Hot Nights in Morocco

by Catherine Wiltcher

  “Miss Winters?”

  I turn in surprise as one of Jake’s anonymous, mountainous bodyguards emerges from the building behind me. He’s tall and broad with a shaved head and an air of barely controlled menace about him. He attempts to raise a semblance of a smile but it looks more like a twisted grimace on his fleshy boxer’s face. “Please. If you’d like to step this way…”

  With one giant arm he attempts to usher me down the steps, but I skip sideways as my self-preservation mode kicks in again. “Why? Where are we going?”

  “To your vehicle,” he says, gesturing as a familiar black jeep appears out of nowhere and glides to a stop next to us.

  “But Mr. Dalton’s in Marrakech,” I say in disbelief.

  “He requested that we collect you tonight.”

  He did?

  The second bodyguard climbs out of the driver’s seat. He’s shorter than the first guy but twice as wide. It’s all hard muscle, though. When he moves to open the passenger door, there’s barely a ripple of uncoordinated movement beneath his shirt. Up close, he’s not quite so intimidating. I’d almost call him handsome, in a battered sort of a way.

  “Did he really ask for this?” I ask, hesitating again.

  “He was very insistent, Miss Winters.”

  That sounds like Jake. Relenting, I slide into the backseat as the two men move to occupy the front. We pull out of the studio lot, but instead of the usual route home, we turn right and head north. I feel a frisson of panic as I stare out at a dusky scene that is sparse and unfamiliar.

  “Just relax,” croons the driver, catching my eye in the mirror. “We’ll be there shortly.”

  Relax? Not when Jake is pulling the rug out from underneath my feet again. I’ve given up trying to anticipate his next move.

  I glance at the bodyguards. These men are as ever present in Jake’s life as I am, yet I still don’t know their names. I can sense a cloak of curiosity separating the backseat from the front. The taller of the two suddenly switches off the radio and reaches round to offer me his hand.

  “William,” he states gruffly.

  “Nice to meet you, William.” I take it and wince at his firm grip.

  “Mason,” says the second, nodding at me in the rearview mirror again.

  “How long have you worked for Jake? I mean Mr. Dalton.”

  “Two years,” says William, shifting in his seat to adjust the position of his holster. My body gives an involuntary shiver when I see the weapon shielded there.

  We’re cruising through the outskirts of another strange town when my stomach turns to mush. Is that the perimeter fencing of an airport complex up ahead?

  Sure enough, the car slows to a crawl and approaches a security checkpoint. I angle my head and spot a sleek white private jet resting on the tarmac in front of us. Holy crap. I’ve never been this close to such a blunt display of wealth before. My stepfather is loaded, but this is a whole different league of green.

  The vehicle continues toward the aircraft’s steps, and that’s when I see him. He’s lounging against the railings with his arms crossed, chatting away to the pilot, completely oblivious to the mess he’s made of me today. That’s when the penny drops.

  This is his jet.

  His reality.

  And mine?

  I’m in lust with a Hollywood tsar.

  He’s changed his shirt again. This time it’s black and fitted, and he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. He looks composed and relaxed, his deep tan intensified by the harsh glare of the open aircraft door.

  Why isn’t he in Marrakech?

  He turns when the car stops, and I watch the easy smile fade from his lips. He’s put me through hell and he’s expecting me to give him some major shit about it.

  Mason opens the passenger door and I exit as gracefully as I can on trembling legs. This is what Jake does. He shakes me up and makes me feel a somersault of emotions, ones I never dreamed I could feel, not after everything that’s happened to me.

  I take a deep, steadying breath, and then disarm us both by walking straight up to him and throwing my arms around his neck.

  For a second he doesn’t move. He doesn’t dare. It’s as if he can’t believe that I’m going to let him off the hook this easily. And then his arms are closing around my shoulders like a vise and he’s kissing the top of my head, running his fingers through my dark hair, and pulling me even closer. I feel my body relax and melt into his embrace, unleashing all of the angst of the last twenty-four hours.

