Game For Love: Game On (Kindle Worlds Novella) (9 page)

He laid his head back down on her chest, trying not to feel like the biggest douche there was for not telling her the rest of the truth. That a man who made more money a year than the gross national product of some countries couldn’t sleep around without
risking some pretty messy complications.

Funny how he’d forgotten that tonight.
And as long as he had, he might as well forget it again.

Trent rolled off her and onto his side, disposing of the used condom in the trash can next to the night stand.
He rolled back and braced over her. “You need something to drink? Water. Champagne.”

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure? I’m about ready to get started on round two and I gotta warn you, we could be here a while.”

A sly smile bowed her lips. “I’ve been training for a marathon
since the weather turned cooler. Bring it on. I can handle it.”

He matched her smile. “That’s very good to hear, darlin’.”

CHAPTER TEN

Laurel woke to the light of morning creeping in through the window
s of the bedroom. Moving caused the tug of soreness in all the right places.

Trent had made good on his promise last night.
He’d redeemed himself during round two . . . and round three. Neither one of them had gotten to sleep until late, yet she’d never felt better.

Trent
was still sleeping like the dead, but Laurel was wide awake. It had always been like that. Once she was up, she was up.

One look at the clock on the nightstand and she saw
it was later than she’d thought. She also saw the torn box and the remains of its contents. Laurel smiled, remembering. When Trent did something, he devoted one hundred and ten percent effort to it and she had no complaints.

He
’d earned the right to sleep in and as nice as he was to look at, even in sleep, she had something she needed to do. Laurel could take this opportunity to do what she should have done yesterday, if she hadn’t been under his spell.

She slipped from the bed and paused, glancing back to see if
her movement had woken him. He continued to breathe, deep and steady.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Laurel
grabbed the T-shirt Trent had worn yesterday. She pulled it over her nakedness and went in search of her bag. She found it in the living room where she’d left it before dinner and before their swim . . . and before the other memorable activities of last night.

Ev
en as she searched in her bag for her cell phone, she realized she might never get the smile off her face just from one night with Trent. That was going to make it extra sucky when she had to say goodbye to him and the memories were all she had left, even with as good as those memories were.

She
carried her cell phone to the patio so she could talk without waking Trent. The spectacular landscape distracted her the moment her bare feet hit the cool stones of patio. Her unexpected stay in paradise might not last for much longer, but at least she’d gotten to live in Trent’s incredible world for a little while.

A weight settled in her chest and she knew when they did say goodbye, she’d miss the man far more than the setting. Beautiful beaches and fine dining she could find elsewhere, but a man like Trent was one in a million.

It was a hell of a place Trent had chosen to stay and a hell of a life he lived . . . but all that was inconsequential next to the fact that he didn’t deserve to have her client believe for a single second longer that he was guilty of what she’d accused him.

Laurel
tore her gaze away from the view and sat in the chair she’d occupied during their amazing dinner last night. After scrolling through her contact list, she hit the number to call Becky. The woman needed to know she’d been holding the wrong man responsible all these months.

“Hello?”

“It’s Laurel Burnett.”

“Please tell me you found him.”

If only it were that simple. “I found him.”

“Oh my God!”

“But,” Laurel interrupted Becky’s outburst. “He’s not the man you’re looking for. He’s not the man you were with in Miami.”

“Of course, he is. He told me.”

Laurel stood and wandered to the far end of the patio. Frustrated that Becky didn’t want to believe the truth, she leaned against the railing and settled in for what could be a long hard battle convincing her.

“I’m sure he did, just as I believe he had a credit card showing that name, but he was lying to you. I found the real Trent O’Shea. I saw him close up. I spoke with him.” Laurel had done a hell of a lot more than speak with Trent, but that wasn’t important to this conversation. “He’s over six feet tall with green eyes, a Texas drawl and a tattoo of a longhorn on his chest.
None of the details you provided match his description.”

There was a pause as Becky absorbed what must be devastating news for her
. “So what are you saying? It’s not him so I should just give up?”

“No. I’ll go to Miami. I’ll look for a man matching the description you gave
me. I’m betting he’s a local and has done this sort of thing before and chances are good that he’ll do it again.” There could be other victims and hopefully some of them would talk with Laurel and provide a lead.

There was
a sniffle on the other end of the line. “I’m due in a few months.”

“I know that. I’ll keep looking and I’ll find him.
I’m good at my job. I found Trent O’Shea, didn’t I?” Laurel made the joke hoping to lighten Becky’s mood and give her hope.

“Yes.” Becky let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch.” Laurel disconnected the call.

Laurel felt bad for Becky, but sympathy wouldn’t help her or her baby
. Finding the imposter would. And to do that she’d have to leave paradise and the incredible man who came with it.

Time to go back inside and enjoy the short time she had left with him. Sighing, Laurel turned and drew in a sharp breath at what she saw. Trent was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his bare chest, nostrils flaring as he breathed hard.

“Yeah, you found me all right. The only question is, found me for who? What tabloid are you working for, Laurel?” He let out a bitter laugh. “If that’s even your real name.”

“Trent. I can explain—”

“Get out.”

“But—”

“Go inside, get dressed and leave before I call security and have you arrested.” His tone was low and threatening. He seemed to vibrate with barely contained anger.

