Cruel Temptation: An Age Gap Romance (Cruel Beauty Trilogy Book 1)
Page 7
Whatever it is, I’m fascinated by this woman, and that hasn’t happened in a long goddamn time.
“C'mon,” I bait her. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Are you purposely trying to be difficult, or does it come naturally to you?” she retorts without hesitation.
I ignore her little jibe. “Tell me your name.”
She scoffs. “I have no intention of telling you anything.”
I can’t help but smile at her assertiveness.
She’s street-smart and feisty as fuck.
Damn, if that’s not sexy as hell.
It makes me wonder if she’s this passionate in all aspects of her life.
“Would you like to know mine?”
“I’d like it if you took a hint and left.”
Not going to happen, sweetheart.
“Duly noted. But at least let me help you.”
“What part of I don’t want your help aren’t you getting?” Huffing, she grabs her bag, and stands. “I’d love to say it was a pleasure meeting you, but I’m not a liar.”
Not ready for this to be the last time I see her, I snap into action. Reaching out, I snag her hand in mine, not anticipating the way my pulse skyrockets at her touch. With my free hand, I pull a business card out of my jacket pocket. “Here, take this,” I tell her, standing to my full height, and watching intently as she runs her thumb over the monochrome lettering. “Call me if you need anything.”
She’s still yet to say a word as she glances down at the card and back up at me. “Rick Blackley, huh?” My slacks tighten painfully at the way she says my name. Jesus fucking Christ. “Nice name.”
The moment her cupid’s bow-lips curl up into a smirk, I’m done for.
It takes everything in me not to pull her down onto my lap and see just how perfect those plump lips taste.
Our eyes lock, and I can’t for the life of me, find the strength to look away. Tension thickens the atmosphere around us as our heated exchange continues. The dense, permeated air makes it hard to even breathe.
Despite the fact we’re in one of the busiest hotels in New York, and there are heavy crowds of people roaming the lobby, phones ringing, doors opening and closing, somehow everything fades into the background.
It’s cliché as hell, but she literally becomes all that I can see.
“Tell me, Mr. Blackley, are you bored?” I frown at her question, not understanding her meaning. “Has your dick pump stopped working? Are you having a midlife crisis? I find that when men are bored and their dicks stop working, they splash their cash on other unnecessary luxuries to overcompensate.” She steps into me and I catch a whiff of her flowery perfume. Fuck. “Tell me, Rick.” She lowers her voice to a sultry whisper and peers up at me through her lashes. “Are you overcompensating for something?” Tucking the business card back into my breast pocket, she pats it and winks. “Good riddance, City Boy.”
I’m half tempted to throw that stubborn little minx over my shoulder, take her to my penthouse, and show her exactly how fucking well my dick works.
Instead, I watch her go, my eyes fixated on the natural sway of her ass. A calculating smile forms on my face.
Never in my life have I been spoken to so rudely, but dammit all to hell if it wasn’t the sexiest fucking thing.
Christ, if anything, her distaste of me only makes me want her more.
Patsy teeters toward me, her iPad still attached to her hip.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I watch enthralled as my mystery girl walks into the elevator.
“That girl getting into the elevator…”
“What about her?”
“Find out who she is and what room she’s staying in.”
“Sir, that’s against hotel policy.”
I couldn’t give a flying fuck about hotel policies. “I want it on my desk by midday.”
This week just got interesting.
What a jerk.
I feel the smoldering heat of Rick’s stare burning a path across my skin as I scurry toward the mirrored elevator. Adrenaline and rage courses through me like wildfire as I jam my finger repeatedly into the call button.
Fucking jackass.
Who the hell does he think he is?
So what if it’s his name written in huge pretentious lettering across the top of the hotel. Does being rich give him the right to act like an ass?
Conceited prick.
Glaring holes in the reflective doors, my body hums with anger as I wait for the elevator.
His words play on repeat in my head.
Call me if you need anything.
