Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1)

by Donna Alam

  He stands along with me, his fingers brushing my hand as I pass. ‘Hurry back.’

  This isn’t going as I’d planned.

  I touch water to my temples like some damsel in distress. This is so scary. It’s almost like I’ve been so long out of the dating game I have no idea how to play. He likes me, this much I can tell, but on the scale of one to casual where do I stand? Does he really want to get to know me, be my friend? Date me, or just do the dance with no pants again? And what happened to my avoiding men? Shouldn’t I be concentrating on learning to be on my own?

  I’m so out of my depths, I’m probably risking the bends.

  Staring in the powder-room mirror doesn’t enlighten me one bit, so I return to the table muttering a reminder, mantra-like, I’m going to go home alone.

  Kai isn’t at the table but standing at the far end of the room, one half of a tense conversation with a tall, dark man. Not wanting to interrupt, I take my seat. The table has been mostly cleared but for the arak and our glasses, plus an additional two. To accompany these is a bottle of Krug, cooling in a bucket of ice on a stand.

  Not going at all as I’d planned.

  While I don’t think I could continue with the arak and expect to retain the use of my legs, champagne is meant for a celebration and I’m . . . going home alone?

  Pondering my predicament—expensive champagne; can I really say no?—I watch the waiter approach as he’s intercepted by an older man. Bowing differentially to whatever is said, old bovine-lashes turns back the way he came. The stranger, smiling widely, heads my way.

  ‘Allow me, my dear.’ His avuncular tone does not put me at ease.

  ‘No, really, I’m good thanks.’ I raise my arak in indication, but he doesn’t answer beyond peering down a blade-straight nose as he continues to peel the foil sleeve. ‘Anyway, my mum told me never to accept drinks from strangers.’

  He laughs—a sound like suede. He’s good looking, if you have a thing for older guys, which I don’t: dark hair with a touch of distinguished at the temples and deep, brown eyes. Stylish, too; very monochromatic Armani. Dark slacks and a fine knit sweater, cashmere, I’ll bet.

  ‘Your mother is obviously very wise.’

  My mother is a pain in my arse. And I don’t have daddy issues. I’m about to tell him so when Kai reappears looking very dark and broody eyed.

  ‘Abi.’

  The tiny word sounds like an insult, the stranger’s head turning slowly toward Kai’s. My own swings comically between the pair as they stare at one another, one set of eyes blazing, the other quite benign.

  ‘Katherine.’ Kai doesn’t look at me, his eyes unmoving from the stranger. ‘May I introduce my father, Faris Al Khalfan. Abi, this is my friend, Katherine.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  I stare between father and son and blink rapidly, the physical resemblance now clear.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ I’m more bemused than pleased, but I hold out my hand automatically, as custom dictates.

  ‘Delighted.’ His father’s hand slips from mine to clasp his son’s shoulder. Kai looks uncomfortable with the action. Unimpressed. ‘Katherine . . . ?’

  ‘Saunders,’ I supply automatically.

  ‘And where did you meet my son?’

  ‘At brunch,’ Kai interjects. ‘Kate is a teacher at the American school.’ His gaze glides to mine as smooth as his reply. It seems he’s as good on his feet as he is horizontal. After all, we met at Al Mishael. Where I work. The school his family owns. Hell.

  ‘Ah, a teacher,’ replies his father, contemplative. ‘I wasn’t aware the American school employed teachers from outside its system. You’re Australian, my dear? Such a distinctive accent, I find.’

  An awkward silence descends and somehow I feel it’s my responsibility to fill the space. I’m a hopeless liar but struck by a sudden idea, I go with it, albeit bewildered.

  ‘I have experience in the IB, the International Baccalaureate.’ Not true but it seems credible enough as my brow furrows, though I try not to examine too deeply why I’ve just lied.

  ‘Quite so?’ He turns now to Kai. ‘You seem to find the most engaging companions. You had brunch with Sofia last weekend, were both ladies your guests?’

  And that would be the supermodel, then. Sofia. Even her name is glamorous. So-fee-a. And being around Kai must have affected my imagination because, that totally sounded like he meant something else. An après-sex-brunch-ménage thing? My brain must be broke.

