Sweet Victory: A Novella (His Wicked Games #2.5) (4 page)

“If you think I’ll just—”

I’m interrupted by the buzzing of his cell phone. He lets out a sigh and sits back on his heels.

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching into his pocket. I prop myself up on my elbows as he glances down at the screen.

“Work?”

He frowns and gives a single shake of his head. “It’s that same unknown number.”

“Should you answer it?”

His thumb hovers over the button for a moment, but then he smirks and tosses his phone aside.

“There’s something else I’d much rather be doing,” he says, leaning over me again.

I smile. “That sounds like a good plan to me, too.”

I reach up and grab him by the shoulders, pulling him on top of me. His mouth comes down on mine, and our legs tangle as we kiss.

“I’ve thought of the next challenge,” I whisper against his lips.

“Mm? What’s that?”

“First person to laugh loses.”

He pulls back slightly. “What sort of challenge is that?”

“This kind.” My hands are beneath his open shirt, and I skim my fingers over the muscles of his back before slipping them beneath his arms.

He flinches at the first gentle touch against his armpit. Months of dating have taught me exactly where he’s ticklish.

Unfortunately, that means he’s had plenty of time to learn my spots, too.

He attacks me before I have a chance to brace myself, his fingers fluttering beneath my arms and across my belly and at the small of my back as I try helplessly to roll away from his advances. I squeal at the onslaught, then quickly bite down on my bottom lip. I will
not
be the first one to laugh.

The best defense in this situation is a counterattack, and I continue my assault on the sensitive skin of his armpits. He tries to jerk away from my touch, but as much as he struggles, he still has me at a disadvantage. I should have waited until we were standing before I issued the challenge, but instead I’m stuck on my back beneath him. If I’m going to gain the upper hand, I need to get out from under him.

I lunge for the edge of the mattress. My fingers brush the carpet, but Calder is fast. He grabs me and continues to tickle every bit of skin he can reach.

“Let me—
ahhh
—let me go!” I cry. I twist in his arms, but his fingers are everywhere.

I can’t help it. As much as I try to fight it, as hard as I bite down on my lip—it’s no use. I laugh. I laugh until there are tears streaming out of the corners of my eyes. Until my stomach aches and my throat hurts and I’m completely out of breath.

Calder is laughing too. He’s enjoying his victory. My cheeks go hot at the arrogant look on his face, but I have to admit that he put up a good fight.

“Looks like we’re one-and-one,” he says, grinning down at me.

“Rub it in, why don’t you?”

He sits back and pulls me up into his arms. I’m still shaky and breathless, and the hungry way he’s looking at me does little to calm my racing heart. I’ve lost, and now I have to face the consequences.

I do my best to look perturbed. “What are your demands, O victor?”

His answering chuckle sends butterflies to flight in my stomach. How, after all these months, does he still have such power over my nerves?

But it’s not my body’s response that truly amazes me—it’s my mind’s. Months ago, when I first met Calder, I tried to resist the reactions of my flesh, but these days I’d happily surrender myself to them again and again. That’s the exhilarating thing—the knowledge that no matter what he desires, no matter what he asks me to do, I won’t even hesitate. Sure, I’ll put on a show of indignity and outrage, but that only fuels both of our appetites; this back-and-forth is a way of feeding the flames that already burn brightly within us.

And by the current look on Calder’s face, I know that I’m about to dive headfirst into a blazing inferno.

Calder’s thumb dances across my cheek. He leans in, his breath stirring my hair, but for a long moment he doesn’t speak.

As the silence stretches between us, I pull back slightly so I can look him in the eyes. His dark irises hold a world of emotion, and though the desire is still there, there’s something deeper too. Something infinitely more meaningful.

“The prize I ask,” he says, “is that you be completely honest with me.”

I frown as confusion and hurt battle within me. “You… you think I’m not honest with you?”

He shakes his head quickly—vehemently—but it’s not enough to quiet the emotions that have suddenly flickered to life in my gut.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I’d like for you to answer it as honestly as possible.”

Our conversation’s sudden shift in tone makes me nervous, but I nod. I want to know what’s going on in his head.

Calder reaches over and takes a lock of my hair in his hand. He twirls it slowly between his fingers as if studying the way the strands move against each other. When he speaks, his tone is thoughtful.

“Is there anything you would change between us?”

It’s not a question I was expecting. I lean back, trying to understand through my shock why he’d ask something like that.

“What do you mean?” I hear myself say. Inside my head, the questions are swirling:
Is he unhappy? Is he suddenly questioning our decision to move in together?
We’ve only been dating about half a year; maybe he’s second-guessing our decision to move so quickly.

Calder looks up at my face again, but I don’t get any answers from his expression.

“I just want to know that you’re happy,” he says finally.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I’m happy.” I continue to search his face but get nothing. “And I’m not exactly the kind of person who keeps quiet if someone’s doing something that pisses me off.”

He gives a little smile. “I know that, but I’m aiming for something a little higher than ‘doesn’t piss you off’.”

“I love you. You know that.” I manage to keep my voice steady, but the worry is still alive and well in my chest. Why is he suddenly acting so strange? A minute ago we were happily rolling around on the mattress together. How can he doubt how I feel about him?

Calder finally seems to understand how he sounds, though, because he sits up and yanks his fingers through his hair.

