Courting Trouble: Running with the Devil Book 6

by Jasmin Quinn

  It was too late to go back to the room and order room service. Too late to do anything but sit down and order a beer.

  Once they were seated and had their drink orders out of the way, she glanced up at him from her menu. “Are you buying?”

  “Kind of have to, don’t I?” Too belligerent. Both of them. They were sitting at a table for four, next to each other so they were close enough to talk quietly. He leaned toward her, took her hand, caressed the knuckles with his thumb. “Why are we fighting?”

  Olivia glared at him but didn’t pull her hand from his. “Because you talk to me like you own me.”

  Hugo watched her reaction to his reaction. He felt surprised, figured it registered on his face because she looked confused. He thought about what his next words were going to be. He could tell her the truth, but maybe not in a pub full of witnesses who would more than likely testify at the trial. He looked at her again, saw her scowling, waiting for him to say something, say sorry he was such a prick. Instead, he gripped her hand harder, leaned into her and said, “I kind of do.”

  She jerked back. “Don’t make me sorry I ever met you.”

  “Olivia, you want my help. Maybe need it more than you think. Whatever the fuck your husband is into, it can’t be good, because no man would fake his death, walk out on a woman like you, and disappear unless there was a good reason to do so.”

  Olivia blinked a few times. Sensitive topic, Tony abandoning her like that. “What’s your point?”

  He loosened his grip but she didn’t remove her hand. “The point is that your husband is mixed up in some kind of major shit, and when we start getting close to him, we’ll start getting close to it. I’m guessing you’ll need a little back up.”

  “So you’re going to be my knight in shining armour?”

  Hugo nodded, distracted by the pretty waitress who just strolled up. “I’m pretty fucking good at jousting.”

  “What’ll you have?” Name tag said Tina. She flashed a toothy smile at Hugo. He smiled back, looked over at Olivia, saw the expression on her face, and dropped the smile. His habit to grin at the pretty girls, always thinking a little ahead to what might be. But he lost his lust for the chase the minute he saw Olivia. Insta-love, insta-lust. He didn’t know. There was something about her and he didn’t want to be disrespecting her.

  “The rib steak,” he said, keeping his voice neutral, his eyes flinty. “Medium-rare. Another beer for both.”

  The waitress looked over at Olivia.

  “Just the fries,” she said.

  Hugo creased his brow. “Bullshit! She’ll have the steak.”

  “No, Hugo. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay!”

  “How do you want it done?” Tina asked.

  Olivia shrugged, looked away. “Same is fine.”

  After Tina left, he said, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Olivia grinned broadly at his question, her eyes twinkling, her face creasing. She found his question funny. “How much time do you have? This could take a while.”

  He laughed, they both laughed. It was all okay again.

  And then it wasn’t. Because after the steaks arrived, after they ate their meal, making small talk, getting to know each other. After another beer, Hugo got serious. “I need to know about your husband. I need a current photo. If we’re going to track him, I’m going to have start knocking on doors. Calling in favours, making a few promises.”

  “I can help.” Olivia was digging in her wallet, looking for an old photo.

  It pissed him off that she carried a picture of Tony, but on the other hand, he’d be annoyed if she didn’t have one. “No, you can’t help. When we get to Vancouver, you’re going to stay on my boat while I go have a chat or two. I don’t want you in the line of fire.”

  Olivia pursed her lips. “Why, Hugo? I’ve been in the line of fire my whole life. Mom’s gambling problem didn’t just start last year. She holds it together until a big stressor comes along and then off she goes. Until she’s in so fucking deep she can’t see her way out. Jack and I have a love-hate relationship – ”

  “Is it sexual?” Hugo had to know.

  Olivia shook her head. “No, never. Not once. But he’s tired of me, and he’s tired of my mom. When I married Tony, he approved. At least I thought he did. I actually thought he had something to do with Tony’s death for a while.”

  “Why?”

  Olivia shrugged, took a sip of her beer. “I don’t know. Tony’s a bit of a prick, but then so is Jack. So not sure why Jack would suddenly get protective.”