Laurel was far more afraid of Trent than security or the police. The man she’d shared so much with yesterday was gone. In his place stood a
complete stranger. One she didn’t know at all.

She’d screwed up by not being honest with him the moment she figured out he wasn’t the man she was after. She’d have to make it right, but not now.
There was no taking to him like this. He was past hearing her.

Swallowing hard to push down the sick feeling rising inside her, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll go.”

She dared to glance at him as she walked past to get through the doorway. He wouldn’t even look at her, but rather stared into the distance.

He didn’t follow her inside. She was alone in the bedroom they’d shared as, shaking, she gathered her things. Tears stung behind her eyes as she pulled his tank top off and put it on the dresser.

She’d betrayed his trust and he hated her for it. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but she could feel the emotion radiating off him, could hear it in his voice.

Laurel struggled to put
on her bikini bottom. It was twisted and still damp, making it harder to get over her legs than usual. She was in no mood for the struggle.

“Dammit.” She cussed out loud at the bathing suit as the first fat tear rolled down her cheek.

It wasn’t frustration over the swimsuit making her cry. She knew that. It was Trent’s anger.

The bottom finally on, she
moved on to the top. She moved quickly, half expecting security to knock on the door any moment. She pulled on her dress, proud that no more tears had fallen and she had herself under control.

W
hen she sat on the bed so she could put on her shoes, she spotted the box of condoms.

Just a few hours ago he’d been looking
at her with heat in his eyes, not hatred.

Yanking her gaze away from the nightstand, she slipped on her sandals and stood, shaky but determined. She’d walk out of
there with her head held high and not let him see her tears.

O
ne day, maybe he’d listen to her and understand why she’d had to deceive him in the beginning and forgive her that she hadn’t revealed the deception. If he didn’t, then she’d just have to live with that.

Laurel had
garnered plenty of ill will in her business over the years from many people. She regretted that anyone felt that way about her, but she dealt with it.

The one difference was that she had never started to fall for any of them
like she had for Trent.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Trent?” He heard her voice behind him. When he didn’t answer or even turn around, Laurel continued. “I’m sorry.”

He remained facing away from her, s
taring at the landscape that yesterday had been breathtakingly beautiful but today left him feeling hollow.

“So am I.” His voice sounded as cold as he felt
inside.

“I’m going now.” She said it but he didn’t hear her walking away.

If she was waiting for him to turn and tell her to stay she was
going to be in for a long wait.

“Bye.”
After that one word dismissal, he heard her draw in a shaky breath before the sound of her footsteps faded away.

The front door opened and closed and then the bungalow was quiet again. He was a
lone with nothing but the waves and the breeze and the birds.

Before her, he’d embraced the peace. Now, it left too much space for his own thoughts
. They careened through his brain leaving him feeling bruised and battered. He’d trusted her. He’d let down his guard and broken his own rules—and this was what he got for it.

Who knew what kind of story she wa
s going to sell to the tabloids? He couldn’t even imagine what horrors the headlines would hold. He’d had sex with her. She could say anything.

Hell, she could even claim he
’d forced her. They’d been completely alone. It would be his word against hers, a two hundred pound, six-foot-two linebacker against a helpless woman. He knew who’d they believe and how could he prove otherwise?

H
e needed to call his manager. They had to tell his image consultant. She’d need to prepare. This thing could blow up at any moment.

Stupid, stupid, stupid
. He’d gone nine months without sex and the one time he gave in it was with a damn reporter.

How the hell had she found him here? He’d taken so many precautions. Laurel, or whatever her name was, was obviously very good at her job. He let out a snort as he thought how dedicated she was too. Willing to do pretty much anything for the story, including screwing her way to a headline.

Trent spun from the view he’d paid a grand a night to see and headed for the phone in the living room. He picked up the receiver and hit zero.

“Front desk. How may I help you, Mr. Warren?”

“I’m checking out today. I’m going to need a car to the airport.”

“All right. What time?”

He’d need to pack his bags and then shower the memories of Laurel off his skin. “Probably an hour.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll arrange it.”

“Thanks.” He hung up and headed for the bedroom. Staunchly ignoring the unmade bed where he’d spent all night with her he turned toward the closet and grabbed his bags. There was a lot to do and not much time to do it, exactly as he’d planned. It would give him less time to think and hopefully no time to feel because everything he was feeling right now only made him want to punch something.

~ * ~

Texas had always been Trent’s idea of heaven, but the hell Laurel had put in his head followed him even there.

He’d spent the whole time in the airport waiting for his standby flight out of Florida scrolling through the web looking for her story. He searched until his cell phone’s battery went dead and he had to find a charging station, but he
didn’t find any breaking news right through the time he had to board.

It nearly killed him when the flight attendant
made him turn off his phone. The whole time in the air he braced for what he’d find waiting for him when he landed. The wheels had barely touched down when he had his cell out and powering up. When the phone came to life, he held his breath and entered the search one more time, but there was no new story. No texts or voice mails from his manager either.

Apparently, Laurel was a slow writer. Or maybe she’d sold an exclusive to one of those big nightly network entertainment shows and they were holding it for prime time to maximize their ratings.