Play My Game Read online

  Hopefully the proper moment for Le Caquelon isn't tomorrow night.

  Still, even if it is, we'll have had a lovely dinner tonight, not to mention visiting another stop on our own personal memory lane.

  That's what Damien is doing, of course. Each clue leads to something or someplace that has meaning for us. The bakery where we got our wedding cake. This restaurant, where he took me after Blaine finished painting the portrait of me that hangs on the third floor and where we had our pre-wedding party.

  I wonder what the next clue will be, and as I think back over the richness of our time together, I can't help but acknowledge that there is a wealth of possibilities.

  "Smiling, Mrs. Stark?"

  "I like your game," I admit.

  He doesn't have time to answer before the elevator doors open, but I see his smile of pleasure as he takes my arm and leads me to the stunning aquarium that serves as a maitre d' station.

  The hostess, Monica, beams at us, her multicolored hair complementing the wild colors that fill this space. "Mr. and Mrs. Stark, it's so wonderful to see you again. I have your booth ready, so if you'll just follow me."

  "Our booth?" It occurs to me that Damien assumed I would make it this far tonight and has planned ahead. He, however, says nothing.

  The booth that Monica leads us to is, in fact, our booth. It's the very one that Damien brought me to the night that Blaine finished my portrait. And I happen to know that it is very well soundproofed.

  These private dining areas are set up like tiny rooms. Each is a booth, with walls at the diners' backs and a door at one end of the table and a window overlooking the ocean at the other. Access is controlled by a red light/green light system, and when the red light is engaged, privacy is ensured.

  The area is not entirely a booth, though. If you slide all the way through, there is a small space between the table and the window that is sufficient for standing. I look at it now, remembering the way it felt to be pressed up against that glass with Damien's hands upon me.

  I shiver slightly, and when Damien's hand presses lightly against the small of my back, I am certain that he knows exactly what I am thinking.

  I tilt my head up to look at him. "Even if I'm wrong and there's no clue here, it's worth it just to be back."

  His smile is soft with silent agreement, but I can't tell from his expression if this really is the right answer to the clue, and I resign myself to taking it in stride and simply going with the flow of the game. If this is where the next clue is hidden, sooner or later that will be obvious.

  And if it's not?

  Well, I'll just have to keep trying.

  I slide into the booth, and Damien settles beside me. Monica tells us that the owner, Damien's childhood friend Alaine Beauchene, isn't on the premises tonight, but that he has taken the liberty of ordering for us, if that's okay.

  It is, of course, and when our waiter returns with the wine Alaine selected, I take a sip and sigh with pleasure.

  The tabletop is also a cook surface, and soon enough it is topped with a pretty copper fondue bowl filled with melted cheese, the delicious scent of which fills the room and makes me realize just how hungry I am.

  Damien spears a cube of bread and dips it in the cheese, then blows on it before feeding it to me.

  I am at his side, our legs touching, because I do not think that it is possible for me to be so close to Damien and not touch him. I shift a bit though, so that I am facing him more directly, and we touch and talk and eat, with Damien feeding both himself and me.

  As we finish the cheese and move on to cubes of steak and pork in a fragrant port sauce, he tells me about the progress on Stark Plaza, a Century City office and retail complex that Stark Real Estate Development is working on. I fill him in on my progress with several apps I have in development, and with the details about a tech conference I'm hoping to attend in the summer.

  The talk of trips reminds him that he may need to travel to New York soon to meet with the new production manager at one of his subsidiaries, and he promises that if I take the time to go with him, he'll take me to at least one Broadway play.

  I let him know in no uncertain terms that I will travel anywhere with him, play or no, and then give him the general rundown on my to-do list, most of which can be done on the road with a laptop.

  It's comfortable. It's normal.

  Hell, it's even married--and I love this cozy familiarity and affection.

  But none of it is bringing me any closer to figuring out what the next clue is, though I am absolutely certain that it is hidden here somewhere. All I have to do is figure out where.

