Play Me #3: Play Me Hard (Play Me Series)

by Tracy Wolff

  Play Me #3: Play Me Hard is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2014 by Tracy Deebs-Elkenaney

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 9780804177832

  Cover design: Georgia Morrissey

  Cover photograph: Vasilchenko Nikita/Shutterstock

  www.readloveswept.com

  v4.0

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One: Aria

  Chapter Two: Sebastian

  Chapter Three: Aria

  Chapter Four: Sebastian

  Chapter Five: Aria

  By Tracy Wolff

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Chapter One

  Aria

  “I don’t respond well to ultimatums, Sebastian.” I’ve had too many of them in my life, been told too many times to make a choice when there really was none. Pretended too many times that I had real control over my own life when it was nothing but a lie.

  I’ve spent the last fourteen months making sure that I do have control—that I’m living my life away from my family and as close to how I want to as I can manage—to just fall back into old patterns. And yet, here I am, four hours after having sex with him, being told what to do. And worse, taking it.

  “And I don’t respond well to watching the woman I just made love to collapse from exhaustion.” He sounds as adamant about this as I do.

  “I’m fine.” It’s a lie. I’m nowhere close to fine, but that’s not his problem. It’s mine. And since I don’t even have a clue what’s wrong with me—why all of a sudden I feel so tired and sad and lonely and lost—I figure I’ll just ignore it and it’ll go away. It’s probably just all the sleepless nights I spent worrying about my sister catching up with me. All I need is a good night’s sleep.

  “You’re not fine and we both know it.” His hand is on my elbow now, not tight enough to hurt, but more than tight enough to let me know that he means business. That he has no intention of letting me go until I do what he asks.

  Well, to hell with that.

  I wrench my arm away, but for whatever reason I’m not as sturdy as I usually am and I end up stumbling back a few steps. Sebastian lets me go at the first tug, but then he’s right there to steady me. His hand on the small of my back, his body pressed too close to mine.

  “Don’t make me force you,” he tells me and I find myself bristling all over again. Force me? Who the hell does this guy think he is?

  I start to tell him off once and for all, but a quick glimpse of his face has me freezing. He doesn’t look like he’s threatening me, doesn’t look like he’s laying down the law. In fact, he looks an awful lot like he’s asking. Like he’s actually asking me not to force him into doing something neither of us wants him to do.

  I know it’s strange to look at it like that, especially considering the nature of what went on in his office earlier tonight. He has to know he’s got the upper hand here—sexually and because he’s my boss. So why does he care whether he has to force me or not? He’s stronger than I am. And though I’d put up a fight, if he really wants to he can carry me out of here and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  It’s a humbling realization, one that confuses me even as it makes me want to go for his eyes. But I can’t do that—because he’s my boss and because the last thing I really want to do is hurt him. I was the one who freaked out in his office, the one who walked out before we could so much as exchange after-sex pleasantries. He’s been nothing but kind to me and just because I don’t trust him, just because I get nervous around anyone who’s that big of a control freak—anyone who I think wants to control me—it doesn’t mean that I have the right to treat him like shit.

  That knowledge has me sighing even as the tension leaves my muscles and I find myself relaxing next to him. “I’m not planning on going anywhere but home,” I tell him. “It’ll take me twenty minutes to get there and then I’m going straight to bed. I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me take you.”

  “I’m twenty-four years old. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “No, you need a lover.” He reaches out, trails his fingers down my cheek. “We’ve already done the making love part. Now let me do the rest.”

  It shouldn’t get to me. His low, husky voice. The intense green of his eyes. The way his body is curved protectively around mine even though my cheek is the only place he’s touching me. And yet it does. It really does. It’s such a good line and even if it really is nothing more than that, it’s enough right now.

  I find myself nodding before I even know that I’m going to do it.

  “My car—”

  “Will be safe here overnight. I’ll send someone to pick you up tomorrow. Or I can have your car delivered, whichever you’d prefer.”

  Of course he can have the car delivered. He has enough money to do just about anything he wants. Hell, he can buy a hundred cars and probably not even notice the cost to his bottom line. My family is rich, but Sebastian is RICH.

  The reminder of our differences—since I walked out on my family I’m as poor as Sebastian is wealthy—bothers me, but not enough to keep me from saying, “Okay.” I don’t know why I do it. I really don’t, except that ceding this small amount of control to him somehow makes me feel better. Less confused, less lost than I’ve felt since I walked out of his office. I don’t understand why, after I’ve fought so long and hard to be in total control of my own life, giving control to him can make me feel more in control than ever, but somehow it does.

  But I’m too tired to figure it out right now, so I just nod.

  It’s not until Sebastian takes a deep breath and releases it, his body almost vibrating with relief, that I begin to comprehend just how much my acquiescence means to him.

  It doesn’t make any sense.

