I smiled—clearly I’d been worrying about nothing, because he still wanted to spend the night with me and cook for me like a real gentleman. “That’d be really nice. Thanks.”
I reached for his hand, but he jerked it away from me again. What the heck?
Maybe I wasn’t just being paranoid.
“Sorry, I…” Liam’s voice trailed off as the broad, grinning face of Brian Thomas suddenly loomed into view.
“Good evening, Miss Flores,” Brian said.
“Evening, Mr. Thomas,” I said with a polite smile.
“I was just…” Liam began to speak again, but Brian cut him off.
“They’re ready for you on the podium,” he said.
“Ah. Right.” Liam nodded like a condemned man beginning his walk to the gallows.
I wondered if perhaps he simply didn’t like public appearances that didn’t involve football. That would explain all of this, wouldn’t it? Well…it didn’t exactly explain why he wouldn’t let me touch him, but it suggested a possible root cause to his odd behavior.
I thought about it for a moment and decided that I’d now arrived at the point of reaching for absolutely any explanation, no matter how ridiculous.
Damn. I was turning into one of those women.
As Liam made his way to the podium, Brian turned back to me and gave me a quick look up and down. “Congratulations on getting the exclusive.”
“Thanks,” I said, polite smile still firmly plastered on my face. I’d automatically disliked this man after our first meeting, and seeing him again was doing nothing to change that. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was really something dodgy about the guy; something else aside from his rampant money-hunger.
“Liam must have taken quite a shine to you,” Brian said, still eyeing me.
“I guess so.” But had he? After his behavior tonight, I still wasn’t quite sure what to think.
Brian smiled. “No recorder or notebook tonight?”
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why would I have brought my notebook or any recording devices? “No, not tonight,” I said.
“Indeed.”
On that perplexing and yet strangely ominous note, Brian headed for the podium on which Liam stood, and I noticed that Liam now looked comfortable, confident and in no way worried about appearing in public. I waved at him as I caught his eye, and he immediately jerked his gaze upwards and over my head to the people behind me, as if he hadn’t seen me. I knew he had seen me, though. He was just pretending he hadn’t so he wouldn’t have to wave back to me.
I sighed and walked away from the platform. I’d been looking forward to seeing Liam do his thing, but right now I didn’t feel as if I could look at him at all anymore. What on earth had I done wrong? Why was he treating me this way? I’d been making all these excuses on his behalf, but deep down I knew the truth—he was giving me the cold shoulder, and I had no idea why.
I heard a nasal feminine voice coming from somewhere near me a moment later.
“Of course, it’s no surprise to me that they’re saying it was Liam. Announcer’s booth in a football stadium? That’s kid’s stuff compared to what he and I did!” the woman said. “He fucked me like crazy!”
I froze, then ducked behind a convenient car before peeking out again to look at the speakers.
In my wandering, I’d happened to walk into one of the event’s ‘offstage’ areas, and two car show models—both blonde, tall and so thin that it almost hurt me to look at them—were having a chat before their next arduous bout of pointing at things and batting their eyelashes at strangers.
The younger model gasped. “You’ve actually slept with Liam Croft?” she asked, wide-eyed.
The first, who I’d already mentally dubbed ‘the skanky one’, laughed. “Oh, who hasn’t, love? You’re new to this game, but trust me, your time will come. Just keep your figure and all the famous guys will want to fuck you.”
“Where was it that you hooked up with Liam?”
“Backstage at Paris fashion week,” the skanky one declared in an airy tone, as if it meant nothing. “I thought the dressing room was empty, but there he was. And before I know it—well, I barely had time to make myself presentable before the other girls came back in.”
“I think the football stadium’s a bit more impressive,” the younger model said, clearly disappointed by the banality of a backstage dressing room fumble.
“Oh, no, sweetie, that was just the first time,” the skanky one hastened to add. “After the show, he took me up the Eiffel Tower. Up at the top we managed to find a corner, he slipped out his own Eiffel Tower and off we went. Tourists around and everything! I swear there was even a Japanese family filming us!”
The younger girl clapped a hand over her mouth in giggling astonishment. “So was he…”
“Very!” The older model enunciated the word with relish. “These celebrity philanderers seldom live up to their billing—Jon Bakersfield was a proper wash-out—but Liam Croft…wow. In every department, if you know what I mean.”
“Did he recognize you? Today, I mean.”
“Did he?” The skanky one laughed. “You don’t forget someone you enjoyed a quickie on the top of the Eiffel Tower with. He spotted me straight away. In fact,” she leaned closer to her friend and I strained to listen. “He slipped me a note, asking me to meet him later for a repeat performance. He said he just has to slip that boring-ass date he came with first. Have you seen her? Urgh. I overheard them talking with his manager earlier, and I think she’s just a reporter anyway, so it shouldn’t take him too long.”
I felt as if I’d just been stabbed in the heart with an icicle, and I didn’t stay to hear what the younger model thought of the other’s revelation. Even if I’d stayed, it was unlikely I would have heard anything anyway, because all I could hear now was the blood pounding in my ears.
What a fool I’d been. What a prize idiot.
