Wicked Games: The Complete Wicked Games Series Box Set

by J. T. Geissinger

  Love was the worst.

  Inconveniently, it was also the best.

  I didn’t trust it from the get-go.

  What I didn’t realize is that love isn’t like Tinker Bell. Love exists whether you believe in it or not.

  And whether you believe in love or not, it believes in you.

  He finds me on the third day. Three long days, three unending nights, and then I look up from my mint tea and he’s there.

  Standing across the medina, his gaze fixed on me, a bare glint of yearning bright in his eyes, he’s there.

  He looks terrible.

  Like he’s been sleeping on park benches and dining on scraps from trash cans to survive. Like all he’s ever known is heartbreak and violence. That I’m the cause of the pain he’s wearing like a second skin makes all the broken parts inside me grind together and bleed.

  I rise from my table, shaking and breathless, my nerves channeling fire. Between us, the square is a riot of color and noise, food stalls, trilling laughter, dancers and dusty barefoot children. Freshly dyed silks flutter indigo and saffron in the breeze. I turn and make my way through the winding alleyways, draped in carpets and thick with people, until I reach an azure door.

  I push through the door into a quiet courtyard, Ryan’s presence behind me so vivid, it’s almost like touch.

  Past a splashing fountain, up a winding staircase to a quiet room at the top with a view of distant mountains and walls painted the same blue as the door. By the window, I turn and wait, holding my breath.

  He eases into view in the open doorway, moving carefully, silently, as if approaching a wild animal trapped against a wall. When he sees me, his eyes flare. He inhales through parted lips and stands staring at me for a long, silent moment, drinking me in, his hands trembling at his sides.

  In a low, hoarse voice, he says, “How?”

  “There was a submarine on the yacht. A little two-seater. That got me as far as Tunisia. From there, I took the train to Casablanca, then a bus here.”

  His brow creases in confusion.

  “I had the captain take me. He knew how to operate the sub…and how dangerous a gas leak on a yacht loaded with munitions would be. He knew what to do to make it look accidental.”

  He processes that, then slowly takes a step forward over the threshold. His gaze darts around the room, questioning, cataloging the furniture, the timbered ceiling, the colorful pillows on the bed. Then it snaps back to me again, as if magnetized.

  When he doesn’t speak, I say, “The crew on the yacht were prisoners. Forced to work for free, their silence guaranteed because their tongues were cut out. When I explained to him what I wanted to do, the captain was more than willing to help me. He wanted to disappear, too. Become someone else. Live a different life. We parted ways in Tunisia.”

  Ryan takes another few halting steps toward me, then stops, the tremor in his hands getting worse. He’s focused on me with an extraordinary intensity, his eyes burning with questions and need. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. There’s a pulse of heat like a heartbeat between us.

  With a break in his voice, he says, “Why?” and I know what he’s really asking.

  Why did you make me believe you were dead?

  “I went a little mad,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “When I found out Reynard was Vincent’s father—”

  Ryan’s sharp intake of breath makes me open my eyes. I nod at his expression of disbelief.

  “Yes. And I loved him. My whole life, I loved him, and he’d been lying to me about everything. It was all a test.”

  I have to stop and breathe around the vise winching closed in my chest. When the pain eases and I can speak again, I say, “He was grooming me to take over as his heir. He said it in front of his men, so I knew that if they didn’t think I was dead, I would be hounded. Hunted. Cosa Nostra doesn’t let people go. So I died. Only I didn’t. And now I’m here…”

  I trail off into silence, suddenly miserable with the strain of this moment, with everything so raw and aching between us, with so much left to be said.

  “Well,” he murmurs after a moment, “the FBI thinks you’re dead, too. I mean, the Dragonfly. Case closed. You’re free now. You can go anywhere, do anything you want.”

  He swallows hard, so clearly struggling, I’m forced to bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood so I don’t run to him and fling my arms around his shoulders.

  With his heart in his eyes and a rasp of hope in his voice, Ryan asks very softly, “What do you want?”

  I break then. All my careful control, all my pretense of calm, it all falls away with a shudder. “The same thing I’ve wanted since I saw the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen dazzling the crowd at a pool in St. Croix. You, cowboy. I want you.”

