by Linda Verji
“You don’t know me like that,” London retorted. Actually, her account had exactly eighty-three dollars right now. But that didn’t matter because Mr. Money Bags over here was just about to top it up. She hiked her eyebrows. “Are we doing this?”
He observed her for another long minute before nodding. “Fine.”
She rubbed her hands together in obvious glee. “Rack ‘em up, Jim.”
As expected, three hours later she was on the verge of victory.
“You sh- should let me t- talk to Ensho.” Zeke slurred his words as he twirled his quarter-full glass. He looked decidedly more disheveled than he had a couple of hours ago. His jacket was now hanging on the back of his barstool, leaving him in his shirt whose sleeves were now rolled up. His tie was loose, his hair was a mess as if he’d been running his fingers several times through it (which he had), and his eyes were bloodshot and hooded.
“Yeah. Sure.” London, who was feeling a bit tipsy herself, patted his hand. Frankly, she was enjoying how blitzed he was. It wasn’t every day that one saw the stoic, perfect Zeke Landa-Hollis let loose. She slyly extracted her phone from her pocket, lifted it and snapped a picture of him.
Zeke gave her a bleary glare.”What – what - are you doing?”
“Checking my email.” She smiled as she stuck her phone back into her back pocket before cooing, “Finish your drink, Zekey.”
“I’m ser-serious.” He tipped his glass and took a long swallow. “I don- don’t want that - that man hurting you.”
“Aw. You want to protect me. That’s so sweet.” She laughed. He looked kind of adorable with his hair standing on end like that. She ached to smooth it back. But she couldn’t, right? They were enemies, right? This was just the drink talking, giving her stupid ideas.
But his hair looked so smooth and silky and…
Oh, what the hell. She reached between them to smooth his hair. His hair felt as silky, smooth as it looked.
Zeke closed his eyes and sighed. “Mm mm. That feels so - so good.”
Still stroking his hair, she giggled. “Your hair feels like a cat’s.”
Zeke’s eyes snapped open. “No, it does - doesn’t. My hair is very, very manly. Like - hic- a man. It’s yours - yours that feels like a cat’s.” He reached forward as if to touch her head.
“Boy. We are not that close.” London quickly drew back. She was not that drunk. Which reminded her… “Are you ready for our next shot?”
Zeke started to nod, but was unable to lift his head to complete the nod. His chin got stuck on his chest and his eyes closed as if he was about to sleep. He mumbled. “Ensho does- doesn’t desherve you.”
“No, no, he doesn’t,” she soothed. Just then a bout of dizziness hit her and she closed her eyes. Get it together, London. She was not losing this money. She shook her head to clear it before turning back to Zeke. Rubbing his back, she said, “You look tired. You should sleep.”
“Yeah, I shou-should.” He set his glass down then put his arms on the counter almost knocking his glass over in the process. If it wasn’t for London’s quick grab of the glass, its contents would’ve spilled over the wood. Unconcerned, Zeke lowered his head to his arms.
“That’s a good boy,” London encouraged with light pats to his heads. Sleep, sleep, make me some money.
He suddenly sat up. Ugh!
“No.” Zeke blinked and shook his head. “If I black- blackout, you - you - win.”
London narrowed her eyes as she stared at the man. She called out to Jim. “Jim, another round.”
“I know - know what you’re doing.” Zeke said waggled his finger at her as Jim filled their glasses.
Duh! She was making her rent for next month. Injecting innocence into her tone and widening her eyes, she asked, “Do you?”
He gave her a drunk nod that included closed eyes. “You’re punish- punish-punishing me. For - for what I said that day.”
He didn’t even need to elaborate. She knew exactly what day he was talking about. The day he’d said those nasty words. Usually at this point pain and anger would stab at her at the memory of the things he’d said. But tonight she was high on brandy and the prospect of paying her rent on time for the first time this year. So she patted him on the back and said, “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“You kno-know I didn’t mean it, right?” Zeke continued on.
“Of course you didn’t,” she agreed affably as she picked up his glass and fit it into his palm. “Here, drink up.”
