He bent down and kissed her softly on the mouth, warming her instantly. She swallowed her anger, refusing to put further stress on the evening.
“That’s better,” he approved, caressing her cheek with his fingertips. “Did you eat?”
“Yes,” Emma nodded, watching him take the chair beside her.
“Good, good,” he offered indifferently, “you look lovely, by the way.”
Her expression softened, the compliment melting her. She held her hand out to him across the little round table, gesturing her forgiveness. He accepted her offering and raised her hand to his mouth, kissing her fingertips romantically. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, allowing themselves to unwind and get reacquainted.
“Where’s your luggage?” she finally asked, remembering that he only had one bag brought up.
“My assistant is taking care of it. I’m sure it will be in the car tomorrow when my driver picks us up. Do you mind if I take a shower?” he asked, polishing off the last of his wine.
Emma shook her head, wondering if she should offer to wash his back. She was just about to suggest it when he stood up and turned away, seemingly distracted by his thoughts. He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the bed before heading into the bathroom. She let him go without a word, hoping a hot shower would erase the stress from his day, so they could start over with a clean slate.
While he was gone, she undressed completely and slipped on his shirt, enjoying the silk against her flesh, still warm from his body heat. She fastened the bottom four buttons, just high enough to reveal a provocative amount of skin. She hoped her hard nipples, pressing deliciously against the fabric, would seduce a strong reaction from him.
As soon as she heard the shower shut off, she sat on the end of the bed and waited for him. He walked out of the bathroom dressed only in his boxers, pulling a towel through his wet hair, chuckling as soon as he noticed her. She immediately stood up to greet him, flashing him a delicious amount of cleavage.
“Hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d get ready for bed while I was waiting for you. Found this old shirt lying around. It’s a little snug,” she purred, sauntering over to him.
“Pleasantly so,” he agreed, holding his arms open for her. She slipped into them, raising her mouth to him, her hands gingerly sliding down his backside to caress his ass. He moaned his approval and pulled her closer, teasing her with his growing erection. She slid her mouth off his, leaving a trail of moist kisses down his neck, then gently nibbled his earlobe. Her arousal blossomed quickly, instantly dampening the swollen fold between her legs. She had been yearning for him all night and couldn’t wait for him to take her.
She kissed him again, pulling him tighter against her trembling body. He eased his head back, tucking his fingers under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. He was grinning at her sheepishly, as though he had something else on his mind.
“Emma, I appreciate the seduction, I really do, but I’m exhausted. It’s been such a long day, and we have an early morning,” he objected, his pleasant little kisses posing as commas between his words.
“Yeah,” she smirked, leaning in for a deeper kiss, refusing to be curbed again, “so what?”
He squeezed her chin gently and chuckled, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “I might not have the energy, darling, but do you know what would make me very happy?”
“What?” she whispered playfully, certain he would find the motivation to fuck her once she worked him up.
“I’d really like a bob...” he suggested seductively, stroking the top of her head.
“What’s that?” she purred, unfamiliar with the term. She hoped it was a British euphemism for a good fucking.
“I believe you yanks call it a blow-job,” he clucked, offering her another quick kiss.
Vexed, Emma pulled her head back and glared at him, heat rising to her cheeks. Was he serious?
“Just a quick one, then we can get some sleep. We’ll have the whole trip for long, drawn-out love-making, won’t we. We can even fuck on the plane, if you like.”
Emma dropped her arms and stepped back, hurt and confused. The night was not unfolding the way she’d hoped, not even close. She had imagined Arran bursting into the room and sweeping her off her feet, carrying her to the bed, consumed with lust for her, then fucking her with a passion equal to the night of the party. Nowhere in her imagination did he make her feel cheap. She was speechless, until he opened his mouth again.
“It’s not too much to ask is it, considering?” he insisted thoughtlessly, alluding that she might owe him something. Emma pulled his shirt tighter around herself, holding the expensive material tightly in her fists, baffled by the suggestion.
“Arran, I’m confused,” she stammered. “What happened to my passionate lover from the party? You made me feel so desirable that night. You took my breath away! Now...you seem so indifferent. Don’t you want me?”
He looked at the floor, modestly wrapping his towel around his waist, considering her words. When he finally met her eyes they were cold, challenging.
“Well now, I thought it was a secret who our lovers were,” he sneered, “what made you think it was me?”
She felt her breath catch in her throat, suddenly not sure about anything. She hesitated, her mouth agape, playing the night back in her mind. His wry laughter chilled her to the bone, as though he knew something she didn’t.
“The hickey,” she confessed, wishing she wasn’t half naked. Never in her life had she felt more vulnerable, not even with Andrew. She looked at the dress she’d thrown haphazardly over the chair when she hadn’t a care in the world. It seemed to be mocking her.
“Hickey,” he mused, more as a statement than a question.
“Yes, in the heat of...when we were...I know gave you a hickey. Then, when we reunited later, I saw the mark on your neck,” she explained, feeling less and less confident.
“And you assumed it was me,” he ridiculed, raising a brow derisively, an amused expression on his face. She nodded but said nothing.
