The second the words leave my mouth, I know they’re a mistake. I can tell from
the way his eyes narrow, from the way his head cocks to the side and his full
lips thin out to almost nothing.
“What did you just say?” He sounds as incredulous as he looks.
I fight the urge to take an instinctive step back, fight even harder the odd and
terrifying compulsion I suddenly have to drop to my knees in front of him. I
don’t know what’s going on here, don’t know what power he has over my body—over
me—but it ends here. Now.
“I said get out.” I draw on every ounce of acting ability I have to keep my
voice steady as I force the words out a second time. “You got what you came here
for.”
“Oh yeah?” He lifts a brow but doesn’t make a move to close the gap between us,
doesn’t try to touch me in any way. I don’t know if I should be relieved . . .
or wary. “And what is it you think I came for?”
“You wanted to humiliate me, to get some of your own back after I refused to
meet with you again.”
“Is that what that was? Me humiliating you?” His voice is even lower now, even
more controlled.
“Wasn’t it?”
“Here I thought it was me getting you off.”
“Call it whatever you want. That was you trying to control me and we both know it.”
His eyes narrow even further. “Make no mistake, Veronica. That was me
controlling you. And we both know it, whether you want to admit it or not.”
He prowls toward me then, a sleek jungle cat hyper-focused on his prey. But I’m
no man’s prey—and I haven’t been for a long, long time. That’s not going to
change now, no matter how my traitorous body responds to Ian Sharpe.
“Maybe it was. But it ends now.” I don’t know where the words are coming from at
this point, barely know what I’m saying. All I do know is that I can’t let him
see how powerfully he affects me. Can’t let him see how, even now, it’s taking
every ounce of willpower I have not to beg him to fuck me right here in my
trailer. “I’m done with this conversation and I’m done with you.”
“That’s not a decision you get to make.”
His answer infuriates me. “My body, my decision.”
“I’ve never said otherwise.” His voice is ice-cold and for the first time, he
looks angry. Really, really angry. “The sex we have is completely separate from
our professional obligations and you know it. But you also know that you owe me
an interview and I expect you to deliver it.”
“My schedule is packed. I have no time for another—”
“Make time.”
“And if I don’t?” I sneer. “What exactly do you think you’re going to do about it?”
“I think that’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?” His hand comes up to rest on my
collarbone and my pulse goes crazy at the possessive hold, especially as his
fingers stroke along my throat. “If you don’t make time for the interview, time
to see me, then I’ll never make you come again.”
“Like you’re the only man who can make me come?” It’s a taunt and we both know
it. I can only hope he doesn’t also know just how true my words are.
Both brows go up this time, even as his thumb ghosts back and forth across my
jugular. “I’m the only one who can make you come like that. And I’m more than
happy to do it again.” He leans forward, presses a hot, openmouthed kiss against
the left side of my throat. “And again.” He drops another kiss behind my ear.
“And again.” And yet another kiss on the top of my breast. This time, though, he
sucks at the delicate skin hard enough to leave a small, deliberate bruise
behind. “I’m staying at the Redbury. Room 306. I’ll expect you at eight o’clock
tonight.”
And then he’s gone, slipping out of my trailer and down the stairs without
another word. I stare after him—heart pounding, mind spinning, body aching—and
wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
Hailed by J. Kenner as an author who “knows how to steam up the
pages,” Tracy Wolff delivers a darkly addictive novel of seduction and
psychological obsession. The stakes are high in Lovegame, when a movie
star with a shattered past meets a man who can either break her or make her
whole.
True Crime novelist Ian Sharpe has spent his career writing about serial killers
for very personal reasons. For his latest exposé, he is taking on the sadistic
madman known as the Red Ribbon Strangler, and when his research leads him to
Hollywood’s most private and provocative actress, he will break every rule to
uncover her truth.
The daughter of one of Hollywood’s golden couples, chased by paparazzi and
treated as a commodity her entire life, Veronica Romero wields her sex appeal
like a weapon. She expects Ian to be as easy to control as every other man she’s
ever known. But from the beginning, he refuses to fall into line. Mysterious and
cool, challenging and just a little bit dangerous, Ian somehow makes her feel
safe—even as he digs into the deepest secrets of her life and pushes her to the
breaking point.
As raw ecstasy gives way to agonized truths, their dark obsession exposes
secrets that have been buried for far too long. Ian wants to tear down her walls
and heal the sensual woman underneath. But if Veronica’s learned anything, it’s
that the line between pleasure and pain is a narrow one—and when caught between
them the only thing that matters is how you play the game.