Page 62 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
NINETEEN
Parker lives in an ultra-modern, brand-new skyscraper on Park Avenue. The building itself looks like something out of a movie about New York in the year 2300, all sharp points, odd angles and glittering glass, reminiscent of a giant icicle.
No wonder I like it.
It’s two minutes to ten. I’ve been home, changed out of the pornographic slit dress and into a more comfortable skirt and blouse, and gotten an update from Tabby about Marie-Thérèse. Apparently she’s the spawn of the late Alain Gérard and his fourth wife, a model who was thirty years younger than he. When Parker lived with Gérard, Marie-Thérèse was all of ten years old. They stayed close when he returned to the States, so close that he’ll be walking her down the aisle at her wedding in September.
Which means he was telling the truth. She is like his little sister.
Which means I was needlessly, stupidly jealous, but even worse—Parker knew it.
And rubbed it in my face.
I admit I probably deserved it, but that’s not the point. The point is that I experienced the feeling in the first place, that my enemy correctly guessed I was experiencing that feeling, and that he proceeded to not only call me on it but also twist the knife a little deeper when he brought her up on stage with him, knowing it would infuriate me.
In other words, the son of a bitch played me.
He didn’t let me dangle for long. He gave her a brotherly forehead kiss and said they were like siblings.
But I refuse to give him credit for gently playing me. I could tell by the look on his face he was having fun at my expense.
He enjoyed my jealousy.
The more I thought about that, the more furious I became.
I march into the lobby of the building and approach the smiling young man at the front desk. In my best sword-wielding Xena voice, I bark, “My name is Victoria Price and I’m here to see—”
“Yes, Ms. Price. You can go right up. Mr. Maxwell is expecting you.”
He gestures to the elevator bank. His smile never wavers, even when I narrow my eyes at him.
This guy is good.
I turn and walk stiffly to the elevators. The fortieth floor is already selected. The elevator doesn’t go higher. On the ride up, I pace inside the car like a caged animal, imagining every nasty thing I’m going to say to Parker.
When the elevator doors open, he’s standing right there, barefoot, in jeans and a black T-shirt, breathtakingly handsome…and smirking. He looks at his watch.
“Exactly ten o’clock. Your punctuality is a compliment, Ms. Price. Just couldn’t keep away one moment longer?”
“Don’t you dare smirk at me, you smug bastard! I have half a mind to—”
He steps inside the elevator, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me.
It catches me completely off guard. I freeze, caught between anger and pleasure. Then heat explodes inside me like a bomb.
I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back.
He pushes me against the elevator wall and pins me there, devouring my mouth, his tongue invading, his hands gripping my head. I’ve never had a kiss like this in my life. We’re both ravenous, insatiable, blind with lust. We don’t break for air until an alarm rings—it’s the elevator, buzzing for someone to select a floor.
Without a word, Parker swings me into his arms. I hang onto his broad shoulders as he strides from the elevator into the dark silence of his home. Floor-to-ceiling windows spectacularly display the cityscape glittering outside and give enough light to show the modern furnishings. We move into the living room, passing a grand piano, and continue past a large, open kitchen.
“Where are you taking me?” I whisper.
“Bedroom.”
The need in his voice gives me chills.
I could object. I don’t. I could tell myself it’s because I know exactly what I came here to do, which is snoop and sneak until I find his ruinous secrets, but I’d be lying.
