Game for Anything

by Cara Summers

  For a moment, he held himself still. If this was all he could ever have, he would take it. He would make it be enough. Even as he began to thrust into her again and again, he recognized that it was a lie. He would never have enough.

  He knew the moment her climax began. Her inner muscles gripped him as if she never intended to let him go. He surrendered then, driving hard and deep until the whole world seemed to darken around him.

  WHEN SHE WAS BACK in touch enough with reality to remember that she was lying on the hood of a sports car, with Tracker still on top of her and inside of her, Sophie couldn’t prevent a smile.

  “What?” Tracker murmured.

  Turning her head, she looked into his eyes. “I was just thinking that Alfred Hitchcock always forgot to put this scene into his movies. But it was the fifties and there was a lot of censorship back then.”

  He rubbed a finger over her mouth. “I can never predict the odd paths your mind takes.”

  “Odd?”

  He kissed her then, hard. “Intriguing.” Drawing back, he studied her for a moment. “You’re not what I expected you to be.”

  He looked a little wary about it, she thought. Tough. But it was hard to muster up much dignity or annoyance when you were spread-eagle on the hood of a car. Finally, she said, “You’re not what I expected, either.”

  “I’m not?”

  She shook her head. “We have a lot more in common than I thought. We like the same old movies, we’re both neat, we like to drive fast little convertibles and we’re both very competitive.”

  “We’re still very different in some crucial ways.” His voice had gone flat.

  “We won’t know until we get to know each other better.”

  “I can feel a game of twenty questions coming.”

  He sounded so resigned that she had to smile. “How about if we put the penalty rule back in place?”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about a lunch break first?”

  She grinned at him. “Oh. Are we all done here?”

  Laughing, he kissed her nose before he levered himself up and lifted her off the hood. “How about you give me the coupon so that I can use it later? The grass has rocks, and I’m not sure the hood of my car can withstand another round.”

  When they were finally dressed and in the car, Tracker surprised her by heading up the narrow lane instead of back down to the road. “What are you going to do? Catch fish for lunch? Or shoot a bird?” she asked archly.

  The scents hit her before they rounded the curve: horses and flowers. Then she saw it and stared. The house, a contemporary tumble of squares and triangles, sat on the crest of the hill. The trees were thinner here. The top story of the house jutted above the tops of them and sun glinted off the glass. To the left, a sleek, low building in the same weathered wood as the house was tucked behind a paddock. Two horses, one a black stallion and the other a palomino, raced toward the fence and then cantered alongside it, keeping pace with Tracker’s car.

  “What is this place?” Sophie asked. It didn’t look like a guest house or a hotel.

  Tracker pulled the car to a stop and turned to her. “This is my place in the country.”

  Sophie stared at him. “You have horses?”

  “Two. The black stallion is Pluto, and the mare is Persephone.”

  She glanced at the house and then at him. “You’ve definitely got a much fancier tree house than I do.”

  He laughed, then he took her hand, turned it over and kissed the palm.

  “I’m going to keep on convincing you that we have a lot more in common than you think, T.J. McBride. But right now, I want to meet the horses. Who takes care of them when you’re working in the city?”

  “Jerry’s racing down the steps right now to meet you.”

  Sophie turned back to the house in time to see a small man with the thin, wiry build of a jockey striding across the lawn. She felt as if she were being sized up quite thoroughly while Tracker made the introductions, and when Jerry extended his hand, he didn’t smile. “Welcome, Miss.” He gave her a little salute and then he was hurrying away across the lawn.

  “Jerry’s shy, especially with women,” Tracker explained. “But he’s a good cook, and he’s excellent with horses. Would you like to go for a ride?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  HE POURED CHAMPAGNE into two crystal flutes, handed one to his companion, then held his up to the light. Bubbles shot upward through the pale golden liquid.

  “I haven’t handled the matter we spoke of yet,” his companion said. “The marksman I hired missed.”

  “I trust you’ll rectify the error.”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled and gestured toward the table. “Shall we then?” As they took their places at the chessboard, the phone rang.

  Setting his champagne down, he pressed the button of the speakerphone. “Yes?”

  “I know exactly where it is.”

  The Puppet Master let the silence stretch. “You know where it is, but you don’t have it?”

  “You don’t understand. I can tell you exactly—”

  “Silence.”

  The babbling on the other end of the line immediately ceased. He waited then, occupying himself by taking a sip of the champagne. The only sound in the room was the harsh breathing pouring out through the speakerphone. Fear was a powerful weapon, and he enjoyed wielding it.

  “Now, if you have control of yourself, you may continue.”

  “I would have it for you, but someone shot at her.”

  When he spoke, he spoke very slowly. “Excuses only annoy me. If you want to redeem yourself for today’s failure, you may have until tomorrow to deliver the item to my representative.”

  “I’ll take care of it. I promise you. And then that’s it. We’ll be even?”

  “That’s right, my friend. I won’t need you anymore.”

  He replaced the phone and faced his companion across the chess game. “He’ll have to be eliminated.”

  “Of course. He’s a weakling.”