“Oh Emma,” he mocked, “I guess we were both wrong.”
She stared at him flatly, shrinking from his contempt.
“I always thought you and Luke were lovers but you’ve obviously never shagged him, otherwise you would’ve known it was him.”
Emma stared at him in disbelief, dumbfounded, her head spinning with doubt. How could that be? Luke would never...
Arran shook his head and laughed like it was the most amusing thing in the world. She felt nauseous, as though she’d just swallowed a potent cocktail of confusion, anger, and shame, the joke on her. She didn’t find it the least bit amusing and resented his reaction.
“Not to worry, sweet girl, it’s water under the bridge. It didn’t bother me a bit,” he snickered, trying to pacify her, but failing miserably.
“Well, maybe a little bit,” he gestured, bringing his hands close together to show her how much. “I went to the party that night for you. I even tried to bribe the hostess to slip you my name, but apparently Luke was one step ahead of me. Anyway, I just assumed that after he abandoned you that things didn’t go well. I assumed you were ready for a real man.”
Emma shook her head, eyes to the floor, desperately trying to make sense of it all. How could Luke have done that to her? She trusted him, and he abandoned her...after fucking her! He just left her? Then lied about it? Their passion had seemed so real, the sex so wonderful! Did he hate it? Was he disgusted by her? And then he avoided her the whole week after. Jesus, was that what spurned their fight? Was he trying to end their friendship?
She slowly raised her eyes to Arran, hoping for compassion, but was met with mild amusement instead. She felt the walls closing in on her, the air thinning.
“I have to go,” she whispered, gathering her clothes. She ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind her, just before spilling her tears. She felt like a fool, and worse, she had completely misjudged Arran.
No, not misjudged.
She’d offered him the benefit of the doubt because she was attracted to him, ignoring her own instincts. He’d been showing her who he was all along, revealing his true colors, offering her little clues and warning signs but she pretended they weren’t there, like a fool. Had she learned nothing from her past?
And Luke...he saw it. He tried to make her see it too. But he also betrayed her.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then splashed cold water on her face, refusing to meet her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t look at herself, she was too ashamed. She slipped on her undergarments, trying to formulate an escape plan.
“Emma, don’t be this way. Come out here,” Arran insisted, knocking on the door. She ignored him, wrapping her dress around her and tying the sash.
“You’re overreacting. Let’s just go to bed. We can talk about it in the morning when you’re less emotional.”
His pretentious words crawled up her spine, triggering her disgust. They seemed all too familiar. Same tone, different man. Briskly, she opened the door, almost knocking him off balance.
“I’m going home, Arran,” she said, stepping around him. Exasperated, he reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around.
“Don’t be silly. Stay. We’ll put this behind us and go on our trip. In a few days, it will all be forgotten.”
“No, I can’t be with you,” she admitted tersely, easing her arm out of his grip. “I tried. I ignored my instincts because I thought there might be potential, that we had something special...”
“What, when you thought it was me at the party? Jesus, Emma, I can fuck you like that if that’s what you want. I was just kidding about the blow-job...”
She shook her head and walked back into the bedroom, collecting her things along the way. She threw everything into her open suitcase and locked it up tight, stepped into her shoes and slipped her purse over her shoulder.
“Emma,” he whined, trying to block her path. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to kiss her, forcing his mouth against hers, hastily knocking their teeth in the process. She yanked her head back and pushed him away as kindly as she could.
“I’ll send the porter up for my things while I wait for a taxi. I’m sorry Arran,” she offered sincerely. She took off the earrings he gifted her and placed them in his hand, helping him to close his palm around them. She held his hand for a moment, hoping to convey her regret. She didn’t want to leave on bad terms, she just wanted to leave.
“You’re really an ungrateful bitch, aren’t you?” he spat, yanking his hand away. “So what now? Are you going to run to Luke?”
She turned away, swallowing back her emotions. He was trying to get a rise out of her, manipulate her with cruelty to cover up his own insecurity. She knew the dance well.
Men like him drank tears for breakfast.
Unwilling to give him the satisfaction or engage in confrontation, she offered a hasty goodbye. She stepped around him and opened the door, ignoring the biting remarks hurled after her.
Chapter 39
She gave the cab driver Luke’s address. She wasn’t sure what she would say or do when she got there, but she needed to confront him. She was angry and embarrassed beyond belief, but more than anything, she was hurt, crushed by his deception.
She wasn’t planning to go see him, in fact, she had almost convinced herself that she never wanted to see him again! But, by the time she’d arrived home and lugged two heavy suitcases up to her apartment she’d worked herself into a state of rage! She was furious with him. For the lies, the breach of trust, the abandonment...
....the girlfriend.
She never saw it coming. Luke had watched her claw her way out of a dark place after her marriage fell apart, he knew how much pain she’d been in. He had been the light at the end of a very black tunnel, and through it all stood by her, refusing to judge or give up on her...or walk away.
Then he did. He just fucked her and walked away, like she was nothing more than one of his cheap Tinder hookups.
So, after tossing back three or four shots of whiskey to settle her nerves (she lost count), something else happened. Her liquid courage kicked in. She was ready to confront him.