Only he didn’t. His stare was intense and his words were surprisingly clear as he said, “London, I’m really, really, sorry.”
There was so much sincerity in his gaze that she found herself saying, “We’re good. We’re good.”
“So you forgive me?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She pointed to his glass. “That brandy’s not going to drink itself.”
“So we’re - we’re friends again?” he asked, his tone insistent.
“Besties for life,” she agreed as she tipped the drink higher towards his mouth. “Come on, drink up.”
Frankly, she wasn’t sure that she was ready to forgive him. Not after he’d hurt her so badly. But it this was a drunk pinkie-swear, so it didn’t count, did it? Besides, he’d never remember this conversation anyway.
“London-” Zeke called out as he put his glass back on the counter. Turning bleary eyes towards her and grimacing, he said, “I don’t feel so good.”
“What’s wrong?” She turned slightly on her chair to stroke his arm. “Are you sleepy?”
Please be sleepy. Please be sleepy.
“No, I feel-” And just like that he lurched forward and emptied the contents of his stomach onto her lap.
CHAPTER 3
The pain. Oh, the pain.
It raced through his head like a drunken spear piercing each oversensitive brain cell in its path. Everything north of his neck hurt; his eyes, his ears, his mouth - hell, even his nose was in pain. The rest of his body felt so heavy, he wasn’t sure that he could even stand up. He just wanted to curl up and sleep forever, even if it was on this hard, short, sticky, uncomfortable thing beneath him.
“Mm. Mm. Dah. Dah. Yes,” a heavily Russian accented female voice stabbed at Zeke’s aching ears. “Oh, my. So strong. So good. You touch my pussy so good.”
What the hell! His eyes popped open - or at least they tried to. Dragged open was a more accurate term for the painful process. It felt like his eyelids had been stapled to his eyeballs, and he was the fool trying to unstaple them. It hurt so bad. But it was nothing compared to the pain that seared through them when the brilliant sunlight pricked at them.
He quickly closed his eyes again and turned to face the couch’s high back. Ah, he was on the couch. No wonder it was so uncomfortable - and sticky. The leather clung to his naked upper body and legs…
Was he naked?
Zeke was in too much pain to open his eyes and confirm but if he had to guess, he’d say that he was in just boxer-briefs. The rest of his body felt a bit too… free. Well, at least he wasn’t completely naked.
“Ty sel-su-a-l’en,” the throaty Russian voice sliced into his pained thoughts again. “I’m so wet for your big long cock. Yes. Yes. Yes. Dah. Dah.”
What was going on out there? Zeke opened his eyes again and this time forced them to stay that way. It took some time for them to adjust to the bright light but moments later, his sight cleared up. The first thing he saw was the one-of-a-kind sinuous plaster ceiling looming above him. Familiar. He turned his head to peruse the rest of the room; glass coffee table, white carpet, big-screen TV, his laptop on the mantle beneath it - Ah, he was in his suite at the hotel. That was good, right?
“Ah. Ah. Trahnimenya. Trahnimenya. Oh. Oh. Dah. Fuck me.”
Zeke swiftly sat up and his head snapped towards the bedroom where the sexy sounds were coming from. His motions immediately sent immediate pain pricks through his aching head. Who the hell was having sex in his room? Pressing his fin
gertips to his aching head, he stared at the partially closed bedroom door.
Like clockwork the Russian voice seeped out again, “Mm. Dah, give me nice and slow. You make me so hot. Oh, oh, oh.”
Please tell me that’s Russian porn and not some couple having sex on my bed, Zeke mentally pleaded. Hee lifted up from the couch and padded barefoot toward his bedroom. Oh, wait. He didn’t have a TV in there so there was no way it was Russian porn. Apprehension coiling in his gut, he pushed the door open.
What he found wasn’t a Russian couple cavorting on his king size bed. It was worse.
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Aaah!” There she was lying on her stomach on his bed, wearing just his sleeveless undershirt, thumbing through his day-planner and… wait! Why was London wearing his undershirt? They hadn’t… had they?
