Table of Contents
Title Page
PLAY MY GAME
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EPILOGUE
PLAY MY GAME
A 100 Series Standalone Novel
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
LARA ADRIAN
© 2020 Lara Adrian, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. (v1)
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100 Series ~ Book 4 (Standalone Romance)
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PLAY MY GAME
New York Times bestselling author Lara Adrian returns to the sizzling, emotional world of the 100 Series with PLAY MY GAME, a contemporary romance between a tormented, brilliant painter and the beauty he is determined to have at any cost.
She stands out like a flame in the dark. Out of place in my orbit, she is a bright splash of color in an abyss of darkness. An innocent in a den of sin. And I, Jared Rush, am a master of corruption.
Like my paintings—dark, carnal images that have crowned me the king of the avant-garde art world while also making me a very rich man—I don't flinch away from my baser instincts. And now, every one of those instincts is hungry for the fresh-faced beauty who made the mistake of wandering into my lair.
I don't know her name yet, but that's inconsequential. I know who she belongs to. And while she has nothing to do with the bad blood that's been festering inside me for decades, I can’t help thinking about that old, unsettled score. I'm thinking about payback. And I already have a price in mind. One that begins with her.
When it comes to getting what I want, I always play to win. But in the end, will the cost of my vengeance be more than I can bear to lose?
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1
JARED
She stands out like a flame in the dark.
Surrounded by beautiful people, hundreds of bodies dancing and gyrating to the music throbbing inside my new club, Muse. But she is the one my gaze locks on and won’t let go.
Hair the color of a fiery sunset, cascading down her back in gleaming waves. Long legs and a superb ass wrapped in white denim. Her small breasts float buoyantly under a silky, pale blue blouse as she dances with one of the female friends she arrived with a short while ago.
I track her with singular focus from where I stand overlooking the dance floor two stories below.
She’s damn hard to miss in the roiling sea of black-garbed clubbers that swarm like a hive of drones around their queen. She doesn’t even seem to notice how naturally she draws the energy and attention of the room.
She is out of place here. A bright splash of color in an abyss of darkness.
An innocent in a den of sin.
And I, Jared Rush, am a master of corruption.
I don’t apologize for that fact. I make no excuses, either.
Like my paintings—dark, carnal images that have crowned me the king of the avant-garde art world while also making me a very rich man—I don’t flinch away from my baser instincts. I exploit them.
I fucking revel in them.
Right now, every one of those instincts is gnashing at the bit, hungry for a taste of the fresh-faced, auburn-haired beauty who made the mistake of wandering into my lair tonight.
I don’t know her name, but that’s inconsequential.
I know who she belongs to.
Over the years I’ve accumulated my share of enemies, but few worth counting.
Fewer still worth the effort to wound.
To vanquish.
To ruin.
She has nothing to do with the bad blood that’s been left festering inside me for decades. Yet as I watch her dance and laugh with her friends, it isn’t just the idea of a simple sexual conquest that has my cock going hard, no matter how powerfully I want her. If that were the case, I’m confident I could have her beneath me before the night is over.
No, I’m thinking about slaking something more than mere pedestrian lust.
Something sharper, colder.
I’m thinking about an old, unsettled score. One that, until recently, I thought I’d buried deep.
Now, I’m thinking about payback.
And I already have a price in mind.
One that begins with her.
2
Two weeks later . . .
MELANIE
The chain of pale blue gemstones circling my wrist twinkles under the glow of the dining room’s soft lighting. I can’t stop admiring the unexpected gift, or beaming at the man who gave it to me moments ago over dinner at GC, one of Manhattan’s finest restaurants.
“It looks stunning on you,” Daniel says as the waiter clears our dessert dishes. “I saw it while I was in Vegas last week and knew I had to get it for you. The tourmalines match your eyes.”
I glance down, my smile faltering a little now. My eye color is changeable, more often gray than blue. It’s silly that I should feel even a small disappointment that he doesn’t know that.
Daniel Hathaway and I have only been dating for three months. I can’t expect him to have memorized every minute detail about me in that brief time. After all, he’s a busy, talented man with a demanding career. His architectural work