  We’ve known each other barely thirty-six hours. Yes, we had sex—and it was absolutely the best, most intense sex of my life—but still. That shouldn’t be enough to make things this weird. To tie our feelings all up in knots like they are and bind us together in this strange and comforting way.

  And yet, when he wraps an arm around my waist, when he pulls me into his body, I can’t help but sag against him. He supports my weight easily, one hand on my hip as he half-walks, half-carries me through the casino and out the front doors.

  There’s a sleek, black Mercedes sitting next to the valet stand and Sebastian ushers me toward it, holding the door for me as I slide into the car’s plush interior. The door slams shut and I rest my head against the back of the seat, close my eyes for a moment.

  But I still feel fuzzy, like the world is just a little out of focus, and it’s hard for me to concentrate. Hard for me to do anything, really, but just sit here and stare out into the bright, bright lights of the Strip.

  Then Sebastian is climbing in next to me. He’s watching me, I can tell, but I don’t turn my head. Don’t look at him, don’t speak to him. It’s rude, I know, but I can’t seem to help it. Not when it takes so much effort. Everything feels like it takes too much effort right now, even just sitting here.

  “Aria.” He says
my name softly and I feel myself responding to the soft gravel of his voice, my body straining weakly against the seat in an effort to respond the way he needs me to.

  I wait impatiently, breath held and body taut as a violin string, for him to say something else. But he doesn’t speak again. Instead, he leans over me and for a moment, just a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. More, I think I’m going to let him even after everything I’ve told myself in the last few hours. That’s the kind of effect he has on me, the kind of control he exerts without trying.

  But instead of kissing me, he just grasps the seatbelt and pulls it across my body before buckling it.

  I take a shaky breath, feeling relieved and let down all at the same time. But then Sebastian’s hand is there again, rubbing my arm, stroking the sensitive skin at the inside of my wrist. And I feel the tightness leach out of my body. He’s breathing slowly, steadily, as he starts the car, and I can feel my own breathing syncing up with his.

  It’s a strange feeling, this being so in tune with another human being. It’s not something I’m used to and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean, there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to curl my body up against his and let his warmth leach into me, getting rid of the cold I’ve been feeling ever since I walked out of his office all those hours ago.

  But there’s another part of me that wants to climb out of the car right now. To run to the safety of my own car, my own life—one that has nothing to do with rich casino owners who have dominance issues. One that has nothing to do with anything but waiting tables and struggling to make ends meet. It’s not a great life, but it’s mine and I’ve built it by myself.

  I reach for the door handle, think one more time about jumping out. But then he’s pulling away from the curb, driving down the hotel driveway toward the Strip and it’s too late. I’ve missed my chance. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  “I live in the east,” I tell him after a minute, preparing to give him directions. After all, guys like Sebastian never make it to the side of Vegas that I live in.

  “I know. I’ve got your address.” He doesn’t touch me, but his voice is warm, vibrant, and it feels like a caress all on its own. So much so that it takes a moment for his words to register.

  When they do, alarm spikes through me. “How do you know my address?”

  “I looked at your personnel file.” He doesn’t sound the least bit sorry—or the least bit concerned about what he found there.

  Still, my alarm turns to panic in an instant. My application and fake ID were good enough to get me a job as a cocktail waitress, but that’s because the hiring manager wasn’t really looking at anything. But once someone starts to dig, my credentials and the legal name change won’t stand up five minutes against anyone who is seriously looking for something. “You looked at my file? Why?”

  I try to sound calm, unbothered, but some of my worry must make its way into my voice because Sebastian shoots me a concerned look. “Because I wanted to take you home. It seemed the most expedient way to find out where you live.”

  “More expedient than asking me?”

  “When I thought I was going to have to carry you out of the casino over my shoulder, yes.” He’s smiling now, his eyes warm, but there’s a wariness in them. I don’t know if it’s because he’s already started to dig into my background or if it’s because he’s waiting for me to freak out on him. Either way, me getting upset will only make him more curious—make him think I have something to hide.

  I do, but he doesn’t need to know about it. No one does.

  Which is why I give him a smile I’m far from feeling right now and simply say, “Touché.” The less important I make it sound, the less suspicious he’ll be. Or at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it—for my own sanity if nothing else.

  He glances at me again, before turning his attention back to the traffic—only in Vegas are the streets this packed this late at night. It’s one of the things I love, and hate, about this city. It’s so easy to get lost.

  “You took that better than I thought you would.” There’s a bit of a question there, which makes me second-guess myself. Maybe I did give in too easily.

  I don’t know. It’s hard to judge when I barely know Sebastian, let alone how he deals with things or how he expects others to react. It’d be hard enough to guess if everything was normal, and right now, things are far from that. Beyond the worry about my application fraud, my head still feels all weird. Fuzzy and heavy, like my brain is wrapped in cotton and my body is slogging through mud. It makes it hard to think clearly.

