Talking Trouble

by Barbara Elsborg

  And now Jean-Paul had not done as instructed and had chosen a woman. Mollie was cute and pretty with a sense of humor and a secret. More perfect than Lysander would admit, and Jean-Paul was more astute than he sometimes gave him credit for.

  Lysander engaged Mollie’s help in carrying things outside for the barbecue and while he cooked, he watched her. She popped in and out of the kitchen, bringing plates, glasses, cutlery and napkins to the table, setting everything out neatly. When she picked five long-stemmed daisies and laid one next to each plate, he smiled. She liked beauty and he approved.

  “Flick the switch at the bottom left of the kitchen door,” he told her.

  Fairy lights lit up the underside of the parasol and her exclamation of delight caused a flicker of lust to unfurl in his gut. He’d wondered if she’d change into a dress or skirt but she still wore pants and a long-sleeved top. How badly had she been hurt?

  “There are champagne flutes in the top left-hand cupboard by the fridge,” he said. “We should celebrate your arrival. Get them out.”

  “Please.” She clapped a hand to her mouth.

  “Please,” Lysander said very deliberately.

  “Sorry. I’m so used to trying to teach manners to four and five-year-olds.”

  When she put the glasses on the table, he added, “Thank you,” in the same deliberate tone. “See what a good influence you already are? You succeeded where my many nannies failed.”

  “I ought to give you a sticker.” She grinned at him and Lysander uncharacteristically found himself grinning back.

  “What sort of sticker?”

  “A good boy sticker.”

  “Do you have bad boy stickers?”

  “No, you can’t do that to kids. I use a naughty corner.” She sat at the table and began to fold the napkins.

  That sounded more politically correct than a smack on the bottom, but he knew which he’d rather have. From her anyway.

  Aden and Jean-Paul came out into the garden in shorts and T-shirts.

  “Smells good,” Aden said. “You doing that lime ginger chicken thing?”

  “Yes.” Lysander used tongs to turn the kebabs. “There’s champagne in the wine fridge.”

  “I’ll get it,” Jean-Paul said. “Can I put some music on?”

  Lysander nodded. “But not Lady Gaga.”

  Jean-Paul whined. “What do you have against her?”

  “I don’t like her music. Okay?”

  He smelled something burning and quickly turned the chicken. Mollie was distracting him, sitting there chewing her lip and folding the napkins into intricate shapes. She had beautiful hands, long delicate fingers with neat, clipped nails. She wore little makeup, but her skin was soft and smooth, apart from those grazes. Nikki never ventured from her room without war paint. Interesting that Mollie hadn’t tried to disguise those marks on her face. It made him wonder if she really had fallen down the steps of a bus and he was being too suspicious. He was interested to see how she and Nikki interacted. Nikki had thrown the first punch when she’d railed at him about the ‘bitch in the garden’. Would Mollie defend herself?

  Jean-Paul came out with the champagne, Nikki on his heels in shorts so short and tight they looked like knickers. Her top was virtually transparent and she wasn’t wearing a bra. Second punch.

  “Want me to open it?” Jean-Paul asked him.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What the hell are these?” Nikki picked up one of the folded napkins.

  “Butterflies,” Mollie said.

  “Hey, they’re really cool,” Jean-Paul said.

  Nikki pulled hers apart and rolled the pieces into a ball. “Oh dear.”

  Third punch.

  “I bet you were fun as a little girl,” Mollie said. “Did you torture spiders and tease ladybirds?”

  Nikki smirked. “Only men.”

  Lysander carried the tray of food to the table and set it down.

  “I like your shirt,” Nikki said to Mollie.

  “Thanks.”

  Aden had poured out the champagne and Lysander picked up a glass. “To our new housemate, Mollie. I hope you’ll be very happy here.”

  “To Mollie,” chorused Aden and Jean-Paul.

  Nikki just downed half the glass.

  “Thank you,” Mollie said. “Thank you all for making me so welcome.”

  Nikki quietly snorted, but Mollie only smiled.

