Sweet girls had a way of making you see stuff clearly that you would just as soon be blind to.
“And one more thing.” Jorge snapped his fingers. “Tell your boss we want her sent to the Cosmopolitan. Room 1203. Hell, you better send every girl you’ve got.” He glanced over at me and made a grandiose gesture. “My buddy likes multiples.”
“Queen doesn’t do private parties.” The brunette backed away nervously. I’m sure she probably had a reason to be. Most guys wouldn’t take no for an answer when they had been brought to the brink by a striptease like Miriam had performed.
“She’ll make an exception for my friend.” Jorge stated confidently. His dark brown eyes glittered with anticipation in the pulsating lights. Yeah, he was a hanger on, an opportunist like Sager so often reminded me. But since my arrest I preferred to have a wingman. Although Jorge wasn’t a reliable one, he was the best I had. “Run along and let her know there’s an American Express card waiting and that it belongs to King Acenado from Tempest.”
Eyes widening, the waitress nodded and scurried off. Jorge liked to name drop. I preferred anonymity since my recent trouble with the law. I opened my mouth to countermand him then snapped it shut. I needed to see Miriam. She needed someone to confront her about what she was doing here, and that was a conversation that needed to occur in private.
* * *
Miriam
I stomped off the Cosmopolitan elevator alone. Barbie, the Sexxy club waitress, wasn’t with me. After I’d nearly taken off her head with my response to Juaquin’s missive, she and a bunch of the other girls had skittered off like sexed up kittens ready and willing to do whatever the Tempest drummer and his no limits credit card demanded. He had a lot of fucking nerve treating me that way. Ordering me around like he could own me.
Mike had talked me down, tried to reason with me. He had wanted to come along, but I wouldn’t let him. This thing was between King and me. I was through with him fucking with my life. I was a grown up now. I had a boyfriend. I had the life I wanted. I didn’t need him. This thing I had for him? It was history. Old news. And it ended tonight.
I smoothed my shorts, straightened the fringed vest and the shimmery silk blouse underneath. My silver and turquoise bracelets clanked together on my wrist as I rapped hard on the door. Only two doors on this floor made it pretty easy to find the right one. Trinity, the girl who did the pony skit with Mike, opened the door, her eyes red and heavy lidded. Her large naked boobs swayed, actually real unlike with most of the other girls. More than a bit tipsy, she sloshed the contents of her drink on the suede ties of my gladiator style sandals.
“Oops. Sorry, Queen.” She giggled and waved me inside. “He’s been asking for you. He’s in the bedroom.”
I stepped through the door she propped open with her ass and glanced around. Marble foyer in black. Floor to ceiling glass windows beyond the expansive living space done up in garish yellow and red. Typical over the top Vegas.
“Come on.” Trinity tipped her black cowboy hat back with the rim of her glass before weaving on a meandering path past the writhing porno scene in the living area. The tableau might have once shocked me, but not anymore. A couple of groups of girls were going down on each other as Jorge watched them, his naked skinny hips rocking as Barbie, apparently fully recovered from my tirade, sucked him off. Expressions on their faces told the same story. Sex without emotion. Not that I was judging. I had given that a try after King had rejected me in New Orleans, until Mike had convinced me that I deserved better.
I felt the weight of Jorge’s gaze on me as I followed Trinity. She turned, and we entered a narrow hallway. The soles of my sandals slapped my irritation against the dark hardwoods. Her naked feet barely registered a sound.
“Hey, honey.” She rapped on the partially closed bedroom door pushing it open without waiting for a response. Seemed she was pretty familiar with the penthouse and its master already. My stomach churned. Not from jealousy. Or so I told myself. Just amazement at his audacity and the willingness of these girls to obey his rock-star-backed-by-wads-of-cash commands.
Brushing past her, I stomped into the room featuring the same clashing colors and floor to ceiling windows as the rest of the suite. Only here a huge bed dwarfed the space, and a larger than life Latino stood facing out toward the view of the Vegas strip, shirtless, his chiseled back a rippling wall of muscle above indigo jeans that fit his ass to perfection. I had a weakness for guys wearing only jeans. This one in particular. Inner voice was speaking major truth to me. Calling bullshit on my earlier protests.
