by Amanda Aksel
But that’s not why I took off. When I finally sink into that gorgeous girl, I want to be completely immersed. After that conversation we had about my brother, a conversation I would not normally have with a woman, I’m distracted. Torn is more like it. I’ve wanted to say something to my brother Mick about his fiancée for years, but I don’t want him to take it the wrong way and make things weird between us. But Kate was onto something when she asked if I’d regret it. I would. I think I’d hate myself if I didn’t at least try to get him to open his eyes. If our roles were reversed, I’d want him to tell me.
I whiz down Northumberland toward Hippodrome Casino. It’s not hard to miss as it’s brightly lit in gold and blue. I squeeze the bike between two parked cars and stroll into the house of games. I’m going to need another pint at least before I find Mick and the lads at the blackjack tables.
I turn the corner, heading up the stairs to the bar overlooking the casino floor. Collin, my best mate, sits towards the middle, leaning against the steel bar top.
“Nice suit,” I say, sliding onto the barstool next to him. Collin’s my best friend from the wrong side of the tracks. We met during a football match when we were thirteen. He made it his mission to annihilate me that day on the field, and he succeeded, earning my respect. Our friendly competition turned into such a close friendship that summer that I begged my parents to stay in London while they went on holiday to some exotic location. I spent most of my time at Collin’s house and his mum would make the best Welsh rarebit. They didn’t have a lot of money, and that’s when I learned that money isn’t everything. It was the first time in my life that I actually felt like Just Drew.
“Aye, mate, I was wondering when I’d see your mug around here.” Collin shoves my shoulder and downs his short glass of whiskey, then holds up the empty glass. “You want?”
“Yeah.”
Collin nods to the bartender with an arrogant smirk. “Two more of these, wouldya?”
I glance over the rail, looking out for the top of my brother’s toffee-colored, curly head. “You seen Mick?”
“Last I saw, he and Kent were playing blackjack.”
“Why aren’t you playing cards?” I ask. “Not in the gambling mood?”
Collin sneers, shuffling the ice at the bottom of his glass. “Nah, I gamble all day long.”
“Market not do so well today?”
“Nope.” He doesn’t look at me, which usually means he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Sorry, mate,” I say as the bartender slides a couple of fresh cocktails our way.
Collin clinks the bottom of his to the top of mine. “That’s the name of the game. You win some, you lose some.”
“Cheers.” I take a long sip, enjoying the burn of the husky liquid.
Collin gives me a strange look. “What’s going on with you? Why’s your face like that?”
“Like what?”
“All puckered like you’re contemplating the world’s problems,” he says.
“Don’t say pucker.”
“Puck-ER!” he yells in my apparently puckered face.
I roll my eyes and take another gulp. “It’s nothing.”
“Sure it is. But don’t worry, I have a feeling our night’s about to get a lot better.” He nods his chin behind me. Two gorgeous ladies just sat down at the end of the bar. One sends a wink and the other, a glossy-lipped smile.
“Two of us and two of them,” Collin mutters in a low tone. We could land those lovely ladies in our sleep. When it comes to picking up women, Collin and I are unstoppable. We started back when we hardly had a few hairs on our chins, but we’ve perfected our strategy since. Back at university, our mates called us the cock-block duo because if we were around, no other guy stood a chance.
“Nah, I’ll hold out. You can have both,” I say.
“Your loss, man. But then again, I have been craving a sandwich.”
“Of course you have.” That’s Collin, always wants more, more, more. He’s never satisfied with one smoking-hot bird. On occasion, he goes for three or four. He’s the same with money. No matter how rich he gets, he goes after more. More cars, more houses, more designer suits. I suspect it has something to do with making up for all the luxuries he missed out on. Growing up, he’d always make comments about trading places with me. The funny thing is, I would have loved to trade places with him. “Cheers,” I say.
“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up.” My older brother’s voice resounds from behind me.
“Hey, Kent,” I say, raising my glass.
