by Jasmin Quinn
Olivia took a long look at the bartender trying to get her bullshit meter to kick into high gear. “$200 bucks, Joe? That’s a lot of money. What’s he gonna do? Tie the guy up and put him in the trunk of my car?”
Joe laughed. “Not that I wouldn’t love to see Mr. Marsden all tied up, but it would probably take about a dozen of us to bring the big guy down.”
Olivia twisted her lips. Joe was right about that. Hugo Marsden had to be at least 6’4” and solid granite by the way his T-shirt squeezed his biceps and his jeans hugged his thighs. “Yeah, besides I don’t have a trunk to put him in.”
Joe glanced over at a group of four who had just come in the door. “Got a table to see to. Are you interested?”
Olivia followed his gaze. Four young, pretty women, looking around at the pickings, out for a little action. Right up Hugo’s alley, she thought with a frown. “I’m listening.”
“$200 Olivia. $100 for my buddy, $100 for me.”
Olivia glanced at the women again then back to Joe. “Fine,” she muttered as she reached to pull her wallet out of her vest pocket.
Joe stopped her with a hand to her forearm. “Not now. I have a break in a half-hour. Meet me in the lobby. I’ll introduce you to my friend.”
As the bartender straightened up, Olivia stood. “Don’t be fucking with me, Joe. My heart can’t take it.”
Joe grinned. “I wouldn’t, Olivia. I’m a romantic. The sparks were flying between you and Mr. Marsden. I’ve never seen him look so disappointed in my life.”
CHAPTER 4
The redhead in Hugo’s arms was practically shredding his T-shirt with her one-inch, pointy, pretty-pink fingernails. They were in the Mirage, in the hotel, in the hall in front of his room. Hugo had his tongue down the woman’s throat, one arm wrapped around her waist, his other groping past his erection trying to pry the fucking hotel room key from his pocket.
This one was lusty, her tongue competing with his, her fingers fighting with the button on his jeans. He held on tight as she pressed him up against the door with her generous breasts. A groan slipped from his lips as he finally got a grip on the key card and pulled it out along with a foil-wrapped condom, which fell to the floor. He was trying for a back-handed swipe as her hand groped his dick through the fabric of his jeans making him grunt as she squeezed, and then a little louder as the key card took and he fumbled with the handle. The door flew open with a bang and they slammed into the dark room.
“Fuck, Sherry.” He pulled her away from the door and shoved it closed with his foot. He thrust his hands under the hem of her dress, trying to push it up out of his way so he could get to her pussy.
“It’s Sheila,” she mumbled against his throat as she got enough grip on the T-shirt to pull it up over his head. He let the dress go momentarily to draw his arms up in the air as she pulled it off him. Then she was on him again, biting at his neck, her hands pawing at his chest. “God, you have muscles!” Her voice was muffled as his lips found hers again and sucked at her tongue like it was a candy cane.
But the dress was eluding him. Hugo couldn’t figure out how to get the fucking thing off so when they came up for air, he grabbed the collar and ripped the front of it open to her delighted shriek. He shoved his face into the hollow of her breasts and inhaled. She smelled like smoke, vodka and woman.
She finally got his jeans unbuttoned and was fumbling at the fly, trying to get it past his erection when the desk-lamp flicked on.
Hugo froze as Sherry/Sheila screamed and jumped back. He spun towards the light reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. Fuck and double-fuck. Blondie with the pink-tipped hair was sitting in the chair in the corner of his room, forearm leaning on the table, legs crossed, boot swinging, wearing a smug smile.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Hugo snarled, his breathing uneven, his cock still half-hard, one of his hands tangled in Sherry/Sheila’s dress.
“Don’t mind me, Mr. Marsden,” Olivia said, seemingly oblivious to the tension rolling off him. “I can wait. Finish what you were doing.”
The redhead was all but forgotten as Hugo’s temper erupted. “You didn’t answer my fucking question!” He untangled himself from Red and took two paces forward, looming over Olivia, fists clenched at his sides, pissed enough that he might use them. Nobody fucking invaded his privacy. His mind flitted to a couple of weeks ago when he’d had an unexpected visit from Mr. Mafia looking for his lawyer. Okay, except Jack Creed. But nobody fucking else!
