Dirty Sexy Bastard

by Paige, Laurelin

  I couldn’t decide if I was devastated or irritated or simply confused as hell.

  “Come on, honey,” my mother said, tugging on my arm. “Let’s get out of here so we can contact our lawyer. I’m sure there’s something we can do to fight this.”

  Dazed, I let her pull me out of my chair and into the hallway. I barely registered her chattering as she tried to console me.

  “Maybe this is actually a blessing,” she said, or something like that. “You’ll have time to get your masters. You don’t have to take the whole load on all at once.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was still processing.

  “Or! Or we can contest the will! We have enough money to fight this. Is that what you want to do, Elizabeth? I’ll support you if that’s what you want.”

  I shook my head, but I wasn’t really responding to her. More, I was taking everything in.

  Taking the gesture as a no, she offered another solution. “You could get married!”

  I stopped abruptly in the hall. “I don’t want to get married,” I snarled. I especially didn’t want to get married just to inherit my father’s company. And, funny how things like this worked, now that I’d been denied the option to take over now, I wanted it more than ever. Whether I was ready or not.

  Eileen Sanchez—who’d inherited an expensive painting that used to hang in his New York office—walked by then, a man with a face full of acne scars on her arm.

  “Gabriel will marry you!” she chimed brightly.

  I exploded. “I’m not getting married! The whole idea is ludicrous and unfair and demeaning to women. I’m only capable of taking on his company if I have a ring on my finger? No. No, it’s appalling. It’s obscene! It’s fucking outrageous, and I am not going to play one bit into this childish game of his. You got that? Does everybody get that?”

  A small crowd had gathered around me now, including my cousin, Darrell, the lucky bastard. He seemed pleased with my proclamation. Everyone else seemed astonished by my outburst. Including me. It wasn’t polite or professional or at all the behavior of a woman who wanted to run a multi-billion dollar company.

  It had come honestly, though. Because I’d figured out how I felt, and I wasn’t devastated or confused or even irritated.

  I was goddamned furious.

  Three

  Weston

  “No, Mom. I can’t come for Thanksgiving. I already have plans.” I was shouting into the phone because of the background noise of the bar, but the way the conversation was going, I probably would have raised my voice anyway. “Thanks for asking, though.”

  She always asked. No matter how many times I declined. No matter how many fights we had about the past, she still had hope.

  That was more than I had for any of us.

  “Couldn’t you come over later? We can have evening pie and coffee. I’ll make the pecan that you always liked. Or if it’s too far to drive, maybe we could come to you.” She was more persistent than usual.

  Why had I even answered the phone? Big mistake on my part.

  “Mom, I won’t even be in the States that week.” Note to self: book trip out of the country.

  “Oh?” She perked up.

  I knew the sound of that perk.

  “I’m not going with anyone special. Don’t get excited.” I swear she thought that if I’d just “settle down with a woman”—her words, not mine—I’d spend more time back at home with the family.

  Didn’t she realize that the problems between us ran too deep? The things my father had done couldn’t be repaired with a wedding and a grandbaby.

  Even if they could, I wasn’t interested. Not even a lit bit.

  “It just seems that if you’re going on a trip out of the country with someone, she automatically has to be special. Where are you going anyway?” My mother didn’t understand me at all. Every woman was special, whether I was taking a trip with her out of the country or pulling her into the men’s room for a quick fuck fifteen minutes after meeting her.

  And, similarly, no woman was special.

  I was a womanizer. A player. A lady-killer. An asshole.

  There was no way to explain that to a mother, however, even if I liked who I was.

  “I’m not taking any woman at all,” I said, which was true since I wasn’t technically taking a trip anywhere at all. “And we’re going to Aruba.”

  Nate, my business partner, tore his gaze from the woman currently on his lap and glanced toward me, sensing from my tone that I needed to be rescued. Or maybe just intrigued by the mention of Aruba.

  I gave him a thumbs up along with an eye roll while my mother continued her interrogation in my ear. “Who’s the ‘we’ then?”

  “My partner, Nate,” I answered. I covered the mouthpiece of my cell and leaned toward my friend. “Want to go to Aruba for Thanksgiving?”

  “Sure.” That was Nate. Easy-going, not a care in the world. Also a god with the women. He was obviously my idol.

  “So that’s the situation, Mom. I can’t make it, but make sure you give Noelle a big turkey kiss for me, and I’ll talk to you later.”

  I hung up the call, but not before I heard her ask if I was coming from Christmas.

  No. The answer was no. The answer was always no. No matter how much I missed my younger sister, I wouldn’t have anything to do with my parents. Not unless Dad made a shitload of amends and Mom stopped with the “stand by your man” routine. I didn’t see either on the horizon.

  I slipped my cell into the inside pocket of my suit jacket and eyed the blonde bombshell sitting at the bar as she took another sip of her martini, nearing the end of her drink.

  “Everything okay?” Nate asked.

  “Yep. Just standard mother nagging. You know how it goes.” I’d never told Nate the truth about my fallout with my parents. The only other person in the world who knew was Donovan Kincaid, our other partner at Reach, the ad agency we ran. He had to know. He’d been affected by the situation too. He hadn’t been happy with his father either, he just handled it differently than I had—he’d run away to Japan.

