Wicked Intentions: The Wicked Games Series, Book 3

by Geissinger, J. T.

  Bat, bat, bat go my eyelashes. “Would you mind if I were?”

  His grin fades. He reaches out and gently strokes a lock of hair off my shoulder. He skims his fingertips slowly down my arm until he reaches my wrist. His touch leaves a trail of sparks in its wake.

  He cuffs my wrist in his big hand, settles his index finger over my pulse point, and, after a moment of silence where I think he’s counting my heartbeat, says gruffly, “You know I wouldn’t. But I’ve got another warnin’ for you, beautiful mademoiselle. I don’t do small talk. When I want a woman, I go after her.”

  He raises my wrist to his lips and brushes a sweet, soft kiss across the pulse pounding there. Electricity crackles through my body. All my nerve endings sit up and suck in a startled breath.

  Looking into my eyes, my new friend Mr. McLean says, “So unless you tell me right now you don’t wanna play this game, I’m comin’ after you.”

  Mierde santa. This man must get laid a dozen times a week.

  Suddenly I’m filled with longing so strong and bittersweet, it steals my breath. I wish I were a normal woman, a tourist on vacation with her friends who could indulge herself in a summer fling with a sexy stranger. I wish I could say yes to this beautiful man, let him make love to me, let myself go.

  I wish I could forget all the sins that led me to this moment.

  But I can’t. They follow me like a shadow, dogging my every step. My only path to freedom is repayment of my debts, and Prince Khalid’s new bride’s ruby necklace is next on my debtor’s list.

  So I smile and toss my hair and pretend to be someone I’m not, stuffing my longing for a different life into a dark, abandoned corner of my heart where all my other useless yearnings go.

  “I like to play games, Mr. McLean,” I say lightly. “But since you’ve warned me, I should warn you, too. I always win.”

  When he smiles, he does it with his whole body. It’s like he lights up from the inside out. “It’s Ryan,” he says. “And damn, this is gonna be fun. Tell me your name.”

  I use the fake name on my fake passport and say, “Angeline Lemaire.”

  Ryan nods. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Angeline.”

  Before I can say another word, he tugs me closer and crushes his mouth to mine.

  Two

  Ryan

  She tastes like strawberries and sunshine and secrets that go deep, and kisses like it’s her last day alive. Whoever this siren calling herself Angeline really is, she’s sexy as fuck.

  She’s also clearly dangerous.

  If my cock were any harder, it would be titanium.

  Her hands are balled to fists on my chest, the one sign of resistance to the otherwise total surrender her body melts into as we kiss. Along with everything else about her, it’s an intriguing contradiction. Like the sadness in her eyes that’s paired with cold calculation. The self-confidence paired with the vulnerability. The pounding pulse paired with the disinterested smile.

  She makes a sound deep in her throat, a soft, feminine moan. It makes my cock twitch. I tighten my arms around her and pull her closer.

  “Wait!” She gasps, breaking away. Her eyes are startled. She lets out a surprised little laugh. “Wait a minute!”

  Breathing hard, we stare at each other, our noses inches apart. I give her five seconds to get her bearings. Then I growl, “That’s as long as I can stand,” and take her mouth again, fisting my hands in her hair to hold her head in place.

  From somewhere far off, I hear catcalls and clapping.

  Her hands flatten over my pecs. After a moment, she winds her arms around my shoulders. Then she gives me her weight, leaning into me with a little sigh as she goes slack against my body. The kiss softens but also deepens, so now it’s slower and less greedy, but somehow even more intense.

  Judging by how hard her nipples are against my bare chest, how irregular her breathing is, and how she’s digging her nails into my skin, I’d say she’s just as turned on as I am.

  When the kiss finally ends, a minute or a century later, I’m dizzy. I mutter, “Fuck.” My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed a handful of gravel.

  Her laugh is low and throaty. “Well said.”

  I open my eyes and look at her. She’s flushed. Her eyes are half-lidded. She has that hazy, satisfied look a woman gets after she comes.

  The amount of blood leaving the rest of my body to boil in my cock can’t be healthy. Pretty soon I won’t be able to remain upright.