Kent’s the middle brother and the only one of us who fell seamlessly into the family business, Bonnaire Enterprises—groomed to be our father’s successor—and I couldn’t be happier for him. And not just because it means I’m off the hook.
Kent is a beast in the business. Ever since he was put in charge of the venture capital division, the company’s bottom line has soared. My brother’s got great instincts. We all do, really, but he easily knows the difference between a good idea and one that will make millions. Plus, the guy has more energy than anyone I’ve ever seen—workout at four a.m., at the office by seven, and cocktails until ten. While I played one sport growing up, Kent excelled at polo, rugby, and football. He’s the brother I go to when I need to buck my ideas up.
“What’s up, Collin?” Kent nods his clean-shaven jaw. Collin also works for Bonnaire Enterprises as a hedge fund manager; so the two know each other well.
“Just tryin’ to figure out how much trouble I should get in tonight.” Collin tilts his glass toward the ladies dressed in tiny, glittery minidresses that he’s been eyeing.
Kent turns to the women, sending his Jude Law-wannabe smile. “Not bad.”
“Ah, get your own, Kent,” Collin says.
He throws his head back in a laugh. “Up to his usual tricks tonight, eh? Like a dog with two dicks.”
“Always,” I say, glancing over the railing at the card tables again.
Kent swats my shoulder. “Mick’s on a winning streak at the blackjack table. Why don’t you go congratulate him?”
I suck down what’s left of my whiskey. “On his winnings?”
“No, his wedding, you prat,” he says with a pinched expression. “But I get your point.” Kent and I have a shared dislike for Mick’s fiancée. Like I said, he has great instincts.
I lean closer to my brother. “I think we should talk to Mick . . .about Davina.”
He looks at me like I really am a moron. “Are you mad?”
“Don’t you think Mick would appreciate a little honesty?”
“In this case, no.” He shakes his head. “Mick’s a big boy. If he wants to ruin his life by getting married, then that’s his prerogative. Don’t ruin his stag party just because you want to get something off your chest.”
I know what he’s saying. It’s the same thing I’ve been telling myself all along. But tonight I feel compelled to at least mention it and I want Kent to at least understand, if not agree. “But what—”
“Drew, just let it be, all right?”
“Fine.” I say, pushing away my glass, and send a nod to Collin. I walk out along the cabernet-colored carpet, through the smoky casino, and find Mick with a stack of chips as tall as Big Ben.
“How’s it going?” I ask, pulling a wad of cash from my pocket and slapping down five hundred quid.
He looks up with a smile as I take the seat next to him. “Drew, glad you could make it. I think you’re gonna like this table.” His curly hair is pushed over to the side in a footballer undercut that Davina convinced him to get.
“I heard as much.” I pile a few chips for the first hand. “Enjoying your stag so far?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve doubled my money in the last hour. It’s been brilliant.” By the look on the dealer’s face, he’s not having nearly as much fun as Mick.
“I can’t believe you’re really getting married.” What I should’ve said was, “I can’t believe you’re really marryi
ng Davina Blythe.” But I’m easing into this conversation.
Davina and I went to uni together. She only cozied up to the wealthiest blokes, and she tried to hook up with me. But to me she was trashy, not sexy. So I never took the bait. One night a few years back, Mick and I ran into her at a club. She already knew she had no chance with me, so she dug her unyielding claws into my brother and gave him no choice but to propose.
The diamond on her finger propelled her into a full transformation. Davina quit her job with the local news and traded her tight miniskirts for fine, classy outfits and fascinator hats. She’s been prancing around town like a natural-born aristocratic socialite ever since. But I know it’s a show.
I don’t think she loves my brother as much as she loves the perks that come with marrying a Bonnaire. But for whatever reason, Mick’s so smitten that he’s blind to it. I hate to say it, but this marriage is a huge mistake. And not just because I believe marriage is synonymous with mistake anyway.