“That will be $18.00,” the driver requested, pulling up in front of Luke’s building. She gave him a twenty and told him to keep the change. Emma would have driven herself, but it was difficult parking downtown. That’s why they always ended up hanging out at her place. Besides, she was in no condition to drive.
It had been a few months since she had been to his condo. Aside from a wicked view of the Space Needle, it wasn’t very homey. A cool address to impress the ladies but his furniture was super uncomfortable, designed so women wouldn’t stick around after, the perfect bachelor pad. It had served Luke quite well over the years...
....being that he was a no good, piece of shit player, she thought, wobbling to the door.
She hoped he hadn’t changed the keyless entry code. She punched in his birthday numbers and unlatched the door. Walking as steadily as she could, Emma nodded at the security guard as she passed him, hoping to appear respectable. He didn’t even look up at her.
She took the elevator to his floor, feisty and fired up. It was late, but she didn’t give a shit.
She knocked on his door several times but he didn’t answer. It was a Thursday, close to midnight, and it didn’t dawn on her until right then and there that he might not be home. She banged on the door again, this time with a little more urgency, wondering what the probability was that he was in bed, fucking his supermodel girlfriend.
The door swung open, just as she leaned in to knock one last time. She had to catch herself on the door jamb so she wouldn’t tumble over. Luke reached out to steady her but she pulled away, glaring at him.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she slurred, righting herself.
“Mimi? Have you been drinking?”
“Of course I’ve been drinking! Otherwise, how would I be this drunk?” she spat, “Sheesh, what a dumb question.”
Amused by her response, Luke raised a brow and grinned, stepping aside to invite her in. She shook her head derisively, tossing her shoulders back, and walked inside. His apartment was dimly lit, the glow from the lamp in the bedroom the only light.
“Are you alone?” she asked, peeking down the short hallway.
“Yes, I’m alone, Mimi, it’s after midnight.”
“Like that makes any difference,” she snapped, looking him up and down. Fuck, he looked hot. He was wearing nothing but a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms, cinched tightly around his taut waist, with a six pack for days.
“No Maggie?”
Luke shook his head, regarding her curiously. “No. Why are you here? I thought you would be somewhere over the ocean by now.”
“Ha! You wish!” Emma rolled her eyes, randomly poking his pecs.
“Now, why would I wish that,” he smirked, looking down at her hand as it came to rest on his chest. She reluctantly tore her eyes away from his chiseled torso, raising them to his face.
“Because you’re a fucker, Luke. You’re a friend fucker!” she snorted tersely. She tightly balled her fist and punched him in the shoulder, punctuating her point. He didn’t even flinch but it sure as hell hurt her. “Ow,” she croaked, raising her hand to look at it. “Mimi, what are you talking about?” Luke mused, massaging her sore hand. She wished she wasn’t so drunk. Her brain felt like it was immersed in quicksand, her thoughts completely muddled. And he sure wasn’t helping with his cute little smirk and the hand holding, and all that hotness...
“I’m talking about the party, Luke,” she spat, yanking her hand away, suddenly remembering her mission. She watched the recognition cross his face, his expression instantly changing from mild amusement to deep regret.
At that moment, she knew it was true. She had hoped that maybe Arran had lied, that it was all a big misunderstanding, but Luke’s expression left little doubt. The whole thing made her ill.
No, it really
made her ill. She felt her stomach flip, nausea slowly inching up her throat. Wide-eyed, she silently begged Luke to help her. He knew exactly what was happening and without a word, grabbed her hand and quickly escorted her to the bathroom. He switched on the light, kicked up the toilet seat, then held her hair back while she purged everything out. The beef bourguignon, the wine, the whiskey, along with all the pluck she had carried with her to Luke’s apartment, every ounce of courage.
The only thing left was her embarrassment, and plenty of it.
She stood up cautiously, the room spinning around her. Luke was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed casually over his chest. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“I’m going home,” she whispered, leaning over the sink. She turned on the water and splashed it over her mouth and neck, cooling her flushed skin. Cupping her hand under the stream, she raised some water to her mouth, rinsing away the acrid taste of bile.
“You’re not,” Luke objected, handing her a towel. She snatched it from his hands and used it to wipe her face, then set it on the counter beside her.
“I am,” she insisted, bending down to pick her purse off the floor. Big mistake. She felt her balance shift, Luke’s arms the only thing saving her from hitting the floor. She needed to lie down.
“I’m not letting you leave, Mimi. Seriously. Take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Your couch sucks,” she argued, trying to keep her eyes open.
“Yes, but I’,m willing to sacrifice my back for you. Now, let me take you to bed,” he said, leading her out of the bathroom.
“Pffft, that’s what got you into trouble in the first place,” she mumbled, heavily leaning into him. He brought her into his bedroom and lifted her onto the bed, yanking off her shoes. She grabbed the pillow and wrapped her arms around it, allowing Luke to tuck the blankets around her. He turned the light out and started walking toward the door.
“Luke,” she whispered loudly, the way lady drunks do.
Billionaire's Playmate Page 62
