Page 2 of Desperate Games

The voice is deep. Velvet wrapped around danger. I glance up—and holy shit.

Dark eyes. Suntanned skin. A smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I know that face. I’ve seen it in passing—at parties, in corridors, beside Junior.

Always in the background, watching, waiting.

“I know you. What’s your name again?” I ask, blinking through the haze of good wine and worse decisions.

“I’m wounded you forgot my name, Pretty Girl.”

“Remy!” I shout, suddenly remembering him.

“Remy Falco,” he adds with a hot boy wink. “That’s right. I’m Junior’s friend.”

Junior’s friend.

Perfect.

I bite my lip.

This man is dangerous territory. The kind I like best.

Because see, I’m done waiting for fate.

I don’t want a soulmate. Don’t need one. Nope.

I want a legacy.

A baby.

My baby.

And Remy? He looks like a guy who can get the job done.

“How tall are you?” I ask, gazing up at him.

The man is big. And built.

He’s got short dark hair, a buzz cut that would look weird on most guys but seems right on him.

Green eyes glitter down at me, and his full lips pull up in a smirk that makes my panties wet.

Thick ropes of muscle cord around his enormous frame and dark tattoos peek out from his shirtsleeves and collar.

He looks like he breaks things—hearts—just for fun.

But not this girl’s heart. I won’t give him the chance for all that.

But maybe he can help me.

Hang on, though. It’s not like I don’t believe in love.

I do. God, I do.

I grew up watching it every day—hell, I lived in the shadow of it. Of Andrés and Ellie Ramirez and their great love for one another.

Truly, I mean, my parents? They’re the stuff of legend.