  “This is unexpected,” he murmurs, his deep rumble filling every chamber of my heart. “I imagined all sorts of scenarios, but I never envisaged this. Are you changing the rules again, Books? Or is this false pretenses and smokescreens? Is your bag full of painful torture devices?”

  “Couldn’t get them through security,” I say, admiring the length of his jawline, so delectably darkened with two days’ worth of stubble. “I guess you’re off the hook…for now.”

  He laughs. Warm breath furls against my cheek. “You’re not a woman to cross under any circumstance.”

  “You’d do well to remember that.”

  “I will. But first I need to taste you.” And he does just that, dipping his head and governing my mouth with his tongue until his private jet becomes a blur in the background, and nothing else exists except us.

  “We’re not done until I say we’re done,” he murmurs.

  “Is that right?”

  “My dick’s demanding another extension to the whole three-night thing, and quite frankly I’m agreeing with him. I take it you got my letter?”

  I shake my head. “I haven’t opened it yet.”

  “But you came anyway? Even after…?” He sounds odd, like he’s declaring the words to himself and not me. “Never mind,” he says briskly. “I had to keep the press guessing. They’d gotten wind I was hot for a member of my crew. I figured if they got a picture of Cassie and me in Marrakech it would take the heat off us. I called in a favor, set up the shot, and then flew back to Erizo as soon as I could.”

  I’m still trying to process it all as he takes my hand and leads me up into the aircraft. He walks me right through the luxurious cabin with its dark mahogany trim and cream leather seats, and into a small double bedroom at the rear.

  How close is too close?

  Is he worth it?

  “I’m not dragging you into the limelight, Charlie—that’s my cross to bear.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and yanks me astride him, nuzzling into my neck. “I know that isn’t the claim to fame you’re striving for. You want to be defined by your actions, not by the man you’re fucking.”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” I whisper, tipping my head back so he can’t see my expression. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s helping to keep my past away from us, which is good enough for me.

  Grasping the tops of my arms, he twists away and pushes me backward onto the bed. He follows me down, dragging my legs apart and falling between them. The weight of his pelvis pins me to the mattress, the thickness of his erection telling me exactly how pleased he is to see me.

  His masculinity is blitzing my senses again. My panic fades to a dull residue as the security of his embrace filters down through my body, quickly replaced by that tight coil of lust he inspires so effortlessly. I reach up to cup his jaw as I wrap my legs around his waist. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He runs the length of my nose with his own. “Have a little faith in me, Books. I can’t give you more than a moment, but I’ll make it count.”

  “Can I show you how much I appreciate it?” I slide my hand beneath the waistband of his jeans for the best treasure of all.

  “Sounds tempting… But as much I’d like to fuck that gratification out of you, we really ought to take our seats.”

  I catch his smirk as he peels away from me and
rises from the bed. He knows what he’s done. I’m going to be squirming the whole way through takeoff.

  At the last minute, he reaches down and touches my cheek as a conciliatory gesture.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, leaning into his hand.

  “On our first date,” he says, his dark eyes gleaming. “And, lucky for you, I always put out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hotel Yasmina is every bit as luxurious as Rachel implied it would be. A place designed to cater for every A-lister whim.

  We exit the car at a private entrance to avoid the press, and with one hand glued to the small of my back, Jake guides me up through a lobby the size of a basketball court and into a gold and glass elevator.

  “I’ve booked us into the Royal Suite,” he says, moving his hand upward to caress the sensitive spot between my shoulder blades. A shiver ripples through me and I fight the urge to purr.

  “Does that mean we have our own thrones?” I say, arching my eyebrows at him.

  “Fuck the thrones. I’d rather you sat on my face.”

  My whoosh of surprise elicits a small smile from his lips but he doesn’t push it any further.