All of my earlier questions flashed in the forefront of my mind. Why was Liam not touching me? Why wasn’t he showing me any affection? Why was he barely acknowledging my existence? I knew exactly why now—because he didn’t want people to know we were here together, and he didn’t want people to think he was in any sort of a relationship. Not the great Liam Croft; that sort of thing might cramp his style. He had models to bang, and god forbid some little reporter get in the way of that.
At the back of my mind, yet another question rose again: why the hell had he brought me along if he was just going to ditch me for the first model he saw? Surely this could still be some misunderstanding?
But my mind steadfastly refused that notion. Perhaps he’d brought me in case he was unable to pick up anyone better. Perhaps it was just so he could break things off with me with the minimum of effort. All he had to do in that case was show me that I was one of many, and I would make myself scarce without the need for an unpleasant scene. Or perhaps he was just arrogant enough to think that none of this would matter to me.
After all, he was Liam Croft, and I should apparently consider myself lucky that he’d selected a girl like me for a night when he could have anyone he wanted. And if he picked up a few other girls along the way, what did that matter? Surely I hadn’t thought that I would be the only woman in his life when he had so many to choose from? Surely I hadn’t imagined that he actually cared? How ridiculous, right?
Totally friggin’ ridiculous.
The car show continued, but to me it was no more than a vague buzzing in the background as I stumbled for a side door, struggling to find my cell phone in my bag. I finally located it and dialed, and my voice almost broke as I spoke when the other end of the line picked up.
“Hi,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I need to get home. Now.”
***
“If you don’t mind me saying, love, you don’t look so happy tonight.”
Mikey glanced back at me in his mirror.
“I’m not, Mikey.”
“Thought not,” he said. “Soon a
s you started crying I thought….Mikey, this girl’s not the happy camper she was yesterday morning.”
Yesterday morning? Was that all it had been? Things moved fast in the screwed up world of Liam Croft.
“Bad night,” I said.
“If your fella’s done you wrong then, if you like, me and my brother will take him out back and give him a lesson in how to treat a lady.”
“No thanks, Mikey. It’s okay, really,” I said, a half-smile quirking my lips up. Mikey was always amusing to talk to, and the idea of him and his brother beating up Liam in an alleyway somewhere almost made me giggle out loud.
“I mean, we’ll kick seven shades of shit out of him.”
“I know,” I said. “And thank you, I really appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary.”
“Well, love,” Mikey continued, “they do say it’s always darkest before the dawn. And as a cabbie I can confirm that they are correct in this. Very dark before dawn. Dark most of the rest of the night as well, but really very dark right before the dawn. Course, that may be just because at that point you’re comparing it to the dawn, which is quite bright, whereas the rest of the time you lack that sphere of comparison. So it may all be a matter of perspective.”
“That makes sense.”
Mikey looked back at me again. “Would you rather I shut up, love?” he asked kindly.
“No, of course not. Please, keep talking.”
“Right you are. You look very nice tonight, by the way.”
“Thanks. I got this dress on sale earlier today.”
“I keep telling my wife she should get a dress like that. I think it’d suit her. You’re about the same height as her, and it suits the heck out of you. So now I have proof it would look great on her!”
Mikey continued to chatter as the cab sped on through the night, back towards my hotel, leaving Liam and the car show behind me. Though we were getting further and further away from the event, the memories of the night remained sharp and piquant.
I wasn’t sure what was going to happen now, but I did know one thing for certain…
I should’ve damn well gone back to America when I was supposed to.
Chapter 12
Liam
Getting down from the podium to a riot of applause and some inappropriate cheering, I looked around for Allison. Now that I’d done my duty, we could, with a bit of luck, get out of here and head back to my place so I could cook us up some dinner. I smiled at the thought—all in all, tonight hadn’t gone nearly as badly as I’d feared it might, and I’d gotten through it without feeling that I’d driven Allison away too much or made her feel too unwanted. Being so close to her and yet unable to touch her or kiss her had been absolute fucking torture, but I was determined that I would make up for that with the rest of this evening.
Now, if only I could find her...she seemed to have completely vanished. Perhaps she was just in the bathroom.
“Hi.” The word was drawled with such honeyed allure that it ought to have left drips on the carpet.
I looked up from my hunt for Allison to find myself face to face with one of the models hired for the evening. She was tall and bleach-blonde with a button nose and a face that suggested regular Botox, lip fillers and cheek fillers. Not at all ugly, but decidedly unnatural.
“Er…hi,” I replied.
It occurred to me that in normal circumstances, I would’ve found this woman relatively attractive and would’ve already been planning to bed her. In current circumstances, however, I felt absolutely nothing and found it hard to keep my eyes on her at all, as I was still desperately hunting around for Allison.
“It’s such an honor to meet you, Mr. Croft.”
“Thanks. Always great to meet fans.”
“I thought you and me might…”
My eyebrows shot up as a hand very deliberately closed over my crotch and squeezed.
The model looked directly into my eyes, giving me what she must’ve thought was her best smoldering gaze. Truthfully, she just looked like she was auditioning for a pornographic reality show. “So the stories are true,” she purred.
