Page 81 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
In less than ten minutes, Parker pulls up in front of the entrance to the Hyatt. I’m waiting impatiently by the bell desk, trying to fend off the advances of a drunk businessman in a plaid jacket who followed Darcy and me from the bar. He’s made it clear that she was his first choice, but as she’s already left, I’m an acceptable second.
Needless to say, I jump into Parker’s car as if a fire’s been lit under my ass.
“You OK?” he asks, glancing around me. When he sees Parker’s look, the businessman turns and lurches back toward the revolving doors of the hotel.
“I’m fine. He was harmless.”
As we pull away into traffic, I notice Parker’s jaw is clenched almost as tightly as his hands are around the steering wheel. “Are you OK?”
He shoots a glance in my direction. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
There’s something in his tone that sounds an alarm bell in my head.
I’ve lived with this particular alarm bell for as long as I can remember. It was worse in the beginning, when I first moved to New York and was newly famous after my book became a bestseller. In those days I was certain that I was just about to be discovered, that any minute some reporter would break the story that everything from my degree from Stanford to my name was a lie. But after a few years, when no fingers were pointed, when no one called my bluff, I began to accept that the work Dooney had done to create Victoria Price was enough to protect me forever.
But even the most solid wall of stone has its cracks. Better to apply a little fresh mortar now than risk the whole thing crumbling later.
I rest my hand on Parker’s arm. “What is it? Tell me.”
He glances at me again, his sidelong gaze piercing. He drops his gaze to my hand, and then he looks straight ahead. Beneath my fingers, his arm muscles tense. “Sorry. I’m just tired. It was a bad night.”
I know a lie when I hear one. My heart begins to thump. My mouth goes dry. In the pit of my stomach, a churning ball of acid forms.
What’s he found out?
Parker drives fast and erratically. He narrowly misses several pedestrians, almost side-swipes a bus, blows through two yellow lights as they turn red. By the time we arrive at his building, I’m so tense my lower back aches. The valet takes the car. Parker silently guides me through the lobby and into the elevator.
As soon as the doors close behind us, he pulls me against his chest and kisses me. It’s rough, edged with desperation, and takes my breath away.
“Parker—”
He growls, “Don’t talk unless you’re going to tell the truth.”
Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!
He definitely knows something. I think of that missed call from Tabby and feel the first stirrings of panic deep in my gut.
The panic deepens when I realize I left my handbag in his car. Shit! There’s no way I can sneak to the bathroom for a quick call before this gets too far out of hand. I’m flying totally blind.
Parker kisses me again. I feel the tension in his kiss. Even as my body warms, feeling his heat and strength against me, my brain goes a million miles an hour. If he’s found out about me, he could ruin me before I get the chance to ruin him. He could expose me to the world as a liar, a figment of my own imagination, and I could lose it all!
But then he wouldn’t be kissing me. It can’t be the worst-case scenario.
He breaks away. His lashes lift, and he pins me in his knowing stare. “So. What do you have to say? What truths do you have for me tonight, Victoria?”
Oh God. He’s not giving me anything! How can I find out what he knows before I answer?
Then it strikes me—the best way to catch a snake is in a snare.
And just like that, because lying is as easy to me as drawing a breath, I say, “Any truth you want. Ask me anything you want and I’ll tell you.”
It catches him off guard. He was expecting evasion, not an invitation. But he’s not so easy to trap. He turns the tables on me so fast I’m stunned.
“OK. Tell me how you feel about me.”
I gape at him. “How I…feel about you?”
He nods. His eyes blister me. A million emotions careen through my body. A million words flash through my mind. All my ready lies go up in smoke.