  Kai doesn’t answer, preferring instead to glower at his dad. Strange, but he, at least, seems amused.

  ‘Speaking of the lady in question, I ran into her yesterday. She seemed most anxious to see you.’

  Kai’s countenance visibly darkens; a look to freeze an ocean but he offers no reply.

  ‘Oh, she endured my company kindly enough, though I’m sure I was a poor substitute.’ His father waves an airy hand now looking quite smug.

  ‘Of course she did,’ Kai responds, sardonic.

  ‘It’s a wise father—’

  ‘Save it for someone with the inclination, Father.’

  I’m confused by the exchange. The nuances I read pretty clearly: shades and tones of antagonism and get fucked, but the topic. I haven’t a clue?

  ‘As entitled as you feel to this discussion, I’m afraid I can’t take part right now.’ Kai grasps my elbow like I’m his elderly aunt. ‘Miss Saunders was just leaving.’

  I murmur a hasty goodbye, almost stumbling in Kai’s haste. A quick glance at the exit shows his father still watching us, his gaze almost calculating. The whole incidence leaves me very confused.

  I stay silent in the elevator. I haven’t a clue what to say. I want to ask what that was all about, but families can be a touchy topic, I know. Besides, the aggressive looking tic in Kai’s jaw suggests now is not a good time to pry. He flicks through his phone while I silently scold myself for noticing the very minutiae of his expression, meanwhile I may as well be chopped liver. Uninviting and ignored.

  ‘I apologize. My father is . . .’ My eyes rise to meet his tentative smile. ‘. . . a difficult man. It would’ve been unwise to mention that you work at Al Mishael in view of our friendship. Thank you for going along with my misdirection.’

  Friendship. Is that what this is, a friends with benefits kind of thing? In doing who I want, I should be fine with this label, so I attempt to fix an appropriate expression on my face.

  ‘Parents.’ I nod sagely, I think. ‘We all have our baggage. Some of us have parents we’d like to shove in a bag. The woman I saw you with at brunch, Sofia?’ I stop myself. Our type of friendship probably doesn’t extend to those kinds of explanations.

  ‘A casual lay.’ His eyes flick upwards, having resumed interest in his phone.

  ‘At least you fed her breakfast before kicking her out, right?’

  I’m not sure my delivery is as light as I’d intended, the acid washing through my stomach spills snark from my mouth. Kai’s head slowly rises, probably realising what he’s said or rather, to whom.

  ‘It sounds callous—’

  ‘You think?’

  He presses a button on the control panel, the elevator gliding to a stop. One glance at the illuminated buttons shows we weren’t on our way to the ground floor, but rather heading up. To his suite.

  ‘Sofia and I have, or rather, had an understanding. No strings attached and no getting involved. I apologize if that sounds unfeeling, but that is how things stood. For both of us.’

  My eyebrows creep toward my hairline; incredulity and a non-verbal enquiry into his use of past tense.

  ‘We are no longer involved.’

  ‘So it’s over, your friends with benefits deal?’

  ‘I never said she and I were friends.’

  He touches the panel again and the elevator begins to move.

  At his suite, I allow him to take my hand as we cross the threshold, when suddenly, he pushes his hands into my hair and my body back against the closed door
.

  ‘Tell me you don’t want me,’ he dares, eyes ablaze. ‘Tell me I’m wrong.’

  I place my hands against his chest and push him away a little; I want to see his face. ‘I’m not sure I want to be that kind of friend,’ I reply solemnly.

  He doesn’t speak, his features giving little away. But then, as he blinks, I can almost see a storm brewing there. My stomach does a little flip in response. And not an oh, fuck he’s cross kind of flip, but more of a guh, fuck, he’s sexy kind of thing. His fingers tighten in my hair and like a marionette with cut strings, my knees begin to give. I don’t have to worry about falling as he presses himself against me, forcing a needy sort of exhale from my throat. But I don’t get it; my reactions are utterly irrational. The man is angry and I’m turned on. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I know I could push him away, step out of his arms knowing he’d be a perfect gentleman. But as he forces my head back so he can better see into my eyes, I know I’m where I want to be: under his hands and the influence of his amber-coloured gaze.

