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206 pages, ebook
First published May 28, 2013
“Should I be afraid?” I ask him.A "One-Click" Feebie Pays off!
An eager smile stretches across his lips. “Very.”
This is ridiculous. I'm supposed to hate this man. I do hate this man. He's poised to destroy everything I love.Lily Frazer is the assistant director of the Frazer Center, a non-profit which brings art to the community. Her father risked everything to found the Center when she was a little girl, and now the future of the Frazer Center is at risk because a wealthy donor pulled his funding. Lily will stop at nothing to secure the future of her father's legacy... Even track down the rich bastard who backed out on his pledge and give him a piece of her mind...
So how is it that, time and again, he can say a simple word, or touch me just so, and make me forget everything but the way the blood is rushing through my veins?
He's still an ass, and a shitty personality can make even the finest man on earth seem ugly.Calder Cunningham is a man with secrets. He's been hiding out on his family's massive estate since his father died a few months ago. When a crazy woman jumps the gates of his home and demands to speak with him, it's all fun and games until a storm washes out the road and traps them together inside his sprawling mansion... Then the games really get interesting...







"I've already made it clear that I'm attracted to you, and it's quite obvious that you're attracted to me as well. I'm just saying that I don't see why you can't have it both ways. Or, come to think of it, why I can't have you a few dozen ways in the meantime."
"Let the games begin."


"Is this some sort of sick game?"
"Not at all," he says, leaning toward me again and dropping his voice. "I only wanted you to realize how much you want me."
"I want you, Lily. I want to fuck you until you can't move, until you can't tink, until you've forgotten everything else but me. It won't be gentle."
By my estimation, he's the perfect specimen of a man - why no one's tried to carve a copy of this one out of marble yet, I can't guess.
"I win," he says, leaning down and brushing his lips across mine.
"No," I murmur against his mouth. "I think I did."





“My restraint only goes so far,” he says. His eyes bore into mine. “I want you, Lily. I want to fuck you until you can’t move, until you can’t think, until you’ve forgotten everything else but me. It won’t be gentle. If you don’t want that, then tell me, and I’ll leave this car. But if I stay… I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to control myself.”on pins and needles,
“You mean that I’m required to have you in my possession.” The way he says that final word sends a tiny thrill through me.in love,
The passionate, dominant Calder I can handle—the one who leaves bruises on my skin and shoves my shirt into my mouth to keep me silent—but I don’t know how to deal with this gentler version of him.
His hands move down across my skin slowly, delicately, as if I’m a precious, breakable thing that might shatter at his touch.
Maybe this is just sex. And maybe I don’t really know him all that well. But there’s a part of me, deep down, that knows I’ve glimpsed a deeper side of him, however briefly, and I know I’ve exposed a bit of myself to him, too. And that terrifies me.and then depressed when I was waiting for his call.
“Are you my therapist now?” he demands. “What, we fuck for a couple of days and suddenly you think you can see into my soul or something?"I WANT Calder! I want to throw him in a box and steal him away to my house to play all of HIS WICKED GAMES!
I stagger back, feeling like he’s slapped me across the face. But he’s not done.
“You expect me to open up to you,” he says, raking his hand through his hair, “but you’re in such denial about your own baggage that you don’t even realize that you’re the one pushing away. That ex sure screwed you up something good.”
Now that I see him in the full light, I'm startled by the changes in him since the last time we met. Before, he was the picture of perfection: not a wrinkle in his clothes, not a hair out of place. The change is more than just the aftermath of our scuffle in the mud outside. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt and dark pants, and I can tell neither was particularly luxurious even before I arrived here today. His hair has outgrown its typical stylish cut, and his previously clean-shaven cheeks are sporting a coat of dark stubble. There are dark circles beneath his eyes. (p. 19).




“He can play the gentleman all he wants. I know he's still an asshole at heart.”