The Player (The Game Maker 3)

"We didn't mean your grave."

"He'd never hurt me. My grift sense cleared him. . . ."

Now I pulled on the necklace, brushing my fingers over the stones. Soon Dmitri would be out of my life, his gift converted to cash. All I'd have would be a photo of this to remember.

My eyes threatened to water. Maybe I was a softie.

Inner shake. I finished dressing, then quickly assessed my outfit in the mirror. I'd kept my accessories simple--a light silver pashmina and my little silver purse looped over my shoulder--so my necklace would be the focus. I'd lined my eyes, but wore nude lipstick. I'd left my hair free to curl down my back.

Work the con, Vice.

Ha. I kept assuring myself I was acting in the interest of the con. But I feared I was already addicted to him.

My stomach felt fluttery as I carried my bag to the front door. With a wide smile, I opened up. "Hey, big--"

Brett.

I froze.

He looked like hell, his face unshaven with dark circles under his eyes. "It's so good to see you, Tori." The nickname dredged up a slew of memories.

Tori, w-will you go to the movies with me? . . . I love you, Tori. . . . Will you marry me, Tori? . . . Please, Tori, she didn't mean anything to me!

He pointed to the green notice on my door. "They're gonna evict you?"

Finding my voice, I said, "That doesn't concern you."

"Of course it does. Come back home. Please. I'll do anything."

Home? We'd been broken up for a year. And Dmitri would arrive any minute! "You've got to go. Now."

"Why?"

"I have a date who'll be here shortly. This isn't fair for you to barge in on me like this."

He frowned. "Then why did you tell me to come over at one?"

"What are you talking about?"

He took his phone out of his jeans pocket and showed me an e-mail--sent from my account two hours ago--that did indeed ask him to come over to talk.

Who the hell had sent it? Anyone in my family could have accessed my account--they all knew !jiepdll!ozqkml14** was my password--but they also knew Dmitri would be here at one.

They'd never let anything interrupt my budding relationship with a jealous, possessive, controlling billionaire--

My eyes widened. But they'd do anything to accelerate it.

Whoever had e-mailed Brett was using him as an unwitting shill--to create a crisis of jealousy for Dmitri.

Too soon in the timeline! Too freaking personal.

Just yesterday, Karin had talked about manufacturing a crisis. Had it been her? "I'm sorry, Brett, but I didn't e-mail you. Someone must be . . . playing a prank. Or something."

"A prank?" The pain in his eyes was stark. He'd gotten his hopes up.

I reminded myself I'd probably shown him the same stark look when I'd caught him with another woman.

Brett's gaze lit on my diamonds, then dropped to my luggage on the floor. "You've got an overnight date? Who is this guy?"

"That hasn't been your business since you cheated on me."

He swiped a hand down his face. "I fucked up with you. I know how bad. But this can't be over. We were made for each other."

"I used to think so."

"It's still true. Please forgive me. Please take me back. Every second of the day, I'm trying to come up with something to say to convince you to give me another chance." His eyes glinted.

I once loved those hazel eyes, had thought I'd wake up to them for the rest of my life. "I can't come back from what I saw, Brett. I'm just not capable of it."

"I wish to God I could go back in time and change that night!"

Though I'd spent twelve months shying away from that memory, it welled up in my mind.

Brett and I had thrown a pre-season football party, but my family had called me in for a last-minute assist--drinks with promising investors/marks. I'd closed the tax-evaders early, so I'd hurried home, wending through shit-faced friends to get to the bedroom and change into my jersey. Brett and the tawny-haired bombshell hadn't heard me open the door. . . .

Now I told him, "When I walked in on you two, it took me the longest time to register what I was seeing."

"Tori, please don't."

They'd been naked in the bed I'd shared with him, frantically kissing, and he'd had his fingers inside her. Getting her ready. She'd been stroking him as his hips bucked to her fist. Unlike me, she had enhanced breasts and legs for miles.

As I'd choked back bile, my mind had been a chaos of jarring thoughts:

He's about to screw her. How long has this been going on? He and I had sex there hours ago. We talked about getting a puppy after our honeymoon. I just washed those sheets. I spent the entire day cleaning for our football party. He knows I don't even like football. But I'm supportive. I was supportive. He's about to do it.

