The Player (The Game Maker #3) - Kresley Cole Page 0,12

grief, but never more than he gave himself.

“The window was too short,” I assured him. “Even with misdirection, I wouldn’t have had enough time.”

“Speaking of time . . . Where’d you tell Dmitri you were going?”

“I used my emergency-phone-ring app and said I needed to take the call. I should get back.” And I really needed to pee.

“My host duties are done for the night.” The party was winding down. “If I’m still here, it’ll be weird not to join you guys. Can you handle this on your own?”

I raised my chin. “I’ve got it. All good.” Please, Lady Luck, don’t let me botch this!

“I’m a text away. Just watch yourself in there, Vice. And remember—we’re a world apart from them.”

So why had I felt so at home with that crew?

As I made my way back inside, Jess, Nat, and Lucía were talking to Dmitri. He looked antsy, his leg jogging.

Jess slurred, “Ever since you decided to mend fences with the big bro, I’ve been trying to set you up. Even though you were my last chance to go to Cirque du Cock.”

Mend fences? Cirque du Cock? I ducked back into the foyer, listening in.

“Kuh-learly, I have now succeeded in setting you up, because I brilliantly invited every vegan here to our little party.”

Nat hiccupped again. “The tribe has spoken, Dmitri. You are keeping Vice.”

Lucía added, “We like her so much.”

Jess said, “She’s got these knowing eyes—you can tell she’s seen things that leave a mark—but she blushes. Driving me fugging crazy! If you don’t keep her, I will.”

“Perhaps that is not at issue,” Dmitri said. “Perhaps the crux is whether she will keep me.”

My chest squeezed with panic. They weren’t fucking with me. They thought I was a great gal who got their humor and matched their drinking. I fit in seamlessly and was hitting it off with one of their own.

How could they be so trusting? They had no idea what I was, yet they were letting me into their lives? I’d stolen a watch our fence would convert for a quarter of a million dollars, and I’d do it again. And dear God, the identity theft opportunities in those bedrooms . . .

I wanted to shake them. Stupid rich people.

Couldn’t they see I was false gold?

I stared at the ceiling, my mind zooming to a memory from my early childhood. I’d been pensive and confused as I’d told my mom, “Gulls always say, ‘If something seems too good to be true, it is.’ That’s supposed to be our secret, but it’s out there, right in the open. Why don’t they listen?”

“They get greedy and ignore what they know deep down,” my beautiful mother had said. “Vice, never forget that we sell fairy tales. And fairy tales don’t exist.”

CHAPTER 6

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When I opened the door to exit one of the guest bathrooms, Dmitri was striding down the hallway, heading for me with an intent look on his face.

Intent on what?

My God, he was huge. I instinctively backed up, which only trapped me with him. But when he shut and locked the door behind him, I wasn’t anxious; I felt excitement . . . expectancy.

What would he do? We certainly wouldn’t be the first strangers to get busy in a Vegas bathroom. Should I go along with the scenario?

Maybe, but a show of resistance wouldn’t go amiss. “Dmitri, I’m not the type of girl who hooks up in bathrooms.”

“I know.”

“But you still want us to?”

He reached for my purse, setting it aside.

I guess he does. “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

“Understood. Let down all that lovely hair of yours.”

After a hesitation, I removed my hair stick, and the length tumbled over my shoulders. My hair was platinum, courtesy of some distant Norwegian ancestors, and had a little curl to it.

Dmitri appeared captivated as he ran his fingers through it. “Like silk,” he said absently¸ seeming not to realize he’d spoken aloud. “I want to see all this blond hair fanning out in my bed.”

Could be in your future.

He wrapped the ends around his fist, then leaned down to graze his lips along my neck. His tongue flicked me, and the pleasure was so intense, I couldn’t bite back a soft moan. I clutched his chest to keep my balance.

“I want my second kiss.” He brushed his lips against mine. Once, twice . . . His tongue swept in.

I met it with my own, and heat shot through me.

He groaned against my lips, deepening the contact. As our tongues