  Lysander watched them as he ate, took in their facial expressions and gestures. Jean-Paul and Aden sat so close to each other their elbows touched. Probably their thighs too. Jean-Paul was besotted with Aden, and Lysander wasn’t certain Aden felt the same level of affection, though Aden didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like Jean-Paul. He was startled by the sudden pang of envy. If he asked, they’d have him in their bed again tonight but he suspected they’d do it out of obligation rather than need. It was irrelevant anyway, because it wasn’t going to happen.

  Nikki was pissed off, making no attempt to hide how she felt, and so pissing him off. Her mouth had tightened into a thin line, muscles twitching in her cheeks, her eyes almost sparking when she glanced at Mollie. They’d never be friends, but that could be interesting.

  And Mollie—she was hiding something. Beneath her smile and humor and apparent confidence lay insecurity. Why leave London with nowhere to stay? Why come to Yorkshire when she’d never been here before? Did she have a job to go to in September? She hadn’t mentioned one and that felt wrong. Would she pose naked for him? He wasn’t sure. Uncertainty made her even more interesting. He was so easily bored. He wished he wasn’t. He wished he could stop looking and yet knew he wasn’t even doing that himself, but using others to look for him. No wonder he was bored. He could go to London, his agent was always pestering him to live there for a while but his answer was always the same. Not yet.

  They finished the champagne and Lysander brought out a bottle of red wine and a chilled white from the house. He noticed how little Mollie drank, how much Nikki did, though she merely picked at her food. Mollie had eaten everything she’d put on her plate. He approved.

  “This is fantastic,” Mollie said. “I can’t wait for you to try my egg sandwiches.”

  Lysander and the other guys laughed.

  “Seriously,” she said. “Are you all fantastic cooks? Because although I can cook, I’m not brilliant at it.”

  “That’s one of the rules for living here,” Nikki snapped.

  Though Lysander had seen the Marks and Spencer packets in the bin and known Nikki was cheating.

  “I don’t break rules,” Mollie said. “But I do bend them. Although I do say so myself, my egg sandwiches are totally out of this world. Made from dragon eggs, when they’re available, though I have been finding them hard to source recently. They have a tendency to hatch before I get to use them.”

  She was funny and smart and Lysander liked her more and more. He knew how to get women and men to fall in love with him, to climb into his bed. It was his game. He’d made it his game over the last two years, but he wasn’t sure he ever won. His creativity bloomed on a diet of other’s emotions. His own tragedy had turned him to ice, but now he breathed through his paintings.

  “So where have you come from?” Nikki asked.

  “London.”

  Nikki pushed her plate away and poured herself more wine. “Whereabouts in London?”

  “South of the river. Near Deptford.”

  Lysander knew it was one of the most deprived districts in the entire country.

  “Got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Nikki asked.

  Mollie sighed. “Sorry, I’m not interested. You’re not my type.”

  Nikki spluttered as he and the others laughed.

  “I’m not a lesbian,” Nikki snapped.

  “Oh. Right.” Mollie smiled at her and winked.

  Oh yeah, I do like you. Lysander leaned back in his chair.

  “What about a boyfriend?” Nikki asked.

  Lysander found himself holding his brea
th, though her having a boyfriend wouldn’t stop him. He needed others in his bed in the same way he required medicine for a recurring illness. Once he felt better, his spirits restored, the ice thawed and his bedfellows could be dispensed with.

  “Not at the moment,” Mollie said.

  Nikki smirked. “Did you get dumped?”

  Mollie rose to her feet. “I bought cake. Can I interest anyone?”

  You already interest me.

  Jean-Paul jumped up from the table. “I’ll help.”

  “Be careful,” Aden said. “He just wants first choice.”

  Jean-Paul shot his partner a pained look. “I resent that, even if it is true.”

  Was Mollie’s sudden departure an indication that she didn’t want to talk about her previous relationship or was he reading too much into it?

  She came back with a tray of cakes while Jean-Paul carried plates and forks.

  “Not for me,” Nikki said.

  Mollie nodded. “Yeah, you should be careful what you eat with a figure like yours.”

