The Jock

by Jaid Black

  Sighing, Gwenyth reached for the envelope and tore it open. Although she was certain it was a royal summons of some sort from Prima Don Tremont, she had to read it on the off chance that it was something important. It only took a second to scan the letter’s message:

  NAM

  Gwenyth’s fingers trembled with anger for the briefest of moments as she clutched the paper tighter, wadding it up into a ball. She knew she should have felt scared. Or at least slightly apprehensive. The only emotion she could manage to conjure up, however, was pure, unadulterated rage. The bastard.

  Was Senator Green behind this? Was he so naïve as to believe that these stupid little messages were going to send her cowering into oblivion-ville? Oh sure, the first message had managed to shake her up a bit, but that was more so because of the method that had been used rather than the message itself. It wasn’t like she’d been expecting a baseball to come crashing through her closed window while sitting quietly in her apartment contemplating Sam Tremont.

  Sam. Oh damn. She could never let Sam see this coward’s note! He’d fly into a rage over it. She could easily envision him barging his Prima Don ass into Senator Green’s office and rearranging the politician’s fake smile and capped teeth. A scene such as that one would only hinder Harry’s chances at the polls next week.

  “Gwen, amouré, iz everything bon?”

  Startled, Gwenyth’s head shot up. She’d forgotten about Etienne for a moment. “Oui. Yes.”

  Etienne didn’t look as though he believed her. He searched her reddened face, wondering what it was that had upset her so. “You are certain, chere?”

  Gwenyth threw the wadded up piece of paper into her duffel bag and zipped it shut. She would turn the note over to the Tampa Police Department when she returned home. For now, there was no more time to waste on angering herself over the actions of the sniveling senator. “I’m certain,” she assured Etienne with a smile. Changing the subject she gestured toward the speedo he was wearing. “Let’s take a few shots of you in this one, then I want to see you in the wetsuit. Okay?”

  Etienne grinned. “D’accord.” He winked at Gwenyth, a gesture that could send most women into a heart-stopping swoon. “Let us begin, ma chere.”

  * * * * *

  “D’accord. Let us begin, ma chere.” Sam mimicked Etienne like a mad parrot as he glowered at the too good-looking Frenchman from the shadows of the terrace. Certain that he’d lose his breakfast if he had to listen to the model utter any more suave French words to his woman, he turned sharply on his heel and stomped off. “She wants to see him in a damn wetsuit,” he muttered to no one in particular as he threw open the doors to the terrace and headed for the elevators. “Like oh sure, he would look better in a wetsuit than I would.”

  That Gwenyth was only doing her job played a minor role in his jealous musings. Uppermost in Sam’s mind was the fact that Gwen was being nicer to Frenchy than she was to him. Of course, Sam morosely considered, Etienne was also behaving a lot more accommodating than he had been these past few days.

  Sam growled a goodbye to Julie, a woman of extremely refined tastes seeing as how she obviously had the hots for him and not Etienne, then stalked in between the closing elevator doors and pounded on the button for the lobby floor. All Sam wanted to do was go back to the hotel and release a little penned up energy. Maybe a good swim. Or a jog around the grounds. What was the difference so long as it took his mind off of one infuriating female?

  Perhaps, Sam reflected as he alighted from the elevator and strode toward the exit of Vantry Sportswear, perhaps it was just possible that he’d gone a wee bit overboard these past few days. Perhaps he’d taken the need to assuage his male ego to profoundly asinine heights. But what in the hell did Gwen expect? He hadn’t had sex since the night he got here!

  Sam still couldn’t believe it. Oh Gwen had said she wanted time to figure out how she felt about him, to understand what it was she was wanting—he rolled his eyes—but he certainly hadn’t taken her promise to cut off all intimate relations as a serious one. Never in a million years had he believed she’d have the fortitude to see it through. After all, he wouldn’t have. It depressed him like all hell to think that she could so easily withstand all of his best attempts at seduction, but withstand them she had.

  And Sam had tried—really tried. He had even quoted some dumb-ass line from Shakespeare over dinner one night because he’d read somewhere that chicks dig that shit. Apparently Gwenyth wasn’t like the rest of her kind. She was unnatural, Gwenyth. Or so it made him feel better to believe.