Yeah, I needed him to get a goddamn clue and leave me the hell alone.
What a joke.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a guy says, moving past me to enter the car.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping aside to let people in.
“Are you coming in?” the same guy asks.
Shaking that asshole from my thoughts, I rush inside.
“Floor number?”
“Seventeen,” I reply as the doors close.
I lean back against the mirrored glass, and sigh. What is it about me that attract assholes? Do I have a neon sign above my head saying free to use? And why does he have to be so fucking good looking? This asshole is the definition of a double-edged sword: easy on the eyes, but a shitty personality.
The guy is fucking Adonis. Tall and solid as an oak, with tan skin and eyes as green as emeralds. And that jawline? Sweet lord, that thing’s so sharp I could cut myself.
Judging by the faint age lines surrounding his eyes, the graying in his neatly trimmed stubble, and the slightest hint of silver highlighting his otherwise jet-black hair, I’d say he’s at least ten years older than me, maybe more.
As much as I hate to admit it, I find that incredibly hot.
He’s not quite a silver fox, but damn near.
Older guys have never done it for me, but the way this man looked at me, set an inferno ablaze in my veins.
I find myself imagining how that stubble would feel grazing against the sensitive skin between my legs. Don’t judge me, I may be jaded, but I’m still a woman with needs.
Needs that haven’t been met in over a decade.
Christ, this is going to be a long week.
“Um, what the hell are you doing in New York?!” Lydia exclaims through the phone as I flip the camera from me to the stunning snowy skyline from my hotel window.
A deep groan comes from Mali. “Man, I shouldn’t be so fucking good at giving pep talks.” Sighing, she walks into what looks like her bathroom and sets her phone down. “I’d give anything to be you right now.”
I scoff and roll my eyes. Yeah, because my life is so great.
I’ve lost my luggage, I’m freezing cold, and I’ve been harassed by the jerk who owns the hotel I’m staying at. Score.
Outraged, Lydia holds up a finger. “Hold the damn phone. Are you telling me you told her to go to New York without us?”
“Would you relax?” She ties her hair up into a bun. “It’s not like she’s moving there permanently.”
“I cannot believe you! And you!” Lydia glares at me through the camera. “How could you leave and not tell us?!”
I purse my lips together. “Well, you know, I figured that seeing as I’m an adult and I’m capable of making my own decisions, it wouldn’t matter.”
“You’re in New York. It matters!”
I hold a hand up, hoping she’ll shut up. “Okay, jeez. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
“Ignore her,” Mali chimes in. “She’s just pissed because the ball and chain won’t put out.”
Lydia narrows her eyes scornfully and moves closer to the screen. “I knew you’d bring that up! It’s not that he won’t put out, we’re just taking things slow.”
“Of course.” Mali snaps her fingers in recollection. “My bad. That makes complete sense now that you’ve explained it. Be
cause after I get married, I totally plan on slowing things down!”
Lydia scrunches her face in distaste and flicks her hair dramatically. “Oh, what would you know about love? You’re still spreading your legs for half of the East Coast.”
Mali throws her head in a cackle-like laugh. “Damn, baby doll. Look at you bringing out those claws. Meow.”
Aannnd cue River.
“Not that I don’t love hearing you two argue like an old married couple,” I interject, before this gets messy, “but could we get back to the matter at hand?”
On a wince, Lydia apologizes. “Of course, I’m sorry.”
“What’s your room like?” comes Mali’s dulcet tone.
Begrudgingly, it’s gorgeous. “Beautiful, actually.”
It ought to be considering how much I shelled out for this little venture. Turning around, I pan the camera around, showcasing the room.
Modern and sleek, with a touch of elegance. From the black and gold hues to the Blackley crest imprinted on the carpet in the center of the room. “Queen-size bed, jacuzzi bath, and a huge HDTV.”
Not that I plan on watching much TV. I’m in one of the liveliest cites in the word; I fully intend on sightseeing my ass off. These New Yorkers will be sick of me by the time my vacation ends.