“This is coming out wrong,” he says. He leans forward and cups my face. “I love you, Lily. More than anything. But saying those words isn’t enough. I want to show you that I love you. Every single day. Moving into this place—deciding to live together—this gives me that chance.” His thumb brushes along my jawline. “We’ve seen a lot of each other, yes, but sharing the same home is a different thing entirely. You learn things about people when you live with them. Good things, of course—
wonderful
things—but bad things, too. We might discover that some of our day-to-day habits annoy each other. We might argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes or take out the garbage. We’ll probably have more than a few disputes about money or schedules or a hundred other things that come up when a couple decides to take this step.”

I’m still confused.

“I know that,” I say gently. “But that’s all part of growing together, isn’t it? I don’t expect either of us to be perfect. Sure, we’ll have disagreements, but living together won’t automatically turn us into a couple that bickers all the time. Is that what you’re worried about?” My stomach is in knots. Why is he only telling me about these doubts now?

But again he shakes his head.

“I’m not worried about bickering,” he says, a hint of amusement reaching his eyes. “If arguments were enough to tear us apart, we were doomed from the start. And if any of our disagreements ever get out of hand, I can think of more than a few ways we might negotiate.” He lets a finger drift up my inner thigh, toward the place where I’m still wet from our recent activities.

I shiver at the advance. “Then what are you talking about?”

“You deserve… everything,” he says. “I know that there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try. Lily, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and I plan to do everything in my power to show you what you mean to me. That means listening—and growing. That means making an effort to have discussions where we can share our concerns.”

I try to read the truth in his eyes. “Do
you
have concerns?”

“That’s precisely what I’m trying to ask you. If you could change anything between us, then what would it be?”

“I don’t think like that.” I place my hand over his on my cheek. “Calder, I don’t need perfection. Not even close. God, can you imagine how boring we’d be if everything was hunky-dory all the time?”

That draws a smile out of him. “Hunky-dory?”

I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. We could have a crazy, fucked-up disaster of a relationship and someone would still have to beat me over the head with a sledgehammer to drag me away from you.” I wince a little as the words leave my lips. “Or, you know, something that sounds a little less obsessive.”

He actually laughs out loud this time, and I relax a little.

“What are you so worried about?” I venture a final time. “I agreed to live with you, didn’t I? I’m pretty much one hundred percent behind this thing you and I have going on.”

He wraps his arms around me and draws me up into his lap. His chin rests on the top of my head.

“You mean the world to me,” he says. His thumb draws circles on my back.

For a moment, I just let him hold me. I’m still not sure I understand what’s going on in his head, why he’s suddenly acting so strange. If he’s having second thoughts, why won’t he just say it? But, no—it sounds a lot more like
he
thinks
I
am having second thoughts. I’ve told him again and again what he means to me, shown him with touches and looks. I’ve shared secrets with him—and kept his own. How can he doubt my feelings now?

And I’m being honest when I say I wouldn’t change anything between us. Those bumps we’ve experienced over the course of our relationship helped shaped us into the couple we are today. Every fight, every misunderstanding, every moment I wanted to punch him in the face—those are
our
moments, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“Your dad still doesn’t like me much,” Calder says, his hands tightening around me. “Not that I blame him, after everything I did to the Center. After everything I dragged
you
through.”

“He knows you’re a good man,” I say quickly. “He’s just overprotective.”

“He’s important to you. And that makes him important to me.” He pulls back so he can look me in the face. “I want you to know that I never want to come between you and your father.”

Is
that
what he’s so worried about? “Dad likes you. He may have a funny way of showing it sometimes, but give him time. He’ll come to love you as much as I do.”

Calder gives a small smile and brushes the hair off of my forehead.

“That’s my hope,” he says.

“If Dad had a
real
problem with you,” I assure him, “then he’d let me know. And believe me, he wouldn’t let you set foot in the Center. He’s just worried about me. He’s never seen me so… so
crazy
over a guy before. He’s afraid I’m going to get hurt again. But I know better. And with time, he’ll see it too. He’ll warm up to you, I promise.”

Some of the tension leaves Calder’s brow. He nods, smiling, but the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Family is something of a sore subject for Calder. His relationship with his own father was very complicated, and the man’s death hit him very hard. As for his sister… don’t even get me started. Seeing Calder look so uncertain, so vulnerable… it scares me. I’ve always known my dad’s opinion was important to him, but I never realized it was bothering him so much. He’s normally so self-assured that I’m not sure how to chase away his fears.

Except, perhaps, with my body. When words fail, our bodies will always find a way to communicate.

“I’d like to take a guess,” I say.

His nose wrinkles in confusion. “A guess?”

“We’re in the middle of a game, remember? I’d like to make a guess.”

He nods, but I know he’s still puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation.

“Go ahead.” His tone suggests he’s willing to humor me, even if he’s not convinced this is the best course of action. That makes my next move all the more important; I’m determined to assuage all of his fears.

“I think you got me…” I glance around the room, my mind scrambling for an idea, but the perfect answer hits me all on its own.

“Pickles,” I finish boldly.

Calder is speechless. But I’m not done.

“Dill pickles, I think,” I say. “A whole jar of fat, juicy, disgusting…”

Calder’s caught on now, and the wicked spark I know and love returns to his eyes.