The Ruin (Convenience Book 3)

by Stella Gray

  “And here you are.” She smiles, spreading her hands. When I don’t return the smile, or the flirtation, she peers more closely at me. “So what happened after you pulled the Irish goodbye with the ice queen? I can tell by looking at you that you two didn’t fuck. You’re way too pouty and high-strung. Losing your magic touch?”

  Skylar the toga-wearing waitress returns with my water and asks Monica what she wants, though I notice her tone is significantly cooler than it was when she was taking my order.

  “Dirty martini,” Monica says. “On his tab.”

  After the waitress leaves I sip my water, wishing it were another whiskey now that Monica is here to monopolize my evening.

  “You know, there’s no need to sit here all pent up by your lonesome. We’re in Vegas, after all, and I have my own suite. This is a situation in which friends help each other out.”

  “Monica. I’m married.”

  She laughs loudly. “Well, I never. It’s a cold day in hell when Luka Zoric doesn’t feel like fucking. God, what has that frigid little wifey of yours done to you?”

  It takes all my willpower to keep a disastrous reply from flying out of my mouth. There’s a fine line that I need to walk with her. The Maxilene campaign is going to keep DRM in the black this fiscal quarter, and I can’t risk her walking away from the agency.

  But I’m not in the mood for any of her shit, either.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I say, strolling over to the bar to close my tab.

  When I return to the table, she’s halfway through her martini already and waiting for me with a smirk. “Are we getting out of here already?” she asks.

  “I am,” I tell her. “I paid for another martini, so that’s on the way if you want it. Otherwise, see you on set tomorrow and have a lovely night.”

  As I turn away, she grabs my sleeve, tugging me back.

  “Luka, wait,” she says, her tone oozing seduction. “There’s one more thing. I seem to have…misplaced my panties.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, beyond exhausted with the sexpot shenanigans she’s made me put up with all week, I say, “I don’t think I can help you with that.”

  She nibbles a fingernail, eyes rolling down my body. “So you haven’t found them yet?”

  I haven’t found…

  Oh, fuck.

  It finally hits me. When Monica was all touchy feely with me over dinner, she must have slipped her underwear in my jacket pocket. She’d been pawing at me all night, so it’s no wonder I didn’t notice when it happened. Brooklyn must have picked up my jacket when I was in the shower. I’ll bet she was devastated to find them in my pocket. No wonder she locked me out.

  What a douche she must think I am.

  “Monica, we’ve known each other for a long time. I’ve always considered us friends,” I say, my voice dropping to a low, steely register. “And although you can be difficult to work with, I’m happy to maintain a relationship with you—on a professional basis.

  “But it’s obvious I wasn’t clear enough with you before. So now I’m setting a boundary. From now on, you and I will communicate about business matters exclusively. I will be cordial and respectful and you will offer me the same courtesy. My personal life is off limits.”

  “Why are you dancing around me like this?” she asks, frowning. “Are you playing hard to get? You know I won’t tell anyone. Brooklyn never has to know.”

  My jaw clenches. The only reason I’m exercising restraint right now is because she’s a client. And the bar is full. The last thing I need is for pictures of us in a verbal brawl to explode all over the celebrity gossip sites and social media.

  “You are not a good person,” I finally grind out.

  With that, I stride out of the bar.

  Once I’m out on the casino floor, I make a beeline for the nearest bank of elevators and punch the call button over and over again with impatience. As I ride the car up twenty-plus floors, I try to imagine the conversation that awaits me back in the room. How do you explain something like this without it sounding like a flat-out lie? When your wife was already uneasy about the person in question?

  I hope it’s not too late to set this right.

  Brooklyn

  Chapter 14

  I wake to the sound of the bedroom door cracking open.

  Startled, my eyes fly open, and I see Luka’s outline in the doorway. The room is barely dim, thanks to all the flashing LED screens and casino lights on full display out the windows. Even lying in bed, I can easily make out the Strip’s most recognizable landmarks, from the Vegas versions of the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty to the dancing Bellagio fountains.

  “What do you want,” I ask, my voice ragged.

  My eyes feel puffy and raw, and I’m still in this stupid spandex dress. I must have fallen asleep crying earlier.