  For a moment he studied his companion. He saw a greed and a ruthlessness that nearly matched his own, and that was rare. He’d chosen this puppet well, and the game they’d played had been exciting, exhilarating almost. Too bad it would have to end as soon as Sophie Wainwright was dead. “You’ll handle Ms. Wainwright?”

  “No later than tomorrow. I’m trying to trace her location right now.”

  He frowned. “I don’t want her at the shop tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

  Smiling, he sipped his champagne. He wouldn’t worry because he, too, had a plan.

  “GOOD BOY,” Sophie crooned as she patted Pluto’s neck.

  “He’ll keep you at that all day,” Tracker warned, and just as predicted, Pluto nuzzled her shoulder. Persephone, jealous now, whinnied and pawed the ground.

  Tracker sat down on the blanket he’d spread under a willow tree, and watched as Sophie moved to the mare and ran her hand over her neck. He shook his head in wonder. Sophie had not only charmed Persephone, but Pluto was also enthralled. Sophie rode well, but not recklessly. For a while, as they’d raced side by side through the fields, he’s begun to believe that they did have more in common than he’d thought.

  As he watched her turn and make her way toward him, he knew that he wanted to believe it more than anything. She shouldn’t have fit so well in this home that he’d carved out for himself. But somehow she did.

  Flopping down on the blanket, Sophie said, “I’m starved.”

  Quite suddenly he was, too, and not for food. He might have grabbed her then and used his coupon, but he could see the exhaustion in her eyes. Reining in his own needs, he began to unpack the basket Jerry had given them. Chicken, Brie, small crusty rolls, grapes and strawberries. While she spread cheese on the rolls, he tipped wine into glasses, then handed her one.

  She took a sip, then, tilting her head to one side, she studied him. “S
ince I was little, I’ve dreamed of having my own horse. Riding one—it’s better than a tree house.”

  “Why didn’t you ever get one?”

  She shrugged. “Between boarding schools and college, I was never at the estate long enough—and then I had the shop. But you…I never would have pictured you in a place like this. I think it’s definitely time to play twenty questions again.”

  He could think of other games he’d prefer to play, but she was tired, and if he played her game right, he might be able to trick her into taking a nap. “One question each.”

  “That’s an excellent way to start,” she said around a mouthful of chicken. “I’ll begin. What’s your favorite Christmas memory?”

  “My what?”

  She met his eyes. “I can ask you something on any topic I like. If you pass, there’s a penalty.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I know the rules. I’m just trying to think.” Leaning back against the tree, he searched his memory. Christmases past. Many of them he’d spent alone, hardly bothering to note the date on the calendar. Even last year, when he’d moved in here, he’d been alone. Mac and Lucas had invited him, of course, but he’d declined because Sophie would be there.

  Pushing the memory away, he dug deeper. “I’d have to say it was the Christmas I met Jerry. We were both working on a horse farm in Kentucky. He was a trainer, and I needed work.” Tracker grinned. “I was fifteen and cocky, and the job he gave me was a lot more work than I’d anticipated. He was a perfectionist, never satisfied with anything I did, and it became my goal in life to please him, just out of spite. He also found me a spot to bunk in the barn. Christmas that year, he dragged me to his place. He said that no one should be alone at Christmas, and since we both were, we’d have to put up with each other. Shortly after that, he ordered me to move in with him. It’s a wonder we didn’t kill each other.”

  “Has he been with you ever since?” Sophie asked,

  Tracker shook his head. “I went back to Kentucky to find him when I decided to take the job Lucas offered me.”

  “You figured you owed him,” Sophie said.

  “I didn’t think of it that way. Neither did Jerry. I knew I wanted a place with horses, and I needed someone to look after them. Jerry fit the bill. It had been about ten years since I’d seen him, and he hadn’t changed a bit. He’s still as cantankerous as ever.”

  Sophie yawned as he refilled her glass. “Your turn.”

  He thought for a minute, then said, “What’s your favorite Christmas memory?”

  She took a sip of the champagne. “That’s an easy one.”

  He figured it would be. There had to be so many happy memories to choose from.

  “I was five and both my parents were away. It was shortly after they’d divorced, and Lucas had decided to stay at school. It was the night before Christmas, and I was at the Wainwright estate with a nanny and the servants, and I heard Santa’s reindeer land on the roof.”

  “You thought you heard them?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I really heard them. Knowing that they were real and that at least Santa hadn’t forgotten me was the best Christmas present I got that year.”

  Tracker took a sip of his own champagne as he tried to picture Sophie as a five-year-old, alone for the holiday except for imaginary reindeer. Maybe they did have as much in common as she thought. The possibility sent a little flash of panic skipping through him.

  “My turn again,” she said.

  “Oh no. We agreed one each.”

  Her eyes widened. “You said one each. I don’t recall agreeing. Besides, answering that first question wasn’t so painful, was it? And if we keep playing twenty questions, I won’t spend the time worrying about what’s going to go on at my shop tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I can see why you’re such a success at business. You’re a very sneaky negotiator.”

  She smiled at him. “Count on it. Now, tell me about your first sexual experience.”