  There’s a butler waiting to greet us as the doors spring open. He shows us into the sitting room as the porters shuttle Jake’s case and my laptop bag into the master bedroom.

  It’s a paradise that is far more decadent than Ourika, but it’s no less welcoming. The walls are a warm ochre color and numerous gilded candelabra with flickering wicks adorn the mantelpiece above the open fireplace.

  “Would madam like to view the outdoor facilities? The hot tub, perhaps?” The butler looks at me expectantly.

  Hot tub? This I need to see. “Jake, are you joining us?”

  “You go,” he says, kissing the top of my head on his way to the master bedroom. “I need to jump on another call.”

  He’s already taken two on the car ride here, which tells me something’s not right in billionaire land. His mood has soured, but I don’t press him about it. I’m determined not to let it ruin our evening.

  When I return, he’s sitting by the fire nursing a drink and staring absently into the flames. He glances up and I catch a glimpse of that bleakness again before his features shift back to moody alpha. “Well?”

  “I love it.” I flop down next to him as the butler discreetly disappears. “I’m feeling super relaxed already.”

  “Good,” he says, sliding his hand up my thigh. “I’ve had an erection for three hours straight, and if I don’t fuck you soon, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  I laugh and push him away. “I’m reading Gone With The Wind at the moment so your libido has some pretty stiff competition.”

  He doesn’t smile. It’s as though he hasn’t heard me.

  He takes another swig of his drink, and I watch him swirl the remnants of the amber liquid around the bottom of his glass. I’m dying to ask him what’s wrong, but I know better when he’s in this sort of mood.

  “Hot tub,” I announce, jumping up. “Let’s take advantage.”

  But he doesn’t budge. “The temperature outside drops sharply at this time of night.”

  “How could you possibly know…?” My words trail off as a nasty thought hits me. “You haven’t stayed in this suite with Cassie, have you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, but I can’t tell if he’s lying or not. He stands and heads over to the bar in the corner for a refill. “Drink?”

  “Gin and tonic, please,” I say quietly. “What happened to her? Is she still in Marrakech?”

  He slams the gin bottle back down on the counter and knocks the ice tray onto the floor. He doesn’t bother to pick it up. “It’s late, but we can still arrange dinner. Are you hungry?”

  “I was only asking…”

  He throws his head back in exasperation. “Can we please change the fucking subject? I’d rather focus my attention on my present and not my past, if that’s okay with you? Now, are you hungry or not?”

  I say nothing as I decide whether or not to make a big deal out of this. Then I spy a blue dish of dates on the coffee table in front of me, and a wicked thought pops into my head. This might be one way to improve his mood…

  Sliding off my cherry-red Chucks, I lean forward to select the largest date, and slowly bring it to my mouth, locking eyes with Jake as I do. “I’m starving,” I purr seductively, flicking my tongue around the tip of the fruit.

  He freezes, his hand resting on the gin bottle. I watch his eyes narrow and darken, until they’re smoldering and full of improper promise. He walks slowly back to where I’m sitting and places my drink on the coffee table next to the dish. “Do that again, and we might be discovering the first of those bedrooms,” he warns, crouching down in front of me.

  I shuffle closer until his face is shadowing mine. Just the smell of him is enough to scatter my thoughts, but now I’m benefiting from a close-up of those knockout features, as well. Without dipping my gaze, I repeat my suggestive action. He watches, transfixed, as I take the full length of the date into my mouth and moan loudly.

  “Right, you asked for it,” he snarls, surging forward and scooping me up into his arms.

  “Jake, stop!” I cry, my foot catching the coffee table and knocking the plate of dates all over the floor.

  “Fuck that!”

  He kicks the broken shards of crockery out of the way, carries me into the master bedroom, and then throws me onto the bed. The lights are dim; the smell of incense is sensual and inviting. Our butler has placed hundreds of tea lights on the dark wood surfaces all around the bed. It’s pure Arabian Nights, made even more so by the man with burning eyes who wants to screw every exotic fantasy into me.

