Minute by Minute (Games & Diversions #3) Read online

  I can’t shake the stench of it off my skin.

  I try to walk calmly past the other tables as one of the hostesses seats me, but with every patron I pass, there is a fear—this knowledge that I don’t belong… and that everyone around me can smell the pungency of my oddness with every step I take.

  When the hostess stops, I sit quickly at my table.

  Slightly frazzled, I ask for a glass of water, and I force myself not to fidget, grasping desperately for the reminder of why I am here in the first place.

  Lukas.

  He’s here.

  And somehow, my threat to the secretary, Sarah, was enough to get her to give up the goods. She’d told me about his dinner date, and I was on the next Lyft car, smoking.

  After my last Uber incident, I think I’ll pass on them for now.

  I spend a minute or two pretending to look at my menu.

  Once I’ve given it an obligatory once-over, I let my gaze roam, scanning the entire restaurant, jumping from white tablecloth to white tablecloth, looking intently—cautiously—for him.

  I know he won’t be hard to miss.

  Even amongst this exclusive, upper-crust crowd, Lukas’s poise is head-and-shoulders above others.

  With the rugged good looks of the bad-boy across the street that your mom warned you to stay away from, he has a demeanor that is the very opposite of that—cool, composed… always in control.

  He is the sort of man that catches every eye in the room.

  All I have to do is look for where every woman’s eyes are pointed, and I will find him, looking as completely and utterly delicious as only he can—making every hundred-dollar dish on each table pale in comparison to his appeal.

  Damn him.

  I just need to find him in this restaurant, tell him what I saw and get the fuck out of here.

  I really don’t need to overcomplicate my life with this growing attachment to Lukas. Not when there’s so much on my plate already.

  Not when there’s only but one place that this situation can go…

  I straighten up, continuing to stare from face to face.

  The waitress comes, takes my very random but very expensive order, and I sip at my newly arrived water, searching.

  And searching.

  And searching.

  Finally, I’ve sipped so much water and done so much surveying that my bladder is full and there’s a crick in my neck.

  I toss my white napkin to the center of the table, as if throwing in the towel, and I head for the ladies’ room.

  Halfway to my destination, a familiar gesture catches my eye.

  A large hand rises to the corner of a full and shadow-covered mouth; its fingers play gently on the edge, slightly squeezing—as if the person is clutching a small cigarette that they’ve just realized is no longer there.

  It’s a gesture borne out of habit—like a former smoker who doesn’t yet know that he’s quit.

  It’s not a nervous move, no. More like anxious.

  It’s a motion used when biding time—more so when one is caught in agonizing anticipation.

  I know that movement well.

  It’s the gesture of a man who’s finished waiting—a man who is calmly considering his options… and quietly preparing to strike.

  That smug, self-righteous son-of-a-bitch.

  He’s just sitting there, coolly, at a large, white-covered table, his hand tapping absently at the corner of his mouth, a navy suit hugging perfectly at his shoulders.

  His gaze is intense, and he stares at the face of a woman sitting opposite him, a slender-built, strawberry blonde with claws for fingernails and freckles on her bare arms.

  I jumped the gun with what I said about Gregory Sears back at the hotel.

  The man sitting at this table is the one I want to kill most.

  I break my route, stomping purposefully over towards his table.

  “Remember me?” I quip.

  “Elena,” he says, squinting curiously at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you, actually… and what a surprise. Here you are,” I coo mockingly.

  I turn, extending a hand towards the ginger-haired woman on the other side of the table.

  “Hi,” I say to her, infusing warmth into my tone. “I’m Elena.”

  She grips my hand for a shake.

  “Sabrina Wellington,” she answers with a rich London-accent. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And you as well.”

  Lukas stands.

  “Elena,” he says to me—almost threateningly. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

  I keep a fake smile plastered on my angry face—a face that is preparing to crack at any second.

  “There’s no need to, Lukas. I’m going to take off soon and let you get back to your lovely dinner.”

  He steps angrily towards me, almost forgetting his surroundings.

  He glances suddenly at Sabrina, reeling his temper back in.

  “Will you excuse me for a moment, Sabrina?”

  Sabrina says “certainly,” but he doesn’t even wait for her reply before whispering to me.

  He grabs my elbow with a grip that is anything but gentle.

  “Elena,” he grits. “Outside. Now,” he rasps through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I hiss back. “Enjoy your meal.”

  I discreetly snatch my elbow back and then I turn quite quickly on my heel, heading towards the ladies’ room before I can break down in front of them both.

  To my shock and overwhelming dismay, Lukas follows me.

  He steps into the ladies’ room with me, locking its black wooden door behind him as I try to push him away.

  “No,” I yell, slapping his hands away as he reaches in. “You can’t be in here. Go back to your date.”

  Lukas flinches, taken aback.

  “What? Look… Sabrina is not my date.”

  “Yeah,” I scoff. “I’m sure.”

  “She isn’t. How did you know I was here, anyway?”

  I laugh humorlessly, pacing.

  “Your darling ‘executive’ secretary, Sarah. I didn’t even know you had a secretary.”

