“Hey, pretty ladies, you changed your mind!” Conor said when they drew closer. He seemed genuinely happy to see them, which was surprising given the male to female ratio. What was so exciting about two more women at a cabana party where they already outnumbered the men four to one? “Though still debating letting the boobies out to play I see?”
Olivia had to stifle a laugh. Conor wasn’t excited about the addition of two more women, but about the prospect of four more “boobies.”
“I believe you mentioned something about vodka?” she said, ignoring his question but matching his grin with one of her own.
“Indeed, I did.” He waved a hand in the direction of a teak table. In the center sat a large stainless-steel bucket filled with ice and four bottles of Grey Goose. The entire display was surrounded by cans of Red Bull arranged in a perfect ring. “We have cranberry juice or lemonade if you prefer, otherwise grab a waitress and order what you like.” He lifted his glass to his lips and smiled over the rim. “The ladies get whatever their heart’s desire at Conor’s cabana.” The tone of his voice made it clear he wasn’t only referring to cocktails.
“Thanks,” Olivia said. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
Conor gave them a nod as a natural blonde with unnatural breasts snaked her arm around his waist. Cassie waited until he’d blended back into the crowd before voicing her second thoughts.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” she said.
“We’re here now, might as well enjoy a few of the perks.” Olivia tugged her toward a waitress who was wearing a toga that barely covered her ass. “Let’s order a drink, catch a few rays, and then we can head to the casino.”
But one drink lead to two, and two lead to three, which for Olivia proved to be just the right amount of liquid courage.
“I’m doing it,” she finally said. But her words were more confident than her tone.
“Doing what?” Cassie asked, using her straw to swirl the mint leaf in the bottom of her mojito.
“I’m taking my top off.”
“You are not.”
“Oh, I so am. And you should too.”
“Olivia, I cannot just take my top off. I would feel like a stripper.”
“I’m not suggesting you jump on a table and swing your bikini top around in the air. Just discreetly tug the strings and let it slip.” Olivia took a long sip of piña colada. The dark rum the bartender had added to the top had a nice kick. “It’s not like anyone will even notice us.”
“Nope. But feel free to—what was it Conor said?—let your boobies out to play. Mine are happy hibernating.” Cassie downed the last of her drink. “Plus, with my skin that would be some wicked sunburn.”
Olivia glanced around the crowded cabana. Cassie was right, this wasn’t the type of party the two of them would normally attend clothed, let alone topless. But her life had become such a routine: wake, stalk, research, sleep, repeat. How had this happened? She was twenty-nine, resided in a major metropolis, and yet she lived the life of an old woman. Maybe this was exactly what she needed to break out of the funk she’d fallen into. It’s not like anyone would pay her much attention and aside from Cassie the only person there who she even vaguely knew was Conor. At the moment, even he was far too distracted by the pair of women currently grinding against his thighs to take much notice of her “boobies”.
“All right. I’m doing it,” she said with as much resolve as she could muster. Although for the life if her she wasn’t sure which of the two of them she was trying to convince.
“Suit yourself. Or I guess, unsuit yourself,” Cassie said with a laugh. “I’m going to find the Goddess of Cocktails and see if I can score us another round.”
Olivia considered her options. She could grab a lounger and wait for the perfect moment, maybe even start out sunbathing on her stomach. Then again, like wading into a cold ocean, moving one inch at a time offered a chance to lose her nerve. Sometimes it was best to jump right in.
Slowly, she backed toward the rear of the cabana. Once out of the fray, she reached behind her and with a tug of a few strings let her bikini top slip to the floor. No big deal, she just had to mingle and chat and act like this was something she did every day. Yeah, right, as if her pale skin would back up that lie. Olivia pushed the image of sunburned bits out of her mind and drew a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thought.
The first few feet were easy enough, until she stepped out into the bright sun and right into a wall of a man.
“Ms. Ramsey.”
Olivia’s breath caught. No fucking way. Not again. But as she shielded her eyes and squinted into the light, she realized her worst-case scenario had not only materialized, but in the most horrid way possible. What made it even more humiliating was the fact that for the first time in her life she was at an utter loss for words. She wanted to look away, to cover herself, hell, to have the ground swallow her whole. But she’d talked the talk and now she had to walk the walk. Of course, that was when she thought her ta-tas would only be on display to a handful of drunken strangers. Still, the last thing she wanted was for Coleman Grant III to see her as weak. Actually, the last thing she wanted him to see was exactly what he was currently ogling, but if anything, that was helping the situation. So instead of slapping her hands across her chest and running all the way back to her room, if not the airport, Olivia straightened her spine.
“Mr. Grant,” she replied, as sweetly as possible. “You wouldn’t by any chance have some sunblock you could spare, would you?”
His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I think I could find some. Might even be willing to give you a hand applying it.” He lowered his voice to a tone that was undeniably seductive and yet still somehow condescending. “If you say please.”
Pig.
Her brown eyes locked with his, and once again she was struck by how absolutely gorgeous he was. For a moment, she indulged the fantasy that had been playing at the edges of her mind ever since the flight; white hot images of her naked body straddling his as they fucked each other senseless at 35,000 feet. And judging by the way his blue eyes darkened to nearly black, his own imagination had taken a similar turn. Was it possible they might . . .
