”

  Still that same utterly calm tone. This was not good. He’d rather his wife just yell and get it over with, but the coolness she projected conveyed how upset she was.

  “Randa…”

  “I called to let you know Matteo was here. Whether or not I’m here when you get home is another story.”

  The line went dead.

  * * * *

  “Did you really have to tell him that?” Matteo followed her movements as she slammed the phone back on the base.

  “You’re not too far off that list either,” she warned.

  He smiled, just a lazy curve of his lips. “But I’m here, and he’s not.”

  “You’re injured, and he’s not. Why didn’t you at least say something to me?”

  “I really didn’t want to hurt you, and I did what I thought was best.”

  She paced the width of Matteo’s bedroom. While he’d soaked in the tub, she’d called her husband to let him know what was going on at home. Matteo sat on the bed with only a towel covering the lower half of his body.

  Now she could see the marks darkening his torso. The reddish-blue bruises, some nearly purple in places, traveled up the left side of his body like some macabre tattoo. Someone worked him over pretty good.

  “Who hurt you?”

  “Randa…”

  She shook her head. “No more secrets, Matteo. I’m tired of them from you and my husband. Either tell me everything that you can, or you can stay here by yourself.”

  Matteo surged to his feet, grimacing as he placed a hand to his side. “You will not leave this house without me.”

  “Right,” she snorted. “You’re in no condition to stop me, and we both know it.” She crossed to the chest of drawers, yanked open the top one, and pulled out a set of pajamas. These she placed on the bed next to him. “Both of you seem to think I need protection from my crazy fans or the competition. I don’t. I wear a disguise and use some of the best encryption software not on the market so no one can trace where I am.”

  He grabbed for the drooping towel, but it was too late. It fell to the floor. Randa’s mouth went dry at the sight of his naked flesh. Damn, even semierect, his cock was impressive. The bruises crawled down and disappeared into his short and curlies.

  “My goodness, Matteo.”

  He glanced down his body. “It feels worse than it looks.”

  “Don’t sound so flippant.”

  He carefully stepped into the pajama bottoms one leg at a time, then tugged them over his hips to rest at his waist. He left the shirt.

  “You really should keep your body warm.”

  He tilted his head to the side. A crooked smile curved his lips. “It would look better on you.”

  “You can’t sweet-talk your way out of this. Put on the shirt.”

  For one long moment they locked gazes. He could stare her down all he wanted, but she wasn’t budging on this point. He needed to stay warm. Cold would cause him to stiffen and bring more pain. When he reached for the shirt, she assisted him.

  He left it unbuttoned.

  “I’m not trying to sweet-talk my way out of this, and the person after you has nothing to do with your gaming career. It has everything to do with me.”

  She stood in front of him. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Telling you could put you in more danger.”

  “And not telling me has still placed me in danger.”

  “Please, Randa.”

  She cupped his face, rose on tiptoes, and caressed his lips with hers. “I’m going downstairs to blow up a bunch of bad guys. When you figure out what you want to tell me, you know where to find me.”

  Randa dropped her hands and turned on her heel. He grabbed her by the wrist. She looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “Don’t leave this house.”

  She lifted her chin in defiance. “Don’t come in here giving orders. I’ve gotten this far without your help, and I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” She moved away, but he retained her hand.

  “The main reason Lincoln agreed to me moving in was because of those death threats.”

  She jerked from his grasp. He seemed intent on making this entire situation worse. “Just shut up!” She rubbed her wrist. And his admission only confirmed her fears. “That is an absolute horrid thing to say.” Without another word, she stalked from the room and slammed the door.

  MATTEO STARED AFTER her. How could he explain to her that it was the truth? That it was only after he’d moved in that Lincoln told him about the threats. Gingerly rubbing his side, Matteo shuffled across the room to gaze out one of the three windows. He pushed aside the light-blocking curtains and rested his head against the coolness of the glass. The pane warmed, and he stared into the night.

  From his vantage point, he could see across the property, beyond the tree line, and out to the road running parallel to the trees. He liked it because no one could sneak up on him. He moved to another window. This one offered a view of the driveway and the front of the house. More snow greeted his scrutiny.

  The
re was a time when he wished and prayed for snow but none came. Again he rested his head against the glass, nearly oblivious to the cold chilling his body. So long ago, the things he’d experienced seemed like someone else’s life.