  “I don’t. This is something that Foxx, Chris and I set up recently—shared staff so that we could stay on top of things.”

  I guffaw out loud.

  “Sounds like the only thing Sarah wants to be on top of is you.

  “Not that I would know whether she has or hasn’t, anyway. You and your flavors are none of my business.”

  “Sarah is not one of my flavors, ok?” Lukas’s voice starts to rise. “And neither is Sabrina. Hell, I don’t even know why Sarah didn’t tell you the full story, but Sabrina Wellington is just a business associate.”

  I laugh. Hard.

  For the first time.

  “Business associate? Oh, that’s real rich… and real original. Yeah, she looks like a regular working girl, alright.”

  At that, Lukas stomps towards me, and he backs me up into the wall adjacent to the sinks, his hands planted on either side of my face.

  I gasp at how quickly I’ve been trapped.

  “Look,” he says nearly barking into my face. “Sabrina and I are not here on a date. She’s a client from Voyager. We’re looking to smooth things over with her after the hack that compromised half of our collaborative files, so I’m only here tonight on behalf of our company to tie up any loose ends.

  “Chris is running late, and Foxx couldn’t make it because he says he’s still at home, working, and watching over a sick Kat… or so he says.

  “Honestly?

  “I think he’s trying to avoid seeing me so that he won’t kill me. And he wants to kill me because my unbelievable ass can’t stay away from you.

  “I’m risking one of the best friendships I’ve ever had because of you.

  “Don’t you get it at all, Elle?

  “I can’t… stay away from you. Not Sarah… Not Sabrina… You.”

  He sighs,
hanging his head for a second before returning his gaze to my face.

  “It’s you, Elle. You’re fucking torturing me.

  “And I’m no good… I’m no good for you…

  “I told you this before, back in Foxx’s office at Ana’s graduation party, and you still don’t seem to get it.”

  The color of Lukas’s eyes deepens, and his irises darken under the muted light, sliding from a light emerald hue into a dusky jade.

  “I’ll fucking ruin you,” he finishes… and I shiver, believing every word that’s coming out of his mouth.

  Lukas finally drops his hands to his sides, and I can see the light bruises on his knuckles—small cuts at his fingers that are evidence of a recent scuffle.

  I take an unsteady breath that runs haggardly out of my throat.

  My voice is a rasp when I respond.

  “What am I supposed to say to that?” I ask quietly.

  Lukas places his hands in his pockets, glaring at me without blinking.

  “You’re not supposed to say anything. You’re supposed to walk away… walk away and never look back.”

  Lukas takes a step backward, giving me space, and I take advantage of it, using the opportunity to walk around him.

  My steps are slow, sluggish. They feel weighed down to the floor as I tread mechanically to the door.

  “Guess there are no words left, huh? For the first time since we spoke, it seems the two of us are finally all talked out.”

  I speak the words softly over my shoulder to Lukas, not meeting his gaze.

  I focus my attention back on the bathroom door, preparing to unlock it.

  As my hand flies to the silver switch on the darkened wood, a larger hand slams on the door above mine.

  Lukas encloses me against the door this time instead, spinning me to face him.

  He pulls my white blouse towards him, staring at my lower lip.

  “You’re absolutely right this time, Elena,” he exhales.

  “No more fucking talking between us.”

  And then he descends, placing his greedy mouth on mine and devouring it.

  I inhale sharply, not expecting it, and I breathe him in, sucking in the taste of his mouth and tongue, joining them with my own.

  We wrestle for access to one another’s skin, and Lukas lifts my white blouse over my head, wrapping it around his fist.

  His lips travel hungrily towards my cleavage, and he lowers his head towards my bra, biting through the black lace that is no real barrier to his tongue or mouth.

  I cry out… as Lukas’s teeth continue teasing.

  He unzips my blue jeans hastily, and the next thing I know is that his hand is inside of them, prodding, testing—exploring.

  But I am already soaked, and his fingers need no further confirmation.

  Lukas tugs my jeans roughly to the floor, and in an instant, my black underwear join them, leaving me naked from the waist down as his fingers stroke gently at the hot slit between my thighs.

  He spins me back towards the door, placing my hands against the wood, and I hear the zip of his pants, the quiet unfastening as he releases his incomparable cock from underneath his trousers.

  Lukas lowers himself, and soon the head of his thick dick is prodding towards my center, ready to penetrate through my throbbing lips.

  He says my name on an exhale.

  “Elena.”

  And I know he is seeking permission.

  I can barely think.

  I just nod.

  And Lukas slams into me from behind, trapping my ass and legs between his, so that he fits into me tighter than a glove—my soaking wet sex squeezing him in the most pleasurable of ways as he groans softly into my ear, the sound of his voice mixing melodically with mine as I moan in unison.

  Oh, God, it must be a sin for him to feel this fucking good.

  Ruin?

  Understatement of the year.

  If this is what ruin feels like, then I want Lukas to wreck the fuck out of me… because no one… and I mean, no one… has ever made me (or my body) feel the way he can.