But then a smug grin spread across his face, and all bets were off.
“That won’t be necessary.” Olivia’s gaze dropped to the rather sizable ridge now visible beneath his designer swimsuit. “But from the looks of it, you might want to give yourself a hand,” she said. With that, she spun on her heel and with an intentional sway of her hips, sauntered over to the bar where Conor stood arranging several rows of brightly colored Jell-O shots.
“Whoa, somebody’s getting into the spirit,” he said as she approached. To his credit, and her surprise, he didn’t gawk. Much. “What’s your favorite color, beautiful?”
Olivia set her unfinished piña colada on the bar. “Give me the full rainbow,” she replied. The day had taken a definite turn, and it was going to take a lot more than a glorified milkshake to get her through the afternoon.
Conor’s eyes grew wide. “Hell yes,” he whooped. “I knew I liked you.” With a flourish, he began lining up the small plastic cups, starting with a cherry red and ending with a deep purple. He made a similar arrangement for himself and when he was done, lifted the first one in a toast.
“To new friends” he said, tapping his plastic shot glass against hers.
“To new friends,” she replied before downing the concoction in a single gulp. When she finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stole a glance over her shoulder to where she’d left Coleman Grant with his mouth slack and his cock hard. But the spot where he’d stood was now occupied by a couple who seemed to think the cabana was their own private room.
“Everything okay?” Conor asked.
Olivia turned away from the public display of groping to find Conor waiting for her, a lazy grin on his face and two orange Jell-O shots in his hands. Fuck Coleman Grant and his annoying roman numerals and his rippled, rock ha
rd abs, and his thick, unruly hair, and his . . . aww, just fuck him. “Perfect,” she replied, forcing her lips to curve into a smile. “Absolutely perfect.”
Chapter Six
Olivia kept her eyes closed, doing her best to block out the sunlight that seemed to be doing its best to burn her retinas off right through her eyelids. Why the hell had she left the blackout curtains open anyway? If there was one thing hotels did well it was dark rooms, and Vegas did it better than most. She would have made a mental note to never make that rookie mistake again, but at the moment her head hurt too much to manage much of anything besides breathing. And not puking.
When she finally forced her eyes open, one more than the other, reality hit her like a brick wall. Her blackout curtains weren’t closed because the heavy panels standing untouched at each end of the wall of windows weren’t hers. Neither was the lamp that sat with its shade askew. Or the chaise lounge that stretched out like a rolling wave in the corner of the room. And the oversize bed with the soaring metal canopy certainly wasn’t hers either. Her gaze followed the brushed silver frame up from the foot of the bed, across the expanse of the vaulted ceiling, and back down again to where her hand rested against the cold steel. Except it wasn’t just resting; it was tied. Olivia squinted at the thin strip of black lace wrapped snugly around her wrist and gasped. She was tied to the bed frame. With her panties.
Shit.
She tried to sit up, but the sudden movement caused the room to spin like a carnival ride. So instead of bolting for the door, Olivia leaned back against the pillows and tried to piece together the events that lead to her waking up in hotel room five times the size of her bedroom at home. Who the hell could afford a place like this anyway? A wave a nausea swept through her, and she winced. Coleman Grant III, that’s who.
How in the world did this happen? The last thing she remembered was going to dinner at the swanky Japanese place in the lobby of the hotel. An image of Cole leaning against the sushi bar flashed before her eyes. And what was worse? Not only had he been at the restaurant, looking like the sin of Sin City, but she had a fuzzy recollection of him telling her he was in town for the very same event, something about having gone to grad school with the groom. But how had a bit of conversation over sake ended with her naked in his hotel suite? The night started to come back to her in small, grainy bursts, exploding through her mind like some sort of X-rated fireworks display. Pulling Cole down the hallway toward his room. Pushing him up against the door of the suite, her fingers in his hair and his tongue in her mouth. Tumbling over the threshold in a mass of tangled limbs. It was all too much. The images of frantic hands and greedy lips blurred together until she thought her head might actually explode. She pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead as if the counter pressure might quell the pounding against her skull.
Water.
She needed water.
Olivia rolled to her side and using her free hand, untied the scrap of lace. Slowly, she sat up and surveyed the room. Clothes were scattered across the floor in a progression that started at the door and ended at the foot of the bed. Except for her bra. That had been flung across the chaise. A fuzzy memory of Cole, reclining against the velvet cushion while she rode him like a rodeo champ flashed through her mind, and she groaned. Classy, Olivia, real classy. But her mortification quickly gave way to sheer panic. Did they . . . her gaze shifted to the night stand and a pile of condom wrappers. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least she hadn’t been a total idiot.
She stumbled to the bathroom on shaking legs, each step bringing a not so subtle reminder of the persistent ache between her thighs. She wanted to gather her clothes along the way, but she didn’t think she could manage any inverted motions, so for now at least, that would have to wait. Instead she focused solely on her pressing need for a toilet and a toothbrush. Whatever she’d drunk had left her mouth tasting like the inside of a trash can, and if she couldn’t brush her teeth at least she could swipe some toothpaste over her gums.
