Dirty Sexy Games Read online

  Dirty Sexy Games

  Laurelin Paige

  Copyright © 2018 by Laurelin Paige

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Cover: Laurelin Paige

  Editor: Erica at Erica Edits, Nancy at Evident Ink

  Proofing: Michele Ficht

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Elizabeth

  2. Weston

  3. Elizabeth

  4. Weston

  5. Elizabeth

  6. Weston

  7. Elizabeth

  8. Weston

  9. Elizabeth

  10. Weston

  11. Elizabeth

  12. Weston

  13. Elizabeth

  14. Weston

  15. Elizabeth

  16. Weston

  17. Elizabeth

  18. Weston

  19. Elizabeth

  20. Weston

  21. Elizabeth

  Epilogue

  The Dirty Universe Continues…

  Also by Laurelin Paige

  Let’s stay in touch!

  About Laurelin Paige

  Acknowledgments and Author’s Note

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  DID YOU KNOW…

  This book is available in both paperback and audiobook editions at all major online retailers! Links are on my website.

  If you’d like to order a signed paperback, my online store is open several times a year here.

  1

  Elizabeth

  “You’re married!” exclaimed my grandmother—Nana—embracing me, as I walked into the hotel foyer. She was happy and joyful, as was her daughter Becky, who was waiting behind her to hug me.

  I was blinking rapidly, trying to stop the frustrated tears from rolling down my cheeks. I could probably pass off a few as sentimental, but the wave threatening was bigger than that. My family would certainly recognize it as more if it broke.

  I had to swallow it back, had to rein it in somehow.

  I focused on the sound of Nana’s voice and the smell of her, warm and comforting and familiar, and tried to forget about the confusion and the war between me and my new husband.

  It wasn’t so easy when it was my mother in front of me. She could see right through the mask.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered in my ear as she gave me the required mother/bride embrace.

  I was saved from answering by LeeAnn Gregori, our wedding planner.

  “Elizabeth!” she called, summoning me towards her. “We’re waiting!”

  I glanced over my mother’s shoulder toward the we that LeeAnn referred to—the wedding photographer and my groom, Weston King. They were only thirty feet away from me, but it felt like a continent.

  The ceremony that had concluded less than half an hour before made Weston and me closer than we ever had been, in theory. And yet, after the words he’d just said to me—I can’t go with you—he might as well already be an ocean away.

  I wiped at the stray tear and squeezed my mother. “Everything’s fine,” I lied. I should’ve been good at this by now, after five months of pretending, but right now it felt harder than ever. Perhaps because I didn’t know anymore which parts I was faking and which I wasn’t. The wedding was real. The feelings were real. For both of us, I’d learned.

  The relationship, though?

  Apparently that was still up for debate.

  But if I wanted to convince my cousin this was all legitimate so he didn’t challenge my claim to my inheritance, I had to pretend the relationship was solid as well.

  I crossed the room with my head held high, a smile on my lips, making damn sure no one besides my mother could see the struggle inside.

  “One in front of the Christmas tree would be absolutely spectacular,” LeeAnn suggested, and the photographer agreed, posing Weston and me there. We did several variations of holding hands and embracing. I couldn’t look directly into his eyes, had to force myself to look at his nose instead, or his eyebrows, knowing I’d be unable to handle what I would find if I looked at him for real.

  He seemed to feel the same. Just as awkward around me.

  “They’re sort of stiff, aren’t they?” I heard the photographer whisper to LeeAnn.

  “They’re very formal,” LeeAnn said, making up an excuse for us on the spot. The poor lady probably didn’t know what to think of us with all the bickering we’d done in her presence over the last few months.

  Maybe Weston had heard him too, because all of a sudden he did loosen up, and in the next picture he pulled me to him and improvised a kiss. I wanted to push him away, because I was frustrated and angry at him for keeping me in the dark and confusing me and yanking me up and down like a yo-yo.

  But even if it wasn’t for the show we were putting on, I couldn’t resist him. I’d never been able to resist him. I threw my arms around his neck and let him kiss away my worry. He’ll explain later, I told myself while his lips were bruising mine. He wants to be with me, just like I want to be with him. We’ll make it work. Somehow.

  He pulled away and I searched for that same reassurance in his face that I’d felt in his kiss, but his eyes seemed to be trying to tell me something different than what I was asking.

  “Weston? We can still figure—”

  He shook his head. “Not now,” he whispered harshly.

  “Where do you want us?” a familiar voice came from behind the photographer.

  I pried my gaze away from Weston and found my cousin Darrell had joined my mother and Nana and Weston’s family, all gathering for the group pictures to be taken.

  This whole charade had been for him. If I hadn’t been afraid he’d contest the validity of my nuptials, I would have eloped with Weston at City Hall.

