Dangerous Games: A Standalone Second Chance Romance Read online

  Dangerous Games

  T.K. Leigh

  DANGEROUS GAMES

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not sponsored, associated, or endorsed by the trademark owner.

  Published by Carpe Per Diem / Tracy Kellam, 25852 McBean Parkway # 806, Santa Clarita, CA 91355

  Edited by: Kim Young, Kim’s Editing Services

  Cover Design: Cat Head Biscuit, Inc., Santa Clarita, CA

  Cover Image Copyright merla 2019

  Used under license from Adobe Stock

  Copyright © 2019 T.K. Leigh / Tracy Kellam

  All rights reserved.

  To my very own rockstar…

  Contents

  A Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Royal Games

  Free Book!

  Commitment

  Playlist

  Connect with Me

  Books by T.K. Leigh

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for picking up a copy of Dangerous Games! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support. Dangerous Games is a standalone second chance, forbidden romance with a rockstar twist. You do not have to have read the prior books in this series to follow this book, as each one revolves around a different couple.

  With that being said, the couple you’ll meet in Dangerous Games was also featured in an optional prequel I published titled, Mind Games. I’ve ensured that it’s not absolutely necessary to read it in order to follow the storyline presented here. In Dangerous Games, you’ll learn Izzy and Asher had a chance meeting in Vegas a year previously. Mind Games gives you what happened during their night together in Las Vegas. I’ve included two of the important scenes as flashbacks in Dangerous Games. However, if you’d like a more detailed version of events, you’re more than welcome to grab your copy here.

  Thanks for your support, and I hope you enjoy Dangerous Games.

  Chapter One

  One of my earliest memories is that of my parents kissing. It may not sound like a poignant or remarkable event, considering they were married and kissed several times a day, but this particular kiss has always stayed with me.

  I couldn’t have been more than three years old. My father had a conference to attend in Florida, so my mother decided we’d all go. One day, when my father walked into the hotel room after a day of seminars, he kissed my mother, practically stealing her breath. When he pulled back, she murmured, “Welcome home.”

  At the time, I thought it odd. We weren’t home. This was just a hotel room we were staying in for a few nights. When I asked my mother, she told me something I’ll never forget.

  “Home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling. And when I’m with your father, I’m home.”

  Since then, I’ve searched for that feeling of home, desperate to experience that same belonging my mother did every time she peered into my father’s eyes.

  I never thought I’d find it where I did.

  A blast of wind whips my hair in front of my face. I smooth it behind my ear as I stare at the awning of a lounge near Bryant Park. Everything about it appears trendy and pretentious. I shouldn’t be surprised this is the type of place Jessie requested I meet him. He was never the kind of person to head to a neighborhood dive bar for a beer.

  I could easily turn around, tell him something came up at the hospital and I had to work overtime. But there was something that urged me to pick up my cell when I saw his name flash on my caller ID. Something in his voice that made me agree to his request. Guilt. Remorse. Desperation.

  I’m not sure if it’s on my part or his.

  Maybe both.

  When Jessie and I dated, then were engaged, he had a commanding presence. It may have seemed that way because his nearly twenty-three years felt mature next to my almost nineteen. He had this confidence that drew me to him, making me forget about everyone else who came before him.

  Almost everyone else.

  Regardless, in those few years we were together, he’d never sounded so lost, so uncertain as he did on the phone. Whatever he needs to talk to me about must be important if he called after not having so much as sent a text or email in the past nine years. I worry the secret I’ve been keeping is about to come out in a spectacular fashion.

  Inhaling a calming breath, I smooth my hands over my wool coat, descending the short flight of stairs into the basement lounge on shaky legs. A wall of warmth assaults me the instant I step into the darkened room. It’s not a typical Manhattan bar — big, noisy, overcrowded. This place is small, maybe enough seats for thirty people between the short bar counter and lush chairs. There’s no loud music being piped in. Instead, ambient jazz sounds in the background.

  “Do you have a reservation?” a petite blonde in a black dress asks as I attempt to unwrap my scarf, a few beads of sweat forming on the back of my neck, most likely from a combination of nerves and the drastic change in temperature from the frigid air outside.

  “Actually, I’m meeting—”

  “Izzy?”

