Read His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1) for Free Online Page A

want nothing more
than to smack that smug smile off of his face. Is this really all
just a game to him? Is he getting his kicks by pissing me off?
    A part of me wants to storm from the room.
Whether I can actually make it back to Barberville or not, I don't
have to stand here and take this from him. But sulking out to my
car feels more childish than sitting back down at the table, and I
won't let him make me feel like a sullen brat. I sigh and return to
the table, sinking into my seat and taking up my fork without
giving Calder a second glance.
    He's watching me, though. As soon as I put
the last bit of salad in my mouth, he's on his feet and back at the
cart again. He removes the lid from one of the silver chafing
dishes, and a heavenly aroma greets my nostrils. Damn him and his
brilliant personal chef. I'm not feeling very complimentary right
now, but my taste buds water in defiance of my dark mood.
    The main course is pecan-crusted salmon with
a side of buttered white asparagus. He serves me again, as he did
with the salad. I offer him my polite thanks before falling back
into silence.
    The food does little to temper my anger.
Neither does the way Calder keeps looking at me. I still can't
believe his arrogance. He thinks he's won, that I'm halfway into
bed with him already. He's so used to women just falling over
themselves for him. Well, not me. Hell will freeze over before that
happens. I may be stuck here, but that doesn't change anything.
    I sneak a glance at him when he leans forward
to grab the wine bottle again. Sure, I can appreciate his looks
from a purely aesthetic point of view. Those broad shoulders and
strong jawline have, I’m certain, left many a woman swooning. If
I’m being honest, the untrimmed hair and stubble suit him far
better than the über-polished look he sported at Arts & Hearts.
But does that mean I'm attracted to him? No. He's still an ass, and
a shitty personality can make even the finest man on earth seem
ugly.
    “Enjoying the view, Ms. Frazer?”
    Heat floods my cheeks, but I recover
quickly.
    “Merely musing on how arrogance can really
bring a man down a few notches in the looks department,” I say.
    “Interesting observation.” He pours himself
more merlot. “Frankly I've found that most women seem to find
confidence an asset, rather than a detriment to my appearance.”
    “Arrogance and confidence aren't the same
thing.”
    “Aren't they, though?” he replies. “In my
experience, most women respond quite favorably to a man who isn't
afraid to tell them exactly what he wants and then follow through
on it.”
    “Maybe you just attract the women who are
easily blinded by money and compliments.”
    “Tell me, Ms. Frazer,” he says, “why are you
here, if you're not interested in my money?”
    “That's not the same thing at all.”
    “Isn't it?” He gestures with his fork.
“Perhaps you're asking for a different application of the funds,
but you're still interested in my money.”
    “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
    “I’m not accusing you at all,” he says
pleasantly. “I'm just asking you to take a hard look at what you're
doing here before you start casting judgment on other people.”
    “You're one to lecture me on morality,” I
counter.
    He shrugs. “I'm only making an
observation.”
    No , I think. You're only trying to
bait me . He's enjoying this whole thing too much, and I'm
making it way too easy for him.
    I sit back in my chair and take a deep
breath. Continuing to get angry won't solve anything. I don't want
to give Calder the satisfaction of thinking that he's gotten under
my skin.
    We spend the rest of the meal in silence.
More than once I think about raising the issue of the Center. After
all, we had a deal. But I'm too emotional right now. Even if I
thought that I could change his mind about the Center—which I don't
anymore—I can't even put together a coherent argument while I’m
this worked up.
    When I've eaten the last bit of food on