  So in retaliation, Sam had taken to acting like a spoiled little boy. A Prima Don, Gwenyth had called him. Harrumph, as Willy would say. What exactly did the woman expect? Was he to fawn over her every word, acting as though it was gospel from heaven, as Etienne did? Sam balled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth as he considered the possibility that she just might get off on that.

  Well too damn bad. Sam wasn’t changing and he damn sure wasn’t giving up Gwen to any candy-ass Frenchman. The way he saw it, if Etienne knew what was best for him and his pretty face, he would take his caviar and his beret and hop on the first plane headed back to Paris. Otherwise, Sam just might be obliged to put him on the plane his self. And that sight wouldn’t be pretty—he snorted incredulously—no sir, not pretty at all. Twenty minutes later, Sam dove into the hotel’s Olympic sized pool and swam a full length before resurfacing. And in that brief thirty second span in time, he also arrived at a decision.

  Legally, he might not be able to get away with kidnapping Cupcake and secreting her away to the nearest dungeon without going to jail. And jail wouldn’t do at all. So if Sam couldn’t lock his woman away, he was going to do the next best thing. Damn it anyway, he was going to marry her now.

  Chapter 11

  “Work it, baby. Work it! Oh my—goodness gracious—you’ve got it!”

  Sam glowered over his shoulder at Big Ed, Gwenyth’s blatantly homosexual assistant photographer and the man all his foolish tantrums and demands had finally resigned him to being photographed by for the remainder of the shoot. That Big Ed was five-foot-five and a hundred pounds soaking wet gave his name an ironic ring to it. When Sam had mentioned that fact to Gwenyth after being introduced to the guy yesterday, she had casually informed him of the fact that Big Ed hadn’t earned his nickname from his height. Sam resolutely refused to consider just how he had earned that title.

  Big Ed clapped his hands together gleefully, inspiration having obviously struck. “Time to oil him down, boys!”

  Sam grimaced. He had always thought of himself as a liberated, tolerant kind of guy. And he was. To a point. When it was someone else. But the thought of three men feeling him up and down as they slathered oil all over his body was sure enough the point at which his tolerance became tried. “Is the oil really necessary?”

  Big Ed looked at Sam as if he’d sprouted hooves and a tail. “Of course. Have you posed for a poolside scene yet where you haven’t had that delectable bod of yours oiled down?”

  Sam winced. Sweet Jesus, how had he ever gotten himself into this mess? A frown marred his features as he remembered the answer to his own question. Gwen, that’s how. His goddamned future wife!

  That he wouldn’t be in this situation—faced with the prospect of being rubbed down by three overly zealous gay men—if he’d been less a Prima Donna to Gwen, took firm root in his mind. Sam should never have made up all those ridiculous attempts at stalling the progress of the shoot. His only thought had been to irritate her, and boy was he paying for it now. She adamantly refused to photograph him further.

  What exactly were his options? The way it looked, there were but two. He could walk away here and now, refusing to finish out his contract. Sam shook his head mentally. Yeah, and then he could get sued in the process and end up paying the Vantrys millions of his hard won dollars. No, that simply wouldn’t do at all.

  Unfortunately, the only other option was to grin and bear it. That was about a
s appealing as paying the Vantrys off, but at least he wouldn’t look like a coward in the process. Sam sighed. No matter which way he turned it, the only real option was to put up with Big Ed and his henchmen.

  Besides, Sam didn’t want to embarrass the guy or make him feel bad. After all, Sam had let those three fine as hell looking girls rub him down in front of Gwenyth two days ago. He’d even made a big production out of it for his future wife’s benefit, telling the college girls how good their hands felt on him, asking them to take their time. He’d winked and grinned, even patted one bikini-clad girl sporting a g-string on her delectably rounded bottom.

  So what would he look like now if he refused to allow himself to get oiled up for Big Ed’s shoot? And unlike those three college girls that had somehow gotten into Vantry Sportswear and volunteered for the duty, Sam realized that Big Ed’s team would at least be professional about it.