  Nikki’s jaw dropped and Mollie widened her eyes. “I mean you look great, but too many cakes and you probably wouldn’t.”

  Lysander watched Nikki struggle to work out whether or not she’d been insulted.

  Mollie offered the plate to Lysander first. “Jean-Paul licked the raspberry tartlet.”

  “I did not,” Jean-Paul said.

  “Oh no, that was me.” Mollie grinned but when Lysander picked that one, the smile fell off her face.

  He watched her as he ate it and knew she was trying not to look at him. The urge to fuck her had given him a raging hard-on. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Now he’d have to stay seated until it had gone or everyone else had. He didn’t want to freak her out. Not yet. He was concentrating so hard on Mollie, he failed to notice Nikki moving to sit next to him.

  She draped her legs across his thighs, brushing his cock with her hand. “I’m shattered.”

  Lysander lifted her legs off his lap.

  “What do you do?” Mollie asked her.

  “I’m in public relations.”

  “That sounds fun.” Mollie smiled.

  “I get to meet lots of famous people,” Nikki said. “That’s how Lysander and I met.”

  She slung an arm over his shoulder, and he lifted it off.

  “Are you famous?” Mollie asked. “What for?”

  Lysander’s burst of laughter surprised him.

  “Painting, you idiot,” Nikki said.

  “Is that a particular painting style?” Mollie turned from Nikki to him. “I didn’t know if you’d done anything else like climb Everest blindfolded or waterskied down the Amazon backward. I added the blindfolded and backward because everyone knows someone who’s climbed Everest or waterskied down the Amazon.”

  “Nikki’s being kind. I’m not that famous.”

  “So you haven’t waterskied down the Amazon?” Mollie asked with exaggerated disappointment.

  He shook his head. “Nor have I climbed Everest.”

  “But you can paint,” Nikki said. “He’s really good.”

  “Yep, he is,” Jean-Paul said.

  “Do you have etchings as well?” Mollie asked.

  You little witch. You’re flirting with danger. “Yes, want to come up and see them?”

  “Maybe some other time.” Mollie rose to her feet and began to gather up the dirty plates.

  Lysander moved to help her, and when he brushed his fingers against hers as they reached for the same dish, he heard her intake of breath.

  “Mollie and I will do the dishes,” Lysander said. “Night, everyone.”

  Jean-Paul came over and gave him a kiss. Just a quick peck, but it was on the lips. Lysander thought Mollie had noticed, but she didn’t react.

  “Stop working Aden up into a state of pique,” Lysander said and stroked Jean-Paul’s cheek.

  Jean-Paul laughed, slung his arm over Aden’s shoulders, and guided him indoors.

  “Shall I wait up for you?” Nikki asked.

  “Why would you do that?” Lysander kept his voice even, but he was angry. He’d not fucked Nikki for weeks.

  Under the full weight of his glare, Nikki scuttled indoors, leaving him and Mollie alone. She worked quickly and efficiently, but kept her gaze down. Not flirting now. Wary. Cautious. Nervous. She wiped the table while he loaded the dishwasher. When they’d finished outside, he switched off the lights and tidied the kitchen. Mollie had filled the sink with hot soapy water and was washing the champagne flutes and wine glasses.

  He moved up behind her, pressed himself against her back and put his hands into the water alongside hers. She had to feel his erection, had to feel his breath hitting her neck, but she carried on washing the glasses as though he wasn’t there.

  “Do you taste as sweet as you smell?” he whispered.

  “Haven’t you eaten enough? Three kebabs and that last piece of chicken?”

  He laughed. “I want to fuck you.”

  He heard her breathing quicken, but she was so tense it was like pressing himself against a wall.

  “Have you fucked everyone else in the house?”

  He ran his soapy fingers over her hands. “Yes.”

  She rinsed the last glass and pulled the plug. “Why?”

  “Why have I fucked everyone else? Or why do I want to fuck you?”