“Why is that so hard to believe? Just because you and Kent are eternal bachelors doesn’t mean I have to be.”
“You’re right,” I say, wiping my damp palm on my jeans.
Mick’s what I would call a naïve romantic. He’s ready to have a wife and children to run around that huge manor that’s been in the family for generations, passed down to the first-betrothed son. Mick and Davina have already moved in. She quickly took what was special about it, like the statues in the garden and the paintings in the hall, and turned it into something tacky and phony, like Davina.
“You sure Davina’s the right girl?” There! I finally asked. I hold my breath.
Mick turns his focus from the table, looking at me with a slack jaw. “Obviously, I do. Why have you never liked her?”
“Look, I would love to be wrong about this, but I don’t trust her.” It feels good to finally say that to him.
“Drew, you don’t trust women in general.” I knew it. He’s dismissing what I have to say. And, what’s worse, he’s not totally off the mark. The women I encounter are not exactly trustworthy types. And the ones that are don’t trust me. I never get very far with them, which is what makes the whole Kate-thing even more interesting. She’s a trustworthy girl, and I’m starting to think she trusts me.
“The thing is,” he starts, “it’s a gamble. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose.”
I stare straight into his blue eyes, the ones he got from our mum. “And what happens when you lose?”
“Blackjack!” The dealer calls at Mick’s perfect hand.
My brother smirks. “Bonnaire’s never lose.” He sounds just like our dad and my stomach churns.
I nudge his arm. “C’mon, let’s cash out and head over to the gentleman’s lounge.” Maybe watching a bunch of half-naked women dance will change his mind about the wedding. It can’t hurt.
“But I’m having fun,” Mick says, frowning.
“It’s not a stag party if we’re not watching a stage full of women in their knickers. Let’s round up the lads.”
Mick and his mates, Kent, Collin, and I take the limo to Coventry Street. Inside the chandelier-lit club, ladies strut in fishnet stockings and lace booty pants, balancing drinks on trays. On stage, a woman with platinum-blonde hair and bronzed skin whirls around the stripper pole in her platform stilettos.
“Oh. My. God.” Mick’s jaw falls to the ground as the dancer lowers her bum to the stage floor in a spread-eagle splits position.
I chuckle and pat his shoulder. “See, I knew you’d like it here.”
He doesn’t say another word as we make our way over to a roped-off VIP section of the club. The stage dancer captures Mick’s stare as she works her magic. I lean back into the soft fabric of the chair and knock back a couple of shots hoping it will relax me some while the ladies hypnotize my brother.
The dancers sway their hips, giving the lads a personal show. One stripper puts her tits right up to my face and I grin, enjoying it, at least outwardly while the others hoot at her to do them next. But all I can think about is her—Kate—and what it would be like if she swayed her hips for me, teasing me as she pops off her lacy bra, the strap sliding down her arm. I wet my bottom lip, imagining she’s here, dancing for me now. And I know none of these girls here tonight are going to do it for me after all.
Damn.
I’m tempted to call Kate right now. Not that I have her number, but I know where to find her. I’ll wait until I’ve slept this night off. I leave the club just after two a.m., not even the slightest bit tempted to take home one of the dancers or cocktail waitresses. Mick doesn’t seem that tempted either. Who knew that loyalty could be his fatal flaw. Well, at least I tried.
***
Bang! Bang! BANG!
“Huh.” My eyes crack open.
Bang! Bang! Bang! BANG!
The pounding’s not a dream. I glance at the clock. Who the hell’s banging at my door this early? Has to be one of my brothers. Or Collin.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! BANG!
I grab my phone from the bedside table. No missed calls. I blink the sleep away and slide out of the sheets, rubbing my palms over my eyes as I drag my feet toward the door.
“Just a bloody second!” I yell, then peek through the peephole. “No way,” I whisper. How does she know where I live? I unfasten the locks and swing the door open. Kate’s fist freezes in mid-air. Today, she’s wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and ankle boots. What are the chances she wants another ride?
