The Lover’s Game (No Exceptions #2)(24)
Author: J.C. Reed

A car honked right outside my window.

I flinched and tried to sit up when a wave of nausea hit me.

Damn!

My head felt as though it had been hit with a sledgehammer. In fact, I had never realized a body could hurt in so many places. Someone had definitely left the windows open, because, while New York City wasn’t exactly a place of quietness and serenity, it wasn’t usually that loud. Groaning, I rolled onto one side and finally pried my eyes open, readying myself to stand and face the noise.

I froze, and for a second, my heart gave out.

Holy shit!

Jett was standing by the open window. My mouth dropped open as I scanned my surroundings. It was definitely my room. And it was definitely him standing there. His gorgeous back was turned to me, and his were hands crossed over his chest as he stared out of the window at the street below. He looked still and reminiscent, but his muscles were tense and matched the emotional undercurrents wafting from him. The light emphasized his naked broad shoulders and rippling muscles. I wondered how long he had been there.

Next to my bed was a bucket that had been cleaned and still glimmered with moisture. Someone had used it, and that someone might have been me. My nausea returned with a vengeance; I was sick to the core at the realization that my lips were swollen, and my abdomen felt deliciously sore. I felt sick as I realized I was naked, and that I might have slept with the stranger. Had I really brought someone home? If so, what was Jett doing in my room, wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue shorts, which praised the fact he was well endowed? I pulled my gaze away from him to my naked br**sts.

Oh, God.

Suppressing a groan, I slumped back, fighting the urge to pull the covers back over my head and pray for Earth to swallow me whole. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the stranger hadn’t been a stranger at all. Somehow, I had brought my ex back home, even though I had never wanted to sleep with him again—not after he had cheated on me with someone from his past while visiting his brother, who had tried to kill me.

As if sensing my stare, Jett turned around, and my heart skipped a beat. In spite of all the ugly things he had done to me, he was still the most beautiful man I had ever seen. My heart fluttered from his mere presence; all it took was a single glance from him. I stared at his perfect features, inwardly praying for the entire situation to be nothing but a bad dream. But it was indeed Jett: the man who had broken my heart twice. From his green eyes, to his chiseled chest and bulging biceps, to the tribal tattoo covering his left arm and shoulder, he looked like a deadly temptation—an inescapable trap my foolish heart would fall into forever and never escape.

With love comes pain.

“What are you doing here?” I was so shocked that my voice cracked.

“Are you feeling better?” His soft tone reflected his concern. He stepped toward me.

I jumped out of the bed, pressing the cover against my naked body.

“Answer my question, Jett,” I hissed. “What are you doing here?”

For a brief moment, confusion crossed his face, and then it turned into a self-assured smile. “We hooked up last night, remember?” He cocked a brow in amusement, and for a second, I could almost feel the pictures flickering before his eyes.

“What do you mean, we hooked up?” I asked, mortified. It was a stupid question, but I had to ask nonetheless, if only to buy myself time to process the obvious.

Seconds ticked by.

“Jett?” Please say you didn’t sleep with me. Please. Please!

Peering into his face, I knew I was kidding myself; his smile told the entire story.

Just look at his twitching lips, Stewart. He slept with you…and you enjoyed it.

“You asked me to give you a ride home.” His voice dripped with insinuation as he regarded me with amusement.

I shook my head. I knew I was in denial, and yet I had to give it a try.

“Does that mean we f**ked?” I asked calmly.

The corner of his lips twitched again at my choice of words, and his eyes sparkled with trouble.

“Yes, you could say that.” He nodded and inched closer. “You kept calling me your wolf or something. You even begged me for it.”

My cheeks caught fire.

“I did what?” I drew a sharp breath and moistened my lips as I tried to make sense of the situation and my strong reaction to him.

His grin widened. “In case you don’t remember, I’m happy to refresh your memory. We hooked up, we f**ked, and then…we f**ked some more.” His gaze bored into mine as his lips curled into another heart-dropping smile. “Want to owe me again, Jenna?”

Crap. Crap. Crappity crap.

It was official. I had slept with my ex, and I couldn’t even blame it on him, because I had begged him to take me. For the first time since meeting Jett, I wished he’d just tell me more lies. And there I had thought I’d be able to move on from him and his hot body without further incident. Then again, he was my first love. No one had ever made me fall so hard or turned me so stupid. No one had made me feel so starved for sex and him. I had returned to him before, which was proof that I couldn’t trust my own judgment. The fact that I had brought him home again, when I didn’t want to, told me that love had made me her bitch and that the only reason I had even considered sleeping with a stranger was because, deep down, I had been looking for a man as attractive as Jett Mayfield. For some reason, I wanted him no matter what. The possibility that I would never be free of my desire to be with him had me fuming.

Anger gripped me—at being so weak, at my heart’s fluttering because Jett was in close proximity, at him smelling so good, and at having to force my lips to stop smiling whenever my gaze brushed his hard body.

My blood began to boil in my veins. The attraction to him had to stop. I was so enraged that I grabbed anything I could find, and it so happened to be my high heel. With a cry of frustration, I hurled it at him, but he dodged it, and it hit the wall.

“Why did you say your name was Check?” I shouted, barely able to contain the wrath in my tone.

If he noticed it, he didn’t show it. Instead, he let out an amused laugh.

“I thought it was fun that we were playing a game,” he said, still wearing that irritating grin of his. “You’ve always been a sore loser.”

“So it was all a game to you? You’re so sick and bored of me that you need role play?” I hissed.

His grin disappeared in an instant. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and a frown began to darken his features.

“You know that’s not true, Brooke,” he said at last. “You like playing games just as much as I do. It has nothing to do with being bored.”