“Leave us,” I told Trinity, inclining my head to acknowledge her. I had arrived. I was ready. I could do this. He was in Queen’s court now.
Juaquin turned around slowly. My breath caught. So freakin’ handsome. The slash of his imperial brows dipped for maximum arrogance. Golden come-to-me-when-you-are-called eyes. Sardonic lips that sliced like his rapier wit.
While his gaze swept over me, I returned the favor. I might as well take in every single delectable inch from his glossy midnight hair to his notably large masculine feet.
Juaquin was built like a MMA fighter now. No trace remained of the overweight, slightly unsure but thoughtful boy I had fallen so, so hard for. A restrained but palpable power lay beneath his imposing physique. I knew his body was sculpted due to his rigid adherence to a routine the boxers back home in a Southside gym had developed for him. Juaquin had embarked on the extreme regime of physical fitness after his father’s heart attack. My brother had told me that even when the band was on the road Juaquin worked the heavy and the speed bags and jumped rope incessantly. He needed endurance for the pounding he unleashed on his drums during Tempest’s ninety-minute sets. I didn’t allow myself to pursue the thought of what else he could do with all of that staying power. He certainly wasn’t interested in wasting any of it on me.
“Miriam.” King raised a regal brow.
How long had I stood silent staring at him? Seeing him again. Being in the same room with him. Being the center of his attention in his bedroom. My heart started doing weird somersaults inside my chest. I was a mijita all over again. I realized suddenly, much to my dismay, that I wasn’t the least bit immune to his charms.
Don’t, I cautioned myself, but my brain went there anyway. Jetting off to that familiar island of fantasy wondering how it would feel to be on that bed with Juaquin, to have the strong hand he wrapped around his tumbler exploring me instead.
“It’s been too long,” he rumbled in his deep, deliciously accented timbre, and I found myself nearly fucking swooning. “You’re all grown up now.”
“So are you, physically, anyway. I’ve been an adult for quite a while, yet you’ve never summoned me to a little fiesta in your hotel room before. Why now? If all I needed to do was strip for you I would’ve done it a long time ago.” I paused for effect. “Back when I was still interested that is.”
“Oh you’re still interested, mi reina.” My queen. His eyes narrowed. He knocked back the remaining liquid in his glass before carefully setting it on a nearby nightstand. “You’re here, after all.”
“Only because you pissed me off assuming I would be a sure thing because you saw me dance and threw around a bunch of money at my club.”
“That wasn’t a dance, mamasota.” He ran his forefinger and thumb over the line of stubble that framed his jaw. “It was a masterpiece.” His full lips twisted lifting the soul patch beneath them. Something new since I had last seen him. Like the way his gaze fixed on me. How many times had I wished that he would look at me the way he was right now? His tawny eyes glittered. Knowingly. Confidently. Intimately. He reminded me of a lion casually regarding his prey.
I wanted to take a step backward, but I lifted my chin and held my ground as he prowled closer. Surely the invisible partition that had always stood between us would halt him. Not that I was the weak link I had once been. Not that I needed protection. But who could know what was on his mind or what he might do. My pulse leapt as hi
s focus dipped to my breasts and then returned to hold me captive once more. The heat rose in the arrogant glitter of those eyes. “The reality of you beats the hell outta any dream.”
“Juaquin,” I warned. “Don’t.” He was toying with me, and my warning was as much for myself as it was for him.
“If you didn’t want men to react the way I am you wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing,” he returned, and I saw the flash of challenge in his eyes. He wanted me to disagree. He was enjoying sparring with me.
“I’m not ashamed of my body.” I cranked my chin higher.
“Chiquita pero picosa.” Small but spicy.
“I’m not small.”
“No you’re not.” He groaned as if I pleased him, his lids lowering as he studied me. “You’re perfect.”