  My frustration has spiked by the time the waiter clears the table of the main course, and I decide that it's time to get more aggressive in my search. I slide down and look under the table, then hear Damien's amused, "Now, that has all sorts of interesting possibilities."

  "I'm checking for a hidden package," I confess as I scan the area for envelopes taped to the bottom of the table.

  "I'm not saying a word," Damien says, and as I ease back out from under the table, I see the way his mouth twitches with amusement.

  I roll my eyes, realizing my unintended double entendre, then cup my hand over his crotch. "Well, this package isn't hidden at all," I say, and am rewarded by the sensation of his cock hardening beneath the press of my hand.

  My body warms with familiar longing, and when I see the corresponding heat in Damien's eyes, I think that perhaps this booth should be put to better use than eating and chatting. I'm about to follow up on that thought and switch the booth's light from green to red, when there is a tap at the door and it slides open.

  "Can I offer you dessert?" Monica asks.

  I look at Damien. Right then, he's the only dessert I want. "No, thanks," I say, even as Damien says, "Yes, definitely."

  I narrow my eyes, then look between him and Monica, realizing as I do that Monica is not our server. For that matter, she's not a server at all.

  "Yes," I amend. "I think I'd enjoy dessert."

  "I'm so happy to hear it."

  She hands us each a dessert menu, then slips away. I open mine, unsurprised to see that the usual text has been replaced with a single piece of parchment on which the third clue is set out in fancy script:

  Paul Simon, Beyonce, the Beatles, too.

  They'd all see it when looking at you.

  Fire and ice, brilliance and flame,

  I'll dress you up to solve the game.

  I read it twice, then shift in my seat to gape at him. "Are you kidding me?"

  His expression is entirely too innocent. "Problem?"

  I wave the menu. "I don't have a clue what this means."

  "Well, that's a shame." He takes a sip of his wine. "I was looking forward to you finding your present."

  I scowl, but study the words again. Singers, but what did they have in common? And it says they would see it. But see what?

  I have no idea, and so I move on. Fire and ice. Brilliance. Flame.

  All of that seems very familiar, and I'm regretting my choice to have wine with dinner, because apparently I need a clear head to figure this out.

  I'll dress you up.

  What do you do when you dress up? Fancy clothes, fancy shoes. I close my eyes and imagine I'm in our monstrosity of a dressing room. Makeup. Hair.

  Jewelry.

  I smile because now, the singers make sense, too. Paul Simon's "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes." Beyonce and "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)." And, of course, "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds," courtesy of the Beatles.

  Ha! Nailed it.

  I turn to him, certain that victory is written all over my face.

  "Yes?"

  I hold out my hand. "I need your car keys and your phone."

  At that, he looks baffled, but he complies.

  "What about the clue?" he asks.

  "Oh, I solved that." I'm certain of it. But I'm not willing to tell Damien just yet. Because I'm enjoying this game too much. So muc
h, in fact, that it's inspired a little Valentine's Day game of my own.

  I scroll through his contacts until I find Edward. I could have used my own phone, but I'm going for dramatic flair here.

  "Mr. Stark," Edward says, answering on the first ring.

  "It's Nikki," I correct. "But it's Mr. Stark who needs you. He's at Le Caquelon, and needs a ride home as soon as you can get here."

  "Of course, Mrs. Stark. I'm on my way."

  I thank him, then hang up and give Damien back his phone.

  "I need a ride home?"

  "You do." I dangle his keys. "I'll meet you there."

  His eyes narrow. "What exactly do you think you've figured out?"

  "The clue," I say. I'm absolutely positive that whatever my present is, it's in our closet in one of the velvet-lined drawers that Damien had custom made for all the jewelry he buys me. Specifically, the drawer on the top left where I keep the diamond jewelry.

  "And we're going home separately because ...?"

  But at that, I only smile, then kiss him lightly even as I slide my hand down between his legs, stroking his now-stiff cock. "I'll see you at home, Mr. Stark."

  And then I'm gone, leaving behind one very baffled husband.