  We move at the same moment, arms reaching out for each other, and meet in the center of the room in a hard, breathless embrace. His arms tighten around me, and he’s shaking just as hard as I am. My name on his lips is a prayer, his voice ardent and sweet and so full of love, it splits me wide open. I kiss him, and it feels like homecoming, his unshaven jaw rough in my hands, a thrum of pleasure and happiness like wildfire burning through me.

  “Why did you wait so long?” he says hoarsely. “Angel, why did you wait so long to let me know you were alive?”

  When I look up at him, his cheeks are wet.

  I kiss his face, his soft lips, his closed eyelids. “You needed time to miss me. Did you?”

  As I hoped he would, he laughs, a sound that makes my heart leap with joy. He hugs me so tight, I think my ribs might be crushed, but I don’t care.

  “I’m not capable of witty repartee right now, so I’ll just say yes.”

  I wrap my arms around his waist and nuzzle my face into his neck, breathing him in, feeling like I’ve been living under a thundercloud for a thousand years and the sky has just opened up and bathed me in rays of golden sunlight. “That isn’t the real reason,” I whisper.

  He’s serious again in a heartbeat, his smile gone and his brows drawn together.

  I say haltingly, “I…I did go a little crazy, after I found out about Reynard. I didn’t believe in anything for a while, not hope or trust or love. I didn’t even recognize my own face in the mirror. I thought I might be ruined, or that maybe I was cursed because of the diamond, but then…”

  Ryan takes my face in his hands, searching my eyes. “But then what?”

  “But then I got proof that I wasn’t.”

  He slowly shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

  I draw away from him and go to the bathroom. I return holding a little white stick that shakes in my outstretched hand.

  Ryan takes it, looks at it, at the little window on the front, and sinks to his knees on the floor. I crouch down beside him, wind my arms around his shoulders, and close my eyes.

  Against my neck, he whispers, “There’s a blue line on this pregnancy test.”

  “Yes,” I say, my eyes filling with water. “There’s a very blue line.”

  Blue as a dragonfly’s wings, that line.

  Blue as my lover’s eyes.

  Epilogue

  “We’re going to be late,” says Mariana, sifting her fingers through my hair.

  “So we’ll be late. I’m busy, woman. And be quiet! With all your yammerin’, I can’t hear the bean.”

  Her laugh makes my head bounce. We’re in bed, naked, and I’ve got my ear pressed against the gentle swell of her belly. It’s my new favorite activity, second only to having my lips pressed here. I do a lot of talking to this growing belly, and singing at it, too, so much so that I think Mariana is more tired of having a grown man clinging twenty-four seven to her stomach than of the nausea she’s dealing with about as much of the time.

  “Maybe the bean is sleeping. Did you ever think of that? Maybe you’re giving the poor child insomnia with your constant harassment.”

  I lift my head and look at my woman, sleepy-eyed against the pillow, her hair mussed and her skin
glowing, and try to send her an appropriately outraged glare. I end up smiling instead. My pretend outrage is no match for her beauty.

  “Harassment? No. This is called communication.”

  “It’s a little one-sided to be accurately described as communication, honey. It’s more like an extended monologue. Very extended.”

  The wry twist to her lips makes me chuckle. “Okay,” I say, moving up the bed. “I’ll give the bean a break. For now.”

  I kiss Mariana softly, prop my head on one hand, and flatten the other over her bump. It’s not too big yet—she’s only four months along—but it’s irresistible to me. Along with all the other parts of her gorgeous body.

  I had no idea pregnant women could be so damn sexy. I never looked at them that way before. It’s probably that she’s pregnant with my child that’s bringing out the beast in me, but I swear my knocked-up woman is the most erotic thing I’ve seen in my life. If it were up to me and my perma boner, we’d spend every minute of the day naked in bed.

  Unfortunately, it’s not up to me, which Mariana proves by pronouncing, “Go start the shower. We need to get ready!” and giving me a little shove in the chest.

  “Bossy,” I grumble.

  She smiles sweetly at me, batting her lashes like a debutante. “Which you love, so stop your fake complaining.”

