These Games We Play

Chapter Eighteen: Bubble bath

The solarium was an enormous room with a domed glass ceiling and glass walls. Jameson stood in the centre, bathed in light and staring up at the dome overhead. Like the first time I'd met him, he was shirtless. Also like the first time I'd met him, he was drunk. Grayson was nowhere to be seen.

"What's the occasion?" I asked, nodding to a nearby bottle of bourbon. "Westbrook, Davenport, Winchester, Blackwood." Jameson rattled the names off, one by one. "Tell me, Heiress, what do you make of that?"

"They're all last names," I said cautiously. I paused and then decided why the hell not. "Your fathers'?"

"Skye doesn't talk about our fathers," Jameson replied, his voice a little hoarse. "As far as she's concerned, it's an Athena-Zeus type of situation. We're hers and hers alone." I bit my lip.

"She told me that she had four lovely conversations..."

"With four lovely men," Jameson finished. "But lovely enough for her to ever see them again? To tell us the first thing about them?" His voice was harder now. "She's never so much as answered a question about our damned middle names, and that"-he picked the bourbon up off the ground and took a swig-"is why I'm drinking." He held the bottle out for me, and I took if. After I did, he closed his eyes, standing in the sun a moment longer, his arms spread wide. For the second time, I noticed the scar that ran the length of his torso. Noticed each breath he took. Nope not happening. I took my own swig of the bourbon, draining the bottle if I was going to be dealing with him and Skye, I needed it.

"Shall we go?" His eyes opened. His arms dropped. He came over to me and grabbed my hand and the bourbon

"Go where?" I asked, so physically aware of his hand in mine that it hurt. He is a bad idea I kept reminding myself. A very attractive bad idea.

"Come now, Heiress.You're better than that." I was better than that he liked playing games and making me answer my own questions. God, he was annoying.

"We're going to see your mother."

☆☆☆☆

He took me through the coat closet in the foyer. This time, I paid close attention to the sequence of panels on the wall that released the door. Following Jameson to the back of the closet, pushing past the coats that hung there, I willed my eyes to adjust to the dark so that I could see what he did next. He touched something. Pulled it? I couldn't make out what. The next thing I knew, I heard gears turning, and the back wall of the closet slid sideways. If the closet was dark, what lay beyond was even darker.

"Step where I step, Mystery Girl. And watch your head." Jameson used his cell phone to light the way. I got the distinct feeling that was for my benefit. Despite the fact his hand was still in mine I did follow his steps carefully. He knew the twists and turns of these hidden hallways. We walked in silence for five minutes before he stopped and peeked through what I could only assume was a peephole.

"Coast is clear." Jameson didn't specify what it was clear of. "Do you trust me?" I was standing in a phone-lit passageway, close enough to feel his body's heat on mine.

"Absolutely not." That was a lie, I trusted him a lot more than I wanted to admit.

"Good." He pulled me closer. "Hold on."

My arms curved around him, and the ground beneath our feet began to move. The wall beside us was rotating, and we were rotating with it, my body pressed flat against his. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne's. The motion stopped, and I stepped back. Despite everything in me screaming not too. He was a bad idea and we were here for a reason. Which had nothing to do with how well my body fit against his. Which if the past moment was any indication, it fit very well.