Page 106 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
“Good. We’ll eat on the lanai.” He peers out the window. “Looks like we have a while before the storm hits.”
I follow his gaze, my brow wrinkling. Those clouds on the horizon now look a lot more sinister. “Storm? I thought summer was hurricane season?”
The devastating smile makes an encore. Parker moves closer to me, reaching out to brush his fingers along my cheekbone. “Don’t tell me the Queen B is afraid of a little thunder and lightning.”
I look up at him, feeling my heartbeat kick up a notch, noting the mischief in his eyes, along with a deep, surprising tenderness. The tenderness in his caress is surprising, too; there’s an unexpected protectiveness in the way he strokes my skin. It’s almost paternal, as if he’s both proud of and worried about me.
All things considered, it’s highly suspicious.
“No more than the next girl standing on the highest spot on land during an electrical storm.”
I hold still as he moves closer, takes my wine and sets it on the counter, snakes an arm around my waist, and pulls me against him. He cups the back of my neck and lowers his head so our foreheads are touching. “I’ll never let anything hurt you, Victoria, no matter how bad the weather gets.”
There’s something unequivocal in his voice, something clear and absolute, like a promise.
Like a vow.
“Parker—”
He doesn’t let me finish. He takes my mouth in a kiss that sends a flame roaring along my nerve endings, head to toe. I inhale, arching against him, taking his scent into my lungs, feeling the strength and heat of him against my body, feeling my resistance crumble.
Why? Why with him? Of all the men in all the world, why does my body burn for this one, ache for this one, want this one with a ravenous desire that borders on greed?
Well, you dumb cow, it could be the fact that he’s the only man you’ve ever loved.
The thought sends a bolt of pure terror through me. I jerk out of Parker’s arms.
“Whoa,” he says softly, watching my face as I settle a few feet away, trembling and pale. “Easy, tiger. What just happened?”
I close my eyes and moisten my lips, determined my heart will not fail me now and explode like it’s threatening to. “I…sometimes you…we…”
I can’t find the words. I drop my face into my hands, and groan.
Then his hands are on me. He gathers me into his arms, tucks my head into his shoulder, rocks me gently, and whispers, “I know. It’s overwhelming for me, too.”
Inside my head, a bell rings. It’s the opening bell for the final round of the heavyweight title fight between my mind—a ruthless savage—and my broken, senseless, longing heart. A heart I was convinced was dead and buried until Parker Maxwell walked back into my life and resurrected the pathetic, ragged shreds of it.
I’ve been without hope for so long, without love for so long, shunning all but the most casual of encounters for so long—insert tab A into slot B, run like hell, repeat—that this banquet of emotion Parker is feeding me has set every circuit to overload. One minute I’m cool, calm, in control…and the next I’m exploding like the fireworks finale on the Fourth of July.
Into his chest, I whisper, “I hate that you make me so weak.”
A little tremor goes through his body. “There’s strength in surrender.”
“There’s destruction in surrender.”
His voice comes out husky, rough with emotion. “It’s not a zero-sum game, Victoria. If we both surrender, it’s a win-win.”
I pull away from him again and stand near the big stainless steel refrigerator with my fists balled, my chest heaving. I say bitterly, “There’s no such thing as win-win. Someone wins and someone loses. Anyone who thinks differently is a child.”
“Or in love,” he replies, his voice soft.
I inhale sharply. His words reverberate through me like a gong. I whisper, “Don’t.”
He stands motionless. His beautiful mouth takes on a hard slant. “Remember where we are, sweetheart: Casa de la Verdad. This is a no-bullshit zone.”
His eyes dare me to contradict him, but we both know I can’t. Even if my lips aren’t speaking the words, my body tells him exactly how I feel about him every single time he touches me. So I do the only thing I can: turn my back to him, wrap my arms around myself, and change the subject.
“I think I’ll freshen up while you cook, if you don’t mind.”