  I grin at her. “This is already turning out to be a fantastic friendship.”

  She stares at me for a second, then breaks into full-throated laughter, her head thrown back.

  Goddamn. If I thought she was gorgeous before, watching her laugh is on a whole other level. She’s fucking stunning.

  The waiter arrives with her conch croquettes. When he glares at me as he sets the plate down on the bar, I know he was hoping to be in the exact position I am now. You and every other guy in the place, buddy.

  I smile blandly at him. He stalks off like a wounded puppy.

  Angeline gently pushes me away, smooths a hand over her hair, and looks like she’s trying to rearrange her face into something a little more composed than the horny-sex-kitten expression she’s wearing now.

  “Hey, Angel.” When she glances at me sharply, I explain. “I’m calling you Angel now. Less formal, since we’re such good friends and all. As I was saying—Angel—I have to go distribute these drinks before one of those animals in the pool throws something at me, so I want you to sit here and think about what you’re gonna say to me when I get back.”

  I stand, pop one of her conch croquettes into my mouth, chew, and swallow. “And make it good. If I find out you’re just a pretty face, I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  Her smile is the definition of smug. “A pretty face who can make a soldier who survived three shots to the stomach swoon from just a kiss,” she says in that seductive accent of hers.

  She takes one of the conch croquettes and bites into it with the unstudied elegance of a queen. I want to grab her, throw her over my shoulder, take her upstairs to my room, and fuck the living daylights out of her until we’re both exhausted, but I smile at her instead.

  Time enough for that later. Right now I’ve gotta distribute some drinks.

  I grab the beers and Tabby’s water and leave Angeline with a wink. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she’s smiling, so I know she thinks I’m cute. Pretending my dick isn’t tenting the front of my shorts like the big top at a circus, I swagger back to the pool.

  When I get there, Darcy takes one look at my crotch and says, “Uh, Ryan? Unless you’re starring in a Viagra commercial we don’t know about, you might wanna wrap a towel around your waist. That thing needs its own zip code.”

  Connor hoots. Tabby and Kai look politely in different directions. “Ew,” Juanita says with perfect teenage disdain.

  “Cut the poor guy some slack,” says Connor, chuckling. “He’s on vacation.”

  Darcy snorts. “So that means we all have to be subjected to a front-row viewing of his monster boner? I don’t think so. I mean, it’s a beautiful thing, Ry, but seriously, you might as well be naked.”

  She stares right at my dick the entire time she talks. Kai frowns and nudges her with his elbow. “What?” she asks innocently. “I’m telling him to put it away!”

  Juanita slides into the pool with a muttered “You guys are gross,” and swims off.

  I crouch down, set all the drinks on the edge of the pool, and say in a low voice, “So don’t be surprised if I miss dinner tonight. Somethin’ else came up.”

  Darcy cackles. “You don’t say!”

  I glare at her. Why the woman always has to use the volume of a carnival barker when she talks is beyond me. I think my hearing capacity has been reduced by at least 20 percent since I met her.

  “Why don’t you bring your new friend to dinner with us?” Tabby asks.

  When I cast a doubtful glance at her, she s
ighs. “It’s our last night on the island, Ryan. Who knows when we’ll all be together like this again. C’mon. You can sacrifice one hour in between…” She waves a hand vaguely in the air. “Whatever it is you’ll be doing.”

  If I’m being honest, I don’t think I can. That one taste of Angeline knocked me flat on my ass. I feel like a junkie after a high. All I want is more, more, more.

  But tomorrow Connor and Tabby are off to island-hop for the rest of their honeymoon, and the rest of us are back to our real lives in New York, so Tabby has a valid point. It would be impolite to bail on our last dinner together just for some mind-blowingly hot sex with an incredibly beautiful, sensual, and fascinating stranger.

  I mean…right?

  Watching my face, Tabby says drily, “Don’t break your brain trying to decide, Boner Boy.”

  “Leave him alone, woman.” Connor wraps his arm around Tabby’s waist and drags her against him. He smiles down at her. “If he makes it, he makes it. If he doesn’t, I can’t honestly say I blame him.” He lowers his voice. “Seriously, princess. Look at her.”