Zeke quickly searched his mind for memories of last night, but all he came back with was her challenging him to a drinking match and then… nothing. Good God! What the hell had happened last night? If he and London had had sex, surely he would have some recall of it? London was memorable enough that he was sure that if he had ran his hands through that short, colorful hair, touched her smooth chocolate skin, kissed those plump lips, he would’ve remembered. There was no way in hell that they’d made love. Besides, if they’d had sex, she wouldn’t be moaning into the phone like a cat in heat.
Her expression bored, London continued, “Aaah! Dah. You fuck me so good. Oh. Oh-”
“London,” Zeke roared, almost splitting his own head with the volume of his voice.
London’s gaze quickly snapped upwards and clouded in anxiety when she saw him standing at the door. Her finger immediately lifted to her lips as she mimed ‘shsh’ to Zeke. What? He was being shushed in his own room? Before he could say something else, she spoke quickly into the phone. “Net. Net, drogoimoy. That was just TV. No man here. Nastya only yours. Touch your big, big khui for me.”
Zeke shot her a dirty look. Her response was to mime ‘get out’ at him even as she waved with her free hand toward the door. Hell no. She was the one having some weird version of phone-sex in his room. He wasn’t going anywhere. He folded his arms over his chest and stayed put.
London cut her eyes at him then shrugged before going back to her phone-sex, “Mm, Nastya like that. Mm mm. Stop teasing me.”
Was she not embarrassed? Any normal woman would’ve already cut off the phone-call. But again London wasn’t like any other woman he knew so why was he expecting her to behave like them?
That poor guy on the other end of the phone. He probably thought he was turning London on. If only he knew that she was reading Zeke’s day-planner.
In three long strides, Zeke crossed the room and snatched the day-planner from her grasp and threw it on the nightstand. London glared at him and flipped him the bird even as without missing a beat she moaned into the phone, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Dah. Dah. Dah.”
He had to admit the woman could pull off being Russian. And her sexy voice was husky and honeyed - the kind of voice to make a man reach for heaven. Add in the way his white undershirt fit her so perfectly, molding over her willowy back and clinging to her ass…
Nope! No. Hell. No. Zeke mentally shook his head to dislodge those errant thoughts. He wasn’t going there. Eager to get away from her sexy voice, he beat a hasty retreat toward the bathroom. While in there, he took a shower, shaved and brushed his teeth. By the time he came back to the room, he expected her to be done - or better yet gone. She wasn’t.
“You know Rupert Muldoon?” She lifted her gaze from his day-planner. Hadn’t he just snatched that from her?
“That’s private,” he said with no inflection in his voice even as he crossed the room towards the bed and snatched the day-planner from her clutches, again. This time he tossed it into the nightstand’s drawer, then locked it. Gripping the key, he turned back to face his intruder. “What are you doing in my room?”
Her eyebrows hiked up. “You mean you don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“You disappoint me, Zekey. Tch. Tch. Tch.” London tutted. Her voice lowering into the sexy-register she’d been using for her phone-boyfriend, she asked, “You mean you don’t remember?”
“I don’t.” He shook his head. His whole body tightened in both anticipation and anxiety as he watched her crawl from the bed like a cat then stand.
Biting her lip, she strode towards him and set her palm on his chest. “You really don’t remember?”
The moment she touched him, heat and awareness rushed through him. So did doubt. Had they had sex? He was surprised that his voice remained so steady as he said, “No.”
“You don’t remember me naked? My body against yours?” she asked as she trailed two fingers across his chest.
His cock reared and pressed strongly against the cotton towel at the imagery that her words conjured and the feel of her dainty fingertips walking over his suddenly overheated skin. It didn’t help that she was standing so close to him that he could see down her top. The neckline gaped enough that he could see the tops of her deliciously perky breasts and just a hint of her areoles. Jeez, this woman would be the death of him.
It took immense effort for him to drag his eyes back to her face. He found her watching him with that seductive pout. Her tongue darted out to flick against her bottom lip as she asked, “You don’t remember touching me. Kissing me.”
Her voice was like warm honey, caressing his nerves and lighting him up. His body unfurled, burgeoned at the hints inside her words. Despite himself, he cupped his hand over her arm. “We-” He cleared his suddenly tight throat. “We slept together?”
