Cousins (Cousins #1)

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  I feel seriously discombobulated.

  This is six degrees of all kind of wrong.

  "I'm sorry. What did you say?" I ask annoyed with myself.

  While I manage to somehow articulately ask him to repeat the question, I squirm while waiting to hear it repeated, as he lazily rakes his eyes from my neck, to my breasts, to my hips, legs, and then back up to my eyes. When he is finished eye fucking me, he smirks as if I'm already smoking a post-coital cigarette, and then he speaks to me in a way that requires a definite response.

  "Your name."

  Oh that's right moron.

  "Elizabeth."

  He flashes a delicious small grin on his face, which showcases his gorgeous dimple, and I am actually pleased with myself that I was responsible for putting it there.

  Oh. My. God. What is my problem?

  "Were you having a good time tonight Elizabeth?"

  "In the club? Sure, it was all right." Why does he say my name like that? Dripping in seduction. Like we've already done something very wicked with each other.

  "Did you two come together or did you come alone?" He asks with mild curiosity.

  "Together." Sloan interjects.

  This is the first time I notice that Sloan is staring at the stranger in almost the same way I am. Lustfully. He is sexy as hell; there is no disputing that. I can't even blame her, although I'm starting to not really like it.

  "Is this your first time?" He smiles when he asks me that. I assume he is talking about visiting the club, but the question is loaded with sexual innuendo.

  "I'm a regular," Sloan interjects again. "But it was her first time."

  I'm not exactly sure what's going on here. Sloan is acting strangely. I need her to shut up and stop speaking for me. I can't believe that I'm even considering this, but is it possible that she could be a little miffed that the stranger isn't giving her the usual attention she receives from men? Or maybe she's just being a good friend and answering for me, since I seem to be incapable of talking for myself. It's probably the latter. That's what I choose to think anyway.

  "Is that right–" He holds his finger up and turns his back to us to take a call on his cell phone. "Excuse me one second ladies."

  "Yes," I hear him answer gruffly to the person on the phone. "It's done."

  Still feeling slightly shell-shocked and buzzed from a combination of everything that has taken place over the course of the evening, I stop trying to eavesdrop on the stranger's phone call, and glance across the street towards the entrance of the club in disbelief. What a strange night.

  I see small clusters of men and women in assorted states of disarray. Some people were clearly hurt and nursing wounds from being nearly trampled. Others were hunched over making calls on their cells or sitting on the ground coughing and rubbing their eyes which were no doubt still smarting from the pepper spray. The police have finally arrived and have started the business of clearing the club, tending to the injured, and questioning staff.

  I scan the crowd to look for Marco, but notice someone else. The same blond from the bar who was wearing the really cheap looking, tacky off the shoulder turquoise mini dress with ruching on the side. She's a very pretty girl but was dressed and acted like she didn't know it. She was also the woman who I suspected to be the cause of this entire evening from hell. I'd bet someone a hundred dollars that she had a bottle of pepper spray attached to those keys that she pulled out in the club. In fact I was pretty sure that I saw her pull it out and press the button, although it is hard to say for sure due to my vantage point at the bar. I wonder if the police have questioned her yet.

  I watch her reservedly as her eyes squint in my direction and then hone in on the person speaking on his cell phone directly behind me. The same man who was responsible for commanding my nipples to attention just moments ago. He notices her staring at him too and abruptly finishes his call. At least it seems abrupt to me, but maybe that's his usual phone etiquette.

  When he walks back over and stands directly in front of me, I don't like how completely out of my own body I feel. I bravely look up into his eyes thinking maybe the words will come, but now I wish I hadn't. My breathing slows and my chest locks up. His eyes are like magnets. Pulling me into some strange vortex. I've read novels featuring characters that have an instant attraction to each other, and I roll my eyes every time I read one of those plots. I've been attracted to several guys over the years, and seriously dated two of them, but never experienced anything like this. I didn't think this really existed.

  "Are you sure you're okay?" He asks with concern.