  Makes it hard to decide how I’m going to play this, even though there’s a part of me that wishes I didn’t have to play him at all.

  In the end, though, I don’t have the energy for a hissy fit. I don’t have the energy for much, to be honest, beyond resting my head against the back of the seat and staring out into the night. “It’s already done, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So there’s no use freaking out about it at this point. Besides, I’m exhausted and the fact that you looked up my address and Googled it saves me from having to give you directions to my house, so we’ll just call it a win for both of us.” The last of my words are slurred, but I barely notice. I’m having such a hard time keeping my eyes open right now. It’s not that I’m sleepy so much as mentally exhausted.

  Sebastian does touch me then, a rough hand on my bare knee that feels way better than it should. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For letting me take care of you.”

  The words seem to echo in the car, sounding a lot more important than they should. I force my eyes open, force my muscles to work so I can turn my head and look at him. “You make it sound like I had a choice.”

  We’re stopped at a red light, and suddenly he’s looking back at me, his eyes a penetrating, laser pointer green. “You always have a choice with me, Aria.”

  He sounds so intense when he says it, like he wants me to understand something bigger, deeper, than what we’re talking about. For a moment I get lost in his gaze, in the deep growl of his voice. It feels almost like I’m floating, and he’s the only thing tying me down. The only thing keeping me grounded.

  The thought only makes me more confused. Especially when he starts to stroke the inside of my knee with his strong, calloused fingers. Heat coils deep in my belly, spirals through me. It’s a strange kind of heat, muffled by the fact that I feel so removed from my own body. My own thoughts.

  Nothing makes sense, not even the knowledge that I don’t want him to stop touching me. Especially that.

  The rest of the ride to my apartment is silent, at least until we pull into the dingy parking lot. I direct him to park in my space, expecting a disparaging comment or two on where I live. This is the bad part of Vegas—the way bad part—and my building is one of the worst. Broken down, ill-repaired, in desperate need of a couple coats of paint—or an arsonist to burn it to the ground—it’s not a good place to live. Just walking from my car to my apartment can be treacherous some nights, especially when the local gangs are out.

  But it was all I could afford when I fled my old life and got a job as a cocktail waitress. Now that I’m working the high roller tables and my tips have gotten about a million times better, I should be able to afford a better place soon. If I can hold on to the job a little longer, that is, and convince myself that the money really isn’t going to disappear out from under me, maybe I’ll start looking for a nicer place. Nothing grand, nothing like what Sebastian is used to—or where I used to live, even—but better than this. Safer.

  Sebastian doesn’t say anything disparaging, however. Just parks his top-of-the-line Mercedes between my neighbor’s beaten up 1990 Ford Escort and an even more decrepit Chevy that I don’t recognize.

  “You don’t need to walk me in,” I tell him hastily, reaching for the door handle. “I can make it from here.”

  He just looks at me, face comple
tely blank as he shuts off the car and climbs out.

  Fine. That’s what I get for worrying about his car being here—and in one piece—after he walks me to my apartment. He might not be concerned, but that’s only because he doesn’t know this area. I wonder if I should say something, but judging from the set of his shoulders, it wouldn’t matter if I did. He’s determined to get me safely to my apartment.

  I start to climb out of the car on my own, but he’s there before I even get both my feet on the ground. Then he’s holding the door for me with one hand, helping me out with the other. I don’t need his help, am perfectly capable of climbing out of a car and walking to my apartment by myself. But when his hand—warm and rough and perfect—settles against my lower back, I decide not to make a big deal of it.

  Besides, my legs feel a little unsteady, like my muscles can’t quite remember how to move without his touch. The feeling should worry me, but I’m too out of it at this point to care. All I want is my bed and a blanket and for Sebastian to curl up next to me.

  The fact that that isn’t going to happen—that I can’t let it happen and he probably wouldn’t want it to anyway—sends a wave of despair flowing through me. Which doesn’t make sense considering I’ve never needed a man to coddle me in my life. I try to stiffen my spine, to pull away, but his hand is wrapped around my waist now, pulling my body flush against his side. And even as I know I should fight against it, it feels too good. He feels too good.

  “Which one is yours?” he asks, propelling me across the parking lot toward the building. Around us, the street is fairly quiet—if you don’t count the girls working the stroll on the corner and the guy dealing out of the parking lot across the street.

  “I’m the third one on the second floor.”

  Sebastian just nods, but when we get to the staircase, he pauses for a second. Peers at a couple of the apartment doors to the right of us like he expects them to bite him or something.

  I try to think of a joke, something to make this place seem not quite as bad as it really is. But before I can come up with anything, he sweeps me into his arms and starts to carry me up the stairs.