“I was hoping you’d talk back,” he slapped her ass, and she inhaled loudly, “just so I could do that.”
She dropped her forehead down as sweat beaded on her upper lip. Her skin smarted where he’d spanked her, radiating to her pussy. It was as if her nerve endings only existed in the places Beau touched her.
“You don’t know the satisfaction I get from watching you fight yourself,” he said. “Do yourself a favor. Give in.” He stepped back, removing the pressure from between her legs.
“What’re you doing?” she breathed. She didn’t want to ask for it, but she sure as hell didn’t want him to stop.
“Hold yourself open for me.”
Lola hesitated. Beau was as stubborn as her, and he would walk away to teach her a lesson, even if it meant he wouldn’t get to fuck her. Lola reached back, still bent at the hip. She bared her soft, slippery lips, gingerly at first, and then wider as her need took over.
“It is perfection, ma petite chatte,” he said. “When you behave, all I want is to reward you.” He returned behind her, lining his cock up again. “Fuck me.”
Lola breathed in and out, her head swimming. She readjusted her grip, spread her pussy and pushed back onto him slowly. He had to help her, to work his head in to loosen her up. When her body gave way, Lola slid back, filling herself with him, her mouth becoming impossibly dry.
“Keep going,” he said. “And don’t look away from me.”
All she wanted to do was look away. He was playing dirty, making her break her own rules. Lola watched him as she urged her body forward, gliding up his cock, and then back down, slow and awkward. Beau’s expression remained smooth as he watched her face, mild amusement in his eyes.
Her bottom lip was between her teeth, her fingers digging into her skin. She was right where she’d wanted to be the last few days and right where she knew she should never have been again.
“You can let go now,” he said.
She released herself just as Beau put a hand on her upper back and pushed her down, her nipples hardening against the cool granite. He grabbed her by the hips and thrust all the way in. They both exhaled a sharp, “Fuck.”
He didn’t waste another second, suddenly insatiable. He took her fast, pushing her farther over the sink with each drive until she was on the balls of her feet. She held onto the faucet.
“I told you to look at me,” he said.
She raised her head, and they found each other in the reflection again. This was something she’d never seen—herself, getting fucked by him from behind. It was better than she’d fantasized. His bowtie was still around his neck. Except for his pants, pushed down around his ass, he was fully dressed. He held her hard, went at her hard, his eyes were hard—but none of it in a bad way.
He practically had her off her feet by the time she came, her climax so ready, it was both effortless and raw. He talked her through it—she was so beautiful, he’d needed this so much, had been dying for it.
With her last spasm, she loosened her grip on the faucet. His neck strained, her breasts swayed, his fingers dented her hips as he pulled her into each thrust. Her eyes darted between everything like she’d walked into the middle of a crime scene and couldn't decide where to look first.
Beau smacked her ass, groaned her name like a prayer and touched her everywhere as he came.
Her hand flew to her mouth, reality slapping her across the face. She’d fucked up—with the worst person possible. The enemy. In a matter of seconds, he’d shattered her carefully-constructed walls like they’d been made of porcelain.
“Christ, Lola.” Beau ran his hand up and down the silk of her back, admiring her. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “You have no idea, the plans I have—”
“Get off me.”
His eyes jumped to hers. “What?”
They held each other’s stare, still except for the frantic, synced rise-and-fall of their chests.
“You promised,” she said, hating that her voice cracked. “Get off me.”
“Hey—come on.” He smiled a little, the smug fucking bastard. “You’re going to tell me that was one-sided?”
She looked up at the ceiling. She’d been stupid to think she could actually do this—be this close to him and not ever once let her guard down. She’d known if she did, he’d see that weakness and pounce. She’d been right.
“Fuck you,” she said. “You couldn’t even do this one simple thing you promised me.”
He slid out of her, stepping back. “This has been anything but simple,” he said, pulling his pants up quickly, tucking himself into them. “It’s goddamn torture following your rules. There’s nobody else I’d let get away with that bullshit.”
She turned to face him, her robe whispering around her hips. She pulled it closed around her with trembling fists. “Bullshit? It’s bullshit for me to ask for a little time to recover after what you put me through?”
He ran both hands over his hair. His smile was completely gone, at least, replaced with a solemn frown. “Jesus. I didn’t realize this was such a big deal. I thought you were—I don’t know. Playing around. Teasing me.”
Lola clenched her jaw against a wave of tears. She had to make a choice—break him or leave. Otherwise, she’d never be anything but a pawn to him, and their relationship would never be anything but a game. “I thought I could do this. I thought I could play, but I’m out of my league here.”
He shook his head, his drawn eyebrows wrinkling his forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“This isn’t working.” She took a step forward. “I’m leaving.”
He blocked her path. “Like fuck you are.”
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.” She looked up at him. “Why would I stay?”
He scoffed and held his arms open. “All of this. The last few days. I make one mistake, and you’re going to walk away? Like we didn’t fight like hell to get here?”