  He’d told Randa about his pretending to be a priest and how that earned Reznick’s ire. Matteo grimaced. Shot the man in the face. A candle had exploded, dousing his enemy in glass and candle wax along with a bullet. Matteo heard the man’s face was never the same again.

  A door slamming in the distance dragged his attention back to the present. He looked around the room, moved toward his backpack, and grabbed the Glock from inside the open pocket.

  Without hesitation, Matteo hurried from the room as quietly as possible. He skipped the top step, which creaked, and took the others two at a time until he hit the bottom with a soft thump.

  Flickering light from the fire in the sunroom danced along the wall and provided enough illumination for him to maneuver through the area. A sweeping glance revealed no one hiding in the shadows.

  He continued toward Randa’s sitting room. Her throaty giggle tightened his groin, and he paused long enough to shift his erection. Now was not the time to indulge in hormones. If there was someone in the house, he needed to focus.

  Lifting his head, he listened to the nuances of the house. One voice faded in and out along with muted gunfire. He peered around the corner. Dark hair bobbed into view. Light glinted off something metallic in her curly tresses, and he could just make out the small, thin black stick pointing toward her mouth. She was playing her game.

  With practiced ease, he checked the doors and windows. Nothing. Matteo stood to one side of the picture window in the living room and scrutinized the landscape. The snow hadn’t been disturbed. Yet someone or something had slammed the door.

  Bam! Matteo whirled, gun raised. The kitchen. They were at the back door. He hurried across the smooth wood floors, cool to the touch. A glance as he passed Randa’s room; she hadn’t moved or given any other indication she’d heard anything.

  He paused at the entryway to the kitchen. Pale light from the stove hood splashed across the silver, metallic surface. He eased into the room, crossed the warm marbled tiles to the mudroom.

  Bang! The back door was locked, but the screen slammed closed each time the wind blew. With a sigh, Matteo keyed in his code, opened the door, and latched the screen. White mist streamed from his nostrils as he exhaled. Nothing was out here either, yet the feeling of unease persisted.

  He stepped back in, made sure both doors were locked, and reset the alarm.

  “No, I’m coming back. I just needed to stretch my legs and get an energy drink.”

  Matteo leaned against the wall and studied her as she crossed to the refrigerator. She jerked open the door, and light spilled over half her body, throwing the rest in shadows. He could stare at her beauty all day and night and never tire of the act.

  She turned, her eyes wide, and a tiny squeak flowed from her luscious lips. “Oh. You startled me. I thought you were resting.”

  He pushed off the wall. “No. I heard a noise.”

  “What? No. My houseguest is in the kitchen. Be back.” She pressed a button on the controller in her hand and focused on him once more. “Was the television too loud? Sometimes I forget.”

  Matteo closed the distance between them, standing so near the heat of her body enveloped him. He leaned in. “You should be in bed.”

  She lifted her chin. Annoyance flashed through her mist-gray eyes. “Last I checked, I was a grown woman with her own mind and career.”

  He allowed a slow smile to crease his lips. How he loved provoking that independent streak of hers. “Maybe I’d have stayed put if you were with me.”

  “You must have been hit in the head too. Did you forget the mean things you said to me?” She shook her head. “I’m going back to my game where it’s legal to murder, maim, and kill.”

  Before she could walk too far, he grabbed her hand.

  “Matteo. This has been a very rough night for me, and I would appreciate you leaving me alone to do what I’m doing.”

  At the coolness of her tone, he released her.

  “Thank you.”

  Head held high, she sauntered from the room. All he could do was stare after her.

  RANDA PLOPPED BACK in her beanbag chair and pulled the tab on the pink-lemonade energy drink. She swigged, swallowed, then glanced at the can. This wasn’t her usual brand. Linc must’ve found something different or on sale. Not bad. She set the can aside and reconnected her controller.

  “All right, now where were we?”

  “You have a houseguest?”

  She grinned. “Mind your business, Gremlin.”

  “C’mon, Vixen. He sounded dangerous.”

  “Let’s play,” she said.

  With half her attention on the game, Randa took her frustrations out on the characters popping onto her screen. First Linc. She manipulated the controls until she stabbed an opponent through the back. How dare he apply his high-handedness to her life? While someone threatening her life was serious, not telling her the total extent of the danger was annoying. She appreciated the fact Lincoln hired bodyguard protection, but she’d have preferred Matteo the entire time. Then to find out Lincoln had told Matteo to leave…

  She jumped. “Watch out behind… Oh, never mind.” Her avatar flipped onto the shoulders of the bad guy gunning for her partner and snapped his neck.