  "Yes." I nod while rubbing my arms.

  "Cold?"

  I can't hide the fact that I'm slightly shivering. The nights are getting cooler as the summer starts to wind down, not to mention the fact that I'm totally underdressed. Last time I'll wear Sloan's skimpy tops.

  "A little."

  He takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders, allowing his hands to linger across my shoulders a little longer than necessary. The lining of his jacket is a midnight blue satin, which smells uniquely like him and it warms me quickly with his residual body heat. I was just about to let out a small audible groan, if I hadn't caught myself. I'm pretty sure he notices.

  He pushes up the sleeves of his shirt and holy mother of god there are more tats. Two intricate arm sleeves worth on strong, corded forearms. A simple but very expensive looking silver watch adorns his left wrist. I can't help but stare and once again, he notices.

  "May I ask what you do?" He asks me.

  "What I do?" I nervously rub the thin horizontal gold bar necklace I'm wearing between my fingers.

  "Most of the women that come to the club on techno night are tightly wound corporate types looking to let loose."

  "And I don't look like the corporate type?" I take slight offense. Why I'm not sure.

  "I know you're not one of those types."

  "I work in the tech industry."

  He nods his head. "Interesting."

  "What do you do?" I ask.

  "I am a consultant."

  With all those tattoos? I highly doubt that.

  "Can I give you a ride home?"

  "Umm, no we're fine." Right now almost every man looks like a potential drug addict or drug dealer to me. Including him. Especially him.

  "Well he could drop us off–" Sloan adds her two cents, but I quickly cut her off.

  "We're. Fine." I state firmly.

  "Sheesh. It's not like we live that far Bitsy." Sloan mutters under her breath like a bratty teenager whose mom just scolded her.

  She's definitely annoyed with me, but it's been a long night, and it's just dawned on me that I still don't know the stranger's name. I was too dumbstruck to remember to ask him, and he never offered it. This is just one of the many obvious red flags waving directly in front of my face about how lost I could become in a man like this. An attraction like this. I barely escaped the last relationship I thought I was so careful with. I'm definitely not doing that again. So I decide to listen to my mind and not my hormone driven body. If I accept a ride home or go anywhere with this guy, I may just barely survive it. Do I think he's a serial killer? No. But do I think he is someone with the capability of destroying me nonetheless. Absolutely. No thank you.

  I finally see a yellow cab that looks empty and raise my hand to hail it. I slip the stranger's jacket from around my shoulders and hand it back to him. It's so weird that I feel like I've lost something important when I give it back. I already miss his scent and his warmth. Sloan jumps in the backseat of the cab and gives me a moment while I say my goodbyes to him.

  "Thank you again for everything tonight," I say sincerely.

  He nods silently at me with an expressionless look on his face as he holds the door for me. I hope my refusal of a ride didn't offend him. Not that it matters. I'll never see him again. Once I'm inside the cab, I exhale the breath that I have been holding, and that's when he thumps the hood of the car twice signaling for
the cab driver to drive away.

  As we pull away, I turn my head like a child to watch him through the back window; and as his silhouette grows smaller in the distance, my body weeps for the many orgasms that will never be.

  Chapter Five

  Roman

  SUNLIGHT STREAMS IN THROUGH an unfamiliar window, warming my face, and I'm pissed about it. I just need twenty more damn minutes of sleep. Just twenty. Grumbling profanities, I pull the sheet over my head to block the sun's rays and notice a pair of bare oversized breasts close to my chin. They are beautiful, perky, round globes that no doubt have been perfected by a surgeon's skilled hands; but I have no fucking idea who they belong to, even though they were in my mouth not less than five hours ago.

  Doesn't matter. It never matters. I'm not built in a way that it would ever matter.

