by M. S. Parker
I considered leaving the hotel and having a cab driver take me somewhere, but in the end, I didn't feel much like that either. Fortunately, the hotel had a bar and that was just a short walk from the elevators. I made my way down there after a shower and dressing. If I’d stayed in my room, I wouldn’t have bothered with either.
I took a seat at the bar, as far from the television as possible. I didn't want to see all the news stories about this morning's festivities, or worse, speculation about what was occurring right now. I didn't want to think about what she was doing.
“Give me shot of the hard stuff and keep the bottle close by,” I said to the bartender when he came my way. “The best you have.”
He nodded and went for the top shelf stuff. I tossed back the first shot without even tasting it, but it burned on the way down and that was what I wanted. I went slower with the second, sipping at it and trying to savor the flavor. It was good, much better than I'd expected, and it wasn't anything I'd tasted before. When the bartender came back to fill my glass again, I asked him what I was drinking.
“Saja's finest rum,” he said in thickly accented English. “We do not have much variety made here, but our quality is excellent.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. Judging by the pleasant buzz now going through my head, it was strong too, and at the moment, that's what I cared about.
I had a fairly high tolerance for alcohol. Not quite as much as some of my friends from back in college, but I could hold my own. People were often surprised at how much business was conducted with the assistance of alcohol, and the last thing anyone wanted to do was sign a contract while drunk.
Tonight, however, I didn't have any business to do, no reason to stay sober. I'd only been truly hammered a few times in my life, and none of them intentionally. Well, not until recently anyway. No matter why I'd done it, I hadn't particularly liked it, and I definitely hadn't liked the results the morning after, but I knew I was about to do it again. Despite knowing that I'd most likely spend all next morning hugging the toilet, I wanted the oblivion that only alcohol could offer.
I was a couple steps past tipsy and heading towards slurring and staggering when a tall, dark-haired woman sat down next to me. I blearily glanced at her out of reflex, but then turned back to my drink.
“American or European?”
Her voice was lower than I would've expected, husky in that sexy kind of way that I was sure made men sit up and take notice. Or at least had a similar effect on a specific body part.
I turned back towards her. It took my eyes a moment to focus and I knew I was pretty close to plastered. The alcohol didn't stop me, however, from appreciating a pretty face, or a killer body. She had to be at least five ten, but with curves rather than skinny. Her hair was black, not brown as I'd first thought, and long. Dark eyes and tanned skin. She was the sort of woman who men would fall over themselves for just a chance to get her in bed.
And apparently, my previous disinterest had intrigued her.
“American,” I answered her question late, but she hadn't taken her eyes off of me since asking it. “Reed.”
“Lona.” She held out her hand, palm down to let me know that she didn't want to shake.
I grasped her fingers and brushed my lips across the back of her hand. Good for me, I could still be smooth when I was drunk. She leaned towards me, giving me a good look at her ample cleavage. She was dressed sexy, but not slutty. I supposed there was still a possibility that she was a hooker working the hotel bar, but I was going to go with believing she found me attractive.
“Are you here on business?” She touched my knee. “Or pleasure?” Her fingers moved up my thigh.
I laughed and she gave me an amused look. “It wasn't business, but it definitely hasn't been a pleasurable trip either.”
That wasn't entirely true, I knew. Images of Nami flashed into my head, memories of her beneath me, of her expression when she came. Until the moment she'd sent me away, the trip had been very much about pleasure.
“Perhaps I can change that,” she said. Her hand curved around my thigh, her fingers brushing against my crotch.
I cocked my head and squinted at her, trying to figure out if she was hitting on me, or negotiating her rate for the night.
“I know what you are thinking.” She slid her hand over and cupped my crotch. “And the answer is no.”
“No?” I raised an eyebrow, spreading my legs open a bit more to allow her better access. Her fingers felt amazing.
“I am not asking for money.” She stood and put her lips against my ear. Her breasts pressed against my arm.
“Then what is it you want?” I asked. She smelled like flowers and my nose twitched, wanting to sneeze.
“This.” She squeezed my cock and teased my ear with her tongue.
“You just randomly come up to strangers in a hotel bar and grab their dicks?” The words came out a bit more directly than I'd intended, but then again, I hadn't really meant to say anything to begin with. I blamed the alcohol.
She grinned at me. “When my friends bet me that I cannot get the handsome American into bed, I do.”
I returned the smile, wondering if it was as goofy as it felt. “I wouldn't want you to lose a bet on my account.”
“I have a room,” she said.
“You're a tourist?” I asked, surprised. I'd thought her accent sounded like Nami's.
“Not precisely.” She shook her head as she took my hand. “I am from the other side of Saja. My friends and I came for the wedding and did not want to drive home late.”
My stomach lurched. “Wedding?”
“Ah, yes, you are not from here. The princess of Saja was married this morning.”
“And you were invited?” Shit, that sounded rude. Still, I was more worried about keeping one foot steady in front of the other.
“I am a journalist,” she said as we walked onto the elevator. “A small, online magazine, but all of Saja media was invited.”