  Chapter 7

  We drove into town in the Jeep Grand Cherokee, and though it is the easiest car for me to drive, I wish we'd brought the Bugatti. Right now, I want speed, because I'm racing to get home before Edward gets on the road with Damien.

  I'd called Edward again as I waited for the valet to bring the Jeep around, and he promised to text me the moment that Damien is in the limo. He doesn't know what I have planned, of course, but I think it amuses him to be in on my conspiracy, whatever it may be.

  When I reach the house, I don't bother parking in the garage. Instead, I leave the Jeep in the circular drive and use the key code to enter the house. Though we have a butler/valet/all-around general house guy, Gregory does not live on the property. On the contrary, Damien has rented an apartment for him nearby, and is building a small bungalow on the eastern portion of the property that will become Gregory's home.

  All of which is fine with me. I like Gregory. But I like being alone with Damien a whole lot more.

  I take the stairs two at a time, then race into our closet, which is really more of a dressing room. For that matter, it's really more of an apartment, considering the entire space is bigger than the efficiency I lived in for one semester during college.

  The jewelry drawers are against the back wall, and a single code unlocks all of them. I punch it in, then pull out the black velvet-lined drawer that holds the various bits of diamond jewelry that Damien has given me. Right now, that means it has a pair of earrings and a stunning necklace that he bought for me when we attended a charity function.

  Sometimes, the emerald and diamond ankle bracelet he gave me even before we were officially together is in this drawer, but usually it is exactly where it is now--on my leg, a permanent reminder that I am his.

  At first glance, everything appears as it should. Then I realize that there is an additional piece of black velvet in the drawer. I run my finger over it and feel the bumps of something hidden beneath.

  I grin, because I know damn well that I have found the prize.

  I peel the velvet back to reveal a strand of pearls and a pair of silver nipple rings, connected by a serpentine chain. My body flushes with desire and memory. He'd given me the pearls in Germany and put them to deliciously erotic use. As for the nipple rings, he'd introduced me to those in the condo I used to share with Jamie, and I'd been astounded by how much my body responded to the intense sensation of not only the constant pressure on my erect nipples, but also to the demanding tug when Damien pulled on the chain.

  Just remembering makes me wet, and I drag my teeth over my lower lip, thinking that both of these things fit in perfectly with my plans for the night. And, more, thinking that I want Damien now--like right this very instant--and I am grateful when my phone buzzes with Edward's text letting me know that they are on their way.

  Thank god.

  The last thing in the drawer is an envelope that was underneath the jewelry. I take it out and open it to find an airline itinerary. Not a ticket, as that's not necessary for a man who owns his own fleet of aircraft. But according to this, we're leaving for Nassau tomorrow evening, then taking a puddle jumper to an island resort called Serafina Spa Retreat. We're staying there three nights, then returning home on Valentine's Day.

  I sigh with pleasure. Damien took me to an island for part of our honeymoon, and while it was heavenly, the location was remote--just the two of us in a small cabin on an otherwise uninhabited island. Perfect for a honeymoon, and perfect for escaping the world.

  But I can't deny that a spa sounds absolutely delicious, as does three nights on an island with Damien.

  Right now, though, I have something else delicious in mind.

  I want to change, and so I do that quickly, ultimately wrapping myself in my favorite white, fluffy robe. Then I move into the bedroom and put my phone on the mattress beside me. I put it on speaker, and dial Damien's number.

  He answers on the first ring.

  "Where are you?"

  "At home. In bed."

  "Are you?" I hear the tinge of interest in his voice.

  "But I'm imagining I'm with you," I say. "Tell me, Mr. Stark, is the privacy screen up?"

  There is a pause before he answers, and when he does, the heat in his voice is unmistakable. "It is now."

  "Close your eyes," I tell him. I close mine as well, remembering the first time that I was alone in his limo with Damien's voice stroking me, caressing me, getting me off. "Can you imagine me there? Sitting beside you? My hand on your thigh?"

  He says nothing, and I take that as acquiescence--a sign that that he is willing to surrender to my game.