  Sam sighed as he grimly considered the fact that he was good and stuck. “Oh alright,” he grunted, “just hurry up about it.”

  Big Ed clapped his hands together excitedly as he gestured for his assistants to begin. “You heard him, boys!” He clicked his fingers together in a series of three fast snaps. “Time to slather him up!”

  Sam shook his head. This entire situation was trying to his nerves, but what was he to do? Hell, at least he’d talked Big Ed out of his nipple ring idea.

  * * * * *

  From her place in the shadows, Gwenyth covered her mouth with both hands and succumbed to a fit of the giggles. Later, she would have to thank Ed—a man who was generally on the priggish, reserved side—for carrying this scene out to its full artistic culmination.

  All Gwenyth had asked Ed to do was to have the assistants he’d hired oil Sam down today, rather than those three college girls who had managed to finagle their often topless modeling jobs out of the Vantrys’ eldest son. Ed had come up with the rest on his own—including adding “Big” to his name. The nipple piercing idea, all the shouted words of praise such as “work it baby”, having Sam strike a pose with an urn on his shoulder Egyptian style…that had all been of Ed’s ingeniously diabolical invention. The man was definitely getting a raise.

  With a smile firmly plastered on her face, Gwenyth tiptoed quietly from the terrace and sauntered into the Vantry building. She licked her finger and pretended to chalk one up for herself as she strode through the doors to the Blue Room where Etienne waited her arrival on a staged Atlantis set.

  It was high time indeed that Samuel Joseph Tremont learned that Gwenyth Marie Jones could give as good as she gets.

  * * * * *

  For the next two days of shooting, a battle of wills raged on between Gwenyth and Sam. She would parry, he would thrust. Then Gwenyth would thrust and Sam would parry. It was an endless cycle. And one that Gwenyth was inordinately proud of. She had actually managed to live up to the vow she’d made to herself. She was giving as good as she got.

  On the last day of the shoot, however, Sam insisted upon staging another oil rub- down scene for Gwenyth’s benefit, namely to get back at her after his experience with “Big Ed” and his crew. He sat regally on a chair, cocking an arrogant “stop me if you dare” brow at Gwen, as the trio of bikini wearing college models slid their greased-up hands over every square inch of his body.

  The brunette perched herself and her generously endowed breasts behind him, slathering up Sam’s shoulders. The redhead stood off to his side, her matching red-nailed fingertips gliding over his chest and belly. The blonde—who had won the coin toss—was sprawled between Sam’s legs, rubbing him up from his toes to the line where his upper thigh and groin met.

  And try as Gwenyth might, she simply couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in her tummy from climbing up to her heart. She tried to tell herself it was because Sam had gotten in the last potshot, but the reality of it was she was jealous.

  “That feels good, sweetheart. Real good.”

  Gwenyth grimaced at Sam’s words of encouragement to the busty blonde whose fingers were trailing dangerously close to his most private part. The coy, ashen-haired seductress was zeroing in closer and closer to the spot she most wanted to caress with every glide of her hand.

  “Ahh Tracy. You’ve got great hands, honey.”

  Gwenyth spun on her heel and began frantically packing away used rolls of film into her duffel bag. She had to get out of here and let Ed do his job. She wouldn’t watch this scene, couldn’t watch it. It was killing her.

  Those girls were beautiful in a way Gwenyth never would be. From their perfectly rounded, surgically enhanced breasts to their hips that didn’t store up any excess fat whatsoever, they were everything she wasn’t. It was like turning sixteen all over again and finding out that Sam had fallen in love with another woman she couldn’t compete with. Three more Stacys. Three younger, nearly topless, g-string-clad Stacys.

  “Are you well, chere?”

  Gwenyth stood up and turned around to face Etienne. She shrugged her shoulders and offered him a half-hearted smile. She briefly considered prevaricating, but what was the point? “Not really, no.”

  Etienne smiled fondly down to her as he raised Gwenyth’s hands and kissed them. “He is za fool, ma belle.”

  Gwenyth squeezed Etienne’s hands affectionately. He was always so thoughtful of her. “Thank you for that.” She made to move her hands away, but he didn’t let go. Not understanding, she arched a tawny brow and regarded him.