I grabbed her around the waist, spinning us so that her back was against the wall. The spinning wasn't good for my head, but the thought of having to listen to her talk about Nami's wedding was worse. I covered her mouth with mine, swallowing whatever else she was going to say.
She tasted like tequila. Her tongue danced with mine and she ground against my thigh, moaning at the friction. I moved down her neck, nipping at the skin there, biting and sucking until Lona's fake nails dug into my back hard enough to make me gasp.
The elevator doors dinged open and I pulled back. “This isn't my floor.”
“No,” she smiled. “It is mine.”
Right. She'd mentioned a room. I let her lead me down the hallway, stealing a look down at her ass when she stopped in front of her door. Damn. She had all the right curves and an ass I could bounce a quarter off of.
For some reason, that idea struck me as funny and I barely suppressed a laugh. I didn't think Lona would be too happy if I started laughing like an idiot when I should've been concentrating on getting her out of her clothes.
When we stepped into the room, I quickly realized that wasn't going to be much of a problem. She apparently hadn't been expecting me to take off her clothes at all. She'd barely gone a few steps before she stripped off her dress and revealed that she hadn't been wearing anything underneath it.
Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her nipples a deeper shade of brown. She had the kind of body most men only dreamed of. And then she went down onto her knees.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“Yes,” she said. “But I would like to taste you first.”
Her hands made short work of my pants, tugging them down around my thighs and taking my underwear with them.
“Very nice,” she said approvingly.
“You ain't seen nothing yet.” If I'd been a bit more sober, I would've thought the statement inane. Now, it just seemed witty.
She wrapped her hand around my cock. Even soft, I was bigger than average. She worked her hand over my
shaft for a couple strokes, then leaned forward and took the head between her lips. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on the feeling of her mouth, the wet heat, the suction.
I couldn't just focus on the sensations though. It wasn't what I wanted. Lona knew what she was doing. Her hands and mouth did all the right things. But I didn't want someone who was skilled. I wanted passion, not just for my body, but for all of me. I wanted different hands, a different mouth. I could imagine Nami, the sight and feel of her, but my body didn't respond because I knew it was fake.
I sighed and opened my eyes. Lona was still lavishing attention on my cock, but I knew it wasn't going to work. I was half-hard, but that was purely physical. Between the alcohol I'd consumed and the thoughts of Nami, I wasn't going to be able to do this. I didn't want to do it.
I reached down and took Lona's arms, raising her to her feet. “I'm sorry,” I said. I managed an embarrassed smile. “Too much to drink tonight.”
I tugged myself back in, made a hasty exit from Lona’s room and moments later I was heading back to the bar. I fully intended to continue drinking the rest of the evening. I would make sure by the end of the night I’d consumed enough alcohol so I wouldn't remember this mortifying day.
Chapter 19
Reed
I was a glutton for punishment. Stupidly masochistic. A moron bent on self-destruction. Basically, a fucking idiot.
For a reason that was still escaping me, I'd actually been in Saja for a week. A mother-fucking week. I should've left as soon as Nami told me she was choosing Tanek. But I'd stayed. Then I should've booked the first flight after I'd seen her go through with the wedding. But, no, I'd decided to stick around. Of course, any normal person with common sense would've grabbed any available seat to anywhere but here after the disastrous night I couldn't get it up.
As I'd already proven, however, I wasn't a normal person and I most certainly didn't have common sense. I used to. In fact, I had always considered myself to be the sensible one, the person who always made the right choices. Or, at least, I had been.
What had happened to that guy? I felt like every decision I've made lately had been the wrong one. When had I started fucking everything up? A part of me wanted to say that the bad choices had started here, or maybe in Europe, but I knew that I'd been making a mess of things before that. Had it been when I'd chosen Britni over Piper?
Or maybe I was lying to myself completely. Did I only think I was sensible before because I'd always made good business decisions? Because I'd always followed what my parents had told me to do? Was that why I kept fucking up my own decisions? Because I'd never learned how to make the right ones?
I squinted against the sun as I stepped outside the hotel. I squinted, pain spiking in my temples as I put on my sunglasses. I'd basically spent the entire past week hungover or drunk. I'd started Monday morning by buying some beer and heading down to the beach where I'd made my way through a six pack while checking out the gorgeous women who were sunbathing there. I'd eaten practically nothing, but had gotten another six pack for the rest of the day. I'd flirted with a couple women, but hadn't let it go any further than flirting. When the sun had begun to set, I'd headed back to my room, eating something from room service, then finished off whatever alcohol I'd had left.
Despite the way my head had pounded the next day, I'd decided that I'd liked what I'd done the day before. Things sort of blurred together after that. I would spend the day drinking and flirting on one of the most beautiful beaches I'd ever seen without caring about the view. I had people all around but, aside from the few women who'd come by to hit on me, no one talked to me. It was a great combination of being alone and being with people. I didn't have to worry about condemning looks while I drank, probably because everyone assumed I was on vacation. One of the things I'd learned while in Europe was that people didn't expect much of Americans in general, and even less of those on vacation.