  ‘You have to trust me.’

  It’s not a request, liquorice scented breath feathering across my face.

  My palms against the hardness of his chest, I can feel his heart beating solidly beneath his skin. His eyes never waver as he reaches beneath the hem of my dress, pulling my now naked thighs hard against his. It’s a touch my body seems to recognise as I whimper or moan, I’m not sure which. The strangeness in Kai’s expression shifts, the storm receding, replaced by fire as he presses his mouth against mine. Hot and urgent kisses, I meet his intensity as hard fingers press into my flesh. Grasping my dress, he breaks contact for just a moment, pulling it over my waist and further up over my head.

  My breath catches as he spins me by the shoulder, pushing my body flush with the cool surface of the door.

  ‘Mihtajik.’ At my ear, his voice is harsh and rasping. ‘I need you.’

  My body trembles against the cold door, sensations and emotions combining, driving me higher, my needs meeting his. Kai’s forehead falls to my shoulder, feather light fingers drawing the straps of my bra down my arms.

  ‘And I think you need this.’ Lips and teeth trail across my shoulder. My knees weaken again and I moan loudly as he dips lower, drawing his body flush with mine once more. Hip to hip, he supports and pinions me as I quiver against the cold of the door.

  ‘Lift your hands.’ Not waiting, he takes them in his, forcing my palms flat against the wood. My heart and pulse pounds, my skin tightening in anticipation. ‘I need to try something. Trust me,’ he whispers.

  I can barely think, let alone speak, but somehow I manage to ask hoarsely, ‘Should I trust you?’ I want to; the charming, laughing Kai of earlier I trust, the one that teases and winds me up. The secret-filled Kai, the one holding me up against the door . . . should I?

  ‘You will.’

  There’s conviction but also warning in his words as he raises my hands higher. One palm against the door, he lays the other on top, skin to skin. His fingers glide away before I feel fabric against my wrists, binding. Excited, suddenly wet and now trembling, I close my eyes, afraid the sight of being bound could be my undoing.

  ‘Turn, kitten,’ he whispers, my hands still in his. ‘Open your eyes. See how good we look, how we fit together.’

  My insides ignite at his words, his kisses and coaxing tongue softer than before but passionate still. His mouth trails my neck and jaw, my hands still restrained and held in his before they slip away, skimming down the sensitive underside of my arms and across my ribs. He teases and moulds my breast in one palm, his mouth lowering to the other, the twinge of teeth causing me to hiss between his sucking and licking touch. My body bows and I cry out, overcome by the mixture of hot liquid pleasure and his now biting touch. I thrust my hips forward, my arms still above my head and rattling against the door. I’m wanton and bewildered as pleasure and pain unite, but I don’t need to think. Just feel.

  The metallic clink of his zipper, the sound of ripping foil, and my insides begin to pulse. His knees dip, hips rolling into mine and all thought is lost. Gripping the back of my knee, he lays it around his thigh, stroking his smooth head against my entrance until it glistens between us. I push myself forward against him, my body in charge, driven by needs I don’t care to understand.

  He enters me hard then, lifting me from the floor in one fluid movement. I cry out as I’m impaled. Filled. Stretched.

  ‘You look so good, bound.’ His voice is deep, husky, and strained with sex as his hips flex and pump. His hands hold my arse, spearing me deeply, my body weight adding an unexpected and delectable pressure.

  ‘Give in,’ he growls. ‘Give up.’ Thrusting into me, he holds me with his eyes, with his hands, as a hungry arousal licks its way through my body, building in intensity, my breathing increasing with it. I arch against the door, writhing, my bound hands thrashing against the wood. I cry out his name as he presses into me, pushing me higher and higher until there’s no place to go but fall, my fingers grasping for contact with the wood as I scrabble and scratch as though to prevent my descent.

  I shatter. Peak. Climax hard.

  I’m wet. Twitching. Spent.

  Kai growls, his pace increasing, thrusting and flexing harder still. His brows draw together, the muscles in his jaw tight as he fights against this moment. His rhythm falters, body convulsing, his expression glorious and dark as climax consumes him.

  He stills, his face intense and reactive as I continue to clench around him.

