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

  “My parents didn’t have any sons so I had to fend for my sisters.”

  I laugh to myself.

  “During those school days, I’d break your face if you looked at my sisters the wrong way, but in the classroom, I was straight-laced.

  “Didn’t do drugs, didn’t have sex. But I had a mean streak that was a mile-long. I’d learned to be blunt—not to take anyone’s shit.

  “I could bluff my ass off, but in all actuality, I was a good girl disguised as a bad-ass.

  “It wasn’t until I met Linda about a year ago that I started taking some risks. She’d crashed a yoga class I was taking, took a swig of Jack Daniels out of a hidden flask, and complimented me on my flexibility.

  “It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  I laugh at the memory.

  “Wasn’t long before we’d become connected at the hip. She’s the one that convinced me to take the leap of purchasing my own studio.”

  For the first time all night, Griff looks interested in something that’s not the Hilton’s front door.

  “So, why’d you stay ‘good’ for so long?”

  I shrug casually, considering the question.

  “I don’t know… Guess I didn’t like the idea of being punished.”

  Griff slowly grins, and I realize I’ve just put my foot in my mouth.

  He leans in closer, and I can smell his cologne.

  Or is it cologne?

  He smells like some combo of cotton and earthy spice, a muted aftershave that smells like the rain on the ground after a stormy day.

  Fresh.

  Natural.

  Primitive…

  And it’s not just his scent.

  His body, his stare, the breadth of his shoulders.

  Hell, even the tight muscles he tries so hard to camouflage beneath his white button-down shirt.

  Everything about him.

  At his basest core, Lukas is all man—full of heart-stopping, desire-inducing… sex-wetting testosterone.

  He fulfills a need in me I never knew I had—one that has nothing to do with any rules and everything to do with a need to be free, to set myself loose from any restraints.

  Lukas smiles.

  A real smile—unrestrained and showing full white, straight teeth.

  It is a smile full of wit and genuine fascination.

  “That’s not the Elena I know,” he comments pointedly.

  A mix of intrigue and indignation flares beneath my breast.

  “Pray-tell here, Mister Griffin. What do you presume to know about me?”

  He takes a deep breath, locking gazes with me.

  “Well, let’s see…” he muses quietly.

  “You… you have a small birthmark on the inside of your right thigh, a few scars on the skin above your left knee.

  “Your feet are, uh, tiny—delicate for a dancer’s—and you’ve got an arch that’s higher than any I’ve ever seen.

  “Your hair and skin smell like vanilla. Hell, I’ve never met a woman before you that tasted the way she smells. It’s fucking insane to me, actually.

  “Your orgasms are intense—different. Your legs don’t shake much like other women.

  “In fact, they don’t shake much at all.”

  He looks down at my fingers.

  “It’s your hands that tremble slightly.

  “I can feel them shudder when you’re clutching my head… gripping my hair… when I’m eating your pussy.

  “Your moans are surprisingly high-pitched, breathy—a stark contrast from a voice that’s normally husky and deep.

  “Your lips are a rosy pink—both sets of them, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than seeing my cock in between either pair.

  “You’re highly sexual in bed but you’re more sensual when entered from behind. Your lips grip my dick and tightly massage it. You become undone in my hands when I penetrate you that way.

  “Your legs are long, your ass is perfect, and you come the hardest when you’re being punished.

  “So, you see, you’re not fooling anyone, Elena—least of all, me. I’ve seen you when you get punished, and if being punished is something you don’t like… then I’m excited as hell to see what happens when you encounter something you do.”

  I sit quietly in my seat, unable to say or do anything—shocked into total silence.

  The Audi in which we sit suddenly feels inexplicably hot, and I reposition myself, focusing on a cool ocean breeze that filters through the crack in my passenger side window.

  Unexpectedly, Lukas places a warm hand on my bare knee.

  “Are you uncomfortable?” he asks.

  His voice is quiet—seductive.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Too hot? Too cold?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Come on, admit it… You’re uncomfortable, Elena.”

  He gives my knee an innocent squeeze, and I suck in an abrupt breath.

  “You’re squirming in your seat.”

  I sigh, giving in.

  “Yes, ok. I’m a little uncomfortable.”

  Lukas leans into me.

  “You wanna know why you’re uncomfortable?”

  The sound of his voice is smooth, the timbre as thick and as rich as molten honey.

  His words nearly sear my skin, and the mysterious heat that filled the front seats just minutes ago is now sweltering, stifling the air with a seaside spring stickiness that simmers with sexual tension and unspoken suggestion.

  Salt air fills my lungs, and desire spreads in my core.

  I wipe a shaky hand above my brow.

  “No, I don’t. Tell me: Why am I uncomfortable?”

  “Because…” Lukas bends further towards me. “You never disconnected your seatbelt.”

  I glance down.

  The large polyester black straps are still crossed at my chest and waist.

  Beads of sweat have formed underneath the belts, and when Lukas reaches his hands in to unbuckle me, I can barely breathe, my body going into overload as it processes his smell and touch.