I supposed I technically was on vacation. I wasn't working, after all. Could I really consider it a vacation since I'd quit with plans to start my own business? Or did the fact that I had absolutely no ambition at the moment and no concrete idea of what I wanted to do negate my original intentions?
I paid the clerk for my beer and tried to forget about the real world. I had plenty of money. Even staying here, it would take me years to burn through what I had. Unless, of course, I did something stupid. I'd known kids back in Philadelphia who'd blow thousands of dollars in a single night gambling or at a strip club. Then there were impulse buys like cars, but I wasn't in the mood to spend money on random things.
I found my usual spot on the beach taken and decided to head a bit further down. There was space here, but it was crowded enough that I didn't want to stay. Since it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, I figured there'd be a lot of people on the beach, but it was even more crowded than I'd expected.
I sighed as I trudged through the sand, a beach towel under one arm, my beer under the other. The sun was overhead and I could feel the rays beating down on me. Sweat glistened on my skin as I made my way around scantily-clad men and women sunbathing, kids playing catch and a few families eating lunch. The sandy beach was starting to turn into an area that was a bit more rocky, and therefore less desirable, but there were still people setting up.
I crossed over to a large boulder that sat against a gradually rising cliff and decided this was far enough. I didn't care about getting to the water, so the rocks between me and the ocean weren't a problem, and the breeze that blew in was strong and cool.
I spread the towel at the base of the boulder and sat down, leaning back against the cool rock. The cliff offered only a small bit of shade, but it was enough. I cracked open a beer and settled in to people watch. Or, more accurately, stare at the ocean and pretend that I cared about life in general. Little thoughts would sometimes creep in, whispers asking what I was going to do next, reminding me that I couldn't exactly stay in Saja indefinitely. I was a tourist, not a citizen, and I'd eventually have to leave. Whenever any of those thoughts occurred, I'd take another drink.
I had a bit of a buzz going on by mid-afternoon, but I was still sober. Sober enough to be interested when I heard a murmur going through the crowd. I stood up and began walking towards the noise. I didn't know what was going on, but it sounded like it would be a good distraction and that's what I really needed.
I was at the back of the crowd, trying to see over a throng of heads, when I heard someone say a word I recognized even though it wasn't in English.
“...Namisa...”
My stomach flipped and I suddenly wished I'd eaten something this morning. The beer I'd drank was sloshing around, threatening to make a reappearance. It couldn't be true, I told myself. Nami was on her honeymoon. Someone must've just been talking about the wedding and it had nothing to do with the commotion I was hearing. Even if she was back from her honeymoon, she wouldn't be here, on a beach. She'd be off with her new husband doing wife things or queen preparation or whatever the hell it was someone like her did.
Then the crowd parted and I saw her.
Bodyguards surrounded her, moving people out of the way both by their presence as well as physically when some didn't move fast enough. I didn't see Tomas or Kai, but I supposed they were probably enjoying their time at home since they'd been gone for so long. If anyone deserved a vacation, it was those two. I wasn't particularly fond of either of them, but they'd spent years with Nami, almost constantly on duty. It couldn't have been easy.
The new guards – or at least new for me – weren't as big as Tomas and Kai, but they weren't exactly little either. Still, I could see Nami in the center.
I could tell something wasn't quite right just by the way she was walking. Shoulders hunched forward, arms around her waist. Her head was down, eyes on the ground. As she drew closer, I could see other physical differences. She was wearing a classically cut dress, a bit too fancy for the beach, I would've thought, but definitely something appropriate for a prince
ss when she was out and about with her subjects. I knew it had to have been made specifically for her, but I could see now that it didn't fit right, as if she'd lost weight since she'd last worn it. The color should've been perfect for her too, but her skin was pale, as if she'd been ill.
I felt a flash of concern. Was she sick? It would explain everything, but I couldn't figure out why she'd be walking on the beach if she was ill. Surely the royal family had private physicians who would’ve made sure she stay in bed until she recuperated fully. And even if he or she had recommended exercise, I doubted this would've been the place to go. The palace had beautiful grounds she could've walked around.
She was almost directly across from me and I could see the bags under her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well. A pain went through me. Of course she hadn't. She'd been married for a week. She and her husband had probably been busy trying to get that all-important heir to the throne. The thought of it made me want to throw up.
I started to turn away, not wanting to risk her seeing me. The last thing I needed was for her to realize I'd stuck around like some love-sick loser. As I started to go, however, I saw something else out of the corner of my eye. No one else would've caught it because no one knew her body like I did. I'd memorized it, dreamed of it.
On her upper arm, not quite covered by her sleeve, was a bruise. She'd used make-up on it, but I could still see it. As she shifted, her sleeve moved and I could clearly identify the shape.
Fingers.
Rage filled me, driving away everything else I'd been feeling. It all made sense now. Her appearance, the way she held herself. Why she'd seemed distant, different. The bastard was hurting her, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Or was there?
