Chapter Twelve
Kelly’s Games
The penthouse was dim, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and high-end liquor. Kelly lounged across Damien’s chest, their naked bodies tangled in silk sheets. His hand lay limp at her hip, the remnants of their passion still clinging to her skin like perfume.
She pressed a kiss to his collarbone, slowly trailing her lips up his neck until he stirred.
“Damien,” she whispered, voice like velvet, “you’re quiet.”
His eyes opened slowly, clouded with thought, not desire.
Kelly propped herself on her elbow. The sheet slipped just low enough to bare the curve of her breast.
He didn’t look.
She noticed.
“You always do this,” she murmured, fingers tracing circles on his abdomen. “You take and disappear back into her arms.”
Damien sighed. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.” She straddled him with fluid grace. “I just think it’s time we stop pretending.”
He placed his hands on her hips, steadying her. But there was hesitation in his grip.
“Kelly—”
“We’ve been doing this for two years,” she said, hips rolling subtly. “Two years of secrets, of lies, of me giving you what she never could.”
“She gave me everything,” he muttered.
Kelly stilled. Her expression darkened.
“And yet you keep coming back to me.”
Damien closed his eyes. “That doesn’t make it right.”
Kelly leaned forward, her breath hot against his jaw. “Maybe not. But it makes it real.”
Her mouth claimed his, fierce and demanding, and for a moment, he gave in. Heat bloomed between them again, but it was frantic now, desperate, tainted by guilt.
Kelly arched beneath him, fingers digging into his back. She whispered all the things he used to crave. How no one else touched her like he did, how she was always his, how she’d wait forever if she had to.
But the moment it was over, he rolled away.
Again.
Always.
Kelly stood at the window, a silk robe draped over her curves as she lit a cigarette. The city twinkled below, indifferent to her rage.
“I’m tired of being your secret,” she said quietly.
Damien, now dressed, adjusted his cufflinks. “You knew what this was.”
“No,” she snapped. “I thought I did. I thought you’d grow a spine eventually. But you’re still playing house with your perfect little wife.”
He looked up sharply. “Don’t talk about her.”
Kelly turned, fire in her eyes. “You don’t get to protect her, Damien. Not after what we’ve done. Not after how many times you’ve moaned her name in your sleep and still ended up in my bed.”
Damien’s jaw tensed.
“I want more,” she said.
He stared.
“I want your name,” she continued. “Your home. Your public affection. I want dinner parties and Christmas mornings. I want to wear your ring.”
Damien’s silence stretched too long.
“You’re not leaving her,” Kelly whispered.
“I can’t.”
Her laugh was low and bitter. “You mean you won’t.”
“She’s my wife.”
“And I’m the one you love,” Kelly countered.
“Do I?” he whispered, more to himself than to her.
Her face went cold.
“I’m done playing mistress, Damien. If you don’t end it with her before the vow renewal, I will. In my own way.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat?”
She stepped forward, fingers brushing down his chest. “It’s a promise.”
After he left, Kelly poured herself another drink and dialed a number she hadn’t used in months. The man who answered was deep-voiced, British, and amused.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss King’s little shadow,” he said.
“I need information,” she said. “On a man named Grayson Collin.”
Silence.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because he’s circling,” she replied. “And I need to know what Cassie sees in him before she uses him against me.”
“Cassie isn’t the enemy,” he said dryly.
“She is when she’s in my way.”
Kelly downed the scotch and smiled to herself. Let Cassie plan her precious little legacy party. Kelly had games of her own.