  Etienne sighed. “I know zis is not the best time to try to win your affections, but should you decide to give another man a chance…” He craned his neck downward and pressed his lips to Gwenyth’s forehead. “I should like to be zat man. N’est pas?”

  Gwenyth’s eyes rounded in surprise. She’d had no idea Etienne had even thought of her in that light. Ever. It was extremely flattering.

  Nodding her head like a marionette, Gwenyth relented. “D’accord.” She grinned. “Okay.”

  Etienne released her hands and smiled gently down to her. “I’m certain we shall see one another soon. Au revoir, chere.”

  Gwenyth hoisted her duffel bag over her shoulder and smiled back at the too beautiful model. She had to get out of here. “Au revoir, Etienne.”

  Gwenyth cast a brief glance in Sam’s direction before spiriting herself toward the elevators. Had she been in a less upset frame of mind, she might have noticed the scowl of possessive jealousy Sam had garnered after seeing Etienne kiss her. Had Gwenyth’s heart not been breaking, she might have stayed long enough to witness Sam throwing the hands of his fawning fans off of him, then standing up to watch Gwenyth’s retreat with a look of helpless defeat about him.

  But she didn’t notice. She was too busy swiping the tears from her eyes.

  Chapter 12

  Sam stomped into the hotel lobby primed for a fight. He had wanted to trail after Gwenyth and have done with this conversation the very second she’d run out of Vantry Sportswear, but Big Ed had clamored for his attention just then, reminding Sam of the fact that they had another hour left of shooting before his obligation to his contract had been fulfilled.

  So Sam had stayed, thinking of Cupcake the whole time, and wishing like hell that he’d never allowed those three college models to fondle him. He had seen the hurt in her eyes and recognized immediately that Gwenyth was no longer considering their tit-for-tat tactics of the past two days a game. She was taking it seriously.

  Never having been comfortable with emotions such as guilt, Sam had soon twisted the day’s events around in his mind to a point where he could almost believe he was the injured party here. Almost. If he tried really hard.

  And so now, as he stalked inside of the hotel lobby preparing to take the defensive with Gwenyth, Sam refused to consider the possibility that he had been the one in the wrong. Him and Cupcake were going to have it out alright, at which time he was going to inform her of his list of demands. Namely that they were getting married right away and that they were going to resume their sexual relationship immedia
tely. Like now.

  “Mr. Tremont.”

  Sam had to resist the urge to growl at the front desk clerk that was waving a piece of paper in the air to gain his attention. He took a deep breath to steady his self, then turned on his heel and arched a brow. “Yes?”

  “A message for you, sir.”

  Sam nodded, then smiled tentatively at the clerk. He sighed. There was no sense in getting angry at the guy for doing his job. “Thank-you.” He walked over to where the employee whose nameplate read Arty stood behind an enclosed desk structure and accepted the written message from his hand.

  It was a note from his agent Lee, asking Sam to call him and let him know how the shoot had gone. Sam would do that later. Right now his only concern was getting to Gwenyth. He needed to get things back to the way they had been. He missed her so much that he was aching from it.

  Sam thanked Arty, then headed toward the elevators. He had taken only a few short strides when an idea came to him. Sam turned back around to enlist the aid of the desk clerk. Lord knows he was going to need all the help he could round up to set things with Gwenyth to rights. “Arty my man, could you do me a favor?”

  “Of course, Mr. Tremont. How may I be of assistance to you?”

  “In about twenty minutes, could you have a bottle of champagne sent up to Gwenyth Jones’ suite?” Sam scratched his chin, considering the precariousness of his position. “And flowers. Chicks love flowers.”

  Arty cleared his throat, his face stained a dull crimson. “I’m certain they do Mr. Tremont, but perhaps you should send them to wherever it is Ms. Jones lives.”

  Sam raised a brow. “Why is that?”

  “Because Ms. Jones is no longer here.”

  Sam’s breathing stopped for a threadbare moment. He shook his head, certain he’d heard Arty wrong and praying he had. “What?”