  Tabby’s brows lift. “Oh, you think she’s hot, jarhead?”

  Darcy mutters, “Uh-oh.”

  “Not my type,” Connor says instantly. “But I can see the appeal.” When Tabby just keeps staring at him, he clears his throat. “For someone else. Not me, obviously.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Tabby says.

  Darcy makes an “ooh” sound that’s like You are so dead right now, while Kai watches the exchange with his typical batshit-crazy grin.

  My friends are so weird.

  “Okay, in the name of marital harmony, I’ll commit to dinner,” I say, itching to get back to Angeline and her strawberry-flavored mouth. I stand and salute Connor, who gives me a pleading look like he really wants me to stay and help defuse the situation.

  I leave him with a smirk. He’s my brother-in-arms and I love the guy, but I’d rather take another three shots to the gut than deal with a pissed-off Tabitha West.

  Angeline watches me return with the focused concentration of a predator contemplating a meal. Why that should be such a fucking turn-on, I have no idea.

  I stop beside her and lean an elbow on the bar. “So. What’d you come up with, Angel?” When she opens her mouth, I warn her, “And remember, it better be good.”

  She waits a beat and then says tartly, “Is it my turn to talk now?”

  Mercy. A goddess and a smartass. I’m done for. “Be my guest,” I say mildly.

  A secret smile hovers around her lips. She crooks a finger, inviting me closer. I’m in her face so fast, I’ve probably set a new land speed record. She puts her lips against my ear and whispers, “You don’t really think I’m going to sleep with a man I met five minutes ago, do you?”

  Something inside my chest does this flopping, dying fish thing that doesn’t seem healthy. I have to stifle a groan. I want this woman so bad I can taste it.

  I turn my head a fraction and now we’re nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes. Hers are a gorgeous caramel brown, twinkling with mischief.

  “Of course not,” I say. “I’m a gentleman. I was gonna let you finish those conch croquettes first.”

  She slow blinks and smiles.

  My titanium boner is in serious jeopardy of exploding in my shorts.

  “You haven’t even asked what I’m doing in St. Croix.” Angeline leans back and lazily selects another of the croquettes from the plate. “I could be vacationing with my husband.”

  “No ring,” I counter, watching her make eating a piece of fried seafood look like dirty fetish porn.

  She swallows and licks her lips, obviously enjoying torturing me. “My boyfriend, then.”

  “You don’t have a boyfriend.”

  My tone of total confidence makes her arch an eyebrow. “No? What makes you so certain of that?”

  “Because you kiss like you’re starving, you look at me like a little kid looks at all the presents under the tree on Christmas morning, and you’re not the type of woman who cheats on her man. You’re too serious for that, even though you try to seem carefree.”

  Something crosses her face, a look of surprise or irritation, instantly erased. “I had no idea I was so transparent.”

  Though her tone is casual, I can tell she’s disturbed. She doesn’t want me to look too closely, to notice things about her. Naturally, that makes me want to notice even more. I’m a bloodhound with the fresh scent of fox in my nose.

  Let the hunt begin.

  “Ignore me,” I say, watching her compose herself. “I’ve been out in the sun too long. So tell me, Angel, what brings you to St. Croix?”

  She flips a lock of long brown hair over her shoulder and swivels on the stool so she’s facing the bar counter, her eyes turned away. “Work.”

  I look at the infinity pool, the lush green mountains in the distance, the sparkling Caribbean Sea dotted with sailboats. Then I look back at her, in all her exotic glory. “Lemme guess. You’re a model.”

  “I’m a travel writer, doing a piece on the fine resorts of the Caribbean.”

  “A writer.” Sure you are. And I’m Dolly Parton. I slide onto the barstool next to her and take a slug of my warm beer. “Guess you’re not just a pretty face after all.”

  I’m gifted with her full-throated laugh again. “You mean you couldn’t tell from that line I used on you when you came back from the pool?”

  “So it was a line,” I drawl, gently bumping her shoulder with mine. When she looks at me, I grin. “You are gonna sleep with me.”