“I still can’t believe you’re in New York,” Lydia sulks, before turning a glacial glare at Mali. “And I still can’t believe you talked her into it!”
“Christ, Winters.” Mali rolls her eyes. “She’s only in New York.”
I scrub a hand over my face at their bickering.
Christ. How the hell they’ve gone all these years without killing each other, is beyond me.
“I’m about to hand up on both of your asses in a second, if you don’t stop arguing,” I warn them, shutting them both up.
“My bad, bestie.” Mali Pouts. “You know we love you.”
“So, what brought on this impromptu trip?” my other best friend asks. “You didn’t mention anything about New York when we were all together last.”
“Hence the key word being impromptu— meaning, it wasn’t planned,” Mali points out, patronizingly.
Lydia looks down at her phone. “How do I put this bitch on mute?”
Grinning triumphantly, Mali flips her the bird. “Not possible, baby doll.”
I shake my head and laugh softly at their antics. “I just wanted to do something for me.” I meander over to the bed and sit on the edge.
She looks confused. “Isn’t that what the move to Rhode Island was about?”
In a way, yes. “Moving to that particular state was my idea, yes. I wanted to be close to Joey, plus I’ve always wanted to live by the sea, and Charlestown offered everything I was searching for, and more.”
Resting her chin on her palm, Lydia says, “Why do I sense a but?”
I shrug, not really knowing how to say this without sounding like an ungrateful bitch. “I guess I just felt like everything I was doing was more for Joey’s benefit than mine. She was telling me to stop living for her and start living for myself, but then she’s telling me to move and to start dating—it was all just a bit too much too fast. I needed to do something that wasn’t motivated by Joey.”
“Plus, the girl deserves a break,” Mali’s adds on. “She’s stressed as fuck, and she needed a little relaxation.” She has her phone angled on her vanity as she runs a kohl pencil along her lash line. Snapping the cap on her pencil, Mali reaches for her mascara, a smug grin plays at her lips. “Trust me, I know first-hand how tight she is.” I suck in a sharp breath at her words. Oh, you little bitch. “Oops.” She bats her eyelashes, innocently. “I meant uptight. My mistake.” She flashes me a toothy grin, and I want to reach through the phone and punch her fucking teeth in.
“Mali!” I hiss, feeling more than a little pissed. We promised we’d never talk about that night again, and here she is, running her mouth off.
“Relax, bestie. Winters is none the wiser.”
Lydia’s ears perk up and her eyes narrow suspiciously. “None the wiser of what?”
“Nothing!” I say a little too quickly.
Mali continues applying her makeup like she didn’t just unlock Pandora’s goddamn box. “That we fucked.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
Murder. So much murder.
“I need new damn friends,” I say on a groan as I fall back onto the bed.
Lydia’s jaw drops to the floor. “Ex-excuse me?”
“We screwed.” Mali shrugs nonchalantly. “The night you left to fix things with Robocop.”
Wide-eyed, Lydia brings the phone closer and lowers her voice to a whisper. “You two slept together?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I interject quickly, trying to get a handle on this before it gets out of hand. I shoot a glare at Mali. “You need to keep your mouth shut.” I’m going to fucking kill her.
“Oh, trust me, Winters.” She leans her elbows on her vanity and steeples her fingers. “There wasn’t much sleeping.” Her wink is the last straw.
“Would you shut the fuck up? It was one night! And we slept in separate beds after.”
“Yeah, after I fucked the shit out of you.”
Utterly shell-shocked, Lydia mumbles, “I thought you were into guys.” I’m not sure who her question is aimed at, but judging by the way she’s looking at Mali, I’m going to assume it’s her. “How did I miss this?”
“Believe me,” I pipe up. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“You didn’t ask.” Mali’s nonchalance annoys me a little, considering out of the two of them, she was probably the one I got along with more. I used to tell her everything.