  I nuzzle her neck, running my palm up her rib cage until I find the soft fullness of a breast. “I do love it,” I murmur, swiping my thumb over her nipple. “I love it all.”

  “Stop trying to distract me. It’s not going to work.”

  “It’s already working,” I say, chuckling darkly as she shivers and arches into my hand. I lower my head and suck her hard nipple into my mouth.

  “Dinner,” she reminds me, but her voice is breathy and she’s twining her legs between mine. I use a hint of teeth on her nipple, chuckling again when her fingernails dig into my chest.

  “We’re already late.” I lift my head and capture her mouth in a long, sweet kiss.

  Mariana breaks away reluctantly. “Kai’s making his special schnitzel! He’s so excited about it, I don’t want to be rude!”

  “Schnitzel for Thanksgiving dinner.” I shake my head. “It’s un-American.”

  Mariana rolls her eyes. “There’s going to be turkey, too. And apple pie, because I told him you’d throw yourself on the floor and have a tantrum if you didn’t have a ‘proper’ Thanksgiving meal.”

  “Really?” I brighten at this news, but then grow suspicious. “What about stuffing? Cranberry sauce? Green-bean casserole? Those poufy white dinner rolls? I bet he doesn’t do the rolls. He seems like one of those weird, multigrain, no-yeast, gluten-free, non-GMO bread stick kind of guys.”

  Closing her eyes, Mariana sighs. “And I’m having a child with this man,” she mutters.

  “Yes, you are, you lucky girl!” I say, grinning like mad. Then I kiss her all over her face until she’s helplessly laughing.

  She pushes me away, still laughing, and rises from the bed. She shakes her hair out, tossing it over her shoulders so it cascades in a dark wave down her back. I look on, feeling like I might burst with the happiness pounding inside me.

  “I know you’re staring at my ass, cowboy,” she says as she walks, hips swaying, into the bathroom. “I can feel it tingling.”

  “Oh, I’ll give you a tingle.” I throw off the covers and leap out of bed, running after her.

  By the time Darcy opens her front door, we’re an hour late to Thanksgiving dinner, but I’m feeling so self-satisfied with how loudly I made my woman scream in the shower, not even an asteroid plummeting toward earth could put a dent in my cheer.

  “We thought you mighta got lost!” says Darcy crossly, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. When she glimpses my shit-eating grin, however, she starts to smile.

  “Oh. I see how it is.” She shakes her head, pulling Mariana into a hug, and gives her a motherly pat her on the back. “It’s a wonder you can still walk at all, girlfriend.”

  The color is high in Mariana’s cheeks when they break apart. She sends me a sour glance, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile. “When I can’t, he carries me.”

  “Lawd,” says Darcy, fanning herself. She eyes my crotch, and I have to laugh.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Darcy.” I give her a hug, then hold out the bottle of wine I picked out for the occasion. “I hope this goes okay with schnitzel. And may I say, you look especially beautiful today.”

  She’s in a flowing gown with a zigzag pattern of yellow, red, and hot-pink stripes that I’m certain will give me a seizure if I stare at it too long. So I look at her turban, instead, a white pouf of silk wrapped around her head featuring a big, glittering fake ruby pinned into the center of a spray of peacock feathers.

  “Aw, that’s so sweet! C’mon in, everybody’s waiting on you.”

  She waves us inside and closes the door behind us. It’s the first time we’ve been to Darcy and Kai’s place, a bright, airy loft in a funky neighborhood in SoHo, and their taste is reflected in every eclectic, colorful piece of furniture and artwork. I admire an interesting bronze sculpture on a pedestal in the entryway, which Darcy informs me was crafted by Kai himself.

  “It represents man’s struggle to survive in a chaotic, meaningless universe.”

  “Huh,” I say, inspecting it. “Looks like a big comma to me.”

  Darcy snorts. “Don’t tell my baby that,” she says, voice lowered. “He thinks he’s the next Michelangelo. You should see his paintings.”

  “That bad?” Mariana asks.

  “They look like somebody gave a hyperactive five-year-old child a box of crayons and told him to draw the contents of his stomach.”

