Dirty Trick by Christine Bell Read Free Book Online Page A

Salem. The lights were off, but the ceiling was entirely made of glass, and the autumn moon glimmered off the small indoor pool, bathing the room in a wash of silver. White stone tiles cut a path through the darker pebble gray ones, leading to a ten-by-ten wooden structure. Sauna, she guessed. In one corner of the room sat three massage tables, lined up in a neat row. For those massage parties that rich people always had? she wondered, half in a daze. Along the back wall was a giant circular lounger. The plush red cushion was stacked high with throw pillows, making it look like the bed of a sultan from an old black and white movie.
    She felt like she should say something…do s omething , but her feet were as frozen as her tongue.
    He tilted his head down and shrugged. “Up to you.”
    His tone was casual, but she had the distinct feeling a lot was riding on her answer. This was no salon with a love seat or masculine study with a big leather chair to cozy up on. This room wasn’t for making out. This room was for trouble.
    Serious trouble.
    Naughty trouble.
    Delicious, mind-blowing, muscle-straining trouble. The kind she’d only dreamed about. The kind that Victor had almost convinced her was dirty and wrong.
    She laid a hand on the deep dip of his spine and shoved him through the door.

Chapter Four
    Trick didn’t know what had made him choose that particular room. Maybe instinct. Maybe the supernatural. Hell, maybe it was the Great Pumpkin. But after six months of waiting, he didn’t really give a shit. The stars had lined up, and it was going down. He was finally getting the chance to show Gracie Love what he was made of, and if he played his cards right, maybe she’d want to keep him around.
    A sudden, unfamiliar bout of nerves hit him as they walked to the center of the room. “So, uh, you want to dip our feet in the—”
    She must have been just as tense because she began talking at the same time. “Did you want me to lay on the be—”
    He stared down at her, charmed by the twin flags of red on her cheeks.
    She stared up at him with a bemused blink and ran a hand through her curls, knocking her hat off in the process. “Sorry. That was presumptuous. You said make out, and I assumed we could…would…” The rest became a mumble as she bent to retrieve her hat, promptly bashing her forehead against the wine bottle in his hand. “Ow, shit!”
    “Are you okay?”
    She straightened and rubbed at the offending spot. “Other than my abject humiliation? I’m fine, although I’m starting to think this was a terrible idea. I don’t do this kind of thing and so far, it seems like I’m going to be pretty bad at it.”
    For the first time in his life, he wished he could say the same. The first part, at any rate. If he could, he would undo every casual fling he’d ever had if it meant that Grace would’ve viewed him as the kind of guy she could settle down with. Every woman he’d been with until now felt like the minor leagues. Practice for the bigs.
    For tonight.
    He wasn’t about to let her talk herself out of it now. She stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and a calm settled over him. She still wanted this. She just needed him to take the lead here. He could do that. Hell, he preferred it.
    “Hang onto this.” He handed her the wine and crossed the room toward the far wall where he’d noticed a panel next to the light switch, which he ignored. Moonlight was perfect for what he had planned and, even better, the house was wired for XM radio and surround sound, exactly as he’d hoped. He selected a smooth jazz station and turned the volume up loud enough that, if conversation lagged, they could just listen and not feel awkward. Perfect. Grabbing some of the throw pillows from the lounger, he turned back around to find her frantically trying to pry the loosened cork from the bottle with her teeth, and he bit back a chuckle. A drunk Grace wasn’t part of the plan, but if she needed a little liquid