  At least, that was why I assumed he’d been insistent on opening an office in that market. The guy was a bit of an enigma. I rarely knew what was really going through his head, even though we’d been friends since we’d been kids.

  But I was done thinking about my family—and Donovan too, since he was so tied up in my life that he was practically a brother—and focused on the game at hand. “So are we doing this?”

  Nate shrugged with his eyebrows. “I’m in if you are.”

  “The sophisticated blonde at the bar with the forties hairstyle, right?” The one I’d been watching for the better part of an hour. The one who’d walked in alone with legs up to her neck. Legs that would look so good wrapped around my neck.

  “She’s the most beautiful woman in the room, so yes.” He smacked the rump of his lap-lady and turned on his charm. “Except for Lola, of course.”

  “Do you really think so, Nate?” she purred as she tugged playfully on his tie.

  “Definitely, baby.” He tilted her chin so his mouth could cover hers.

  My cue to leave.

  I admired the man—wanted to be him, even—idolized every one of his moves, but that didn’t mean I wanted to hang around while he played kissy face.

  “See you shortly,” I said as I slid out from the table, though I wasn’t sure Nate was even listening anymore.

  Once standing, I buttoned my suit jacket, ran a hand through my hair, and then casually strode over to the open spot next to the hottie at the bar. I didn’t acknowledge her or take a seat, but rather I stood patiently until the bartender approached me.

  “Dirty martini with gin, in and out with the vermouth,” I ordered.

  Next to me, I could feel the blonde’s eyes on me. Could feel her checking me out. Still, I didn’t look at her.

  After a beat, she said, “That’s what I’m drinking.”

  I shifted my gaze toward her, and s
he held up her glass as though proving her statement, then threw the remainder back with one gulp.

  “I know,” I said smoothly. When I said I’d been watching her, I meant it. The bartender set the glass in front of me, and I slid it in the blonde’s direction. “This is for you. I’ll have a Maker’s Mark with a spash of tonic, please.”

  I paid the bill and, when my drink arrived, I lifted it toward her in a silent cheers. She lifted hers as well.

  “That was slick,” she said, cooly. “Knowing my drink order. Should I be impressed?”

  “Not even a little bit. I was simply sitting within earshot when you ordered and decided to use that to my advantage.” I leaned ever so slightly closer. “In fact, buying a woman a drink is such a passé move, I’m surprised you’re even giving me the time of day.”

  “It was a clever variation of the typical come-on. It intrigued me. Ten points.”

  “Out of how many?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “That means I still have a chance to win all of them.”

  “Possibly. What’s your next move?” She’d swiveled so her knees were pointing toward me, a sign that she was definitely interested.

  “That’s a good question.” I chuckled like I was searching for material, but I wasn’t. I knew where I was going. This was all part of the act. “I could tell you how my friend and I—” I nodded toward Nate who now had Lola straddled across him, their mouths moving frantically together. “Decided you were definitely the most beautiful woman in the bar.”

  She glanced where I’d indicated. “Hmm. He doesn’t seem to be affected by me.”

  “He is. Trust me.” Actually, blondie was really more my type than Nate’s. Stylish. Dressed like she had smarts. Polished and suave. Yep, she was right up my alley.

  But she wasn’t moved by the compliment. I hadn’t thought she would be. Picking up women was like playing chess—I’d had most of my moves thought out before I even approached her, all possible reactions already considered and planned for. I knew what move to make from here.

  “Or, I could try to impress you by relating any amazing thing I’ve ever done and brag about the people I know.” She wasn’t into this. I was sure of that. It was also what I considered cheating. Dropping my father’s name would have most women taking off their panties and handing them over with no further seduction.

  That was too easy.

  Besides, I refused to use my father for anything. Including picking up women. Maybe especially picking up women.

  “Or, I could show you a magic trick.”

  I was about to go on, but she stopped me here. “Magic? You know magic?”

  That was not the one I thought she’d fall for.

  “A bit,” I admitted with a cocky lilt to my smile.

  “Show me a trick, then.”

  Damn. This was going good faster than I’d planned.

  “Okay.” I looked around for something to make disappear. I had coins in my pocket, but this play was better with a personal object. Thankfully, she had the perfect option around her neck—a single, teardrop pearl, dangling from a delicate gold chain. “May I borrow this?” I asked, reaching out to touch the jewel, careful not to touch her skin in the process. The move was intimate already without making actual contact. And denying the contact, heightened the tension.

  Her voice fluttered when she answered. “I guess so.” She reached around her neck to undo the clasp. “Be careful with it, though. It was an heirloom passed on from my grandmother.”

  “I’ll guard it with my life,” I said. I held my hand out, and she slowly dropped the necklace into my palm, winding the chain into an uneven beehive before setting the pearl on top.

  Carefully, I took the pearl between the fingers of my other hand, palming the chain below it. “This here, pearl,” I said, “Is quite a beautiful adornment—though not half as beautiful as the woman wearing it. But I bet you didn’t know that objects like this, objects with great sentimental value attached, contain raw magic.”