I preened from his praise, wondering what it would feel like to have his breath misting my skin. He stepped closer as if he had heard me voice my thought as a request. The graceful way he moved was a seduction in itself. One I had nearly succumbed to many times before. I swayed toward him, wanting him to touch me, wanting to put my hands on his chiseled body. A sweet ache rendered my limbs languid, unable to follow through with my desires.
“All that you’ve got going for you.” He stopped in front of me. Only inches apart, his scent washed over me. Maestro Dobel, his favorite tequila. And a fresh fragrance reminiscent of newly cut limes. He was straight up trouble in a salt rimmed glass.
“Juaquin,” I breathed. “Wait…”
“Sexy. Sassy. Smart.” His low voice and his words crumbled my reservations. He reached for me stroking the rough pad of his thumb down my smooth cheek. Heat. So much heat. I couldn’t help myself. When it came to him, I could never help myself. I wanted to experience more. I wanted to be naked with him, our bodies intertwined all the way to the fiery finish. “Miriam.” I barely registered his words as I reveled in the warmth of his caress on my skin. “I don’t even want to know how many times you’ve done that routine or how many men have seen it. But tonight was the last time. I should kill Jorge for seeing you like that. Your brother would kill both of us if he knew. And your mother…”
His criticisms hit their mark, snapping me out of my haze.
“Who the hell do you think you are, Juaquin Acenado?” My passion turned to fury. A familiar self-scorn straightened my spine. I stepped backward shaking off the cobweb aftereffects of his intoxicating spell. “I shouldn’t have come.” I had promised myself that I wouldn’t get into any more situations where I was alone with him. When would I learn? Distance was the only cure to my weakness when it came to him.
“I’m glad you did. Someone needs to talk some sense into you.”
“How dare you pass judgement on me.”
“Miriam,” he protested. “Be reasonable. Listen to me.”
“No, King. You listen to me.” He flinched. There was no way he failed to miss the sarcasm in my voice. “Stay out of my life and my business. You have no authority over me.” The title I had once upon a time given him no longer held the same meaning, though for me it remained the only thing I had offered to him that he hadn’t rejected. “You might be the king of the groupies. The king of the strippers. But you’re not the king of me.”
Chapter Four
King
Her indignant departure crackled in the air while her sultry scent lingered. Bath gel? Lotion perhaps? Sweet like a fragrant peach. All velvet and soft rounded curves. Sublime, if I could just have a taste.
Sweet sainted Mother of God. She had given it to me good. Goddess on the mountaintop good. Arousing. Tantalizing. Challenging. Standing up to me, her spine snapped straight, her beautiful eyes flashing fire. It was like a matador waving a red flag at a bull.
Just try to tame me, just try to take me, just try to transform all my glorious anger into a mutual inferno, she seemed to say. And I would have gone after her as she fled if I could have run without hobbling. My cock was harder than it had been watching her dance earlier in the evening.
A la verga… Just thinking about all of the things I’d always wanted to do to her…Ok, now I was really in complete and total agony. I raked a hand through my hair and pulled in a deep inhalation that expanded my chest and shuddered on the jagged edge of my lust on its way back out.
“She sure didn’t stay long.” Jorge strut-rolled into the room like a guy does when he has just gotten some. He passed a quick glance over me then snapped it over his shoulder as the outer door to the suite slammed shut loud enough to rattle the picture frames on the walls. “Whoa,” he said, his brows raised as he turned back to face me.
Whoa is right, I thought. On many levels. My lust. Miriam’s fury. The verbal sparring, the test of our two strong wills.
“You sure pissed her off.” He refastened the buckle on his belt. “Not your usual effect on the ladies.” He grinned. “Oh, well. It’s all good. There’s plenty more ready to take her place, eh hombre? Bitch don’t know what she’s missing, obviously.” He smoothed a hand over his shoulder length hair.
“Miriam’s not a bitch,” I returned tersely, reluctant to give too much away regarding my feelings for her. “And I wouldn’t describe the situation as good.”
“You worried about her brother?”