“It seemed like you didn’t want to do business in the bar, so I thought I would come up here and wait for you, where we could talk privately.” Olivia widened her bright blue eyes, trying for innocent but didn’t quite pull it off because of the self-satisfied little smile playing at her lips.
“Who is she, Hugo?” Sherry/Sheila demanded, standing behind his huge frame and peeking around him.
Olivia flashed her teeth, shifted so she could see around Hugo’s large body, which was blocking her view of the redhead. “His wife.”
“You’re married?” The redhead’s forehead creased in consternation.
“I’m not fucking married,” Hugo growled.
“You know, if you keep furrowing your forehead that way, it will go prematurely wrinkled,” Olivia said to Sherry/Sheila.
“I should go.” Sherry/Sheila backed towards the door.
Hugo’d had enough. To the redhead he shouted, “You, stay!” And to Olivia, he bellowed, “You, out!”
Sherry/Sheila clutched the front of her dress together and fled the room. Olivia didn’t move. As the door banged shut, Hugo turned to her. “I should throw you off the balcony.”
“But you won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d regret killing me before you had a chance to fuck me.”
CHAPTER 5
One of Olivia’s biggest problems was that she didn’t know where the line was. She often used her sexuality to get what she wanted. It was naturally built into her genes. That’s what Olivia’s mother told her anyway. Gwen also said that Olivia had bad instincts and never knew when it was time to back off. She was fucking right even if most of her advice was garbage. And Olivia’s shitty instincts often got her into it, knee deep.
Like now, when she should have said, “Please, Mr. Marsden. Just hear me out.” But instead said, “Because you’d regret killing me before you had a chance to fuck me.”
Hugo grabbed her almost before the words were out of her mouth, yanked her to her feet and spun her around throwing her on the bed, then hurling himself on top of her. He shoved his hips between her thighs, one hand tangled in her long hair, and the other heaved up under her tank, squeezing her breast. His lips were inches from hers as he snarled, “I’m going to make an exception to my no-fucking-married-women rule and take you up on your offer.”
Olivia was stunned, caught off-guard and also maybe just a little turned on. But mostly stunned. “Get off me,” she shrieked, bucking her body, her pelvis slamming up against his erection. As she felt it, she got fully pissed, because he was just swapping her out for the redhead. That’s another thing her mom said to her and she was right again. Women are interchangeable. Red was gone, Hugo was horny. Olivia would do.
He pulled his head back from her face, letting more of his weight settle on her, his hard body pressing into her, his chest, rock-solid, mashing her breasts painfully. “Get off you?” He was shouting. “Get off you? You just offered to fuck me, Mrs. West. So what’s it gonna be? Throw you out of my room the hard way or you spread your legs like a good little housewife and show me what you’re made of.”
Olivia snarled as she brought her fists up and pummeled his back like he was a cement-filled punching bag. She slapped, pinched, yanked his hair with her hands, and bit his shoulder. He tried grabbing at her hands, tried restraining them between his large paws as she bucked. The fucking prick. Tears sparked in her eyes giving her the thumbs up to head slam him, which she almost did, but he managed to dodge at the las
t second.
The wrestling was manic, Olivia doing her very best to extract herself from under him, Hugo trying very hard to avoid her flying fists, limbs, teeth, feet, head. She almost succeeded throwing him off as she bucked her body upwards, slammed her pelvis into his groin and then twisted to her side. Almost, as she heard his grunt of pain when her hip connected with his dick. Then they rolled off the bed, a tangled mass of fury, and slammed hard onto the carpet.
Olivia landed on her back, her head bouncing off the carpet, stunning her momentarily. Hugo fell on top of her, body slamming the fucking wind right out of her. The lamp on the bedside table toppled and crashed into his head, knocking it sideways, almost catching Olivia in the face as the lightbulb shattered on the floor. “Get off me,” Olivia gasped between shallow non-breaths. “Can’t breathe.”