  Braced between the door and Kai, his forehead rests above mine, eyes closed and breathing fast. I lower my bound hands over his head, my mind vacuous for the moment, unexpressed emotion choking in my throat.

  Hard. Rapid. Unforgiving.

  Oh god, my reactions, and the noises I made. I let him angry fuck me against the door, in my shoes again.

  Then his eyes open suddenly, a flash of warmth taking me by surprise. My fears ebb, receding to nothing as rapidly as they’d arrived. I smile, hesitantly . . . then over his shoulder spot the binding at my wrists. The torn black lace is all too familiar.

  My knickers.

  ‘You bastard,’ I say without conviction. ‘You’ve buggered them!’

  His chest rumbles against mine. ‘I’m not that big of a deviant.’ Pulling me briefly against him, he lowers my feet to the floor. ‘Consider them ruined for a fucking good cause?’

  I’m not sure about charitable works, as he takes my hand, but I think I may just have discovered how the term banging came about.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I shield my eyes from the sun blazing in through the uncovered windows, piercing both my eyelids and my tentative conscious state. I’m in Kai’s bed and I’m alone, though I can hear a muted conversation coming from beyond the double doors. Rubbing my eyes, I yawn and settle back into the pillow. But something isn’t right, the niggling sensation that I’m missing something, other than underwear this time.

  Christ on a bike!

  My heart begins to beat like runaway hooves. I’m late, probably very late. And I’m not even home. His white shirt hangs from the bedroom chair, a quicker choice than hunting for my discarded dress. Didn’t he undress me out in the hallway? Still buttoning the shirt, I hurry out through the door.

  My pace slows as I come across Kai sitting at a circular maple-wood dining table, his hand resting over a doll-sized white cup. Head lowered and engrossed in a newspaper, the sun on his hair echoes the wood’s buttery tones. Unsure in my footing now, I feel naked despite Kai’s shirt hitting mid-thigh.

  I clear my throat and Kai raises his head, lit by a wide mega-watt smile.

  ‘Good morning,’ he murmurs, eyes travelling my legs. ‘Or at least it was when I woke.’

  Long legs in dark pants peek from under the table, his French cuffed shirt pinned with silver-coloured cufflinks. He looks so stylish and proper and I wonder fleetingly if he’d mind me untucking his shirt, ruffling him up a bit, maybe running my hands o
ver those taut stomach muscles, just as a start. And then I remember why I was hurrying, hands flying to my cheeks, much like that kid in the movie—the one who gets left home alone on Christmas day.

  ‘I’m bloody late! I didn’t mean to stay last night!’ I lower my hands, realising how lifting them rides the shirt up. ‘I haven’t got my stuff—I’ve got no clothes. Christ, I’m in so much shi—trouble! What kind of teacher turns up after the kids?’

  ‘Relax. It’s all taken care of.’ He leans back in his chair as I look on, confused. ‘I called ahead and said you’d be late,’ he answers, now shaking the newspaper open.

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘Told Arwa you were in my bed.’ An eyebrow quirks over the top of the page before he sets it down. ‘Give me some credit, would you? I didn’t call the school, just HR. Had you booked in for your visa paperwork. Fortuitous that they hadn’t booked your appointments yet. And you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you.’ The paper rustles as he raises it, shaking it once before it’s brought before his face. ‘A driver from the office will collect you from your apartment at ten. I should imagine your classes will be covered until then.’

  ‘Is that even . . . normal?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ He sets the paper down. ‘And a necessary part of your visa requirements. I imagine you’ll need to apply for a driver’s license today. Are you going to sit down?’ He gestures to a chair. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Well, I think.’ I park my butt on the gold cushioned seat next to him as he tilts his head to one side, a long index finger tapping his bottom lip as though full of wicked thoughts. I lick my own in response, wicked thoughts of last night causing me to blush.

  ‘Though it was kind of disturbed.’

  ‘You look remarkably fresh-faced for an insomniac.’ Somehow he makes the last word sound like sex-maniac, or maybe that’s just me. Leaning toward me, he slides a finger into the open neck of the shirt, hooking it around the first fastened button. ‘This looks good on you.’ He draws back, threading a finger through his tiny cup.