Page 43 of How to Play the Player

He’s supposed to be the one struggling, not me. He’s not supposed to have the upper hand.

“If anyone’s going to lose this bet, sweetheart,” he continues, leaning in to where his lips are only a whisper from my ear, “it won’t be me.”

His breath travels down to my neck, making me shiver and exhale out a shaky breath involuntarily. “For someone who can’t keep his hands to himself, you seem pretty confident.” I manage to speak, proud of my comeback and how steady my voice sounds despite the emotional chaos on the inside. Ugh, how can I want him as far away from me as possible, yet want the exact opposite at the same time?

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. “Oh, I can keep my hands to myself just fine. The better question is”—hecaresses my forearm and hand—“can you resist wanting them on you?”

The air between us is charged. I can’t think straight. Somehow, the lines between us feel blurry as I’m painfully aware of every inch where our bodies nearly touch. To fill the last bit of distance between us would be so easy.

Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he traces the curve of my lower lip with his thumb. The touch is feather-light but sends an inferno down to my core. “Two weeks is a long time, Quinn,” he says, his voice velvet. “Especially when you want something this badly.”

Before I can formulate a clever retort, much less any kind of response, he pulls away completely. I feel disoriented as cool air rushes between us, and I remain against the trellis, trying to pull myself together.

Nathan looks at me with deliberate calm, but I immediately see the slight tension in his shoulders he does his best to hide. I see the controlled pattern of his breathing.

An advantage, perhaps?

“We should head back,” he says, his tone returning to professional detachment. “Jonathan and Kiera should be here soon.”

Pushing away from the column on unsteady legs, I realize I’ve underestimated him. I’ve forgotten how clever he could be. And he’s now single-handedly turned my own strategy against me. Tempting him will only encourage him to do the same to me.

I’m frustrated. Frustrated at myself for being so ill-prepared, for not having a backup plan. I have to think fast.

Obviously, he doesn’t mind playing dirty. Perhaps I should do the same.

Before I can say anything else, I hear Lyla and Sam in the distance coming closer.

I turn my attention to my bestie as she grabs my hand. “I just got a text from Jonathan. He and Kiera are still stuck in traffic. They probably won’t get here for another twenty minutes. While we wait, Sam wants to use stand-ins for lighting tests. Would you be okay doing that with Nathan?”

Ah-ha! A perfect opportunity has basically fallen into my lap. An opportunity that doesn’t just help me get back at him but also helps me to push his resistance even further. Thank you Lyla. “Sure, count us in.”

Nathan must’ve been listening, because then he turns his focus to me. “Stand-ins?” His eyebrows raise.

“It’s standard practice,” I explain. “The photographer needs to test compositions and lighting with people in frame.”

As if on cue, Sam appears, camera bag slung over his shoulder, and Lyla grabs a reflector panel from him. “This arbor is exactly what I was hoping for!” he calls out, already framing shots with his hands. “Quinn, Nathan—thank you for doing this while I test some lighting setups. It shouldn’t take long at all.”

Sam directs us under the trellis moments later, positioning Nathan slightly behind me, his chest nearly touching my back. “Perfect! Now, Nathan, if you could just place your hands lightly on her waist—yes, like that.”

Nathan’s large hands settle on my waist. His touch has my heart racing all over again. But I force myself to remain composed even as my skin heats beneath his fingers.

“Quinn, lean back slightly—I want to catch how the light falls across your profiles when you’re close.”

I follow Sam’s direction, allowing my body to rest slightly against Nathan’s solid frame. His breath hitches audibly near my ear. I feel a sense of satisfaction from his struggling, but I’m too distracted by our closeness to really enjoy my victory.

“Now turn toward each other as if you’re about to kiss,” Sam instructs, adjusting his camera settings. “Not actually kissing—just that moment of anticipation.”

I pivot slowly in Nathan’s arms until we’re face-to-face, my hands resting lightly on his chest. His eyes lock with mine as I tilt my face upward.

I didn’t notice until now, the bags under his eyes. “You okay?”

He looks surprised by my sudden concern. “Fine. Why?”

“You look tired.”

“Had a long night,” he replies bluntly.

“Oh,” I nod. “Sorry to hear that.”

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