“I have to. If you don’t respect me by now, you never will. I came back for you. I swallowed my pride. Every day I stay despite my better judgment. I asked one thing of you—keep your hands to yourself. Just for a little while.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Lola flinched. It was unexpected—the sweet kind of desperation on his face she wasn’t used to seeing. Her plan might actually have been working the last few days, small and subtle changes right before her eyes.
“I didn’t understand why this meant so much to you,” he continued, “but I do now.”
She shifted on her bare feet. “How do I know you aren’t just saying that?”
He reached up and hesitated, his hands hovering over her cheeks. When she realized he was waiting for permission, she nodded slightly. He touched her face with his palms, as if committing it to memory, then took hold of her shoulders. “Don’t go.” He pulled her closer to him, and she went. He kissed her forehead and the bridge of her nose. “Be mad. Scream at me. Make me pay. But don’t go—that would be the worst. All right, Lola? I want you here. I really want you here.”
Her posture eased a little. He did love her, she knew it, clung to it. She’d screwed up huge, but it would have to be a lesson learned. Staying alert wasn’t enough. She had to be vigilant around him. She had to monitor every touch, every look, from somewhere outside herself.
“Let’s just go to bed,” she said quietly, looking to the side.
He released his grip a little. “Thank you.”
He walked out of the bathroom, but she stood there a second longer. Her anger drained with the blood from her face. She hadn’t taken birth control in days. That month’s pack had been in her purse when it was stolen, and she hadn’t thought to bring the rest from her apartment. Not once had it occurred to her that she might need it.
Lola straightened her robe and combed her fingers through her hair before leaving the bathroom. She was fairly certain birth control didn’t leave your system for a while. Either way, nothing would happen—because it couldn’t. It jus
t couldn’t. She had enough to worry about as it was, and anything more would surely be the last straw for her. It was hard to imagine anything beautiful could come from this ugliness anyway.
Chapter Thirteen
Present day
Beau left the Moose Lodge behind in the backwoods of Missouri to be closer to an international airport. He didn’t know where Lola would go next, but this time he’d be ready. Beau found sitting still one of his greater challenges, but he worried if he went up, she’d go down, left or right.
Two days he waited, during which his assistant arranged for him to meet with a couple startups, both of which impressed him. They were green but viable, and more surprisingly, unaffected. The big-city entrepreneurs he normally met with were eerily familiar to him—they were versions of Beau before he’d hit it big. They had dark circles under their eyes all the time and consumed caffeine like water. They were always trying to stay ahead of the game, but sometimes that cost them.
When Bragg called, Beau was visiting a major hotel in Memphis. He held his Entrepreneurs in Tech conference in Los Angeles every year, but it’d occurred to him sometime over the last couple days that he and his partner had been focused on California too long. There was talent everywhere—even Tennessee. An entire nation waited to be discovered.
That didn’t mean, for even a moment, Lola was far from his mind. Beau kept his eyes up all the time, wondering if he might turn the corner and run right into her.
Beau held up a finger to the hotel’s sales manager when he saw Detective Bragg’s name on the screen of his cell phone. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”
“Louisiana,” Bragg said into the phone before Beau’d even spoken.
Beau put his hand on his hip. “She’s there?”
“I woke up to a pending charge at a gas station in New Orleans. Called around the immediate area and found a motel with a Lola Winters staying there—you might have to write a check for that info.”
“I might or I will?”
“What’s a few hundred more bucks?”
Nothing to him. But he’d developed this strange habit, this rapid reach for his wallet. Beau valued his fortune, having been without it most of his life, but the look people got when they had a chance at easy money—it was seductive.
The lights in the conference center got brighter, or so it felt. He blinked a few times, already moving in the direction of the exit. He pulled the phone away briefly to tell the woman showing him the space, “My assistant will be in touch.”
Bragg coughed into the phone. “I’ll e-mail the details right now.”
“How far is New Orleans from me?”
“Six hours in the car, four in the air, minus boarding.”
“I’m getting on the road now.”
“I got a feeling today’s the day, want to know why?”
Satisfaction tinged Bragg’s voice, something Beau’d been waiting on for a while. “Why?”
“Every day since we got her real name, I’ve been hunting car salesmen, trying to find one who worked with a Melody Winters. Those guys love their cash upfront. Well, goddamn if I didn’t put a bullet in one’s ass this morning. She’s driving a red Lotus Evora. Got the plates too. How’s that for you? She may be flying under the radar, but in a car like that, doesn’t exactly seem like she wants to stay hidden.”
For the third time in two days, Beau tasted victory. It was even sweeter now that he knew how she was traveling and what to look for. He would’ve guessed black for her, but he liked the red. A lot. “Good work, Bragg.” Beau hesitated. “But you didn’t really shoot anyone, did you?”
The detective guffawed into the phone. Beau was afraid it’d devolve into another coughing fit, but Bragg just said, “Not today, kid,” and hung up.
Beau decided to drive to Louisiana. Behind the wheel, at least he’d have some control. Airports were too sluggish, even when they were fast-paced, the stale air like sludge for hurried travelers.