“Give me a fucking minute.” Hugo’s voice was muffled, his head was mashed between the night table and the bed frame. “I think I have a concussion.”
Olivia tried her best to stay calm. He was too heavy and he wasn’t moving at all anymore. A sliver of ice raced up her spine. “Are you dead?” Her voice sounded hollow, the fear of being stuck under his massive body while he decayed almost causing her to vomit. But then, she’d die anyway, from being pressed by him. Why the fuck was he so huge anyway? Why wasn’t he normal-sized like most men, her husband included?
“I’m not fucking dead,” he said, his voice still muffled. “My head’s stuck. You need to move to the side a little bit so I can shove the night table over.”
Olivia groaned and said between gritted teeth. “I can’t move. You’re too heavy and I’m going to pass out in a minute from lack of air.” All this was said as Olivia took shallow breaths, trying desperately to draw air into her lungs. Oh fuck! She stretched her neck back a little so she could get a view of the night table, then reached up with her one free arm and tried to shift it over. This elicited a muffled yowl from Hugo.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Trying to shift the table!” Olivia was losing her patience as black dots were swimming in front of her eyes. “Why the hell are you so heavy?” She cried out in frustration.
“Push the bed away instead.”
“I only have my right arm free.” But she slung it over his broad back and gave the bed a feeble push with her fingertips. “I can’t get enough leverage.”
Then there was a knock at the door. A tentative voice, male, floating into the room. “Mr. Marsden?”
“Shhhh. Don’t say anything,” he whispered to her.
“Are you kidding me?” Olivia said. “How else are we going to get out of this?”
The voice again. “Mr. Marsden, we had a couple of calls from guests on this floor. And below. Mr. Marsden, are you okay?”
“Fuck,” Hugo groaned.
“Mr. Marsden, I’m coming in.”
“Don’t come in!” Hugo tried to shout from his position on the floor, but his voice was so muffled the sound didn’t carry and it was too late anyway. The key card was swiped and the door opened. Then a porter and two tough-looking security men were looking down at Olivia and Hugo. Hugo couldn’t see them of course, but she felt him stiffen on top of her. His body, not his cock. He obviously was not happy with the vulnerability of his situation. Olivia felt his pain.
She gave a small wave with her free hand and a pale flicker of a smile to their would-be rescuers.
CHAPTER 6
The security guards who had come to check on Hugo quickly and efficiently assessed the situation and carefully moved the bed over a few inches, enough to allow Hugo to extricate his head. They helped him off Olivia, which wasn’t an easy task given his size and bulk. But the only way Olivia was going to come out of it relatively unscathed was if they literally picked him straight up off her. Even the porter had to lend a hand.
Once he was steady on his legs, he threw Olivia under the bus, accusing her of being impatient and too excitable. “Couldn’t wait to get our clothes off.” He winked at the security guards. “You know how it is.”
The guards scrutinized Olivia, who was still laying on the floor pulling deep breaths into her lungs. The expressions on their faces told him that neither of them knew how it was. He looked at Olivia through their eyes and got rock hard again. Her hair was wild, flowing in all different directions against the back drop of the brown carpet, her eyes were dilated from lack of oxygen so that her pupils were huge and ringed with a startling-blue that radiated against her pale face. Her tank was pulled down in the front exposing most of her breasts because her front-closing lacy black bra had popped open at some point during their struggles. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, each breath giving the nipple on her right breast leave to slip out a little more as she exhaled. He was pretty sure the only one in the room not sporting an erection was Olivia herself.
He ushered the porter and security guards out, bought their silence with the remaining cash in his pocket, then returned to Olivia, who was still on the floor, her hands on her stomach, her eyes squeezed shut. “Time to be on your way, Mrs. West,” Hugo said but the fight had gone out of his voice. He was starting to waver and thought maybe the least he could do was hear her out.
She opened her eyes and as if sensing that she was wearing him down, said, “Could I just tell you my story, please?”
