Page 1 of Wicked Games We Play

PROLOGUE

The gold shine of my badge looked dull in the darkness as it bounced into the air when my fist connected with the table; everything on the dark cherry wood sent scattering in disarray. We have been playing this game on and off for over ten years, and I am growing tired of it. I am ready to take the queen. Check-fucking-mate, it’s my turn to win.

I’ve always been sitting in the shadows, waiting. Watching her from afar and biding my time. Now, it’s my turn.

She’s mine.

She’s always been mine, but I was man enough to know that before she could fully be mine, she had to behis.

I stepped aside, gave up the fight, and walked away from her the moment she told me she was pregnant.

The baby wasn’t mine, and Lily was the type of girl—no, the type ofwoman, who was fiercely loyal. That ferocity amplified for the unborn fetus she had been carrying, and more so when her son was born. So, for the last ten years, I had been sitting idly and patiently waiting while she played house withhim.

I have, of course, been asserting myself into her life from time to time, always leaving the door cracked, but she never took the bait.

Like I said, she was fiercely loyal.

I knew “‘til death do us part” was a vow she was unwilling to break, and I was a man of integrity. I would never actually want her to break that vow, but I still couldn’t pull myself away from the memory of her, which made the temptation all too sweet.

As the thunder rolled viciously and the whiskey warmed my chest, I found myself unable to resist the urge to ruffle her feathers.

What I wasn’t expecting was the message that she sent back, ruffling mine more.

CHAPTERONE

Taunting him was a game that I had become all too good at playing, although neither of us ended up being a winner when we played it.

Our game was frustrating, heart-wrenching, and wicked, but one I couldn’t force myself to walk away from. He exhilarated me, made me feel like I was more than just someone’s mother. He looked at me like I was his every fantasy, a thought that both lifted me up and broke me down.

I had spent years of my life with prickles of awareness coating my body, feeling that he was close by. I’d catch glimpses of him around the city, patrolling while on duty, looking impossibly gorgeous in his uniform. He’d ignore me and I’d ignore him, until one of us caved and texted the other. It was always innocent, until my divorce papers had been finalized.

Our game had never drifted over that line— the one I drew when I found out I was pregnant at seventeen. My high school boyfriend proposed out of obligation, and I said yes, out of obligation. That was when I took the biggest stick I could and created the barrier between us: an invisible guardrail that kept me firmly in my lane and him in his.

And then my divorce happened nearly ten years later.

Suddenly, there was a rift in the line, and I couldn’t help but toe at the edge. It piqued my curiosity. I quickly learned that Noah was an easy man to rile up, and that I enjoyed the glint in his eye—the one that bordered on anger and lust. But if there was anything that I had learned after growing alongside of my child and being in a marriage of convenience for ten years, it was that I needed time to learn who I was.

My life had revolved around my son and my ex-husband for so long that I had no idea who Lily truly was. I was far past due on living my life and paving my own way in this world, and there was no way I was going to tie myself down to any man again so soon, regardless of how tempting he was.

He was determined to play for keeps, and I was determined to just play.

On the nights that my son was with his father, I intended on playing the field and enjoying what I had left of my twenties, which wasn’t much, and maybe even experiencing what it was like to go through a “ho phase.”

If that “ho phase” included teasing a certain man who has always sparked my interest, then so be it. I was throwing the match into the gas tank and seeing how it exploded. I’d either get burned, or high on the adrenaline.

We always did enjoy our games.

* * *

Pullingmy phone out of my pocket, I slid my thumb across the screen until I found his name. I stilled, contemplating my next move.

Looking down at my attire, I pursed my lips, deciding if I could make what I was wearing work. Tugging on the hem of my v-neck tee shirt, I reached into the cup of my bra and pulled my breast up, before repeating the movement on the other side. The girls were now on full display, cleavage pushed together in just the right amount. I wasn’t particularly busty, but I could work with what I had, especially with the help of Victoria’s Secret push-up bras. Angling my phone downward and adjusting my body slightly to hide the pooch of my stomach, I snapped a photo of my breasts, analyzing it before clicking the send button. No text, just the photo—that was our current game.

We had been exchanging text messages here and there for several weeks; the content getting steamier as time went on. I couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that hit every time I clicked send and the anticipation that grew while I awaited his reply. Sometimes he only had me waiting a few seconds, while other times I waited days. So, I did the same, matching him tit for tat.

The months that followed my divorce had been some of the most confusing, yet easiest, of my life. I had loved my husband, but I hadn’t been in love with him for several years. The fiery spark that I held for him before I got pregnant had been long gone.

He had been so adamant about doing the right thing by me and our son that I didn’t fight him when he proposed. Instead, I gritted my teeth and watched my world spin out of control.

---