“Be that as it may…” I detached the hand from the front of my trousers and subtly repositioned myself. “I’m flattered, but spoken for.”
I really was, wasn’t I? For once.
“You’ve got a girlfriend?” The model sounded unconvinced, and she leaned in. “Because I don’t mind, you know.”
“Well, I do mind.”
The woman stole a look behind her then turned back to me. “Here’s the thing, I told one of the other girls that I already knew you and that we’d already done it.”
“Did you?”
“On top of the Eiffel Tower, during Paris Fashion Week.”
I scoffed. “Really?”
“Yeah, and I said that you obviously wanted to hook up again for a rematch, and…well, I’d really hate to lose face, you know. Besides, I know I’m your type.”
I frowned. “Just to be clear—you want me to cheat on my date and have sex with you, just so your friend doesn’t find out you’ve lied to her? Yeah, that sounds rational,” I said, voice thick with sarcasm.
“Well not just that,” the model stressed. “I think it’d be quite a lot of fun as well. For both of us.”
Her hand had found its way back to my crotch and was now massaging it. I removed it again. Usually, something like this would’ve gotten me rock-hard, but my cock was as limp as a dodgy car salesman’s handshake.
“No. Thanks for the offer, and I’m sure it would have been aggressively mediocre, but no.”
“What’s all this?” Brian suddenly descended upon us as if from nowhere. “Dammit, you can’t stop this boy! Never off the job. Now who’s this lovely lady you’ve picked up for the night?”
Fuck.
I winced at the camera flashes all around us, recording me and the nameless model who made the most of her moment in the limelight, draping herself appealingly across my torso. This was the version of me the media so adored: the playboy player. My eyes darted around, and for once, I was quite relieved not to see Allison—I would prefer her not to see this.
When the melee broke after what seemed like an eternity, I hurried off in search of Allison again. At first I just thought I was having trouble finding her amongst the busy swarm of people, but the longer I looked, the more it seemed that she’d actually gone.
She’d left without saying goodbye.
Of course it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she’d received an emergency call of some sort, taking her away, but an ominous feeling still cast its pall over me. Had she seen me with that blonde model? Had Brian threatened her? There were any number of unpleasant possibilities, and the sooner I sorted them out the happier I would be.
I pulled out my phone and dialed her number, and the phone rang but was quickly cut off. Well, that could hardly be a good sign. But then again this was London; phone signals got lost all the time, and she might have gone into the Underground. I decided to try calling her a second time.
Again the phone rang, again it was cut off.
Definitely a bad sign.
I decided to send a text: ‘What happened? Where’d you go? You OK?’
I didn’t have to wait long for a response: ‘Please don’t call me again’.
That seemed to confirm pretty incontrovertibly that something was wrong. But she’d asked me to stop calling, not to stop texting, and so I took advantage of the loophole: ‘Don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?’
The ominous answer: ‘You know what you did. I really thought you were different after the other night. But you’re the same ‘bad boy’ version of Liam Croft that I always thought you were.’
Was it possible that she knew about my conversation with Brian, and that I’d inadvertently put her job at risk? Shit. That didn’t seem likely, as only Brian knew, and it wasn’t in his interest to say anything to her about it.
I texted once more: ‘I really don’t. I’m so sorry
I couldn’t spend more time with you. Part of the job. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to, though. I did. Really.’
‘Right. Sure. I heard that Paris girl of yours talking to her friend. Did you have fun?’
Well, that at least narrowed the sphere of inquiry but it also raised more questions. Who the hell was ‘Paris girl’? There’d been many girls at the event, the bulk of them models who may have been to Paris at some point, and it was possible that among them were some I’d ‘known’ previously—I was embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t have said for certain. But Allison knew I had a rather sordid past, so surely that wasn’t enough to upset her. Besides, her text message, curt though it was, definitely seemed to hint at something that had happened at tonight’s event, and the only thing that had ‘happened’ was that one of the models had come up to me after my speech and propositioned me.
Was it possible that Allison had seen that? I guess it wasn’t impossible, but even if she had, so what? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d rebuffed the woman repeatedly and in no uncertain terms. Of course, to an observer who couldn’t hear what was being said, then it might’ve looked a bit more familiar than that, especially when the girl had grabbed my crotch. Could Allison have seen that and read more into it? Again, it was possible, but her text suggested something else; something she’d overheard.
Something about Paris…
Suddenly I remembered something that the model had said, about her bragging to her friend that she and I had had sex on top of the Eiffel Tower and that I wanted a rematch. The rematch. That was it—that was what Allison had overheard! It had sounded as if I was trying to hook up with this model while I was at the car show with Allison.
Goddammit. No wonder she left in such a damned hurry.
I swiftly texted back: ‘Think I know what happened. All a misunderstanding. Please let me explain!’
It felt like a very long time before I felt my phone buzz again, although it was in fact not much more than a minute. My heart leapt: it wasn’t a text, Allison was calling me. With shaky hands I answered, and once again, that struck me as odd for a guy like me. My hands had never trembled for any woman before, but Allison Flores had that effect on me.
Bad Boy Brit (A British Bad Boy Romance) Page 11