  A month or so ago, a woman whose name is escaping me at the moment, gave me remarkable head and got so upset that I was disrespecting her like some two dollar whore, because I got up to leave as soon as she wiped her mouth. She told me I committed a "hit and run" and that I was trying to leave the scene of a crime without exchanging information, which was a major offense. I'm not kidding. She used those exact damn words. Did I mention that this woman was in the police academy? (I went through a phase of law and order types.) So to shut all that down, I swiftly cuffed her ass to the headboard and fucked her hard doggy style while calling out each number of my cell phone with each punishing stroke.

  Over and over and over.

  Funny thing was that she never did quite remember the number. I guess it's kind of difficult to concentrate when your eyes are rolling back inside of your head. I'd say it was a win-win for both of us.

  The woman I'm lying next to right now doesn't seem to mind a little hit and run. I can tell that she is awake based on her breathing pattern, although she's pretending to be asleep. It's rare that I hook up with someone who is embarrassed about the night's sexual escapades, so it must be that she's as anxious for me to leave, as I am to go. Maybe she has a boyfriend. I don't give a shit. This was a mistake anyway.

  I just needed something to help me clear my head of all things Elizabeth. The woman I spotted immediately as she entered The Lotus. The woman I couldn't keep my eyes off of all night. As I watched her (more like stalked her), a foreign vibration snaked through my chest that was new and powerful and alarming. Threatening to choke the ever-living shit out of me.

  I think it was ... possession.

  I watched Elizabeth like a hawk as she ordered and drank three glasses of red wine, danced like no one was watching, flirted with a bartender who is on my short list to beat the fuck up next time I see him, and then as she almost got herself trampled. Alcohol isn't helping me forget her, so I thought maybe pussy would. It's been a week, but I can still see her sexy ass curves, feel her soft hair, smell her. Like cinnamon and sunshine. It's an attraction I don't begin to even understand, nor do I want to explore. I can't remember the last time that I thought about the same woman for more than seven days.

  Wait ... maybe because it's been never.

  I glance out of the mystery woman's bedroom window and realize based on the age and architecture of the buildings surrounding me that I'm clear across town. I'm going to need a little extra time to make it to my morning meeting. A meeting that I called.

  Shit.

  An incoming text vibrates my phone to life. With one eye open, I scan the surrounding area for my cell. It's in the bed, tangled in the sheets.

  Jade: The old man is waiting.

  Double shit.

  Me: Stall for me.

  Jade: Long night?

  Me: Mind your business

  Jade: I'll give you a $100 if you can tell me her name:)

  Me: I'll give you a $1000 if you quit.

  Jade: Give me $10,000 and you have a deal.

  Me: Just stall. I'll fire you later.

  Jade: ☺

  My clothes are strewn all over the floor of what's her name's bedroom floor. I'm not really sure what that's about since I'm not typically a rip my clothes off in the heat of passion kind of guy. That's some soap opera shit. Mostly because passion is for pussies in love. I don't do passion, and I damn sure don't do love. I fuck. And that doesn't require a whole lot of demonstrative hoo-hah. Just technique. Which I have plenty of.

  As I pick my jeans up and yank them back on, what's her name's body shifts and stretches as if she's finally waking up, when I know good and damn well that she's been awake for hours. What theatrics.

  Then regretfully, she speaks.

  "Hey good morning," she says with a somewhat scratchy deep voice. She must be a smoker, and I must have been really drunk to miss that. I don't like smokers. Especially when they're sticking their tongues down my throat.

  "I added my number to the contacts in your phone. It's under–"

  "Why?" I demand to know flatly.

  I swear that I'm not purposely trying to be an ass, okay maybe I am, but I'm annoyed that she was handling my phone while I was sleeping; and I'm even angrier that I was sloppy enough to spend the night here and not have my passcode on. I've got to ease up on the Jack Daniels. I'm slipping.

  "In case you want to call me."

  "I won't." I say sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling my t-shirt over my head, with my back still turned to her. Just gotta find my boots, and I'm out of here.

  "You may change your mind."