  “Something you wanna talk about, V?”

  “Nope. Just playin’ the game,” she said and continued her rampage of killing.

  Then Matteo tries to butter her up with hot sex, thinking that would be enough to distract her from his injuries, and he lays that crap line about the only reason he moved in was because she was in danger.

  Her avatar tossed a grenade into the midst of enemy combatants. Randa smirked when body parts filled her screen. More chatter, laughter, and expletives sounded in her ear. She didn’t care. Right now she was taking no prisoners.

  Ever since she came on the scene a few years back as a legitimate contender in the major-league gaming world, she knew some people were upset at her good luck, but while her contemporaries viewed this as serious work, it was something she saw as fun and was glad Lincoln suggested it while she recuperated from surgery.

  She grinned. It was a very lucrative suggestion that earned her a very nice salary for doing something she actually loved. Leaning over, she picked up the can, now coated with condensation, and chugged a couple of swallows. Now she had a nice nest egg and could retire if she wanted, but there was still so much to do.

  There was one gamer who gave her pause. He simply went by the handle FazFazol. She’d seen him at competitions and played him several times online. Her lips curved at the corners. He’d even accused her of cheating once because she bested his kill rate.

  Her phone vibrated and jittered on the floor at her feet. Randa leaned forward and glanced at the screen. Lincoln’s face flashed across the glass. She tapped the Decline button with her toe. Let him stew the rest of the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lincoln didn’t sleep well that night. For the umpteenth time, he flopped over to his back and stared at the ceiling. No matter how many times he called his wife, she refused to answer the phone. If he had Matteo’s number, he’d try him. Lincoln just wanted to know if Randa was okay.

  With a huff, Lincoln tossed the sheets aside, sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed until his bare feet touched the rough carpet. He had not anticipated sleeping alone tonight, but this mess was his fault.

  He stood, allowing his boxers to find their way free, and stretched the kinks from his spine. He crossed to the desk, switched on the lamp, and pulled Matteo’s file toward him.

  Jacqui’s argument of a clerical error echoed in his head, even though his instincts warned that what he’d found was true. Fact was, while he found some of the info or lack thereof in Matteo’s background disturbing, Lincoln respected th
at the man had served America in whatever capacity he had. Lincoln had done the same, and not everything his CO ordered would hold up to public scrutiny.

  Matteo was a threat because Randa loved him, plain and simple. He’d known there was the potential for an affaire de coeur, but he really didn’t think it would happen. Lincoln stared unseeingly at the papers on his desk and dragged his fingers through his hair. Why should it matter if another man loved her or she loved someone else?

  Lincoln leaned back in the chair and sighed as the cold leather slowly warmed to his body. So what if Matteo was a little younger, in better shape, and had just enough mystique about him to capture Randa’s heart?

  He sat up straight. This was exactly how his wife felt, and somehow she embraced his amour and did what she could to keep the relationships happy and whole. And what did he do the first time Randa fell in love with another man? Blackmailed him into leaving.

  Shame weighed down his head. He was a bastard and probably did more harm than good.

  * * * *

  Randa stared at her empty bedroom. For once this place did not offer peace. Normally, the scent of Lincoln’s aftershave calmed her nerves, but now it angered her. His betrayal was more of a dull ache than a sharp stab.

  After everything they’d been through, he would make Matteo go and not explain? She stalked to the closet and grabbed a duffel bag from the back. Now someone was trying to kill her, and Matteo didn’t seem to think it was one of her crazed fans.

  She tossed a couple of days’ worth of bras, panties, and socks into the bag, then went back to the closet for some jeans and a sweater or two. Maybe disappearing for a while would be the wake-up call they needed to understand that neither one could make life-altering decisions for her.

  That was always Lincoln’s MO. That was why they could never have a child of their own, because of his decision to take a mistress. A twinge of hurt still lingered. She paused to catch her breath. That was still a bitter pill. Not the mistress, but no longer being able to have children without some sort of help. And he decided again what was best for her, taking Matteo away.

  She shoved the armful of clothes in the bag and zipped it. A few days of him not knowing where she was would hopefully get through to him. She reached for her cell phone and stopped. Nope. She could pick up another one from the corner store. For good measure she tugged her wedding bands from her finger and placed them next to the phone. No note was necessary.