Page 36 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
“OK. We’ll pretend you didn’t say it. Please ignore the churro in my pants, because he’s not quite as good at pretending as we are.”
My gaze involuntarily drops to Parker’s crotch. And there, in all its glory, is one large and determined-looking bulge.
“I just said ignore it, Victoria, not stare at it. Show some mercy, woman.”
I press my lips together to keep from smiling. Mercy is the one thing he’ll never get from me.
Gazing up at him, I capture his thumb lightly between my teeth and nip it playfully. “I can’t help it. Remember I told you how much I love churros? Your churro looks particularly big and yummy.”
He exhales, hard. “Jesus. I can’t decide if I should laugh, kiss you, or bend you over the counter and have my way with you. That was just evil.”
I giggle. “Evil’s my specialty. You’ve been warned.”
He clasps my face in his hands and plants a firm, potent kiss on my mouth. In a husky voice he says, “If we’re going to dinner, we better get to it, because we’ve got only about thirty seconds left before Mr. Big Yummy Churro takes control of the rest of my body and I rip off your dress. With my teeth.”
That’s as blatant a proposition as I’ve ever heard. I’m thrilled he’s so affected by me.
I’m far less thrilled by how affected I am by him.
But if there’s anything life has taught me, it’s that every worthy endeavor is difficult, challenging, and usually painful. Nothing truly valuable comes easy. A battle easily won is no battle at all.
And we are at war, he and I. Blood will be shed. By the end of it, we’ll both bleed.
But he’s the only one who will be dead.
I stand on my tiptoes, brush my breasts against his chest, and whisper in his ear, “Let’s go have dinner, then. I’m hungry. But maybe we’ll save the dress-ripping for dessert.”
I turn and walk away, leaving him standing in the kitchen, chuckling to himself and muttering, “So goddamn evil.”
Oh Mr. Maxwell, I think, smiling, you really have no idea.
* * *
“So, where are you taking me?”
Parker, who’s spent more time with his eyes on my legs than the road, says, “You’ll see. We’re almost there.”
We’re in his sleek black Porsche Panamera, which smells like money. On the way down in the elevator in my building, he held my hand. He held it all the way through the lobby and out to the valet, until he had to release it in order to drive.
“Oh, a surprise. I love surprises.”
He smiles. “I’ll remember that. Right—we’re here.”
We slow to a stop at a curb. When I look out the window, I really am surprised. We’re at Xengu, which, by the looks of it, is deserted.
“It looks closed.”
When I turn back to Parker, he’s grinning. “I said we were going someplace quiet, didn’t I?”
Now I’m really confused. “Your restaurant is closed on Friday nights? Isn’t that the busiest night of the week for you?”
“No, we’re open on Friday nights, just not this Friday night. I canceled all the reservations. All seven hundred of them.”
My mouth is open, but no sound comes out.
Parker’s grin grows blinding. “Which was totally worth it just to see that look on your face.”
“Parker…I’m…that’s…wow.”