  She shifted from in front of him, grabbed a towel and dried her hands. “Isn’t the reason the same? Because you can. You didn’t list fucking you as part of the rental agreement along with emptying the dishwasher. I’m disappointed. I thought you’d be more original, would be looking for something more…worthwhile.”

  “Oh, you’d be worthwhile.”

  “Then you can wait.”

  He took one step toward her and she backed away. She was a fascinating mix of strength and weakness. He didn’t like vulnerability and yet…

  “I promise you’d enjoy yourself.”

  “You’re very confident.”

  “And you’re not. Try not to break my heart when you answer, but are you not in the slightest bit interested?”

  “Do you have tattoos?”

  “No.”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh.

  “Piercings?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Another disappointment.”

  “I’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t notice.”

  “You’re moving too fast for me,” she whispered.

  “Run then.”

  She slipped out of the room and he smiled. “I’ll let you go tonight.”

  Lysander took the stairs two at a time until he reached his bedroom on the top floor. Even before the door had closed, he was stripping. He stepped out of his shoes, let his pants fall—he wore no boxers—and pulled his shirt over his head. Leaning back against the door, he ran his hand over his nipples and down his chest to his cock.

  He was hard as rock. One tight pull from his balls to his tip and he sucked in a deep breath. He’d have liked Mollie to do this for him with her slender fingers and her mouth, but his hand was the next best thing. Better than the willing Nikki on the floor below, better than asking Aden. He made a tube with his fist and drew it up and down his dick, pleasure trickling down his spine.

  If there had been an Olympic medal for wanking, Lysander would have been in with a chance. He’d turned it into an art form, as he did almost everything, including fucking. He had a repertoire to choose from—rough and frantic, slow and tortured, standing up, lying down, one hand or two, finger in his arse or not. Sometimes he spent an entire day waiting to come, not physically hard for that period of time, but mentally on the edge, knowing a couple of strokes would be enough to make him explode.

  He had images he conjured up—girls with sloe eyes kneeling at his feet, defiant guys with eyes black as coal on their backs in front of him, but never guys with blue eyes. He could put himself in paradise, in hell, in bed with Mollie—if he’d known her body bene
ath those pants and shirt. He used one hand to stroke the bottom of his cock and massaged his balls with his other. His shaft warmed and pulsed in his hand. Pre-cum formed at the slit and he rubbed it over the swollen head. As he spread the silky fluid with his thumb, he tugged on his balls.

  Lysander thought about Mollie turning him down and before he could stop it, his mind switched track and his head filled with the face of the only other woman who’d ever said no to him and kept his interest so that he’d ended up marrying her. And he didn’t want to be hard anymore, didn’t want to think of her, but she overwhelmed him to the point of suffocation, to the point that he couldn’t take another breath until he’d come. He wanted to banish her from his head, never think her name, never imagine her face, and yet he knew that day would never arrive.

  He tried in desperation to drag himself back, and pictured Mollie, two floors below, lying in bed. Was she thinking of him, wishing she’d said yes? Lysander wanted her more than he had any other for a long time. She’d said no and he loved that and hated that. He dragged his hand faster up and down his cock, gripped tight at the head and loosened as he pulled down. His slick shaft slipped in his fingers, the veins bulging against his palm. He could smell his desire, inhaled it, and the muscles of his belly clamped down.

  Hard, fast, tight was all he could do tonight. His balls throbbed as he swept his hand the length of his dick. He curled his toes on the wooden floor, his legs stiffening as orgasm crept nearer, the tension seeping into his back until he arched against the door. His stomach clenched and a sharp pain at the back of his head sent lightning flashing down his spine. He gave a long shudder as his hips bucked and his cock spurted. Long threads of milky cum hit his stomach and fingers and he rode orgasm like a curling wave running to shore. He had no doubt in his heart that Mollie was worth waiting for.

  Chapter Ten

  Flint jerked awake and launched into instant panic because he had no idea where he was. Then he remembered and fear shunted back into despair. He’d been shuffled off to the back of fucking beyond like some crazy relative no one wanted the world to see. He understood Ryker’s reasoning—well, what he guessed the guy was thinking—but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.