  I fling my gaze in the direction of that voice, my breath hitching when I see a man I haven’t seen in nearly a decade. A man I’d hoped to never see again. Not because he’d sought comfort in another woman’s arms before I’d officially returned his ring. But because I fear what he’ll notice in my eyes.

  “Jessie.” I feel like I’m staring at a living memory, the act of peering into his dark orbs returning me to a time in my life when seeing him was an everyday occurrence. For over two years, it was.

  Not
a single strand of his chestnut hair is out of place, his jawline clean-shaven, making me think he probably has a weekly appointment with his barber. His tall, slender physique looks borderline intimidating in an impeccably tailored three-piece suit. Jessie always was the type to dress well, even when he was younger.

  “Dress for the job you want. Not the one you have,” he’d say.

  Now, based on what I know, he has the job he always wanted — managing his brother’s rising music career.

  “Hey.” He scrapes a hand through his hair. “I’m glad you’re here. It really…” He exhales a shaky breath. “You had every reason not to, but I’m grateful you agreed to meet me.”

  I press my lips into a tight line, not responding. How can I? I fear the second I open my mouth, the truth will fall from me like an avalanche. The unease about his invitation has been eating me up to the point I’ve barely slept since I received his phone call. Anyone else in my position wouldn’t have agreed, would have distanced themselves. But curiosity got the better of me. As did my compassion. Despite our past, this is a man I once imagined spending the rest of my life with. A man I once loved.

  One I probably always will.

  “Can I take your jacket, miss?” the hostess asks, cutting through my thoughts.

  “Thank you.” I remove my scarf and gloves before unbuttoning my coat.

  As I shrug out of it, Jessie reacts quickly, helping me, as he always did. I offer him an appreciative smile. When he takes in the dress I selected for tonight, his eyes flare. It’s a far cry from the jeans and t-shirts I wore every day of my undergraduate career. The last time he saw me, I was a girl, only a few weeks past my twenty-first birthday. A lot can change in that time.

  “Enjoying the show?” I retort playfully, crossing my arms in front of my chest, which only serves to accentuate my cleavage that’s already prominently on display, thanks to the plunging neckline of the sleek red dress.

  “Um… Sorry, Iz. You just… You look… Wow.”

  My cheeks heat. Regardless of everything that transpired between us, the fact he still finds me beautiful is a much-needed confidence boost after having recently celebrated my thirtieth birthday.

  “This way.” He places his hand on the small of my back, leading me toward a secluded table in a darkened corner. When I slip into the lounge chair, he ensures I’m comfortable before taking his seat across from me. “What would you like to drink?” He signals for a server. “I’m assuming you’ve outgrown jungle juice and kamikaze shots.”

  My stomach roils at the mere mention. “You assume correctly. I can’t even think about triple sec without wanting to hurl.”

  “Duly noted.” There’s a twinkle in his eye I never noticed before. He’s always been charming and charismatic. It was what attracted me to him all those years ago. But now it’s more pronounced, his maturity accentuating all the qualities I once appreciated.

  “What can I get you?” a tall redhead in a tight-fitting dress asks, placing a cocktail napkin in front of me.

  “Dry martini, please.”

  “Certainly.” She turns her attention to Jessie. “Another club soda?”

  With a curt nod, he responds. “Please.”

  “Of course.”

  I watch as she retreats, then turn back to him. “No jungle juice for you, either?”

  “Nah. I’m not much of a drinker these days. At least not when I need to keep a clear head.”

  I swallow hard. “And what do you need to have a clear head for?” My voice trembles, my mouth growing dry as a chill trickles down my spine.

  He brushes the pad of his thumb the length of his bottom lip. His contemplative stare causes goosebumps to prickle my skin, a sinking sensation settling deep in my stomach. “Obviously I didn’t call to reminisce about the past.” His eyes gleam with amusement.

  “I figured as much.” I run my clammy hands along the skirt of my dress, fidgeting with the hem in a desperate need to do something with my hands.

  “I didn’t see any other option.” He narrows his gaze on me, much like my father did when he caught me sneaking in after curfew during high school.

  But back then, I was simply having innocent fun with friends. This secret isn’t innocent, especially where Jessie’s concerned.

  “Here you go,” our server interrupts, placing a martini glass in front of me and a small tumbler filled with a clear effervescent liquid in front of Jessie. As anxious as I am to get on with this conversation, I welcome the reprieve. Or stay of execution.