After gulping some water from the faucet, she straightened to face the mirror. The reflection staring back at her was a judgmental bitch, eyeing her up one side and down the other. There was a hickey on her neck and a set of bruises the shape of fingertips on her inner thigh and all at once she remembered exactly how they got there . . .
Cole lifted her leg over his shoulder, spreading her wide. The stubble on his jaw brushed her sensitive skin, then his tongue licked the length of her sex. She raised her head and the sight of him moving between her thighs sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. There was nothing gradual or gentle in the way he pleasured her, filling her with his thrusting tongue as if her race to orgasm was his own.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned. And he didn’t, not even when she climaxed on a thready cry. Instead he wrapped his hand around her thigh, digging his fingers into her flesh as he held her against his mouth, licking, nipping, and sucking until she writhed beneath him in a second release.
Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. As much as she hated to admit it, the man knew what he was doing. The mere thought of his mouth and lips and tongue—damn, the boy really knew how to use his tongue—had her feeling a little weak in the knees. Or maybe that was the lingering effects of the alcohol that was still wreaking havoc on her system. Not that it mattered. What happened that night was a mistake. One she would never make again. All that was left to do was gather her belongings and get the hell out of Dodge. With any luck, he’d already done the same.
Cole walked over to the wall of windows. Below him the Las Vegas strip simmered under the early morning sun. All that had sparkled and glowed the night before now looked flat, dirty, and dull. Not at all unlike his life.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He narrowed his eyes on the horizon, searching for an answer he knew damn well he wouldn’t find. Not among the cacti that dotted the distant sands and certainly not on the other side of the bedroom door.
For nearly three months the woman in the next room had made it her life’s work to badger him into submission. Cole snorted. Yeah, as if that would ever happen. And over what? A few snotty-nosed vermin that probably carried rabies and no telling what else. He should be given an award for ridding the world of the vile creatures, not harassed on a daily basis to pull the plug on a multi-billion-dollar deal. But that’s exactly what she’d done. Relentlessly. In all his twenty-nine years, Cole had never met anyone so stubborn and closed-minded and, hell, just so downright annoying. And yet the mere thought of Olivia Ramsey’s naked body sprawled out across his hotel bed had his cock twitching in his pants.
If only he’d kept it there.
But no, he had to take her to bed. Great. Just fucking great. What the hell had he been thinking? He would have loved to blame the tequila, or whatever Conor had given him from that stupid hip flask of his; but the truth was, drunk or not, Cole had known exactly what he was doing. And even more truth? He loved every fucking minute of it. How the hell did that happen? It wasn’t as though he even liked her for Christ’s sake. But last night, when she’d tilted her chin up and met his gaze with that defiant stare of hers, he’d forgotten all about the sidewalk ambushes and the eight-by-ten glossies of flying rats. Instead, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her.
If only he’d left it at that.
Cole couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened but somewhere along the way the tone of their little encounters had changed. At first, he’d found her to be nothing more than an annoyance, an almost amusing distraction to his morning routine. That quickly changed thanks to her relentless nature and escalating tactics; but while his contempt for the smart-mouthed activist had grown over time, somehow it had also morphed into a twisted form of attraction, an all-consuming lust that ran just below the surface of the hate.
And then the opportunity presented itself on a goddamn silver platter. Even under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have been the type to walk away, but in the back of his mind, buried far beneath the part that was b
eing controlled by his dick, Cole had somehow thought that fucking the tenacious Miss Ramsey might finally break the inexplicable hold she seemed to have over him. No woman could ever live up to the fantasy of being unattainable, and who was more unattainable than a woman who hated your guts? The way he saw it, sleeping with her was not only in his best interest at that moment, but for his future as well.
It would only take once. Just one fast and furious fuck and she would be out of his system, but more importantly, out of his head. Hell, he hadn’t even planned on getting her off. But once had turned into twice, which turned into more times than his hungover brain could even remember and now she was asleep in the bedroom of his Las Vegas penthouse. Tied up with her own panties no less. Fucking hell. He knew he was a bastard for leaving her like that, but he couldn’t risk waking her. Not yet, not when he hadn’t had a chance to think the situation through. He needed a clear head, and that required time. And coffee.
Where the hell was room service anyway? Cole checked his watch. No telling how much longer the peace and quiet would last. He knew he was living on borrowed time, the calm before the Olivia Ramsey storm. Then again, maybe not. He ran a hand back through his hair, knowing full well it was a futile effort. Even on a good day, Cole’s hair had the look of a man who’d had a wild night in the sack. Still, it was a nervous habit, and although he hated to admit it, nervous was exactly how he felt at the moment.
The way Cole saw it, the situation could go down one of two ways. Option One: She’d emerge from the bedroom under the misguided impression that last night had actually meant something. That was how these scenarios usually played out, and as much as he hated the thought of having to deal with another lovey-dovey female, there was always the chance that the stars in her eyes would temporarily blind her into dropping her vendetta against him.
Black Tie Optional (Wild Wedding Series Book 1) Page 4