  He reaches over me, his hands pulling at the two-inch black webbing.

  The belt clicks, releasing from its lock… and I finally take a breath.

  “Feels better, doesn’t it? Not being so contained?”

  The shadowy stubble on Lukas’s face is darker than the evening’s hour. Flecks of golden light frame the handsome face that is mere inches from my own.

  I bite my lip in frustration.

  “Yes,” I whisper—at a loss for many words. “Much better now.”

  The words are no more than a sigh, softer than a gasp. They come out too breathy, and by the time my teeth meet my bottom lip, I know I’m in trouble.

  I resist the urge to close my eyes, hoping to stave off what will happen if I do.

  It’s a complete failure.

  Because it happens, anyway.

  Lukas bows his head into mine, and our lips connect, pressing against one another in the softest of kisses.

  In fact, it can barely be described as a kiss.

  The interaction is wrought with hesitation, reticence that comes from both sides.

  Lukas is tasting me—testing me. I know he’s holding back to see what I want.

  And I do want him. I do.

  But I’m still towing the edge….

  I’m circumventing the cliff, attempting desperately not to dive.

  Still… Lukas isn’t a man who takes what he wants. He’s a fisherman, dangling irresistible bait.

  His entire objective?

  To make you want to give into him.

  He’s a player of all players, one who doesn’t put his cards on the table unless he knows he controls the game.

  It’s not enough for him to simply win.

  He must make you happy to lose—draw you so far into him that the only success seemingly possible is his.

  Ultimately, you end up folding to him—and you do it with a smile on your surrendering face.

&
nbsp; I’ve never met anyone like him… and I wonder if I was simply outmatched from the start.

  “Is this better?” he asks.

  He brushes a thumb across a sensitive nipple, and I gasp out loud.

  “Yes,” I answer on a whimper.

  “Is this better?”

  He cups my entire breast with his hand, working the pad of his digit around my areola, circling and circling until the sensations at my nub pool at my core, creating a flutter in my belly that sinks to my sex.

  “Mmm, yesss,” I hiss.

  “How about this?”

  As Lukas’s mouth moves across mine, so does his hand. He traces the hand that was at my breast to my collar, the surface of his slightly coarse palm blazing a heated trail as the friction between our skin grows warm—made even hotter by the rhythm of my frantically beating heart beneath the surface of my chest.

  With softly leathered fingers, he feathers touches against the bare skin of my plunging dress, sliding a careful palm against my humidity-slicked skin—skin that is made salty by coastline winds and tiny slivers of briny but desire-induced sweat.

  His digits descend, stretching towards the meeting of my thighs, where he presses the full weight of his hand—cupping my soaking mound through the blackened fabric.

  I groan as his finger inches towards my clit and rubs it; the groans turn into whimpers as Lukas strokes the length of my slit, caressing the enlarged pink peak between my legs until I can’t remember my own name.

  My voice is high-pitched—breathy, just as Lukas said, and it is not long before he starts to laugh softly, his playful noises mingling with my own lust-filled ones.

  Damn that frustrating laugh.

  It is the sound that the poker player makes when the royal flush falls into his hands—the sound the chess master makes when he sees that the Queen is in peril.

  Translation?

  I’ve lost…

  And Lukas knows it.

  His low chuckle is a sign of triumph—a signal of victory over my inevitable submission to him.

  I spread my legs wider, predictably reveling in my defeat.

  Ringggggg!

  “Shit!”

  Lukas pulls away from me.

  He reaches towards his front pants pocket where he retrieves his ringing IPhone. He touches a button on its flashing screen, sounding off a few extra expletives before placing it at his ear.

  “Henry,” he grunts.

  “Where the hell are you?” I hear from the other end of the phone.

  “I gave you the signal,” the voice says. “I waited an extra fifteen seconds. I even flashed you.

  “Nothing.

  “I had to take off.”

  Lukas squeezes the phone even tighter.

  “Where’d you go?” he asks.

  “I went after him, of course,” the masculine voice on the phone responds heatedly. “Sears just left the hotel…”

  Russian Roulette

  Play the game for more than you can afford to lose... only then will you learn the game.

  —Winston Churchill

  Day 3—8:44PM

  Clearwater Beach Hilton

  LUKAS.

  Shit.

  I am fucked.

  I am so fucked.

  I am indescribably, unimaginably, undeniably fucked.

  And it’s all because I can’t keep my goddamned hands off Elena.

  It’s becoming a pattern now.

  It seems every time I get preoccupied with exploring her body, something momentous happens.

  Another reminder from the universe that nothing good can come from getting caught up with a woman whose body has been sculpted by God’s own immaculate hands.

  With Elena, I’m in real trouble… because it is that very body that drives me to extreme distraction.

  I forget myself.

  I forget who I’ve always been.

  And I’m not sure I like it.

  With Sears out of the hotel and Henry on his tail, there seems nothing left to do but to wait.