  “Tony slap you around?”

  “Sometimes.” She said it so casually it shocked him. “We didn’t get along because he came and went as he pleased. After I lost the baby, it got worse. I should have just left him.”

  Hugo’s gut was roiling. He despised pricks like Tony. He despised Tony for laying his hands on Olivia in any fucking which way. Tony, if he was alive, would live to regret he didn’t die off the coast of Ionia or wherever the fuck the Ionian Sea was. “Why didn’t you leave him, Olivia?”

  She pursed her lips. She caught that he was judging her and it made her defensive. “Because he paid the big bills. You know, the ones my mom racked up.”

  What a fucked-up world this was, he thought as he considered the beautiful blonde woman in front of him. The sass was gone, at least for now. She was shifting her beer bottle in her hands, twisting it. Looking down at it, not over at him. She was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, sleeping with him because she had to, because he insisted. The thought made him angry. His anger made him horny. He was as bad as the Tonys and Jacks of the world.

  He stood abruptly, threw some bills on the table and pulled Olivia to her feet.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Back at the room, Olivia didn’t resist. Not when he kissed her too hard, not when he forced her to strip while he watched, not when he shoved her to her knees and made her suck him until he was out of control, not when he bent her over the bed, and fucked her. It fueled his fury that she was letting him do this to her and that drove his lust. He used her hard, for his own purposes. Until his balls cramped and his semen shot from him into her.

  Then he fell asleep. When he woke up a few hours later, she was curled against him, knees tucked up to her belly, elbows bent, hands together, like a kitten. He hated himself as he stared down at her. Conflicting emotions swirled around him. He needed to tell her that he paid her debt. She needed to know she was his, under his protection. She needed to understand the level of danger she was in.

  CHAPTER 22

  Olivia was excited. They were headed to Canada and she’d never been. She’d never actually been out of the United States except for a few times to Mexico. Las Vegas had always been her home. Born and raised in sin city. Gwen was a dancer, an entertainer and did all right for herself, even after she had Olivia.

  Olivia grew up in the backstages of dance halls and casinos, looked after by the circle of dancers, singers, strippers and other people that Gwen knew. She slept on the floor in the dressing rooms while her mother was doing the shows until she was old enough to stay home on her own overnight. Night after night, seven days a week, she carried a backpack with her used My Little Pony sleeping bag and a peanut butter sandwich for her supper. The money was good enough to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies most days of the week.

  Gwen was a scrapper back then – she did what she needed to do to make ends meet. Olivia learned a lot of survival skills from Gwen. Like how to use her sexuality. When Olivia was around 14, Gwen told Olivia that men will fuck anything, but they prefer to fuck blondes. Then she told Olivia how lucky she was to be a natural blonde, that she’d got that from her dad. Men were pretty fucking easy, Gwen said. You could get what you needed most of the time without actually having to sleep with them, but there was no shame if you did sleep with them. It’s what all women did. Slept with men to get what they wanted, some just pr
ettied it up by calling it marriage.

  Olivia had never been convinced about trading fucks for what she needed. She was smart enough to know that it would eat her up inside. She didn’t blame Gwen for doing it when she had to, but Olivia never really had to. She’d had a couple of boyfriends before Tony, but they didn’t have balls enough to take her on. They disappeared fast when they couldn’t keep up or found themselves facing down a mad bouncer who didn’t like what she had to say. Olivia was strong, troublesome, always taking it one step too far, then having to figure out a way to untangle herself. But she always did. Never had to compromise herself.

  Until now. Until she met Hugo. Until she was desperate and could find no other way out of the trouble Gwen had got them into. Hugo was the first time she’d traded her body for something. She thought she did it because Hugo was Hugo, because under any other circumstances she’d be like all the other women in Vegas, down on her knees begging him to fuck her. But Gwen was right. He was a man and he was more than willing to take what he wanted.

