Wicked Game (4 page)

“Careful, Miss Pendleton. You wouldn’t want someone overhearing you threaten Miami’s current favorite son. Where will you be when I turn up dead?”

“Prison is preferable to what I just went through, I assure you.” She looked up just as the barista set a large mug of steaming caffeine in front of her. “Oh God, that smells wonderful. Thank you.”

“I ordered you a scone. You’ve hardly eaten all day. And I have one more appointment, and then we’re off to meet my lawyer for dinner.” Jaime signed the credit card slip, leaving a very generous tip.

“Smells nice and I think my stomach might be ready to forgive you for this morning.” She sliced into the scone with a plastic spoon and scooped a bite into her mouth, her face a mask of unadulterated pleasure. “Oh, heaven, how did you know I love cranberries?”

“Lucky guess, I guess.”

“It was the barista, wasn’t it? You aren’t that intuitive.”

“You can’t blame a guy for trying. Let me know when you’re ready to move on. I’ve reserved a couple of hours for you at a day spa. I have to go into the front office and sign some papers. I’ll pick you up at six, I’d like you to be wearing something dressy casual for dinner.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n. How much skin should I show? Oh wait, I have no cleavage to speak of, so that’s out of the question. Any way you’d like me to have my hair styled? I assume there is hair and a facial involved in all of this?”

“Leave it long, you look much nicer with long hair than that pixie cut you wore in school, but try to have the frizz tamed down, and Cass, please behave.”

“Who? Me?”

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret the next few months?”

“Probably because you are going to regret the next few months. Unless you stop trying to control me.”

“Then stop being a train wreck. And finish your coffee.”

Chapter Five

Honestly, two hours of pampering was something Cass decided she could get used to. Though having her hair decision taken out of her hands completely still left her a bit miffed. Shontal, her hair stylist, had clucked his lips at first, but after clearing away the split ends, he’d changed his tune. The humidity would be a problem for her, but he loaded her down with hair balms and sprays he guaranteed to keep her new and improved hair looking great during a hurricane.

Face and nails were next, then a massage. About halfway through the process she started looking around for Stacey London and Clinton Kelly, feeling as if she’d suddenly turned up on a sneak attack episode of
What Not to Wear
. When it was all over, she was disappointed. Not only because Stacey and Clinton had not jumped out yelling surprise, but because Jaime was waiting for her.

“Well?” she said after waiting for him to comment on the cornflower blue halter dress and the casual upsweep Shontal had hastily arranged after her massage. “Do I meet your standards, Mr. Stark? Or is it back to the drawing board?”

“Well, Pepper, I guess it will have to do. Come on, we’re late.”

“A ‘you look great’ or some facsimile thereof would be nice. After all, I played nice and let people rip hair out of places I didn’t even know had hair.”

“Wow, Cass, you look spectacular. Really, I mean it.” He stopped dead and rolled his eyes. Sarcasm was his strong point after all, so why should it bother her so much? “But for the record, where exactly did they rip hair out of?”

She balled up her fist and punched his upper arm, regretting it instantly. “Ouch, Christ, that hurt.”

“Yeah, I guess you shouldn’t have done that.” He held up his arm and flexed it; the muscles beneath rippled into an even harder mass.

“You know, Jaime, I guess you have changed after all. You’re an even bigger jerk than I remember.”

“I’m Ironman, honey. I get to be a jerk if I want to.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Only if you are very lucky or I am very drunk.” Jaime opened the door to his sports car for her. “And I mean very, very drunk.”

“Asshole…” she shouted, but he closed the door in her face. When he eased into the seat next to her, he was chuckling that evil laugh of his that set her nerves on end. “Will this night ever end?”

“Why? Do you have a date or something? Seriously, Pepper, I can drop you somewhere if you want. Just tell me.”

“Just drive. And stop calling me Pepper. You’re not Ironman, and I’m not your Girl Friday.”

“But that’s exactly what you signed up for, to be my Girl Friday and every other day of the week. And while we’re at it, let’s revisit that idea of you taking on the responsibility of keeping all the crazy women at bay this summer so I can actually get some work done.”