Between kisses, he'd said to the woman, "I don't even know your last name."

The words had jolted me out of my stupor. He'd thrown me away for a quickie? A one-nighter with a stranger? I'd snapped, "Guess I should've bought motherfucking name tags for our party."

As I'd stormed out, I'd spotted her Jubilee! showgirls T-shirt on my freshly vacuumed floor. . . .

What if I hadn't caught him? What if I'd lived my life not knowing what pushed my buttons?

Black-haired, golden-eyed Russians with dominant streaks and wicked games.

I'd been devastated by Brett's actions, yet never been able to empathize. I'd never been able to imagine a desire so strong I'd risk everything to ease it.

After Dmitri, I had a clearer picture. In a haunted tone, I said, "I could see how much you wanted her; you were about to explode from it." Queasiness overwhelmed me. "There's no way you would've pulled away from that girl."

"I was about to, Tori!"

I cringed. Nails on a chalkboard.

How could I ever trust another man not to fall prey to his desires? I'd recognized I would need a grand gesture, some kind of overwhelming proof that I was the only one a partner would ever want.

Looking at my ex-fiance now, I realized no action would ever be enough to convince me. "You're here to reconcile, and yet you're lying right now."

He opened his mouth to tell me another one, so I raised my hand to stop him.

"I'm done." Over his shoulder, I saw a long, cool limo roll up. Shit.

Dmitri was out the door before the car fully stopped, six and a half feet of furious Russian, crossing to stand beside me. "Victoria?"

I swallowed. "Dmitri, this is Brett Wilson. Brett, Dmitri Sevastyan."

Former linebacker Brett had to gaze up to him. "He is your date?"

Even with his murderous expression, Dmitri looked every inch the billionaire. "I'm more than a mere date. Come, Vika, we will be late for the courthouse. For our wedding."

I did a double take. Wait, what?

Brett grabbed my arm, his face panicked. "Wedding?"

Dmitri's demean

or turned even more chilling. "Release. Her. Now."

"Or what?" My ex had at least twenty pounds of bulk on Dmitri. "Don't make me hurt you."

"Brett, he's got bodyguards." Starsky and Hutch stood beside the limo on high alert.

Dmitri's voice made the hairs on my nape stand up as he said, "No one touches what's mine."

"What's yours, pal?" Brett bowed up, readying for a fight.

"I'm giving you one last chance to let her go. As you already did before."

"Fuck off, man, or I will lay you out. This is between Tori and me--"

In one lightning fast movement, Dmitri yanked Brett's hand from me and launched a punch to his stomach.

Brett's breath left him in a rush.

"No! Stop this!" Before I could get between them, Brett recovered, yelling with fury. He swung for Dmitri's face.

Neatly dodging him, Dmitri stepped back. With his lips curving into a sneer, he raised one hand and motioned for Brett to try again.

Brett yelled and swung, but Dmitri drew his head back with plenty of time--and with utter confidence.

The Russian knew how to fight. "I'll thrash you simply for not appreciating what you had." The menace in his eyes . . .

When a man like Brett fought, he might give somebody a shiner, maybe knock some teeth loose. When a man like Dmitri fought, someone was going to die.

The bodyguards made no move to intervene, not that they needed to protect their boss.

"I'm leaving with you now, Dmitri!" I said. "Please, don't hurt him. Let's just go."

Never taking his gaze from his opponent, Dmitri slowly shook his head.

Brett threw another punch. Dmitri dodged and launched a hit of his own. His fist connected with Brett's nose.

A distinct crack sounded. Brett fell to his knees, holding his face. Blood poured through his fingers.

"Jesus!" I dropped beside him, laying a hand on his back. "Are you okay?" I gazed up at Dmitri. "Damn it, don't hit him again!"

Though Dmitri's eyes were wild, he pulled me to my feet so gently. "Then come with me."

To separate them, I let Dmitri usher me into the limo. As we drove away, I looked back through the rear window.

Brett lurched to his feet, blood pouring. "Please don't do this, Tori!" he yelled. "Ah, God, please don't!"

I squeezed my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears, wanting to block everything out. When I felt the limo turn a corner, I dropped my hands and turned to Dmitri. "What the hell was that?"