  I look at Mariana. “Forget about the rolls, now I’m worried about the turkey.”

  “There they are!”

  Kai’s happy greeting—zere zey are!—comes from across the loft. He’s in the kitchen, wearing an orange apron and one of those tall chef’s hats. Also orange, because it’s Kai.

  “Come in! Come in!” He waves at us with a spatula. “You’re just in time for the schnitzel!”

  “Goody,” I say under my breath.

  Darcy laughs. “Don’t worry, Ryan, he’s not much of an artist, but he actually can cook!”

  I help Mariana remove her coat and drape it over a nearby chair, then scold, “Wait for me!” as she turns and starts to follow Darcy toward the kitchen. I take her elbow, wind my arm around her waist, and usher her inside, all the while listening to her grouse about overprotective cavemen.

  “Get used to it, Angel, ’cause it’s only gonna get worse once the bean gets here.”

  “Hmm. I almost feel sorry for this kid. He has no idea how many GPS trackers he’ll have attached to his body the minute he pops out.”

  “Her body,” I say with utmost confidence. “Don’t gimme that look, woman. The bean is a girl!”

  “Oh, really? And how do you know that?”

  “Same way I know everything else.” I wink at her and tap my temple.

  “Is he bragging about his big brain again?” asks Connor from the purple sofa in the living room.

  He’s sitting with his arm slung around Tabby’s shoulders. Juanita’s sitting cross-legged on the floor at their feet with a bunch of open schoolbooks strewn around, chewing a pencil and absentmindedly scratching the belly of Elvis the rat, who’s sleeping on his back between the pages of a textbook. On the wall across from them, a flat-screen TV is turned to a news channel.

  “I don’t need to brag. My big brain speaks for itself.”

  Connor and I grin at each other. He and Tabby stand up, and we all share hugs.

  “Careful, brother!” I bark when Connor squeezes Mariana, his biceps bulging.

  He pulls away with a sigh and looks into Mariana’s eyes. “He’s gonna be like this for the next five months, isn’t he?”

  “Oh no,” says Mariana with a straight face. “He’s going to be like this forever.”
<
br />   “Heya, short stuff.” I nod at Juanita, who’s looked up from her books. “Whatcha’ doin’?”

  She pushes a lock of curly brown hair away from her face. “Just finishing up some extra credit for a class.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s the class?”

  “Topological spaces and the fundamental group.”

  I blink. Is that like…gardening?

  When she sees my blank look, she explains. “It’s the advanced geometry and topology stream of the one-hundred-level math curriculum at the new school I’m transferring to in the spring.”

  I try to look like I have a clue about what she just said. “Cool. So no more Catholic school?”

  “I got accepted into Harvard,” she says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal.

  “At fifteen?”

  Tabby laughs at the expression on my face. “How’s your big brain feeling now, jarhead?”

  “Shriveled,” I admit.

  “And how are you feeling, Mariana?” Tabby gestures to the bump under Mariana’s pretty red dress.

  Mariana looks down at her belly, smiles, and rests her hand on top of the bean. “Good,” she murmurs. “Other than the morning sickness, which should really be called all-day sickness, I feel great.” She glances at me, and her smile grows deeper. “It helps that I’m not allowed to lift a finger to do even the smallest bit of housework. I went out for a few hours yesterday afternoon to do some shopping, but mainly I spend my days napping and eating.”

  “There’s a few other things you spend time doing, too.” I grin down at her and pinch her ass.

  “TMI, bitches,” Juanita says, and goes back to her books.

  “Got a call from Karpov this morning,” drawls Connor, looking at me.

  “Karpov!” I say, surprised. “I know it wasn’t about the Hope, ’cause he got that back weeks ago.”

  “It was about another job he needs us for.”

  My brow creases. “Another job? What’s wrong this time? Don’t tell me his daughter was kidnapped again!”

  Connor chuckles. “Nope. Now his son’s gone missing from his rich-kid prep school in London.”

  A little chill runs down my spine. Maybe there’s something to the curse on that diamond after all. Mariana must sense what I’m thinking, because she squeezes my fingers and sends me a reassuring smile.