Page 8 of Wicked Games

Helplessly, I gestured to my hair. “I mean, I like to put my hair in ponytails,” I explained lamely.

Shut up! Shut up!

He smirked.

It was the closest thing to a smile I thought I would ever get from the man.

Taking a step closer, he reached over both of my shoulders and took two fistfuls of hair, mimicking ponytails.

Unable to suppress a soft mewing sound, I tried to focus on what was happening but my mind was too fuzzy from his overwhelming presence… from his touch.

Using his grip on my hair, he tugged me forward. Inhaling the spicy scent of his cologne, I could almost imagine feeling the heat radiating from his body.

“Look at me, Elizabeth,” he commanded. His voice dark and deep.

“Lizzie,” I corrected without thought, completely out of habit. My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe I had just corrected him. Instinctively I felt that was something people just didn’t do around this man. If he said the sky were purple with pink spots, I’m pretty sure everyone would agree wholeheartedly… and worse, actually believe it. He just seemed to exude that kind of authoritative power. The kind that could make you believe just about anything he said.

He gave my hair a painful tug with both hands. “Elizabeth,” he stated emphatically, as if he were a god or a king commanding it be so.

“I left a package in your dressing room. It’s a dress. I want you to wear it tonight.”

Tonight was the cast party. It was taking place right after our final curtain call. I had no idea he was even attending.

Wait, a dress?

“The party is at The Brewery next door. I don’t think the cast party is that formal,” I offered, still trying to process why this man would buy me a dress. Realizing quickly that I might sound ungrateful, I stammered, “Not that I don’t appreciate it… I mean I’m sure it’s lovely and?—”

“Elizabeth.”

The sharp command of his voice stopped my rambling.

“Yes, sir?”

“Wear the dress,” he ordered, not expecting a refusal and not getting one.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

Releasing my hair, he stroked the backs of his knuckles down my cheek. “Good girl.”

The moment I heard the Hall door close on his retreating back, I sank to my knees in the middle of the stage, feeling shaken and more than a little alarmed.

What the hell had just happened?

CHAPTER 3

LIZZIE

Icouldn’t shake the feeling I had just been chosen for something… but what?

“What does it look like?” whispered Jane.

“What?” I asked.

“Shhh,” admonished Sally.

Sally Jennings was our always overworked, stressed-out stage manager. Our best guess was she was in her mid-forties but looked like she was in her fifties. You always heard her coming from the jangle of keys she kept on a ring attached to her belt. That and the constant cloud of cigarette smoke that enveloped her like cheap perfume.

“Sorry, Sally,” we whispered in unison.

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