  He starts to unbutton his shirt. The more sun-kissed skin is exposed, the more my breath hitches. Shrugging the garment to one side, he unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans slide to the floor. No underwear. He’s hard, achingly so. I long to touch him, but a warning look keeps me fixed to the mattress.

  “See something you like?” he murmurs, reading me like one of my books.

  Words escape me so I nod faintly.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He swaggers toward the foot of the bed. A champion. A thief. I’m the grand prize, and he’s here to claim me, no matter the cost.

  “No limits tonight,” he says harshly. “No safe words. Just you and me, doing what we do best.” His mocking drawl brings another flood of arousal to my core.

  Crawling over to him, I place a hand on his waist and guide him toward me, savoring his intake of breath as our bodies collide. He’s scorching through the fabric of my T-shirt, with his throbbing cock pressed up against the deep valley between my breasts.

  I raise my hands above my head, enticing him to remove my clothes. He does so immediately, expertly flicking open the button of my shorts. Once I’m naked he pauses, and I know that this is an invitation to caress and taste at will. Inclining my head, I track a line of soft kisses all the way along his hipbone and toward the center of his body.

  “Fuck, yes.” His sighs turn to groans as I grip the base of his cock in one hand and slide his velvety warmth between my lips.

  His whole body jerks, and I hazard a glance upward. His head is tipped back, jaw gritted, eyes closed. I withdraw slowly and flick the tip of him with my tongue before swallowing him whole again. He tastes of heaven, as I knew he would—of sex and Jake and us.

  He’s resisting the urge to thrust, so I tighten my grip on his hip and encourage a strong rhythm between us.

  “You’re enjoying this far too much, Books,” I hear him mutter.

  I smile around his cock as I take him even deeper, hitting the back of my throat.

  “You’re a fucking revelation.” He groans again as I slide him right to the back of my throat, and then he’s grasping my h
ead and encouraging me to take him over and over. I don’t let up, not even when he tenses with a muffled curse. “I’m gonna come, Charlie. Shit.”

  Moments later, thick ropes of his salty essence are coating my tongue and throat. I swallow quickly. Definitely an acquired taste, but worth it for the look on his face.

  Pride, lust, satisfaction.

  He whistles as I slide him out of my mouth. “Hidden talents, Books. That more than makes up for the day I’ve had.” His expression changes and I find myself flat on my back again. “I’m going to devour your pussy for that.”

  “Bring it on,” I grit out, closing my eyes as he yanks my legs apart and presses his mouth to the inside of my thigh, grazing my skin with his lips until he’s right where I need him the most. His tongue is an exquisite monster, malevolent and cruel. I’m starting to freefall already. I throw my arms above my head and clutch at the pillowcase, my fingers fisting the slack material.

  “So soon?” I can feel the vibrations of his chuckle as my inner muscles quiver and clench around him.

  Circling, teasing, he brings me right to the edge and then holds off until I’m screaming at him to let me come. He’s playing on my frustration. He’s a sadist in his administration of pleasure.

  I scream out again when my orgasm consumes me, but I barely have a moment to recover before he is lowering his body onto mine.

  “I could watch you come all night,” he says huskily, breathing kisses into my hair as I fold my arms around his neck to bring him in closer.

  My eyes fly open. I can sense that bleakness in him again. It’s not on his face, but it’s there in his touch.

  Wrenching my hands back above my head, he flexes his hips and eases into me.

  “Not like this. Deeper,” he rasps out after a few languid thrusts.

  He hooks my knees over his shoulders, and then he’s driving back into me with a groan.

  “Jesus, Charlie. I could lose myself in you forever.”

  It’s a balmy night. Our bodies are covered in a thin film of sweat. All I can see is him, all I can taste is desire, and when we finally come together, it feels like we’re invincible.