  He swallowed wine fast before he choked on it. “No way.”

  “Chicken.”

  “You can’t expect me to remember—”

  “Everyone remembers the first time. Was it that horrible? Weren’t you successful?”

  “Of course not. I mean, of course I was.” Then he narrowed his eyes. She was baiting him on purpose so that he would tell her.

  She held out a hand, palm up. “If you tell me about yours, I’ll tell you about mine.”

  “Bait and trap,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Whatever works.”

  There was more than one way to play this game. Setting his glass of champagne on level ground, he stretched out on the blanket beside her. “Marylee Jazinski.”

  “See, you do remember.”

  “Every detail.”

  “Was she pretty?”

  Tracker tried to summon up an image, but it was blurred. “She was a blonde. I vaguely remember hair the color of wheat bleached by the sun.” Reaching out, he twisted a strand of Sophie’s hair around his finger. “Since I was about sixteen at the time, I was drawn to her other, fairly amazing, attributes.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “She was an older woman and very experienced.”

  “Really?”

  The dry tone nearly had him smiling. “She hired me to give her riding lessons, and she confessed to me she’d wanted me the first time she’d seen me.”

  “That old line.”

  He tucked the strand of hair behind Sophie’s ear and gave in to the temptation to run his finger down her throat. Her pulse began to speed. “Worked for me.”

  “If she was older, it probably happened in a bed, then?” Sophie asked.

  Tracker cleared his throat. “Eventually.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do I have to beat the details out of you?”

  “Do you really want them? I think I’m detecting a note of jealousy in your tone.” And not just jealousy, he thought, but excitement, too.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why should I be jealous of an older woman who took advantage of you?”

  He pressed a finger against her lips and held it there. “That wasn’t the way it was. She initiated me into the art of lovemaking.”

  When Sophie rolled her eyes, he nearly laughed. Her dry sense of humor was a constant delight to him. Very slowly he drew his finger down her lips to her chin. “All I knew up to then I’d read in books.”

  “You were sixteen and you’d already read books?”

  “Quite a few. What they tell you about teenage boys and hormones is absolutely true. I’d seen some movies, too. But it wasn’t like the real thing.” Keeping his eyes steady on hers, he settled his hand at her throat and leaned closer until his lips were close to her ear. “Would you like me to tell you exactly what she asked me to do to her, Sophie? Would that excite you?”

  The pulse at the base of her throat raced against his fingers.

  “Yes, I can see that it would. Would you like me to show you what she asked me to do to her that day?”

  Raising his head, he saw that her eyes had deepened to that darker color that always aroused him.

  She placed her hand on the side of his face. “I want you to kiss me.”

  “I can’t. Marylee would never let me kiss her on the mouth until I had undressed her.” He was almost sure that was a lie, just as most of what he was saying was a lie, but he knew that if he kissed Sophie now, his control would begin to slip as it always did. The temptation just to lose himself in her was so great. But the game that he’d begun was arousing them both. He wanted to see where it would lead and where he could take her. Grasping her hand, he placed it on the blanket.

  “She would always lie very still and just tell me what to do. First I would take off her shirt and bra.” Slowly, taking his time, he eased Sophie out of both. “She always wanted me to touch her breasts. Sometimes she’d tell me to do this.” He began to circle one slowly with his finger, over and over until the tip of it grew hard and her hips bega
n to move. Then he caught the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed.

  When Sophie moaned and her hips arched upward, he began the process again on the other breast. “She loved to have me play with her breasts, but I was always impatient to see her naked.” He dragged one finger slowly down Sophie’s stomach and then along the skin just beneath the edge of her jeans.

  When she began to tremble, he lingered, brushing his hands over her again and again, determined to test them both. Her voice was strained when she finally said, “Tracker, please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Undress me the rest of the way. I want you inside of me. Hurry.”

  He leaned down then to blow on the skin that he’d sensitized with his fingers, and she arched her hips upward. Then slowly he unsnapped her jeans and drew the zipper down, letting his finger rest right where the zipper ended.

  “Hurry,” she said. “I want you.”

  “But you wanted to know what my first time was like, Sophie. It’s your game, your rules.”

  Inch by inch he dragged her jeans down the length of her legs, trailing his fingers after them, stopping to trace patterns on her inner thighs, the backs of her knees. “I love your legs, so strong, so smooth.”

  The moment he spoke the words, her muscles went lax. It surprised him how much he loved seeing her this way, limp and totally his. Even as the punch of power moved through him, his mind remained focused totally on Sophie and what he could do for her. How much more pleasure could he give her? How much further could he drive them both?

  He brushed his fingers over the arch of her foot and then up her calf. “Do you like that, Sophie?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it sent ribbons of heat curling along his skin.

  “And here?” Keeping his touch featherlight, he moved his hand up the inner side of her thigh. “Do you like this?”

  “Mmmm.” She arched toward his hand once, then again. Spreading her thighs, he knelt between them and ran one finger down the satiny panties that formed the only barrier between his finger and her center. She was already wet for him and hot. “And this?”

  “Tracker, I—please.”