  Something made him mad last night, something Olivia said. At the end of the meal, when they were back in the hotel room, he wanted to fuck. No, he didn’t just want to fuck. He wanted to fuck her, use her, show her his power. It was like he had a point to make. The minute they stepped across the threshold of the hotel room, he slammed the door shut, bolted it, turned to her and knocked her hat off her head. Then he grabbed her by the waist, fingers bruising, shoved her up hard against him and kissed her. Not a kiss. He savaged her mouth. Forced himself on her until she couldn’t breathe, until she was pushing at his chest, trying to break his hold.

  When he let her go, he set her back from him a few feet and told her to strip.

  “Fuck, Hugo.” Her hands were shaking a little as she ran her knuckle across her lips, a little blood. He’d split her lip.

  It pissed him off that she said that. He pulled her back to him, his grip on her waist meant to punish, leaned into her, said into her ear, “I said, take your fucking clothes off.”

  Then he let her go, shoving her back again with his meaty paw on her chest. She felt the tears in her eyes, blinked them back. He was not going to fucking make her cry on top of everything else. She ripped her tank over her head and tossed it aside, then her boots, her skirt, bra and panties. Fast so she didn’t make him madder. Then she stood there in all her vulnerability while his eyes travelled over her, her breasts, her waist, her pussy, her legs and back up to her face.

  He sat down on the bed, spread his thighs and said, “Come over here, princess. On your knees. Let’s have a little fuck with your mouth.” It shook her. His words were filthy. Unnecessary. All of it unnecessary. He could have what he wanted of her without taking it and yet, tonight, he didn’t want permission. But she did as he told her, because he was Hugo and she didn’t know what to say to make him treat her better. She was his to kick around until they found Tony.

  She dropped to her knees and undid his jeans, unzipped him, freed his hard cock. Fuck he was big. Long and wide. What women wanted. She studied his dick, forgetting for a moment that he was being a prick. Tracing her hands over it, the veins, the head, the ridges of the helmet. He pulled his shirt up over his head and off as she rubbed her thumb across the hole, rubbed the pre-cum.

  “Suck me, Olivia.” His voice was a soft growl. And she did, taking him into her mouth, running her tongue up his length, over the head of his cock, trailing small kisses along the shaft, until he laced his fingers through her hair and forced her mouth down on him. She wrapped her hands around his shaft and took him down the hot wet tunnel of her mouth. She kept her pace even, keeping a steady grip with her hands so she had control over what was going on.

  He never pushed her to take more, although she could hear his grunts, feel the tension in his hands as he pulled at her hair. Gathered it together into a pony tail that he wrapped around his hand like a rein, keeping a tight hold on her. He was staying still, his breathing deepening and she wished he would either come or tell her to stop. She was getting no pleasure from it and her jaw was starting to ache. She dropped her hands, took him deeper, took him faster.

  But he stopped her, pulled her head up by her hair, pulled out of her mouth and stood up. His breathing was uneven and his cock, erect, in front of her face, obscene. He dragged her up off the floor, bent her face down over the bed and shoved his cock in her pussy without checking to see if she was wet.

  She dropped her palms flat on the quilt to steady herself as his hands dug into her hips, holding her as he rutted her. She was feeling the fever, feeling the desire course through her despite his treatment of her. But he wasn’t giving her what she needed. Not even trying. Angry at her, using sex as a weapon. Then he came with a groan, inside her, bending over her back, forcing her to tighten her elbows to hold them both upright. He stayed that way for just a minute, then pulled her up with him as he straightened his spine, flipped the covers back, shoved her in the bed, then him. He was instantly asleep.

  But Olivia wasn’t. She lay beside him, confused, off-balance and hurt. She knew that Hugo was the man for her. Hugo was her match. She tried to reconcile it with every other shitty thing in her life. Then decided this was just another cruel joke the universe threw at her, because how could she be anything to him but his convenient piece of ass? It was ironic that her whole life she resisted trading on her looks and her body. Did her best to get what she needed without giving herself up. Then the one time she did, the one time she was desperate enough to compromise her beliefs, it was with a man who she thought could be the man, her one and only. And she’d fucked it up because she’d whored herself out to him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Canada did not disappoint. From what she could see of it as twilight set in, it was pretty fucking nice. At least the west coast. First time she’d ever seen the Pacific Ocean and it was awe-inspiring, even if it was just as the sun was setting. She couldn’t wait to wake up in the morning and see it in all its glory.