“Jaime, seriously, I don’t know what you have in mind, but that plot never seems to work in the movies, why do you think it would work in real life?”

“You saw Alicia this afternoon. She thought that because she’d worked for me for the three years I’ve been here, that we had some sort of relationship. And she’s not the first. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love the attention, but after a while it just gets old, know what I mean?”

“Sorry, no. I have no experience with money-hungry women throwing themselves at me, fake boobs first. I guess I can see why a classy guy like you would have a problem with it. I’m told steroids do a number on the package, and the sex drive. I guess you wouldn’t want anyone getting the idea that Jaime Dalton isn’t exactly the Ironman he thinks he is.”

“I don’t dope. I work hard for this body. Do you really think I’d risk my career on steroids?” He turned to face her, anger in his eyes. Fun-and-games time had come to an abrupt end.

“How would I know, Jaime? It’s not like we’ve ever been friends. I don’t know you all that well, and I don’t follow sports.”

“Well, I don’t. End of discussion.”

“Fine,” she said, leaning back in her seat and watching as the sun set the city ablaze before it finally sank in the distance. Jaime drove deeper into the city, the silence between them deafening.

“Welcome to South Beach,” he said after a while, his voice carrying a hint of pride. “The Miami you see on television in all its glory.”

Art Deco buildings in shades of pink and purple flew past as he drove. People dressed in pastels walked the streets bathed in neon and the last pink rays of the setting sun. For a moment, Cass couldn’t catch her breath. Everywhere she looked was a treat for the senses.

“Gorgeous,” she breathed, catching sight of the blue water turning rapidly obsidian in the waning light. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“I thought you’d like it here. Everybody likes South Beach. Mitch is meeting us for drinks and dinner in about an hour if you’d like to park and walk out on the sand?”

“I’d love to. I’ve never seen the ocean before. Did you know that?”

“No, Cass, I didn’t.”

Somehow, she didn’t like the way he looked at her in that instant, almost as if he pitied her. She didn’t like how his voice became soft, almost seductive, like a caress.

“I’m glad I get to be the one who took your beach virginity.” And just like that, Jaime Dalton reverted to his true form—rotten to the core.

* * * *

Her legs were shapely, lightly muscled, and honey golden. She tugged her skirt up her thighs and danced into the calm surf, her laughter infectious. He wanted to join her, but he didn’t have the luxury of being able to pull his jeans up. If Mitch weren’t waiting, he wouldn’t let a little thing like soaked clothes get in the way.

The light breeze teased her hair, pulling strands from the neat twist that framed her face setting off her smile. Had he ever actually seen Cass Pendleton smile? he wondered fleetingly. His heart quickened a beat or two when she hiked her skirt up too high, revealing blue lace, cheek-hugging panties. Oh, for God’s sake, this was Cassandra-fucking-Pendleton, who was too short, too curvy, and way too mouthy for his taste. But she had a nice ass.

He stifled a groan, reminding himself he wanted Cass because she was the woman least likely to try and get in his bed, and here he was thinking about her ass and wondering if that cleavage she claimed not to have was actually hers or some miracle bra giving her a boost.

“Hey, Pepper, we have to go,” he shouted over the sound of the water and the wind and her laughter. “Mitch already ordered drinks.”

“What happened to meeting in an hour?” She trudged into the sand and scooped up her discarded sandals and slipped them on, oblivious to the sand clinging to her legs.

“He’s early.” He shrugged, Mitch Abrams had a tendency to run early, that’s why Jaime liked doing business with him. “I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”

“Sure.” Her face twisted into a pained expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“The sand is itchy, and I can’t get it off.”

“Just wait until we get to the sidewalk, trying to get it all off while standing in it is futile.”

Once they reached the sidewalk, she began swiping at the fine grains but with little success. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Here, give me a leg.”

The look she gave him told him she’d rather be fed to the gators, but she kicked off her sandal and offered her leg to him. Jaime bent on his knee and starting sweeping sand from her knee down. He hadn’t expected her skin to be so soft or smooth that he would want to explore higher. “Mmm, there ya go. Best I can do. The rest will fall off after it’s dry. At least it better, because I don’t want any of it in my car.”

“How magnanimous of you, my lord and master.”

