Page 24 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
Heat rises in my cheeks. I’m embarrassed I told him Miles was a mistake. It was the truth, albeit calculated, aimed at trying to get him to feel sorry for me, but now I feel exposed by it. I feel the most awful, terrifying thing in the world, something I never thought I’d feel again:
Vulnerable.
Seeing my discomfort, his look sharpens. “I’m not judging you. I know it’s harder for a woman than a man…especially one as famous as you, as successful… It can’t be easy for you to have a relationship…”
When I blink, surprised in equal parts that he’s being not only nonjudgmental but also understanding, he sighs and shakes his head.
“Jesus, I’m fucking this up. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to throw that in your face. Sometimes I open my mouth without thinking.”
“Well, I envy you that. I can’t remember the last time I spoke without thinking.”
I pause, shocked. Actually, I can remember, because I just did.
Parker looks at me for a long, silent moment, and then murmurs, “So she can tell the truth, after all.”
A feeling starts in my stomach, slow to spread at first, then going everywhere at once. Part dread, part astonishment, part pure, unadulterated joy, it makes all my limbs feel weightless, and my heart beat a million miles per hour.
I have just been seen. Not looked at, but seen.
I glance away, desperate to regain control of myself, desperate to hide. Parker slows, and then stops, until we’re standing still in the middle of a sea of dancing people. When he takes my face in his hands, it’s so unexpected I freeze.
In a voice unaccountably raw and dark he says, “You don’t have to hide from me.” His gaze drops to my mouth. He bends his head toward mine.
Oh God. What’s happening?
He’s kissing me. I’m being kissed by the man I hate more than anyone else on the planet, and holy fuck does it feel good.
It feels so good I break away, breathless, and tuck my face in the space between his neck and shoulder. I smell him, skin and musk and a hint of spicy cologne, the scent of memory.
The scent of a long-lost home.
One second or a hundred years later, I hear a flurry of fast mechanical clicking. Light flashes beneath my closed lids. When I open my eyes and look around, I’m staring at a group of photographers.
I come back to myself as if a bucket of ice water has been dumped over my head.
I jerk out of Parker’s arms. He simply stares at me, his eyes shining. The cameras sound like gunfire. The photographers jostle and swarm. I do the only thing I can think of.
I slap his face. Hard.
Then I turn and walk stiffly off the dance floor, managing not to break into a flat-out run, but only just.
EIGHT
Playboy and Ice Princess Take Off Gloves at Charity Gala
Friday evening at Cipriani, the Muscular Dystrophy Association’s annual fundraising gala was held. In past years the event has hosted some colorful entertainment, but nothing compares to this year’s fireworks show provided by Victoria Price and Parker Maxwell. Guests were shocked when Mr. Maxwell shoved Miles Campbell, CEO of Global Oil, and sent him tumbling to the floor after apparently exchanging heated words with Ms. Price. They were even more shocked when Ms. Price later shared a passionate kiss with Mr. Maxwell in the middle of the dance floor¸ and then slapped him across the face.
No word yet if Mr. Campbell will be filing charges for assault, but this unlikely love triangle has everyone’s tongues wagging, and our editors at the Post salivating for more.
As it’s been doing for the past several hours, the phone on my desk is ringing. As I’ve been doing for the past several hours, I ignore it. I toss the newspaper aside and lean back in my chair. The beginning of a monster headache pounds at the base of my skull.
It’s Sunday morning, and the shit has just hit the fan.
Tabby hands me a much-needed mug of coffee. “I told you it was bad. I’ve already fielded calls from your literary agent, four of your clients, and TMZ.”
I sip the hot liquid gratefully for a moment, and then sigh. “It’s not really bad until my mother calls.”
Tabby perches on the edge of the desk, swinging one long leg back and forth. “Maybe she won’t see it.”