  “Nope. Didn’t know that at all.” She smiled, humoring me, but completely enraptured at the same time.

  “Well, they do. This one for sure does. With the help of a trained magician, it has the power to vanish. Wait. My right hand is my trained magician hand, not my left. Let me switch that. ” I moved my right hand over the jewel, as if to snatch it up, my fist closed tightly, then pulled it back dramatically to draw her attention there while the pearl dropped into the palm of my left hand.

  “Okay now, presto chango, things are happening in my hand. It’s getting hot. The magic is kicking in.” I shook my fist around and danced it around, adding some more hocus pocus mumbo jumbo language, and then flashed my empty palm in front of her.

  It feels like everyone will see how the trick works, once it’s explained. It’s so obvious, isn’t it? But the reality is that almost no one does.

  Including her.

  “Where did it go? Did you drop it on the floor?” She sounded aghast at the possibility as her eyes searched frantically over the marble tile at our feet.

  “No. Of course not. It’s. Hold on. It’s right…” I moved my left hand, the hand with the necklace up behind her ear as if to move her hair, then brought the right hand to tug it out from my enclosed palm. “Right here. Hiding in your hair.”

  I brushed her lobe as I moved my hand down, such a subtle touch that she shivered.

  “That was...that deserved all the points,” she said breathily, her gaze locked on mine. Her eyes were dark and liquid, and I knew I had her.

  The thing was, I knew I had her before I’d even approached her. Because this was what I did, and I was good at it. I was fucking fantastic at it. And maybe it was because there was no challenge, because it had started to grow monotonous, maybe that was why sometimes I felt bored with it all. Was this all there was to life? Would this be who I was, what I did for the rest of my virile adulthood? I was definitely never getting married, never settling down, and I could never see myself going without sex, no matter how dreary the prelude to it was.

  And I was only twenty-eight. That left a long future of the same-old, same-old.

  Still, however banal the process was, it almost always ended in orgasms, so what was there really to complain about?

  I smiled, the kind of smile that almost could be called a smirk, if I weren’t so charming when I delivered it. “Here. Let me put your necklace back on for you.”

  I circled behind her and circled the chain around her throat. The clasp was tiny and difficult to maneuver with my large hands, but I’d been around enough of the sort of thing to make the task manageable. When it was fastened, I trailed my fingers gently against the back of her neck. Her skin was warm here and soft, and the way she took in a shuddering breath after made my cock start to stiffen.

  “Are you staying in the hotel?” she asked, when I came back around to view her face-to-face.

  I shook my head. “Are you?”

  “I am,” she said. I’d already known she was. Women didn’t frequent hotel bars alone unless they were staying overnight. “I have a magic trick for you now. Do you want to see?”

  I nodded. Whatever she was about to pull was sure to be sexy. We’d moved to that stage of conversation, where everything we said to each other was foreplay.

  She grabbed her purse from the back of the barstool and dug inside with both hands. A moment later she showed me her fists, both of them closed. “Pick one.”

  I lifted my hand to touch her left hand, but she shook her head, so I moved my finger to her right hand and lightly touched the top of one of her knuckles. She opened up her fist to show me the contents, and inside was a room key.

  “That is magic,” I said, taking the card from her. “It seems your power is in your right hand too.”

  “Room seven-twelve.” She smiled seductively at me as she stood and pulled the strap of her purse up her shoulder. “Coming?”

  I put one finger in the air. “Hold on just one second.�
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  I didn’t wait for her to respond before I crossed back over to Nate, snapped my fingers to get his attention, and then, when he’d extricated his lips from Lola’s, I showed him the key.

  “Pay up, dickstain.” I held my hand out for him to give me my reward.

  Nate reached for his wallet. “I don’t even know why I play this game with him anymore. He always wins.”

  “Because you think there’s always that chance I won’t.” I took the hundred dollar bill he’d offered, and I stuffed it in my jacket pocket.

  “I was a bet? He paid you to try and get my room key?”

  The appalled shriek could only have come from the blonde I’d just seduced. I turned to find her standing right behind me.

  I’ve learned in these situations, the best thing to do is just be honest. “Let’s just say Nate paid our bar tab, and be cool with that.”

  She slapped me. “You bastard!” Then she spun on her heels and stormed out of the bar.

  I rubbed my cheek. It stung, but it wasn’t the first time I’d been slapped. I’d even gone into tonight’s seduction knowing that being slapped was a definite possibility.

  “I’ll never understand why you let them see the money transaction,” he said.

  He knew why. He was stupid if he didn’t, and Nate Sinclair was not stupid. But I didn’t bother to respond.

  “You’re going after her, right?”

  I shrugged. “Another hundred if I get in her pants?”

  He started to look offended, then gave up the pretense. “You know it.” He fist bumped me, and then returned his attention to his woman of the evening.

  And I followed after the stranger from the bar. Sure, she hated me, and I didn’t even know her name, but I had her room key and her room number, and I wasn’t worried about what would happen after I used them.