There was that, though I didn’t think she would say anything to him. Where she was and what she was doing, I seriously doubted were things she wanted him to know. And what Bryan thought or didn’t think about me and his sister no longer loomed over my head like the oppressive cloud it had once been. Maybe because he was hundreds of miles away in Seattle. Maybe because I had just seen her naked. Maybe because she was showing that body night after night to guys who didn’t have a fucking clue to her real worth. Probably it was all those things combined. Plus the fact that this thing with us had been brewing for a long time. Whatever the reason, things weren’t ending the way she thought they had tonight.
They were only just beginning.
* * *
Miriam
Oh, that infuriating man! Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. He makes me so fuckin’ mad! I slammed the front door and stomped into the living room. My gaze immediately snagged on Mike. His eyes widened when he took in all my indignant-post-Juaquin-Acenado fury. But he wasn’t sprawled out on our big comfy couch eating leftover Chinese out of the carton the way he usually would be after a late night at the club. And he wasn’t alone. Frank MacKenzie, my boyfriend, was with him.
“Hey, baby.” Frank stood. Six feet of lean, mean, home building machine. I’m the owner of my own commercial construction company, but not opposed to taking off my shirt and breaking a sweat with my employees once in a while. That was actually how we had first met. Kind of difficult to ignore a shirtless sexy man in a hard hat, his jeans sliding low on his hips while he had been tearing up the sidewalk right outside my front door. Especially when he had stopped jackhammering the moment he had seen me, coming over to apologize for the noise and the inconvenience of his work crew blocking the way to my car.
“Frank,” I acknowledged, swallowing and feeling off kilter as he crossed the space that separated us, pulled me into him and kissed my dry, surprise-parted lips. “I wasn’t expecting you.” I glanced over at my bestie. He read my nonverbal query.
He shook his head ever so slightly. No, he hadn’t told Frank where I had really been.
“How was the movie, babe?”
“Oh,” I let out a relieved breath. A pretty clever cover story. Frank didn’t really like movies, especially action ones with cops and crime in them. He complained that they were unrealistic. Like he would know. So I could probably brazen this out without having to go into a long winded recap of the plot of a movie I hadn’t really seen. He wouldn’t care to hear it anyway. “It was good.”
“Great.” He captured my hand and squeezed it. “I’m not gonna ask you the details. It’s late, and I already stayed past late waiting for you to show.”
He had emphasized the part about waiting. I heard a definite trace of chastisement
in his tone. It had probably been awkward for him making small talk with Mike. He and my roommate shared a polite necessities type of dynamic. I wasn’t exactly sure why they didn’t get along better. Mike usually put most people at ease within a few moments of meeting them. But not Frank. I got the feeling that it was mainly that my bestie didn’t think my boyfriend was right for me and that Frank sensed his disapproval.
“I’m sorry. If you had called or texted I might have left early.”
“No worries.” He cut me off and released my hand to rub his military length brown hair. “I just got back into town and wanted to surprise you. But we’ll make up for it later. Mike told me you’re working for Vincenzo all day.”
I bobbed my head. Weariness from the audition, the quick turnaround, and my confrontation with Juaquin suddenly weighted my frame. Had all that happened in a single day? Plus Frank’s words reminded me that I had an early start, on a long twelve hour day in all likelihood entertaining an exuberant eleven year old while her father worked late as usual.
“Tell Jasmine I’ll take her to Dave & Buster’s like I promised,” he said.
“You better deliver on that soon.” Jasmine had been bugging me nearly every day about the three of us returning to the family friendly arcade.
“I will. I make good on all my promises.” He gave me a long look that I couldn’t decipher. “Can I swing by and take you out for dinner and dancing after you’re done with work?”
“Sure.” I nodded. I hadn’t seen him in a week. It would be nice to go out. Plus, I loved dancing. There was a reason I had incorporated it so naturally into my routine. “I’d like that.”
“It’s settled then.” I was feeling anything but settled. Spent, more like it, after going toe to toe with an arrogant, exasperating Latino. But I tried to make my body relax and allow myself to enjoy Frank’s embrace as he pulled me into him again, his fingers curling gently around my upper arms, his lips soft against mine in a goodnight kiss.
Scandalous Beat (The Tempest Rock Star series Book 6) Page 5
