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Turning the Tables (Games of the Heart #2)
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1687879818 (ISBN13: 9781687879813)
He’s an arrogant, dominant badass… who finally meets his match
Turning the Tables is Book 2 of the Games of the Heart series. While it is a stand-alone novel, your experience will be enhanced if you read Book 1 – Dangerous Games.
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He knew this day would come, but that didn’t make it any easier. It had been four months, and though Hank hated to admit it, Reese’s absence was like a missing limb. There Reese sat in a private booth, as handsome and familiar as ever, leaning toward that loser he’d abandoned Hank for. Luca. What the hell kind of name was that, anyway? Their heads were touching as they no doubt whispered stupid nothings in each other’s ears. Nauseating.
Hank looked abruptly away, trying to ignore the sudden pain in his chest. “Give me another Ketel One and tonic, light on the lime,” Hank told the bartender at Heat, a Denver gay bar he and Reese used to occasionally go to when they weren’t in the mood for BDSM play.
A good-looking guy slid onto the stool beside him and gave Hank the once-over. Dressed like a biker in leather and chain, he was tall and muscular, both arms covered in tattoos, his hair shaved close to his head. A moment ago, Hank would have considered taking him to one of the make-out rooms, but he’d suddenly lost interest in a quickie with a stranger.
He glanced again toward the couple in the booth, who seemed oblivious of everyone around them. How could Reese have just walked away from a lifetime together? They’d met senior year in high school, back when Reese was still in foster care. Hank had picked him up out of the gutter and brought him into the Seeley fold. He’d included Reese on family vacations, lavished him with material goods and, most importantly, claimed his virginity and taught him to embrace his submissive side.
If it weren’t for Hank, Reese would have ended up a high school dropout at best, and more probably in jail. Even though he hadn’t always been easy to manage, Hank had kept him in line. And Reese had enjoyed their amusing games as much as Hank had.
At least until this last time, when Reese had forgotten to play by the rules.
It had started out as their usual bet. Hank would choose the mark and dictate the terms, and Reese would execute the seduction. But this time, instead of following the script, Reese had let emotions get in the way. Now Reese claimed he was in love. What a sap. Hank had taught Reese all about lust, obligation, power and control, but love? Love made you vulnerable. Love was for losers.
Hank threw back the rest of his drink and dropped some cash on the bar.
“Hey, where you going? The night is young,” the guy beside him said with a seductive smile.
It was nearly midnight but still he couldn’t get the image of Reese with another man out of his head. Hopefully, some rough, mindless sex with a willing rent boy would distract him enough so he could sleep. Grabbing his phone, he hit the speed dial.
“Gentleman’s Elite, how may I help you?”
“Hank Seeley. Account number 10896. Send me a blond. Now.”
He liked this new escort service. Though it was pricey, they had plenty of pretty boys who knew how to please and did what they were told. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure bought just about everything else.
When the doorbell rang, Hank almost called for Julio to get it. Then he remembered. Julio had quit, too. He really needed to get another houseboy. The most recent boy he’d hired hadn’t worked out at all. Though he’d been nice eye candy, he had no idea how to properly decant a bottle of wine or give a decent foot rub. When Hank had needed a little oral relief, the guy had freaked out, pretending he hadn’t understood that aspect of the job. Hank had had no choice but to let him go.
Getting to his feet, Hank made his way to the front door. A slender guy with blond hair to his shoulders and big brown eyes stood in the chilly October night. Hank let him in, already planning what he’d do to him.
“Hi, I’m Stevie,” the twink said in a soft, girlish voice. He ducked his head coquettishly. No doubt the shy bit was an act, but it was one Hank liked. He’d specified in his profile that he preferred the shy virginal types who trembled when he brought out the whip, but didn’t hesitate to strip and offer their ass for the lash.
“Hi there,” Hank replied. “Let me take your jacket.”
Stevie handed Hank his jacket, which he hung on the antique coatrack he and Reese had found on their last trip to Paris. Stevie wore tight black jeans and a red T-shirt with the word Queerboy painted on it in white lettering. A tattoo of a snake coiled around his left biceps.
“I haven’t seen you before,” Hank said, looking him over. “You new?”
“Yes, Sir. I just started with Gentleman’s Elite. I hope I can make you happy, Sir.”