  “Thank you,” Jessie says.

  The waitress nods. “Holler if you need anything else.”

  Once we’re alone again, he lifts his glass. “To making amends.” He raises his brow in expectation.

  Hand trembling, I reach for my drink, bringing it toward his. “To making amends,” I repeat. But amends for what?

  After we’ve both taken a sip of our respective beverages, he returns his glass to the table, clearing his throat. “I want to start by thanking you for coming. I realize I was cryptic over the phone—”

  “That’s a gross understatement.” I give him a coy smile, masking my nerves. “I can’t help but think that was intentional so I’d have no choice but to show up to find out what you wanted.”

  “Can you blame me? If I were in your shoes, I’d be suspicious if my ex called out of the blue after eight years.”

  “Nine,” I correct.

  “Right.” He hangs his head. “Nine years.” He blows out a laugh, his eyes glistening with nostalgia. “In some respects, it doesn’t seem possible that much time could have passed. In others, it does.” He slowly lifts his gaze to mine. The remorse I see within is enough to bring me to my knees, my guilt festering even more, squeezing my lungs and tugging at my heart. “Izzy…” He reaches across the table, grasping my hand in his. He looks down as he toys with the barren ring finger where the symbol of his devotion once sat. “I kept it.”

  “Kept what?”

  “Your ring. I could have sold it. Hell, the jeweler I went to had a buyback program the saleswoman was keen to make me aware of, more so when she learned how young you were.” He laughs slightly, still caressing my skin. “But I couldn’t. Even though I knew selling that ring would help pay off some of my student loans—”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He drops his hold on me, taking a sip of his club soda. “It didn’t seem right. A part of me hoped you’d come back. But the other part knew that would never happen. Not after I betrayed you.”

  My stomach sours at the regret laced around every syllable. Every breath. Every small smile.

  “You didn’t betray me.” I pull the olive from my martini and bite it off the cocktail stick. “I couldn’t expect you to remain faithful when I gave you every indication that I was done. Like Ross would say, we were on a break.”

  His mouth kicks up into the same smirk that stole my heart once upon a time. “Still a Friends fanatic?”

  “Some things will never change.”

  He peers at me thoughtfully. “That’s actually comforting. Whenever I scroll through the channels and see Friends is on, I think of you. But our situation was a little different than Ross and Rachel’s ‘break’.”

  “How so?”

  He nods at my left hand. “You were still wearing my ring, due to my insistence. If I wanted you to keep it so badly, why would I hurt you like I did?”

  I hide my hand under the table. I wish I had the courage to tell him I hadn’t been wearing it. Not in private anyway. Around my friends and family, I made sure to keep it on, not wanting to admit they were right. That we were too young to get engaged. At least I was. Jessie was always mature beyond his years.

  “I played a part in what happened, too. A big part. I ignored your calls, even after Asher…” I trail off, heat washing over my complexion at the mention of Jessie’s older brother. It’s the first time either of us has brought him up. Can he hear the affection in the simple way my mouth caresses his name? Can he see the
longing in my expression? Can he feel the heartbreak from across the table?

  Clearing my throat, I continue, lowering my voice. “Even after Asher reached out and told me you were in a bad place, begging me to talk to you, I didn’t.”

  “We’d agreed to take a break from each other while you were home for Christmas. I didn’t expect you to pick up the phone and call me every day like you usually did when we were apart, especially after that fight.”

  I stare into the distance, recalling the argument that started the storm to follow. It was my last night up in Boston before I was to head home to Connecticut for my Christmas break from college. I wanted to see Asher’s band perform at a local club. Jessie wanted a quiet night at home. At the time, I saw his insistence we stay home as a way to control my behavior. It was ridiculous and irrational. Further proof we weren’t ready to be married.

  My friends warned me things would change once we were married. No more nights out. No more hanging out with friends. All my time would be devoted to Jessie.

  In essence, this argument wasn’t about seeing Asher’s band. It was about my fear regarding the upcoming changes. My fear of Jessie pushing me away after he finally realized I wasn’t the person he thought I was. So, in typical Izzy fashion, instead of trying to work things out, I ran. Or at least tried to. But Jessie wouldn’t let me, begged me to take time to think it over. It was almost like he knew.