  But with Sears’ hotel room number burning a hole in my pocket and frustration burning an even bigger one in my chest, waiting is the last fucking thing I want to do.

  And the insipid thought of not taking action is driving me insane—making me feel useless in a situation that may have been all my fault…

  I can’t stay here in this car.

  I place my phone back in my pocket after my PI’s phone call. I straighten my white collared shirt, reaching in the backseat for my suit jacket before putting it on.

  I remove the keys from the ignition, pocketing them.

  Elena reaches for my arm.

  “Wait...” she exclaims. “Where are you going?”

  “Inside,” I grunt. “I’m going to take care of a few things.”

  She squints her eyes curiously at me.

  “How are you going to do that? Sears left. There’s…”

  She stops.

  “Oh, I get it…” she continues thoughtfully. “You’re going to break into his room.”

  “I never said that.” I reach for my car door. “Stay here.”

  Her outburst is swift.

  “No,” Elena says brusquely. “I’m not staying here.”

  I turn, glowering at her.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No… I’m not.”

  She smoothes out her dress with determined hands.

  “You can’t just barge in there, you know,” she comments emphatically. “You’ll need a key and you’ll need help from someone at the front desk to get it.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “I know that,” I declare. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

  “You think you can just charm your way into Sears’s room?”

  “Trust me, I’ve charmed my way into tougher places.”

  Elena sighs, probably catching the double meaning.

  Hell, I’d managed to charm my way into the confines of her tight little body… and I don’t think there’s any place on this earth that’s harder to get into than that.

  I open my door, closing it swiftly behind me.

  “You need my help,” I hear muffled behind the window’s glass.

  I keep walking.

  “No,” I say to myself, heading for the Hilton door. “I’m not letting you get involved in this.”

  I stroll over the black, paved street. I hit the sidewalk, and shortly thereafter, I’m through the lobby door.

  I pull on the sleeves of my suit jacket, preparing to plead my case to whatever desk clerk may be behind the countertop, welcoming and checking in Hilton hotel guests.

  I turn the corner… and I pause, staring.

  They’re men.

  All of them—men.

  Not one single female receptionist in the lobby.

  There’s almost always at least one woman behind the desk, and tonight is the night they choose to make the lobby a sausage-fest?

  Fuck.

  And now they’re all looking at me.

  I approach the receptionist’s desk tentatively, trying to devise a plan before I plant my feet in front of the high-reaching granite counter.

  I walk slowly.

  But no such luck.

  I can’t think of a thing to say to these men to convince them to give me a key to someone else’s room.

  A sudden whoosh of air sounds behind me as another person enters through the double doors at the entrance.

  I start to say “Hello” to the employees at the desk when I recognize the clicking of familiar high-heeled shoes.

  “Hi there,” she says over my shoulder.

  Elena practically ignores me at first, beaming past me at the clerks behind the tall desk in front of us.

  She clasps a hand on my shoulder, and I nearly flinch, discombobulated by whatever game she’s decided to play.

  “Hey, bro,” she says to me. “You took off so fast that I didn’t have a chance to catch up with you. Damn these stupid heels,” she complains.

/>   She smiles then, evoking a chorus of white bright grins and “Hello, Miss’s” from the two men behind the counter.

  She turns her attention on them, and they shift excitedly on their feet, enchanted by the blonde, blue-eyed beauty that is shooting flirtatious looks in their direction.

  “Hi, gentlemen,” she greets. “We’re on our way to a very important black-tie event, and our other ridiculously irresponsible brother has forgotten our passes upstairs.

  “I mean, what good does this dress do if I can’t even get into the event?”

  Elena laughs, and the clerks join her, spreading their lips widely as they smile at her, falling head first into her beautiful and poised charm.

  “It does a lot of good, ma’am. It’s… you… you look fantastic,” one employee stammers.

  Elena bats her long eyelashes.

  “Why, thank you. I appreciate that. What I’d appreciate even more are those passes… but as you can see this dress has no pockets whatsoever.”

  She giggles, patting the fabric at her hips and waist.

  The men behind the desk follow her movements with their eyes, and they lean forward, almost hoping to get a better view.

  “It’s because of this darn dress that I lost my room key.”

  She pauses, nearly pouting.

  “Could I get another?”

  The two men behind the desk nearly fight for access to the computers.

  “Yes, ma’am… Right away, ma’am… Which room, ma’am?”

  Elena leans towards the counter.

  “It’s under the name Gregory Sears and the room number is…”

  She hesitates, and I slide the paper out of my pocket, sneaking it into her open palm, where she secretly reads Sears’s room number.

  “512,” she finishes with confidence.

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  They occupy themselves with a few other keystrokes and soon, they disappear to the back room, re-emerging shortly after with a burgundy key card in hand.

  The younger clerk passes it to Elena, forgetting about me entirely.

  “We usually charge for extra key cards, but for you, Miss? No charge.” He glances at the older Hilton employee. “We understand how these things can happen.”

  Elena fiddles with the card on the counter before taking her hands off of the surface.