  When she sits up and the sheet falls, I turn my head and get a good look of her entire body. She's definitely my usual type. Big perky boobs. Flat stomach. Slender hips. Extremely long legs. Plus, she knows she looks good. Confidence is always attractive, but that doesn't change anything. We're both grown and this was what it was.

  "I don't do second dates," I tell her honestly.

  She pauses for a moment. "What ... Why?"

  "Not interested in more than once."

  She served her purpose. Well ... then again maybe she didn't. The whole point was to use this chick's body to forget another woman's. But that shit didn't work, because all I seem to be thinking about is the woman who is not my usual type, clear as day. Elizabeth's petite, soft, curvy ass body in those tiny jeans. Hugging her hips and ass so sweetly. That barely there halter accentuating her rounded shoulders and those heavy tits and tight nipples. Damn.

  She points her finger at me. "I heard you were a world class jerk. In fact–"

  "Did you come?" I abruptly interrupt her, because I could give two shits what she heard about me from whatever club skanks she rolls with.

  "What–"

  "I asked if I made you come last night."

  She turns her lips up. "Yes but–"

  "Did I disrespect you at all?"

  "No, but you–"

  "So let's be clear. I made you come. Loud, hard and more than once if I recall. I'm pretty sure I even said goodnight; the polite motherfucker that I am. We slept, and now it's a new day, and I have to go. If you're going to fuck strangers that you take back to your apartment, then you're going to have to toughen up. Not everyone is going to want to go steady afterwards."

  What's her name was finally stunned and silent.

  Just the way I like 'em.

  Chapter Six

  Roman

  "WELL LOOK WHO THE CAT drug in?" Jade quips with that smart-ass mouth of hers. Her delicate heart shaped lips would be sort of appealing, if I didn't look at her like anything more than an annoying little sister and a competent assistant.

  I admit that I look like shit.

  I need a shower and a shot of something in my coffee, but I don't have time for all of that before I meet with the old man. Joseph's going to want to be assured that I have things handled.

  "Is that how you greet the man who's paying your rent?" I kid with Jade.

  "You pay my salary, not my rent," She says as she hands me a fresh cup of black coffee.

  "Potato, potahto."

  The door to the conference room shoots open and two mounds of muscle wh
o closely resemble each other barge into the room.

  "The King brothers are here!" The younger, louder one named Cutter yells out like the town crier.

  "Knucklehead." I respond giving him a strong hug and handshake combination.

  I give a simple head nod to the other brother Camden, as he takes a seat in one of the large conference chairs by the window. His body language speaks volumes. He's all about business today and is trying to exude an air of dominance in the room. He's getting mentally prepared for Joseph, my father, someone who is not one of his favorite people right now.

  "Boys." Jade greets them with a smirk.

  "Hey." They both reply in unison. "Wassup Jade."

  The King brothers and I work for my father and the company, which he founded, Masterson & Associates (us being the associates). We are for lack of a better word "fixers." We spend our days getting spoiled celebrities out of trouble, and that's a messier job than you would imagine. Not slick and glamorous like that chick on the television show Scandal makes it look.

  Jade works as a sort of an all-purpose assistant for the three of us, which basically means that she keeps us on point and runs interference between the three of us and my father a lot. When I met her, we were teenagers, and she was getting beat up on a regular basis by her low-life ex who was addicted to pain killers and using her to fund his habit. She loved him, but thankfully she loved herself more, and didn't go back to him after I beat the hell out of his high ass. I don't have a lot of patience for addicts, probably because of my mommy issues, but that's another story for another day. Jade and I have been friends ever since. In fact, she is probably one of my only true friends. Her and the Kings.

  "You look like shit on a stick," Cutter says to me while laughing heartily.

  "What did you tell him?" I ask Jade in an effort to purposely ignore Cutter's observation. "Where did he go?"

  "Where did who go?" The cool as ice voice asks from the doorway.

  With my back towards the all too familiar voice, I walk around to the buffet table to grab a handful of M&Ms out of a plain and slightly dented silver candy dish.