  Which meant Weston may have just been performing again. He could have seen Darrell and thrown in the kiss to make the photo seem more authentic.

  At least I could count on him for that.

  As to whether or not he would tell me what was holding him in New York, what would keep him from having a relationship with me and moving to France, I could hope he would tell me later, but why would he, when he’d never opened up before? He’d never even bothered explaining his strained family dynamics to me.

  It was probably safer not to hold my breath waiting for more.

  The group pictures were easier to endure. Even though I still had Weston at my side, could still feel his heat in the press of his body against mine, there were others around me and their energy helped bring a genuine smile to my face.

  Soon the pictures were finished. “Let’s go!” LeeAnn said, in full drill sergeant mode. “The schedule has us back at the reception by now.”

  Weston followed after her, eager to be away from his clingy parents, but before I could escape, Darrell caught me by the elbow. The hair stood up at the nape of my neck. The last time he and I had been alone he hadn’t been very nice to me, and I didn’t expect that he’d be any kinder today.

  He surprised me, though. “I must say, Elizabeth, I was very impressed with the sincerity of the ceremony. You and the King boy seem to have feelings for each other. It was hard to tell in the porno I watched from that nightclub footage of the two of you.”

  Turned out I was less in the mood for this than for his bullying. It made me feel more like a fraud than when he’d accused me of spreading my legs li
ke a prostitute in the video he’d referred to as a porno. And when I’d grinded on Weston hoping to be caught on camera it had been pretend. So that was saying something.

  But of everyone on the guest list for the day, Darrell was my number one priority. If I didn’t fool him, there was no point in trying to fool anyone else.

  With a sigh, I turned toward him. “What is it going to take for you to believe that I’m really happy and in love with Weston?” I certainly didn’t sound like a bride who was happy and in love, but being harassed by my cousin on my wedding day certainly warranted some agitation on my part.

  “I’m sure I won’t be truly convinced until you’re both settled in together and the transfer of ownership has gone smoothly,” Darrell said. “But today was a good start.”

  My already empty stomach clenched like I was going to retch. Because from the last word Weston had given me, there was going to be no settling in together.

  But it had never been the plan to actually settle in with him. Everything was on course, even if it felt like the train had run off the tracks and there were mass casualties, the only one hurting was me.

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” I said with the fakest smile I’d ever given. I spun on my heel and went to find my groom so we could be announced to our guests as Mr. and Mrs. King.

  Inside the ballroom, I forced myself to forget about what was on the line and the questions in my head. Weston and I separated, each of us to say hello and mingle with guests on our own, and while that hadn’t been the plan, it turned out to be for the best. I could forget better when he wasn’t standing next to me, forget that he’d declared feelings for me out of the blue during our ceremony. I could forget that he told me how he’d meant them as soon as we were alone together. I could forget that he then told me we couldn’t have a life together and that none of it mattered.

  I could forget, until I came to Jepson Arndt, an old friend of my father’s and the current treasurer for Dyson Media, the company that I would soon be taking over.

  “I’m eager to hear what your plans are for the company,” he said, which sent me spiraling in a new round of dizzy nerves.

  Was I ready for this kind of questioning? Was I ready for this company? Weston had been training me for the last several months, but there was still so much that I was ignorant about, so many areas where I was naïve. Jepson was a man well into his fifties with a whole career of experience behind him. I was less than half his age, my only experience in business gleaned from Weston’s old textbooks and pop quizzes—and I would now be his boss. How did I ever think I could manage this?

  Thankfully, he didn’t continue the conversation in the direction that I thought he would.

  But the new avenue he took was just as bad.

  “I don’t want to bog you down, though, with business details on your wedding day. We can leave that for another time. Perhaps we could meet privately some time soon. What are your living arrangements going to be? Will you be staying here? Or are you moving to France, like your father did?”

  “I…we…” It was really stupid to not be prepared for this. I’d expected people to ask about our honeymoon, not about after. Weston and I hadn’t planned an after together. We’d come back to New York, of course, and I would begin the process of taking over the company. At some point, I’d go on to France. Weston would stay in the States, and I would tell people he would come later.

  And that would be a lie.

  Instead of joining me, we’d get divorced.

  Now I wasn’t sure of any of it. Because if Weston wouldn’t come with me to France…was there a chance I’d stay in New York for him?

  “I’m putting my penthouse up for sale,” I said, because that was one thing I was sure of. Even if I stayed in New York, Weston preferred living near his office.

  Jesus, I couldn’t believe I was even considering an alternate future, one where I gave up my dreams to be with him. But more than anything, I hated that I didn’t know what came next.

  “Then you’re planning to come to France?” Jepson asked.

