Page 14 of A Game of Deception

I nodded, wariness battling in my gut. If Diego hadn’t interrupted... Christ, I don’t know what would’ve happened. Something stupid. Something we couldn’t take back.

“Tomorrow,” I mumbled, and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind me, separating us once again.

4

TARA

When the doorshut on Xander’s retreating figure, my knees buckled beneath me. I slid down against the cool surface and hit the floor. My hands trembled as I raised them to my face, staring at my fingers—the same fingers that had just traced the outline of my brother’s initials tattooed on Xander’s skin.

“Breathe,” I whispered to myself. “Just breathe.”

But my lungs refused to cooperate. Every inhalation caught halfway, trapped by the thundering of my heart. My skin still buzzed where it had touched his—alive in a way I’d never experienced before. Nothing had prepared me for the reality of him.

The heat of his skin.

The flex of muscle beneath my hands.

The scent of him—expensive soap layered over something raw and masculine.

The insistent bulge of his cock that rubbed against his briefs was impossible to ignore when I hooked his leg over my shoulder.

A laugh bubbled up from my chest—half triumph, half disbelief. I’d done it. After years of planning, of maneuvering myself into the perfect position, I’d finally gotten my hands on Xander McCrae.

And he had responded exactly as I’d hoped.

I pushed myself up from the floor, smoothing my navy scrubs as I took a deep breath, centering myself. Control was everything. I’d spent twelve years building this version of myself—competent and untouchable. I wouldn’t let one encounter, no matter how charged, unravel me.

I glanced at the clock. Five hours until dinner with my father. Five hours to prepare for the subtle interrogation that would inevitably come. Because tonight wouldn’t be a simple family meal. It would be a debriefing.

I needed to be ready.

The restaurantmy father had chosen was exactly his style—expensive, and impersonal. The kind of place where the menu had no prices, and the waitstaff moved like ghosts, appearing only when needed.

My father stood as I approached the table, his tall frame impeccable in a tailored suit. At sixty, Hank Swanson still cut an imposing figure with silver hair precisely styled, his posture military-straight. The physical resemblance between us was minimal. I had my mother’s coloring, her delicate features. But the set of my jaw, the stubborn line of my mouth—those were pure Swanson. Jimmy had inherited more from him.

“Tara,” my father said, leaning in to brush a perfunctory kiss against my cheek. “You look lovely.”

I’d chosen my outfit carefully—a navy sheath dress, professional but feminine. Armor for the battle ahead.

“Thank you for making time,” I said, settling into the chair a waiter had pulled out for me. “I know how busy you are with the team launch.”

My father waved a dismissive hand. “Family comes first. Always has.”

The words should have been comforting. Instead, they raised the fine hairs on my arms. In my father’s world, “family” wasn’t about love or connection—it was about loyalty, about falling in line.

“Speaking of the team,” he continued, “the launch party was a resounding success. Commissioner Wilson called me personally to say how impressed he was with our setup.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, accepting the glass of wine a server poured for me. “The facility is certainly state-of-the-art.”

“It should be, for what it cost.” My father’s eyes crinkled with pride. “But worth every penny. We’ve assembled quite a roster. Mano, Banda, Carter... and of course, McCrae.”

And there it was, the name landing between us with the weight of a challenge. I took a careful sip of wine, using the moment to compose my features.

“How did you find him today?” My father’s tone was casual. “Physically, I mean.”

I met his gaze, keeping my expression neutral. “His overall condition is excellent. Exceptional cardiovascular fitness, no major injury concerns. Some muscular imbalances that need addressing—primarily in the shoulders and lower back. Nothing unexpected for a player at his level.”

“And mentally?”