  She tries to look offended but completely fails. “You think you’re extremely charming, don’t you?” she says, all prim and proper. Now it’s my turn to laugh.

  “Hardly. My mama always said I’ve got the manners God gave a goat. I’m just a beer-drinkin’ good ol’ boy from Georgia with more balls than brains.”

  Angeline eyes me. She lets her gaze linger on my tattoos, the scars on my stomach, and my hands, which have spent near equal time on the keys of a piano as they have on an M16 rifle. “Or maybe that’s what you want people to think,” she says softly.

  Our eyes lock. A strange sensation makes its way through my stomach. It’s fizzy. Fluttery. If I didn’t know fucking better, I’d describe it as butterflies.

  “I’m leavin’ tomorrow,” I say abruptly, holding her gaze.

  “Me, too.”

  “So…ticktock, beautiful mademoiselle.”

  She knows exactly what I mean. Her lips curve upward. “I appreciate your candor, Mr. McLean—”

  “Ryan,” I correct her. “Good friends call each other by their first names, Angel.”

  Her eyes do this incredible thing when she smiles. They sparkle like sunshine glimmering off water. Or is that the stars in my own eyes I’m seeing?

  Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, I’m losing my shit. Pull it together, dickhead!

  “Okay,” Angeline says. “As I was saying, I appreciate your candor, Ryan. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. You’re very sexy.”

  Her gaze travels hungrily up and down my body as she says “sexy.” If she keeps looking at me like that, I might have an accident in my shorts.

  Then she lets out this sad little sigh and lifts a shoulder. “But I don’t do one-night stands. It’s not my thing.”

  Like I’m gonna let that stop me. I immediately switch into problem-solving mode. “No one-nighters. No problem. You live in Paris, right?”

  Her brows pull together. “Yes. Why?”

  “I’m in New York.”

  She cocks her head, waiting.

  “It’s only about an eight-hour flight between the two, and I’ve got a shit-ton of frequent flier miles. And since you’re a travel writer, I figure you probably do, too.”

  She stares at me without blinking. “We’ve known each other for ten minutes and you’re suggesting we enter into a long-distance relationship?”

  I shrug but don’t break eye contact. “You want me. I want
you. You don’t do one-night stands. You got a better solution?”

  I’m not sure if her expression is horror or amusement. “You’re actually serious.”

  “As a heart attack, Angel.”

  Shaking her head, she lets out a small, astonished laugh and mutters something to herself in French.

  I lean closer, wrap my hand around her arm, and give it a squeeze. When she looks at me, I speak softly. “The way you move. The way you look at me. Your laugh. That kiss. I’m thirty-four years old, Angel, and I’ve had my share of women. Not a single one has ever challenged me, made me laugh, called me on my shit, looked at me like they understood me, and given me a boner that could cut glass while at the same time makin’ me feel like a teenager with his first crush. I wouldn’t care if you lived in fuckin’ Antarctica. This is gonna happen.”

  Even if you are lying to me about who you are.

  After a long time, she simply says, “Wow.”

  I grin at her. “You just fell in love with me, didn’t you? You’re totally in love with me now.”

  Her laugh is disbelieving. “Or I’m wondering where the nearest police station is so I can file a restraining order!”

  “Nah. I’m tellin’ you, it’s love. A year from now, we’ll be back here on our honeymoon.”

  She drops her face into her hands and groans. “Mon Dieu, please stop talking.”

  From the pool comes a shout. “Whatever he just said, he meant, sweetheart!”

  It’s Connor. Over my shoulder, I casually flip him the bird. His booming laugh echoes across the pool and through the bar.

  “Listen,” I say.

  Angeline looks at me warily.

  “We’re havin’ dinner tonight in the hotel restaurant, the six of us.” I jerk my thumb in the direction of the pool and the gang of misfits I call friends. “Now seven, including you. After dinner, you and I will go up to my room, we’ll talk, we’ll have a drink, we’ll pretend like you’re not already madly in love with me and wild to have my babies.”

  She interrupts me before I’ve got the last word out of my mouth. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Ryan McLean. Are you aware of that?”