“Get up,” he said flatly, then went to the bathroom to take a piss. When he came out, she was seated in the chair she’d been in previously, bra done up, clothing adjusted, colour back in her face. But her features were soft and she looked contrite, enough so that he didn’t kick her ass to the curb. Instead, he sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table.
As the silence stretched between them, he considered his shitty hotel room. Why the fuck did he always come back to the Mirage, always stay in this shithole room? He could do whatever he wanted. No ties, no boss, no organization he owed his loyalty to. He had enough money to keep him comfortable over several lifetimes. So why did he do this? Play games with dangerous men, ask for outrageous payment for small things. Like a quarter-mil for a single name.
He looked over at Olivia who was gazing at her hands, waiting, he supposed, for him to say something. Start the conversation. Why didn’t he get himself a beautiful blonde like her, buy a walled estate overlooking the ocean in Greece or Cyprus? Sail, dive, fuck all day? Eat gyros, eat dates, eat pussy?
But he knew the answer. He didn’t want to hide behind walls. He wanted the thrill of living and was fully aware that living meant risk. It’s why mountain climbers scaled Everest, it’s why astronauts went to the moon. It wasn’t an adrenaline rush, but each day was an adventure. A reason for waking up. Not knowing what was next, relishing the mystery of the day. It’s why he never married, why he didn’t own a house. When he got tired of the chase, he squirrelled himself away for a few months, on his boat or on some remote southern island where he could drink beer, lie in the sun and fuck the native girls. He had never met a single soul in the world that made him rethink who he was and what he wanted in life.
Until tonight.
Until Olivia-fucking-West walked into his bar and his life, shattering his illusion of an untroubled uncommitted life. Because she was trouble with a capital T. And worse than that, he was in trouble. Well, not yet. But soon. When the guards and the porter were looking at her, their gazes darkening, he would have shot them all if he had a gun. If he sent the blonde on her way tonight, he wouldn’t get another fucking good night’s sleep for the rest of his life.
Yep, he was going to help her find her husband. Then kill him. Then keep Olivia. It was that simple.
“I’m sorry.” The source of his thoughts intruded on them. “I just need you to listen to me, please. Then if you can’t help, I’ll go.”
He gazed at her impassively. “You lack boundaries.”
Olivia sighed and shifted her curvy ass in the hotel room chair. “I know. It’s what my mother always tells me. That I don’t understand where the line is. I’m
sorry though. I’m pretty good most of the time.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” Hugo was still bare-chested though he’d had the good grace to zip himself back into his jeans. As she talked, her eyes raked his chest and the blue in her irises got a little smoky. He almost preened like a peacock. Maybe she wasn’t all talk. Maybe there’d still be some action. But not now. Now he was hungry. He stood, picked his T-shirt up off the floor and slid it over his head. “Eaten yet?”
Olivia shook her head. “No. I could eat.”
“Good, cause you’re buying.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Olivia sat next to Hugo in a booth at The Pantry. She started to say something, but Hugo stopped her by flipping up his hand, open-palmed, towards her as he stabbed a piece of steak with his fork. She swallowed her words. She was sitting next to him because he’d insisted, not across the booth, which is what she’d first attempted to do. But he wasn’t having any of that. She wasn’t getting a chance to escape until he was through with her. He made her slide in on his side and then slid in next to her. The booth was small enough that their thighs brushed when they shifted. It caused a pucker in his pants each time it happened. He was such a goddamned fucking adolescent.
She was on her 3rd bowl of chicken soup. He couldn’t fathom it. It was all she ordered - the chicken soup and a glass of water. Each time she emptied the bowl, she’d ask for another. Who loves chicken soup that much? She was behaving herself for the first time since she stepped into his life and he just wanted a few more minutes of quiet and a couple more bites of steak before he let her launch into the woeful tale of the missing husband.
Hugo waited until Olivia emptied her bowl of soup and clattered the spoon against the ceramic of the bowl. The waitress came by, smiling at Hugo. Pretty, he thought. His eyes picked up the little beauty mark on her left cheek just under the curve of it and he remembered. They knew each other, well carnally anyway. “Beth, isn’t it?” he said.