  He picks up pace, and I am already starting to whimper, my body brimming with sensations of ecstasy as Lukas quickly brings me to a climax, my pussy releasing and pulsating around his cock—extracting Lukas’s own orgasm right out of him.

  We sigh together, and I slump in his arms, falling slightly forward as his large hands support my body, gripping my tiny waist to keep me upright.

  I struggle for breath as Lukas catches his, and we finally settle down, our bodies no longer heaving from the enormity of our orgasms—our pounding hearts no longer beating frantically out of control.

  Lukas caresses me into his chest, and I exhale.

  He sinks towards my ankles, replacing my panties and jeans back over my bottom where they once were.

  He twists me around, and he releases my shirt from his hand, shaking it out, positioning it and placing it back over my head to sit at my shoulders.

  I watch him do all of this silently.

  When he is done, he kisses me, and it is lingering—full of desire and lust and unspoken promises of additional rounds.

  When he lets go of me, he looks directly into my eyes… and already, I want him again, right there—directly on the spot.

  I return the favor, zipping the fly of his navy pants—refastening the button at the top that I know he nearly ripped off.

  I glance back at his face, wanting to see how he feels… and where I just saw lust merely seconds ago, I now find regret—deep, sympathetic… profound regret.

  It crushes me like nothing I have ever known.

  “I’m sorry,” he says to me softly, holding my disbelieving blue eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have done that; I actually told myself not to.”

  He fists his hand on the door, pressing against it.

  “You’re my houseguest, not my play toy. When I came to dinner tonight, fucking you was not supposed to be on the menu.”

  Lukas squeezes his eyes shut and then reopens them to glare down at me.

  “I’m a piece of shit,” he declares, “for doing this at all. I’ll never do this to you again.”

  His last words shatter whatever dignity is left in me.

  My pride in shards, I try to recover… but my body feels suddenly heavy, and I don’t even have the energy to shrug.

  “It’s not like you did it without my consent. I was a willing participant. Anything you just wanted, I wanted, too… maybe even more…”

  Lukas nods, and I turn silently.

  I put my hand back on the lock, and unlike a few minutes ago, I turn the switch to the “off” position. I open the door and head past a crowd of women who are looking curiously at the entrance.

  “Oh, my God… Finally…” they exclaim, relieved to be let in.

  I bypass them quickly, not waiting to see their reactions when they get a peek of Lukas, and I pass Sabrina’s table where a new man now sits.

  A man with red hair and an even redder face.

  The man I saw just this afternoon in the café.

  The man who is the reason I came here to talk to Lukas in the first place.

  Chris.

  Betting in a Burning House

  If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stakes, and the quitting time. –Chinese Proverb

  Day 4—7:24PM

  Casa de Griffin

  LUKAS

  Our dinner doesn’t last long after I return to the table.

  With a barely composed look on my face and a quietly impatient Sabrina fuming silently in her chair, we adjourn pretty quickly, wrapping up last bits of info about the joint Tripping Out!-Voyager piece—finally putting all of the remaining recovered hacked files to use.

  Thank fucking God.

  I am only too eager to get out of there—only too eager to head back to my house where I know Elena is waiting.

  And what will happen between us now?

  I have no idea.
r />   I just know that despite breaking my promise to myself not to touch her—despite telling myself to leave her alone and keep her far away from me and my lies, I can’t wait to fucking see her.

  What I didn’t expect is that she would feel the exact opposite when I entered into the house.

  Almost all of her belongings are placed at my entrance, and I nearly knock over a suitcase as I try to open my front door.

  I recover the bag quickly, glancing around at the scene before me.

  What the hell?

  Suddenly, a voice from the stairs calls down.

  “I’m sorry I put them in your way. I just needed to gather them together before I moved them out.”

  “Before you…?”

  I can’t believe it.

  “Wait, Elle… what the hell do you think you are doing?”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, Elena appears from the second level, descending the stairs one-by-one in a different set of clothes.

  Instead of the jeans and white blouse from earlier, she’s switched into black yoga pants and a grey camisole, and I once again I realize that, dressed up, dressed down and everything in-between, Elena is physical perfection—sheer beauty with that dancer’s body, those blonde waves and gorgeous face and eyes.

  It’s those eyes that capture me as she walks down the staircase.

  These crystal-clear, powder blue eyes that stare back at me—full of heat… emotion… hurt?

  Damn, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear…

  But Elena’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

  She reaches the bottom stair, planting her feet onto the hardwood. She walks into the foyer, and the hurt that I thought was in her face has dissipated, disappeared as if it were never there.

  I start to suspect that, in fact, maybe it wasn’t to begin with.

  A new expression rises into her eyes and face, and the Elena that I initially met—the hard-as-nails, no-nonsense, man-eater (or maybe just Lukas-eater)—reemerges, with a renewed resolve and a few old bad habits.

  She crosses her arms as she traverses the length of the foyer.

  “I’m moving out,” she declares openly. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” I ask, growing angry.

  “This. Us. Whatever we agreed to when we said we wouldn’t have any rules between us. I can’t do it. It’s just not me.”