“Ew. No.” London chuckled, abruptly breaking the spell she’d cast on him. She jerked her arm from his grip and sat down on the bed. “Like I’d ever sleep with you.” She shuddered and made a disgusted face. “Ew.”
“So we never-”
“God, No.”
He should’ve been happy. This is what he wanted, right? Instead disappointment coursed through him. Nonetheless, he managed a smile as he said, “Good.”
She bounced a bit on the bed as she watched him. “You’re not even going to ask why you were on the couch in just your underwear? Or why I’m in your room?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Zeke offered in a dry tone as he moved towards the vanity to grab his lotion.
“You, Zekey-”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You, Zekey-” she continued, “- were hammered out of your mind. You were on your knees, begging and crying for me to forgive you for the incident at Shakira’s wedding.” She shook her head and tsked. “Very embarrassing, Zekey. Very embarrassing.”
Yup. It sounded very embarrassing. Fortunately he was facing away from her otherwise she would’ve seen the heat flush up his neck and warm his face.
“I, being the generous person that I am, decided to forgive you,” London continued. “But then you had to go and throw up all over me.”
“What?” Shock reverberated through him as he swiveled to face her. He’d really been that drunk? He was Zeke Landa-Hollis. He never got drunk. But his still pounding head and the foggy memories of tossing back several shots of brandy now crowding his thoughts begged to differ. Cringing with mortification, he said, “I’m so sorry, London.”
“You were sorry last night too.” Her face filled with unabashed delight, she crowed, “You now owe me one thousand dollars for blacking out first and five hundred dollars for my shorts and shoes.”
“Your shorts cost five hundred dollars?” He shot her a disbelieving look.
“Are you saying I’m lying?” She glared at him. No, he wasn’t saying that - but he was certainly thinking it. When he kept silent, she continued, “After the way you decorated my lap with your disgusting insides, I should’ve left you at the bar. But I’m a good Christian woman, so I carried you up to your room and cleaned you up.”
Impossible. Not unless she’d wheeled him up in a wheelbarrow. A cloudy image of him wi
th his arm across his hotel manager’s shoulders and London walking ahead of them filtered into his thoughts. Just how much of this woman’s colorful story was true?
His expression and tone remained even as he said, “That explains why I’m here. It doesn’t explain why you’re here or why you’re having phone-sex in my room.”
“Oh, I was just waiting for you to wake up so I could get paid.” London shrugged. “And because you were taking your sweet time, I decided to get some work done.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Work?”
“Yeah, I’m part-time phone-sex operator,” she explained casually.
He blinked. Twice. “You’re a phone-sex operator?”
“Yes.” She stared at him evenly. “Got a problem with that?”
Of course he did. What… when… how? Wasn’t she supposed to be a hairdresser? When had she switched ‘careers’? And how good was she that these men were willing to call long distance? And the name? Nastya? Actually, where had she even learned to speak Russian… You know what? He didn’t even want to know.
He took a deep breath to steady his confused thoughts before saying, “I still don’t know why you’re in my room.”
London shrugged. “It’s big, it’s nice. Mine is itsy bitsy and I have to share it with Cara. I figured you owe me one. Plus you weren’t using the bed.”
Her reasoning was astounding - the kind of reasoning that started world wars. You didn’t just take a man’s bed because he wasn’t using it. Feeling like the big bad bear who’d just discovered Goldilocks in his bed, he gritted between his teeth. “And my undershirt?”
“Mark took my clothes – that you threw up on - to get them cleaned, so I needed something to wear. But you don’t have to worry. You’ll have your undershirt back soon, Mark just dropped off my clothes.” She pointed to the feminine clothes draped over a hanger on the closet door.
“Then why-” Her phone rung just then, cutting off his words.
She grabbed the gadget from the nightstand, glanced at the screen then told Zeke, “Client,” before swiping her thumb over it. Slipping easily into her Russian sex-voice, “This is Nastya.” She paused for a moment, then with startlingly fake excitement shrieked, “Ah, Simon. Dah, I miss you. Nobody, make me feel good like you, drogoimoy.”