“Yes?” I ask.
Kate’s eyes draw down my naked chest, landing on my Calvin Klein underpants. I can see her pink tongue peeking out of her slack-jawed mouth. “Um . . . I . . .” she stutters before furring her cute brow and shaking away the gawk. “I thought you said you don’t play games?” she finally yells.
I tilt my head. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t get you. We go through the whole song and dance, and when I actually invite you up, you drive off like you couldn’t get away fast enough!” Her voice booms down the hall.
I grab her arm, pulling her inside. “Would you lower your voice? Mr. Bean across the hall likes to sleep in on Saturday mornings, as do I.”
She looks back at the only other door on the other side of the hall. “Mr. Bean’s your neighbor? Like, from the movies?”
“Not that Mr. Bean.”
“Well, maybe I should bang on his door and tell him what a liar his neighbor is?” She rips her arm out of my hand, twisting her face. She’s pretty cute when she’s pissed.
I hold back a chuckle. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Besides, why do you care whether or not I’m a liar?”
Her expression changes as she cocks her head, knitting her brow. “I don’t,” Kate says in a much softer tone.
“Then why did you show up at my flat banging on the door at eight thirty in the morning?”
She shifts her weight, biting her lower lip. “Because . . . I . . .”
I smirk, folding my arms over my chest. “Ah, you like me, don’t you?”
She hesitates for a few beats then says, “No, I don’t,” like we’re kids in the schoolyard.
“Oh, yes, you do,” I say in a playful way, taking a step closer. “Just admit it.”
“Fine,” she says, averting her glare. “I had . . . fun.” Ooh, she really doesn’t want to admit it.
“I know. I had to wipe off the seat after I dropped you off.”
Her eyes bulge and her cheeks turn three shades pinker.
I laugh. “Yeah, I could tell.” Okay, I really couldn’t tell she enjoyed the ride that much but I had a feeling because of the way she moved her hips behind me on the bike. Her expression is just confirmation.
She tightens her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who’s the liar now?”
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It was probably just the novelty of the ride. It could’ve happened to anyone.”
I approach her slowly.
“But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to you. You were on the back of my bike yesterday.”
“I was also the one left on the sidewalk.”
“I’m sorry about that.” My shoulders drop and I give her an apologetic look. “I had something I needed to take care of last night.”
Kate crosses her arms. “What? Like breakup with your girlfriend?”
“No. I talked to my brother last night. The one who’s getting married. Or tried to, anyway.”
“Oh.” The annoyed twists in her expression begin to unwind.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it after we talked yesterday. It nagged at me. Now it’s done, and I can think about . . . other things.” And I know she knows what I mean by other things.
She takes a step back, glancing away. “Well, I feel like an ass right now.”
“Don’t. I’m glad you came over. Even if it is eight in the morning.” I stretch my arms above my head and let out a yawn. Her stare zeros in on my pecs, and I can’t help but flex just a little. I should just give her what she wants right now. What I want too. My stomach lets out a grumbly growl and I rub my hand over my abs. “Have you had breakfast yet?” I send her a look that says I want her for breakfast.
She blushes, hinting at a smile. “No.”
“Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I’ll take you out.” I arch my brow. “We can ride the motorbike again.”
She sucks in a long, slow breath. “Okay.” She’s in. I’m in too. And the best part is I didn’t even have to go searching for her today. Kate literally showed up on my doorstep.
I drive us to The Diner, an American-style fifties restaurant that has the best bacon and hash browns. Sometimes I don’t think I’m a real Brit since I prefer fried potatoes to bangers and mash. Not to mention, I’d bring more shame to my family if they ever found out. It’s bad enough I’m a fashion photographer who’s constantly being photographed with a different model every other week.
Kate slides into the red vinyl booth and I scoot in across from her. She picks up the menu and flips the page. “This was not where I expected you to take me. There’s no soggy tomatoes or boiled eggs on the menu?”