  "I'm sliding it up," I say. "Moving slowly over your slacks. Closing my fingers over your cock. Tell me something, Mr. Stark." My voice is breathy, and it is all that I can do not to slip my hand down between my legs. "Are you hard?"

  "Very."

  "I know. I can feel it. Can you feel me? I'm stroking you. Making you even harder until you're begging me to tug down your zipper and slip my hand inside. Do it," I whisper.

  "Jesus, Nikki."

  I allow myself a satisfied smile but otherwise don't pause in my seduction. "I'm unfastening your belt and unbuttoning your pants. I lower the zipper so carefully and slide my hand in to free your cock. Do that, Damien. Do that and imagine it's me."

  He doesn't answer, but I can hear him breathing.

  "You're hard and soft, like velvet on steel, and I'm gliding my hand over you, teasing you, bringing you so close that you want to explode. But not yet," I say. "I want to taste you."

  "Holy Christ." His voice is raw, and I'm squirming on the bed, worked up not only by my words and the power they are having on him, but by what I'm wearing under this robe.

  "Can you feel my tongue on you? Licking your balls, then tasting every bit of you as I lick you just like candy? I suck your crown, then draw you in, so deep, and you taste so amazing and I can't get enough, and you're getting harder and harder and--"

  "Not just yet." His voice is tight, and I am certain that he is fighting not to come. "You want this? You want to take me there?"

  "Yes," I whisper.

  "Then you're going there with me. Tell me what you're wearing."

  I hesitate, because this wasn't the game I had planned, but I cannot deny that it has its own appeal.

  "Tell me," he repeats.

  "A robe," I say. "The thick white one."

  "Take it off."

  "Will you watch while I do?"

  "You know I will."

  "It's off," I say, as soon as I have dropped it off the side of the bed.

  "Are you naked?"

  I lick my lips. "No."

  "What are you wearing?"

  "Funny you should ask," I say. "I found the most interesting thin
gs in my jewelry drawer."

  "Did you?"

  "So right now, I'm wearing a pearl choker and nipple rings."

  "Are you? I'm looking forward to seeing that. And nothing else?"

  I know that he expects the answer to be yes, but instead I say, "Well ..."

  "Oh?" I hear the interest in his voice. "Tell me."

  "Well, it's just that I thought I should accessorize. After all, if I'm wearing the pearl necklace, then surely I should wear the matching panties."

  I trace my hand down to the thong that he once gave me, a delicious little piece of lingerie with a string of pearls in the most interesting of locations.

  "Oh, baby," he says, and I can't help the bubble of laughter that bursts free.

  "Make me squirm," I say, "and you'll make me come."

  "Slide your hand down," he orders, "but touch nothing but the pearls."

  I do, moaning a little because the sensation is exquisite, all the more so because the pearls are slick with my own arousal.

  "Very nice," he says. "But, baby, as much as I'm enjoying this game, I think it's time for us to give it up."

  "Oh." The disappointment practically floods my voice, and I hear his low chuckle of understanding.

  "I'm on the property," he says.

  "Oh!" I may have been enjoying the game, but I cannot deny that I'm ready to have the man and not the fantasy.

  "I want you on the bed." The command is clear in his voice, and I melt just a little bit more. "Legs open. Arms at your sides. And your eyes closed."

  I comply, though it is hard to stay still when I hear the security system beeping, signaling that he has opened the door.

  I've tucked the folded itinerary under the band of my thong, but I'm otherwise exactly how he wanted me to be. I hear his footsteps and force myself not to open my eyes and watch him approaching me. And when his weight shifts the mattress, I bite my lower lip and breathe deep as he trails kisses up my leg, finally taking the itinerary in his teeth before straddling me and dropping it on my chest.

  "You've been a very naughty girl," he says, then lowers himself to kiss me, long and hard. "I like it."

  I laugh, then open my eyes as I hook my arms around his neck and pull myself up for another kiss before taking the itinerary and setting it aside. "I like my present. A spa getaway with my husband. It's perfect."

  "You're perfect," he says. "And right now, I'm not interested in spas or islands or getaways." He starts to kiss his way down my body. "Can you guess what I am interested in?"