“I like the sound of that. I give you permission to call me either ‘Lord’ or ‘Master.’ Master Ironman has a great ring to it.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that your ego is so huge you suck all the life out of them?”

“You. All day long. And frankly, Pepper, it’s getting old.”

“Stop calling me Pepper.”

“When you start calling me Lord Ironman.” He took her arm, tucked it into the crook of his elbow, and led her down the street. She was steaming and didn’t seem to notice his touch.

“You really are an asshole, and here I thought I was being unkind in my assessment of your character, but no … I was right.” She shook her arm free and walked into the restaurant without another word to him.

Jaime suppressed the urge to throttle her. Though he was sure he’d be acquitted of her death, due to the fact that she was as annoying as shit. However, he was pretty sure his career wouldn’t survive the scandal, so he tucked his hands into his pockets until the urge passed.

The hostess smiled at him; her pretty blue eyes licking him all over restored his faith in womankind. “Hey there, sweetheart, I have a reservation.”

“I know, Mr. Dalton. Mr. Abrams is waiting; follow me.”

“Anywhere, sweetheart. Just lead the way.”

He laughed when Cass mouthed the word
pathetic
before she followed the hostess into the restaurant and thankfully proceeded to ignore him as much as possible the rest of the evening.

Chapter Six

Apparently, “crack of dawn” meant more like somewhere around noon for Jaime. At least that’s when Cass finally heard him calling her name from somewhere in the massive house. She lay in her bed, staring up at the blue ceiling while she tried to figure out where her limbs were. She sure as hell didn’t feel them, or anything else for that matter, and her mouth tasted like she’d eaten a dirty sock.

Three dirty martinis and a glass of wine with dinner. She remembered that much at least. She also remembered that Jaime drank nothing but water or iced tea all night long while he ordered her drink after drink.

“Prick,” she croaked to the ceiling. “Oh God, what time is it?”

The clock on the bedside table read a little after eleven. “Pepper! Are you dead in there? If you aren’t downstairs in three minutes, I’m coming in.”

“Jesus Christ, stop screaming at me,” she shouted back and winced as pain shot through her head. “I’m up. I’m up.”

“Good. I thought I was going to have to shove you in the shower or something.” His voice was very close by. She rolled toward the sound and was startled to see him standing beside her bed, looking sweaty and way too awake after a night of carousing. And just as quickly, she realized she wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of blue panties under the sheet that covered her.

“Do I need to ask if you had anything to do with what I’m not wearing?” She wouldn’t freak out. She would remain calm, cool, collected. Oh shit, she didn’t remember a damn thing about falling into bed.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Pepper, but I left you standing at the door. What you did after you closed it—in my face, I might add—is all on you.” He reached for the cover, but she grabbed it and pulled it tight around her body. “But I’m flattered that you include me in your fantasies.”

“Why has no one murdered you by now? Or at least taken a soap-filled sock to you?” That was a fun thought. Jaime on the floor, all tied-up and being flogged. “No, on second thought, murder is better. It’s more permanent.”

“My, but aren’t you bloodthirsty in the morning.” He leaned against the post at the foot of the bed, his eyes traveling her body, belying his stated disinterest. “Do you always sleep naked? Or just when you’re drunk?”

“You got me drunk, you prick, while you were drinking water. You poured enough gin into me to fill a damn bathtub.”

“You could have said no at any time.”

“That’s what your mother should have said the night you were conceived.”

“Forget bloodthirsty, you’re just plain mean when you’re hungover.” The smile left his eyes at her remark. She knew she’d gone too far the second the words left her mouth. “Get up, Cass. My agent is coming at one, and since you’ll be working with him, I want you dressed for business and on your best behavior.”

“Yes, Lord Ironman.” She remembered that much at least.

“Brownie points for that.”

“Goody, I like brownies. Hey, Jaime, I didn’t mean that about your mom, and I liked your dad, he was a nice man.” Sense was finally returning, and despite her personal feelings for their son, there was no reason to insult his parents.

“Thanks for that. He
was
a good man.” He turned to leave, but something else occurred to her.

“Hey, Jaime?”

“Yeah, Pepper?”