“Does that mean you’re into women now?” Lydia throws the question put there.
“Like I said to McKinley, I don’t put labels on myself, and I’d appreciate if you didn’t either. Yes, I like women, but I also like men.”
Lydia's eyes squint as she processes everything she’s been told. “And you?” She looks to me. “Are you into women as well?”
Lord. “I’m pretty sure that night with Mali was enough for me,” I tell her, honestly. It was hot as hell, but once was enough. “And before you say it, I’m not in denial or confused. I just know what does it for me, and while I was into it at the time, being with a woman sexually isn’t for me.”
“Well.” Lydia sits back in her chair, visibly shocked. “I have to say, I’m a little offended you’ve never tried it on with me.” She looks to Mali.
At this, Mali bursts out laughing. “You’re a ten, baby doll; there’s no doubt. But you’re too damn high maintenance for me.”
Appalled by Mali's words, Lydia gasps loudly and places a hand over her heart. “I am not!”
Mali scoffs. “H'okay. Tell that to the flashy Merc you drive. Or the monthly salon appointments and trips to the manicurist. Oh, and let’s not forget the weekly fucking deep tissue massages and facials.”
Puffing her chest out, she humphs. “I like to look good, is that a crime?”
“Fuck, no. You do you, baby doll. I’m just simply telling you why I don’t.”
I click my tongue. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended that you think I’m not high maintenance,” I muse.
I know I’m not exactly hot with the trends, but I still like to make myself look good. I just don’t go overboard like some people do.
“Fuck my life. Can we move on from this? I mean, shit. Our best friend is in motherfucking NYC.”
“No thanks to you,” Lydia mutters dryly.
Mali waves her away dismissively. “How’s the big city treating you, bestie?”
I roll my lips and blow out a heavy breath. “Not fucking great so far.”
Instead of indulging myself in luxury, all I’ve managed to do is receive a rather intrusive body search from a rotund and burly looking security guard at JFK, lose my luggage, and miss my airport transfer.
My relaxing vacation is turning into a gigantic nightmare.
Eyes bugging in surprise, Mali drops her lip-gloss and springs into action. “Back the hell up.” She holds up a finger. “Gorgeous men in suits? Don’t hold out on me, bestie. Spill the beans.”
“Great,” Lydia groans. “One of my best friends disappear to New York without me, and she’s getting more action than me. Could my life be any more depressing?”
“Baby doll, I love you, but would you shut the fuck up? You want some dick, go get it. Just stop your damn whining. Now,” Mali focuses on me, “tell me all about these gorgeous men?”
The way she’s practically bouncing from excitement in her chair, makes me snicker.
“Well, it was only one guy.”
“And?” she prompts, waving her hand for me to continue. “What happened? Did he smooth talk you to his suite, and fuck you into next week?”
Fuck no.
Chuckling, I say, “Hell no. He’s intolerable and a complete pain in my ass.”
“Well, fuck.” She visibly sags in her chair. “Now I’m depressed. He didn’t even feel you up?”
“Christ, Mali. We aren’t all nymphos like you,” Lydia mutters her disapproval.
Clearly losing interest in this conversation, Mali lowers her gaze to her nails. “What a mundane way to live.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but the guy was a total jerk and I’ll be doing my utmost to stay as far away from him as possible.”
“Is he hot?”
Insanely.
I shrug. “In an obvious and arrogant kind of way.”
“Bestie, you don’t need to fall in love with the guy to get your brains screwed out. Ever heard of a one-night stand? Besides, hate sex is the best kind of sex. All that fire and passion. Fuck, yeah.” She shivers.
Lydia groans and drops her head on the table. “I miss sex.”
She’s not the only one.
Over the years, not having that intimate connection with someone hasn’t bothered me. But lately, it’s all I can think about. And my physical reaction to him hasn’t helped. The guy is everything I hate about the male gender, but I can’t deny that I don’t want to climb him like a fucking tree.