by Zara Cox
Fleetingly, as she absorbed news of Sally’s death, she’d wondered why Enzo hadn’t come to see her. She’d berated herself. At that moment, his sister needed him more than she did. She’d see him the next day when the dust had cleared a little. But it’d still hurt that he hadn’t come to find out how she was.
As it’d turned out, fate had other plans for her. Technically and lawfully, the accident had been the fault of the truck driver, but she’d known she was also to blame, that she’d never be free of it. If she hadn’t taken that fiery swig of the cosmo, hadn’t been in such a hurry to drop the girls off and see Enzo, things would’ve been different. And for that mistake, Fate demanded she serve a life sentence for one moment of foolishness.
Mired in the darkest moments of her past, Lexi staggered out into the early evening air. A small eddy of dust blew past and brought her back to the present. She stopped on the sidewalk, blinked back her tears, and clenched her hands to stop their trembling. The wind whipped her hair over her face, and she caught the smell - the dreaded hospital scent - in her nostrils.
Jump-started by the stench, she tore through her handbag, frantic in her hunt for her keys. Grabbing them, she ran to her car, yanked open the door and threw her bag on the passenger seat.
She’d just twisted the key in the ignition when a hand rapped on the window.
Startled, she glanced up and found Cara next to her car, hatred still simmering in her green eyes. With apprehension, Lexi lowered her window.
“I came to remind you of your other promise. Just in case you’ve forgotten it like you forgot what day it was today.”
Almost immediately, guilt churned in Lexi’s stomach. Guilt and resentment for what Cara had made her promise six months ago when she’d arrived in LA.
A promise she’d had no business demanding of her. And one Lexi shouldn’t have sworn to keep.
Her shoulders slumped with the weight of her disappointment.
She’d hoped Cara had come after her for something else. Like a willingness to listen to Lexi’s part in what had happened. But no. She’d come to twist the knife further.
“I haven’t forgotten Cara. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten anything,” she replied. Then drove away.
Lexi let herself into her sixth floor condo in downtown Santa Monica, grateful for its cool serenity. Her bag landed on the polished hardwood floor. She lobbed her keys onto the nearby coffee table, and headed straight for her bedroom, removing her wraparound dress as she went. She needed a shower like she needed her next breath. Three-inch heels came off next to the case she’d packed for her trip to Vegas in the morning. Lexi paused long enough to slip out of her panties and bra.
The scalding shower was a welcome, cleansing relief, turned on full blast in the hopes of scouring away the turmoil within. She lathered more shampoo than was necessary into her hair, scrubbed vigorously until her scalp tingled, then repeated the process twice, before finally turning the water to tepid and then cool. After switching it off, she wrapped herself in a large, fluffy towel.
Tying another smaller towel around her head, she re-entered her bedroom and paused when her gaze landed on the cards on her dresser.
The big 3-0 had arrived last month and, save a couple of well-wishing cards and calls from one or two friends in London and her grandmother in Edinburgh, she’d passed the day alone in her condo, by herself, with Chinese take-out and a can of soda. She’d refused the free bottle of wine from the delivery guy, who announced cheerfully that it came compliments of the house, seeing as it had been her twentieth order.
He’d been taken aback by her refusal. After all, who refused a freebie, even if it was cheap plonk?
How was he to know she didn’t drink anymore? That not a single drop of alcohol had passed her lips in almost a year? How could he tell that the woman who ordered Kung Pow chicken and shredded beef noodles every Wednesday night without fail now lived her life by a series of vows? The very first being that, for Fiona’s sake, for Cara's, but most of all for Sally's precious memory, she’d vowed to spend the rest of her life sober, seeing everything in crystal clarity, lest another stupid alcohol-fuelled decision wrecked another life.
Sally. Oh God, Sally! Hot tears filled her eyes and she sank onto her bed. Saying goodbye to her childhood friend had been one of the hardest things Lexi had ever done. A double blow, considering she’d been banned from Sally’s funeral by her parents, who laid the blame for their daughter’s death squarely at Lexi’s feet. They’d even refused to speak to her after discovering from the police report how close she’d been to the drink-driving limit. She shuddered as she recalled Sally’s father thick, pain-filled rant that she should have died, not his daughter.
On the day of Sally’s funeral, she’d waited in her car for hours, just to be sure everyone had left before going to her friend’s graveside. There she’d said goodbye, and made her vow never to touch another drop of liquor for as long as she lived. So far she’d kept that promise. That particular promise had been easy to keep.
As for the other promise, the one Cara had reminded her of half an hour ago…
Lexi shook her head, shut off the thoughts and dashed away her tears. Her diary lay on her bedside table. She picked it up and opened it to the date she’d marked with a triple X. Snatching up her phone, she placed the call to double-check the flowers she’d ordered to be delivered to Sally’s grave in the London suburb they’d grown up in. Then she ordered the same to be delivered to Fiona’s room. Fresh wisteria, to drive away the sharp smell of disinfectant.
Although the anniversary of the accident fell next Friday, one of her visiting days, she aimed to stay away. Fiona’s parents, and Cara most likely, would want to spend all day with her. And the last thing she wanted was another confrontation with Cara.