Why had she chosen to go south now? It was an unusual move, and to keep going across country, she’d have to come up again eventually. Unless she went west, and that would put her back toward Los Angeles. Home. He wanted to get to her before then. He fantasized about catching Lola in the act, making eye contact with her amidst the Bourbon Street crowd, sending a Sazerac to her table as he watched from the bar, standing inches behind her as she took in a sunset behind the three-steepled St. Louis Cathedral. As if her reaching L.A. before he’d caught her meant she’d be able to deny this’d ever happened.
In the car, his assistant called. “They’re ready to finalize the VenTech acquisition,” she said. “I can arrange a meeting first thing in the morning.”
They’d had to move quickly to prepare an offer for VenTech’s founder while its future was bleak, and before anyone else could. Beau had known this was coming, and even though he was the only one who really cared about the buyout, he couldn’t help cursing the timing. “Make sure Larry’s there,” Beau said. “I’m not sure I’ll make it in time.”
“I already looked at flights,” she said. “Getting you into LAX by tomorrow morning shouldn’t be an issue.”
Beau looked up from the road. Small, white-bellied birds flapped across the sky in formation. Once Bolt Ventures had put the finishing touches on the paperwork, it would only be days before Beau could go to George Wright with an offer—a laughable one, but one Wright couldn’t afford to turn down. But that would mean getting on a plane tonight and missing another chance to find Lola.
“I’m the one who wanted this,” Beau said. “I should be there.”
“Probably, but…”
“But what?”
His assistant didn’t respond. He knew where she was headed, but he’d bitten her head off enough times when she’d suggested unloading his work to others.
Beau uncurled his fingers from the steering wheel, splaying them, an invitation. “You think they can manage without me.”
“You can’t be everywhere all the time, Mr. Olivier.”
“Sure I can, thanks to modern technology.”
“You can videoconference. Although, that doesn’t mean you should. It sounds like you have more important things going on.”
“All right.” Giving in to others was physical for him, a tightening and loosening of his shoulders, an anxious nod of his head. “Fine. If I’m free, I’ll video in. If not, they’ll have to proceed without me.”
“Okay—”
“But make sure Larry calls me before they make any—”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Olivier. Just enjoy your vacation.”
“I’m not on—”
The line went dead, the first time she’d ever cut him off that way. He set his phone down, envisioning everyone in the office break room, celebrating his absence. He doubted that, though. Beau could be hard, but he was a good boss and a good man to work for—he knew that. Maybe that was why they all seemed to think he needed time away.
He shifted in his seat, the road out his windshield narrowing into the horizon. He thought about e-mailing his assistant and asking her to send detailed minutes of the meeting directly after, but he let it go.
Lola had mentioned more than once his frustrating devotion to work. She’d wanted more of his attention than she got. Well, she had it all now.
* * * * *
Beau spotted the New Orleans motel a second too late, and his tires shotgun-shrieked against the pavement when he slammed on his brakes. He veered across oncoming traffic into the parking lot. Lola wasn’t far now. She might not be in her room, but he had all evening to find her. They’d been playing this game for too long—it had to end. They would argue, that was unavoidable—he was angry. Seeing her again would test his control. But then what?
Beau entered the front office chest first, his authority unmistakable. “I’m looking for a woman who checked in here earlier.”
The long-nosed, pimple-faced clerk was unimpressed. “We get a lot of those—women.”
Beau flattened hi
s hand on the counter. “My associate called and spoke to someone. Was it you?”
“Your associate?” He looked over Beau’s shoulder, then his own. “Uh, it wasn’t me.”
“Is there anyone else working?”
“Yeah, but he’s on his break for another twenty minutes.”
“Fine. Her name is Melody Winters. Check your system.”
The man blinked once slowly before turning to the computer. His mouse clicked, his fingers tapped the keyboard. He shook his head. “I don’t see her…”
“But I was told that she’s here.”
The clerk raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. Uh…”
“What?”
“What’d you say the first name was?”
“Melody.”
“Oh.” He shook his head. “Nope.”
Beau rolled his eyes. He inched his hands closer to the computer, tempted to jerk the screen in his direction. “How about Lola?”
“Oh.” The man nodded. “Yep.”
“She’s here?” Beau’s frustration yielded to relief. “Which room?”
“I can’t—”
“Money. I have it. You can have it. For your cooperation.” Beau almost cringed, barely able to form a full sentence. He wanted to be better, to do this the right way, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d come too far, was too close, to start following some ambiguous set of rules. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his wallet, pulled out three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. “You can come with me if you don’t trust me. Keep my wallet as collateral. Whatever. Just give me the room number.”
The man looked from the money to Beau to the door behind him. He slid the cash toward himself on the counter and pocketed it. He wrote something on a slip of paper and held it out.
Before Beau could take it, the clerk pulled it back and whispered, “I never gave this to you.”
“Fine.”
“Destroy it when you’re done.”
“Give me the fucking paper.”
The man’s eyes widened. He handed it over.
118.
Night Edge (Night Fever Serial Book 4) Page 8