  I turned my head to look for Weston, wondering again why he wouldn’t come with me, wondering if I could change his mind.

  When I found him in the crowd of people at our reception, I was hit in the stomach like a crash in stock prices.

  He was dancing. We hadn’t even had a first dance together—we hadn’t put one on the agenda, but that wasn’t the point—and he was dancing with Sabrina Lind, his ex-girlfriend and current employee.

  Was that why Weston didn’t want to come to France with me? Because he’d have to leave her?

  My ribs felt as if they were suddenly squeezing together. I’d been jealous of her for months, and Weston had never given me any reason not to be. Donovan had brought Sabrina as his date, and I knew that Donovan was interested in her for himself, but that didn’t say anything about Weston or Sabrina’s feelings. I’d never had the impression other people’s feelings were terribly important to Donovan Kincaid.

  From this angle, I couldn’t see Weston’s face well, but it was impossible to miss the way Sabrina was clinging to my husband. She seemed almost desperate, like she needed him to stand.

  Yeah, that was the way I felt about him too.

  I was so frustrated. So confused. So unsettled. The tears that had threatened earlier pressed against the dam, hot and angry.

  “Yes, I’ll be moving to France,” I said, because I needed the security of my plans. “Excuse me, Jepson, I need a moment please.”

  I didn’t even care what it looked like, or what he thought of me, this giant in the empire that I was taking over. This moment felt so small and pale compared to the vast wilderness of betrayal and pain inside of me, a wilderness brought on by Weston King.

  I had to get away.

  And there was nowhere for brides to escape, I’d learned. All eyes had been on me from the minute the celebration had begun. Even trips to the restroom were nearly impossible with people swarming to compliment and praise and give their well wishes. But I needed someplace, a spot I could hide, if even for just a minute.

  Desperately, I looked around and noticed the divider that had been set up to wall off the reception during the ceremony was nearby. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

  I slipped around the corner and finally, I was alone.

  I made my way to the small stage that was now pushed all the way up against the wall, where Weston and I had so recently stood and made vows to each other. He’d looked me in the eyes and told me I’d changed his life for the better. He’d called me his home.

  If I really was his home, why did it feel so much like I was spinning aimlessly?

  With no one watching me, I could throw my head back and let the tears fall—not too many, just a few. I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about, really. Everything. Nothing.

  I was tired, that was it.

  Tired of pretending my feelings for Weston weren’t real. Tired of pretending my marriage was. Tired of guessing what was in his head. Tired of justifying what was in mine. Of not knowing if I could pull this off and tired of worrying about what happened next. Of wondering if my father would approve. Of being jealous of Sabrina. Of wearing these heels. Tired of men making me question my worth and my value and my place in the world.

  I was a queen.

  That was my place in the world.

  With or without a king, I was a queen. I’d be a queen no matter how this ended. I had to remember that.

  “Elizabeth?”

  I startled, glancing at the source of the voice, simultaneously trying to hide my face while I frantically wiped the moisture off my cheeks. “Clarence,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m…”

  He was at my side before I could figure out how to finish the statement. “You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

  “I needed some air,” I said pushing the emotions inside me, boxing them up. “It was so crowded in there.” I couldn’t look at him yet. Too frazzled. Too obviously lying.
/>   “These aren’t the just-needed-space kind of tears, Bitsy. Come on. I know you. Remember?”

  I turned to look at him finally, to study him. He was just as attractive as he’d been in high school, with his broad shoulders and defined jawline. His slicked-back brunette hair and light brown eyes were maybe nothing special on their own, but the whole package came together quite nicely, tied with a Henry-Cavill-type bow.

  But even though he still looked good, he didn’t look the same. We weren’t the same.

  “You don’t know me anymore. It’s been years.” Years since we’d been together. Seven, to be exact, and we’d barely seen each other since. I wasn’t Bitsy anymore. The ways I had changed could be written in volumes.

  “I think I still know you,” he said sweetly rather than patronizingly. He reached his hand out to brush my face where tears had gathered along my jawline. “I really wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

  And for half a second I considered it, considered telling him everything, not because I still had feelings for him or because I wanted him now, but because he was gentle and kind and there, and I really did want someone to talk to in the moment.

  But the person I wanted wasn’t Clarence Sheridan. And it wasn’t just a shoulder to cry on. I wanted Weston King.

  And confessing things to this old friend, practically a stranger now, would do nothing to get me the man I wanted.

  “Really, it’s silly. I was just sad that my father isn’t here for my big day.”

  “Of course. What was I thinking? He died a little more than a year ago, didn’t he? I heard about his passing. I’m so sorry.” He rubbed his hand up and down my arm. He was trying to be comforting, but his fingers felt like sandpaper on my skin. Rough and wrong.