She released the knot on the towel and dropped it on the floor. Naked, she walked into her closet, reached for her blue velour joggers and stopped as she heard the beep of her smart phone.
Throwing the clothes on the bed, she returned to the living room, fetched the phone, and activated it.
Blood surged through her veins when she recognized the number. The message itself was simple.
Vegas?
Ah, news traveled fast.
She answered. Yes. Work.
Meet me tonight.
She swallowed. It’s Thursday.
Meet me. Same time. Same place.
Fingers poised over the keys, she sank onto the nearest chair, raw indecision eating at her. She needed this. Tonight of all nights, she needed this so badly. Her thumb moved, then froze as Cara’s warning echoed in her head.
Dammit. R u there?
Yes, I’m here, she responded. Where else would she be?
You have one hour. And don’t even think about not showing up.
God help her. She needed this.
I’ll be there.
Her whole body trembling, she shoved the phone back into her bag and returned to the bedroom. Stark naked, clothes forgotten, she laid back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
She’d broken her promise. The only one she couldn’t keep. Again.
It didn’t matter that she’d kept half of the whole promise; breaking even a small part of it always left a hollow feeling of guilt inside her.
But to honor the promise would mean giving up the one small part of her life that kept her sane.
I need this.
She closed her eyes, already transported to the future, an hour away. The heated slide of hands, the skilful thrust of tongues, the potent smell of aroused bodies, and the electrifying pleasure-pain of a stiff cock pushing inside her – hard on soft.
And yes, the monumental guilt that always followed, ready to consume, to annihilate.
Six months, she’d lived with it. She would continue to live with it, until something gave. As she had no doubt it would.
Just over an hour later, she parked in the underground car park of an apartment complex in an affluent neighborhood in West Hollywood, entere
d the private elevator, and pressed the button for the penthouse suite. She snatched a shaky breath, smoothed clammy hands down her red leather skirt, and watched the doors slide shut. Somehow, even the guilt made the anticipation sharper, sweeter. Like a child playing hooky for the first time, thoughts of discovery always lurked, but alongside was the hope that maybe, just maybe, she might get away with it.
The elevator climbed higher, along with her excitement. Her lace-covered nipples hardened into throbbing peaks and pushed against her bra; the warm rush of air against her naked thighs caused goose flesh to break out all over her skin.
She’d worn her freshly dried hair up, a futile exercise, since it’d be freed from its knot the minute she walked in the door. But it was all just part of the sequence of events. Things had to happen a certain way, always.
Her skirt had to be short, her top easily removable; her lips had to be tinged with the slightest of gloss, but her fingers and toes painted a fiery red. The “no underwear” clause she’d firmly vetoed, not because of propriety, but because she loved the sensual feel of the material as it slid off her skin. Or when it was tugged firmly between her butt cheeks, creating a sweet friction on her clit. More often than not though, it was more of a ripping and less of a sliding.
Her lips parted on a soft exhalation as the elevator pinged its arrival.
The door opposite, bland and unprepossessing, cleverly masked what lay within. She approached, used her key, and let herself in.
The large sunken living room, decorated in minimalist black and white, was empty. Soft lights played on chrome and glass tables and lent a deceptive calm to the room. On one side, facing two large sofas, floor to ceiling windows reflected the soft lighting as well as the spectacular vista of LA at night. On the other side of the room, set against the back wall, a long bar, complete with elegant ladder-back stools, held pride of place.
Turning away from the view, she walked to the bar, poured herself a large mineral water, and took a long drink. It would be hours before she came up for air, water or sustenance of any kind, she mused.
The empty glass discarded on the counter-top, she made sure her cell phone was switched off, left her small evening bag next to it, and slowly turned toward the short hallway.
She barely noticed the expensive abstract paintings on the walls. Her eyes remained riveted on the gleaming black door at the end of the corridor.
Dark excitement ratcheted up another thousand notches. The tips of her fingers tingled in anticipation of turning the knob; her blood roared through her veins. An addict seeking her next fix. That’s what she felt like. And it would be sweet, so, so sweet.
She reached for the door handle, tongue sneaking out to coat her dry lips, and turned it.
And there, on the bed, in blue jeans, white T-shirt, and black leather jacket, sat her guilt, her pleasure, her pain.
“Hello, Enzo.”
CHAPTER THREE
Lorenzo Saldana watched Lexi walk toward him, struck dumb all over again by her stunning beauty. For some reason, the sight of her, looking even more beautiful than she had just a week ago, made his simmering anger rise.
Her peach-perfect skin glowed in the soft lamplight. Her silky hair was up, secured with a clip of some sort, but already a few strands fought the restraint. The loose wisps caressed her smooth cheeks and delicate jaw. His fingers itched to release the rest of the glorious chocolate brown mass and feel it slide over his hand, his arms. The need to wind it round his fist, use it to tilt her face up to his, and taste her sinful, delicious mouth burned like an inferno through him. But he stayed put, hands fisted on his thighs.