  They were at a marina, boats moored everywhere. Big, beautiful expensive boats, some sail boats and she was a little disappointed when Hugo led her to his boat. It was big, sleek, sexy. But no sail. Name on the bow was Gypsy Girl.

  “Why do you live on a boat?” she asked as he helped her onto the deck. It rocked under Hugo’s weight as he jumped easily in beside her.

  “Because, when I want to leave, I can.”

  “Not if you’re in Vegas,” she observed.

  She saw his teeth flash in the dark. His mood was lighter now. They were both tired from the hard travel, the tension between them, but she had the sense that he was happy to be here, to be home. It made her a little sad that this boat was what made him happiest, but she dismissed it as she followed him to the cabin or whatever it was called.

  He unlocked a door, sliding it open, stepped inside, pulling her in with him and closing it behind them. She waited in the dark as he prowled through the ship like a cat, until he found a panel. He fiddled with it for a few minutes and then flicked on the lights. She gazed around in wonder. It was beautiful, breathtaking, bigger than any place she’d ever lived, even with Tony.

  Clean, white lines. Sexy. Leather and wood. A wet bar. Then down a set of stairs and she was in the galley, looking at a kitchen nicer than she’d ever seen before. She felt a heat grow inside her. Hugo was suddenly at her side, reaching past her, flicking the lock on the door, drawing her into him. “Have you ever made love on a boat?”

  And because Olivia didn’t know where the fucking line was, didn’t know when she should shut the fuck up, she said, “Is that what we’re going to do? Make love? Like last night?”

  Hugo dropped her hand like he’d been burned, turned, grabbed his hat off his head and tossed it in the corner. “Fuck!”

  CHAPTER 23

  Is that what we’re gonna do? Make love? Like last night?

  Hugo turned from her, guilt over what he did last night razing through him. He threw his hat in a corner and said, “Fuck!”


  She was right to say it even though it would have been nice if she’d left it alone. If she just let him lead her to the bedroom, let him strip her clothes off. Let him make her body sing as his way of apology for being such a prick. But that wasn’t who she was and even in his pissiness, he didn’t want her to be anyone else except Olivia.

  He looked at her, stroked her up and down with his eyes. It had been a long fucking drive. They were back in Vancouver, back home for him and he couldn’t have been happier if someone added nuts and a maraschino cherry to his hot fudge sundae. He had Olivia, he was on his boat and if he wanted, in the morning, he could start her up and take them away somewhere isolated and safe. The problem was that he still wanted to marry Blondie, and he couldn’t fucking marry her until her dead husband was either truly dead or they were divorced.

  Right now, he had some groveling to do. The woman of his dreams, the mother of his future children, the salve to his horny loins was standing in front of him, looking as stricken as he felt, because she wanted to take back the damning words that had fallen from her lips.

  He thought he should take her in his arms, kiss her until she shut her pretty mouth, then make her come six or seven times. Maybe more. Was that possible for a woman? He’d never thought to try. In past, once or twice was enough for him and from his perspective, for the woman he was fucking. That’s how he approached it, but with Olivia, more would be better.

  But he didn’t reach out to her. Instead he muttered as he looked around the cabin, looked at anything but her, “Everything to drink is hot, except the water, which will freeze your ass if you try to shower. It’s late, we’re tired. Why don’t we go to bed?”

  Olivia seemed a little disappointed as a frown tugged at her lips and that gave Hugo hope. But she said, “Okay,” and followed him to the master stateroom. It had a raised queen berth in the port bow behind privacy doors that were open. Hi-gloss birch woodwork and lots of mirrors and storage. Carpeted, A/C and an ensuite head with a stall shower. Oliva was staring around in wonder.