The Player (The Game Maker #3) - Kresley Cole Page 0,51
I could go back in time and change that night!”
Though I’d spent twelve months shying away from that memory, it welled up in my mind.
Brett and I had thrown a pre-season football party, but my family had called me in for a last-minute assist—drinks with promising investors/marks. I’d closed the tax-evaders early, so I’d hurried home, wending through shit-faced friends to get to the bedroom and change into my jersey. Brett and the tawny-haired bombshell hadn’t heard me open the door. . . .
Now I told him, “When I walked in on you two, it took me the longest time to register what I was seeing.”
“Tori, please don’t.”
They’d been naked in the bed I’d shared with him, frantically kissing, and he’d had his fingers inside her. Getting her ready. She’d been stroking him as his hips bucked to her fist. Unlike me, she had enhanced breasts and legs for miles.
As I’d choked back bile, my mind had been a chaos of jarring thoughts:
He’s about to screw her. How long has this been going on? He and I had sex there hours ago. We talked about getting a puppy after our honeymoon. I just washed those sheets. I spent the entire day cleaning for our football party. He knows I don’t even like football. But I’m supportive. I was supportive. He’s about to do it.
Between kisses, he’d said to the woman, “I don’t even know your last name.”
The words had jolted me out of my stupor. He’d thrown me away for a quickie? A one-nighter with a stranger? I’d snapped, “Guess I should’ve bought motherfucking name tags for our party.”
As I’d stormed out, I’d spotted her Jubilee! showgirls T-shirt on my freshly vacuumed floor. . . .
What if I hadn’t caught him? What if I’d lived my life not knowing what pushed my buttons?
Black-haired, golden-eyed Russians with dominant streaks and wicked games.
I’d been devastated by Brett’s actions, yet never been able to empathize. I’d never been able to imagine a desire so strong I’d risk everything to ease it.
After Dmitri, I had a clearer picture. In a haunted tone, I said, “I could see how much you wanted her; you were about to explode from it.” Queasiness overwhelmed me. “There’s no way you would’ve pulled away from that girl.”
“I was about to, Tori!”
I cringed. Nails on a chalkboard.
How could I ever trust another man not to fall prey to his desires? I’d recognized I would need a grand gesture, some kind of overwhelming proof that I was the only one a partner would ever want.
Looking at my ex-fiancé now, I realized no action would ever be enough to convince me. “You’re here to reconcile, and yet you’re lying right now.”
He opened his mouth to tell me another one, so I raised my hand to stop him.
“I’m done.” Over his shoulder, I saw a long, cool limo roll up. Shit.
Dmitri was out the door before the car fully stopped, six and a half feet of furious Russian, crossing to stand beside me. “Victoria?”
I swallowed. “Dmitri, this is Brett Wilson. Brett, Dmitri Sevastyan.”
Former linebacker Brett had to gaze up to him. “He is your date?”
Even with his murderous expression, Dmitri looked every inch the billionaire. “I’m more than a mere date. Come, Vika, we will be late for the courthouse. For our wedding.”
I did a double take. Wait, what?
Brett grabbed my arm, his face panicked. “Wedding?”
Dmitri’s demeanor turned even more chilling. “Release. Her. Now.”
“Or what?” My ex had at least twenty pounds of bulk on Dmitri. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Brett, he’s got bodyguards.” Starsky and Hutch stood beside the limo on high alert.
Dmitri’s voice made the hairs on my nape stand up as he said, “No one touches what’s mine.”
“What’s yours, pal?” Brett bowed up, readying for a fight.
“I’m giving you one last chance to let her go. As you already did before.”
“Fuck off, man, or I will lay you out. This is between Tori and me—”
In one lightning fast movement, Dmitri yanked Brett’s hand from me and launched a punch to his stomach.
Brett’s breath left him in a rush.
“No! Stop this!” Before I could get between them, Brett recovered, yelling with fury. He swung for Dmitri’s face.
Neatly dodging him, Dmitri stepped back. With his lips curving into a sneer, he raised one hand and motioned for Brett to try again.
Brett yelled and swung, but Dmitri drew his head back with plenty of time—and with utter confidence.
The Russian knew how to fight. “I’ll thrash you simply for not appreciating what you had.”