Over the thunder-strong beat of his heart, he heard her soft, short breathing and knew she was just as excited as he. The hard-on he’d sported for longer than he cared to think about grew thicker and strained against his jeans. She’d taken her time walking through the apartment; dragged out the moment before she entered the bedroom. Each second he'd waited had made his blood surge higher, his pulse race faster. But he didn’t mind the anticipation, however fucking excruciating.
It was all part of the game. An elaborate foreplay - the song and dance - as she called it.
He resisted the urge to grab her, tear off her clothes, ram deep inside her hot, tight wetness – and oh, he knew she'd be wet. Wet and ready.
No, for now he’d play along. The reward would be all the sweeter for the wait, the patience. His lips twitched as he recalled a scene from the Japanese comic books he’d devoured as a kid. The grand master always instructed his pupil to practice fortitude – never go with your first instinct to react. Yeah, patience is a fucking virtue...
So he waited.
She took another step, nudging the door shut behind her. Her long, sexy legs made him imagine them slung over his shoulders, urging him deeper as he thrust into her slick, greedy cunt. She stopped in front of him, her slim arms loose at her sides.
“Hello, Enzo,” she repeated, gazing down at him. No smile curved her lips, no happiness reflected in her eyes. Only the naked sheen of want and the hot scent of sex.
She craved him as much as he craved her, there’d never been any doubt about that. Everything else had gotten messed up badly but the insane, visceral need to fuck each other’s brains out whenever they were within eye-catching distance of one another had never been in dispute, or had it ever diminished.
Several times in the past he’d doubted the power of that need.
Time and again he’d been proved wrong. Lexi Mayfield was the potent drug he’d never got the cure for…hell he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be cured of this addiction. Even in his darkest hours, when he let himself remember how much her betrayal had burned, he still wanted her with a ferocity that made him doubt his sanity.
It was that insanity that had driven him here today – a day outside of their prearranged schedule. Not that he cared much. His need was too damned strong to deny.
Breathing out again, he watched her, followed the lines of the exquisite hour-glass figure that would soon be his to possess once again.
“Aren’t you going to respond, Enzo?” she asked.
Silhouetted against the soft material of her black top, her nipples had peaked into hard points. Desire watered his mouth, both at the look in her eyes and the way her sexy British accent clipped his name out. It was in direct contrast to the way she sounded when he was deep inside her, fucking her to near delirium. Then, his name sounded soft and breathless.
He tamped down the need to make that happen immediately. Not yet…
“Hey, baby. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”
Her eyes remained on him, restlessly devouring him. “I hit a bit of traffic.”
He nodded, then he asked the crucial question that had burned a hole in his mind ever since he found out she was going out of town.
“How long will you be in Vegas?”
If the question surprised her, she didn’t show it. Her spiky-lashed blue gaze remained on him, her body hummed, awaiting his touch. “Five days,” she breathed, as the tip of her tongue snuck out and quickly disappeared back in again.
Unwanted relief poured through him. Five days – he could live with that. But that wasn’t what annoyed him. “Were you going to tell me you’d be out of town?”
“I didn’t see the need. It’s not like it would affect our arrangement.”
“That’s not the point. I shouldn’t have to find out you’re going out of town from someone else.”
That someone else being his sister, who’d relished delivering the message.
His jaw clenched. She saw and her eyes darkened. “Are we really going to do this now, Enzo? Waste time when I have to be at the airport in a few hours? I’ll be back before you get a chance to miss me.” She gave a hollow laugh. Because missing each other meant they cared.
And caring wasn’t what this was about. It had been once upon a time. When he’d foolishly invested his whole future in her.
No. This time round, it was a
ll about the sex. Soul searing, sheet ripping sex that left him reeling for days. The kind of sex that made him slightly nuts at the thought of her going out of state and being out of reach. Theirs may be a weekly tryst but he felt soothed knowing she was in the same city.
“As long as you promise there won’t be a repeat of what happened when you were in Aspen, we’ll be okay.”
“I don’t think snow is forecast for Vegas this week.”
“It had better not be. I want you back here in five days, or I’m coming to get you wherever the hell you are.”
Aspen. Only hellishly cold showers and the impossibility of removing himself from his sister’s clutches on short notice had stopped him hopping on a plane and tracking her down at her hotel when she’d been stuck there two months ago. On the bright side, he’d known once and for all then that he wasn’t suffering this insanity alone. He’d stayed put in LA, and his patience had paid dividends.
She’d returned, crazy hot for him, wearing a tight skirt that had made him want to hunt down and kill every man who’d seen her sexy little ass.
He’d brought her here straight from the airport, and they’d barely walked in the door before she’d ripped his clothes off, almost sobbing with need.
“Fuck me, please. Fuck me now!” she’d begged.
He’d rammed into her, right there, up against the front door. Shit, he’d never come so quickly in his life. Luckily, she’d come just as fast, her hoarse screams echoing through the apartment.
He loved her screams. Especially the way she threw her head back just before she let them rip. That particular experience still had the power to blow his mind. The lack of foreplay, the rough and readiness of it, the crazed possession of each other. His cock threatened to explode just thinking of it.
So why not now?
Take her and to hell with foreplay.