  “Can I come in?” he says.

  I scowl. “How’d you get the door open?”

  He holds up his Amex sheepishly. “Used my credit card. Oldest trick in the book.”

  “Right. Guess you might as well, then.” With a dramatic sigh, I push myself up to a seated position and click on the bedside lamp.

  My husband walks into the room in one of his nice shirts, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of slim-cut pants that look like they were tailored to his body (and probably were). I hate that he gets to stand there looking so good while I probably look like death warmed over.

  As he moves to sit on the end of the bed, I catch a whiff of whiskey—and underneath that, a scent of strong perfume, something sugary-sweet. Oh, hell no. I flash him a scowl.

  “Why aren’t you on the couch where I sent you?” I ask accusingly. “Are you drunk?”

  “No,” he says.

  “Right. So what I’m smelling is your new whiskey-and-skank cologne, then?”

  “Yes, I did have a few drinks downstairs. And yes, I was sitting near a woman who had on too much perfume. That’s the truth. Okay?”

  Luka’s tired but calm voice both comforts and angers me. Near a woman? Who the hell does he think he is? Which woman, and how near?

  “Was it Monica?” I prod.

  “Look, I’m trying to be open with you, but this interrogation is getting in the way of what I came up here to tell you,” he says, sidestepping the question. “We need to talk.”

  Still groggy and emotionally bruised, I scoot off the bed and go to the mini fridge.

  “Why, so you can tell me about your affair?” I find a big bottle of sparkling water that probably costs twenty dollars and crack it open, taking a long drink. Ah. Slightly better.

  I plop back onto the bed, waiting for his answer. I feel shaky. My stomach is in a knot and my pulse is pounding. But I’ve had enough of this shit. I need the truth.

  “I am not having an affair with Monica Shore,” Luka says.

  “Oh no? Despite evidence to the contrary?” I scoff, pointing disgustedly at the chair where I threw the offending undergarment. “Those were in your pocket.”

  Luka glances over at the thong and then rubs his face, shaking his head a little.

  “I know it looks bad. But—”

  “You know what? Go ahead and talk, Luka. I’m actually looking forward to hearing you try to bullshit your way out of this.”

  Leaning back against the headboard, I take another slug from the bottle of Pellegrino, half wishing it were booze instead of water. Luka’s eyes are pleading, and he leans forward.

  “Monica put the underwear in my pocket during dinner tonight. She just told me about it downstairs when we bumped into each other at the bar—I didn’t even know she’d done it. She was trying to flirt with me or fuck with you, or both. But I swear, it’s not proof of anything.”

  Studying his face, I almost believe him. Sounds like Monica’s M.O.

  On top of that, there’s not a single trace of deception in his tone. Not a waver. No hesitation. Just clear, decisive words and a steady gaze that doesn’t break away from mine.

  �
�I know you think I’m sleeping with Monica. And yeah, she’s been trying to make a move on me since we got here. But I’ve been blowing her off at every turn, because she doesn’t register anywhere on my radar.

  “I’m not with her, and I don’t want to be with her. I want to be with you. Only you.”

  I look anywhere but at him. I don’t know what to think. My heart wants to believe him but I’ve gotten burned by this relationship so many times already. How can I trust him?

  “Why did you come on this trip with her? Why you and not Stefan?”

  He shrugs. “Guy asked me personally. Probably because he’s dealt with me during this whole process and not my brother. Look, I didn’t ask to come. I didn’t even want to. This isn’t my thing anymore. But I can’t risk pissing off the client who is basically floating us right now.”

  It’s hard to argue with that. Losing the Maxilene campaign won’t do DRM any good.

  “You should have told me in advance that you were coming here with her.”

  “Yes, I should have told you. I fucked up. Honestly, I knew you’d be upset and I didn’t have the mental space to deal with it. But it wasn’t fair to you. I should have handled it better.”

  Damn. I wasn’t expecting complete transparency…or an apology like this.

  “Thank you,” I say, my tone soft.

  Luka moves closer and sits facing me so our knees touch. Desire flares through me with the contact. As he searches my face with those dark eyes, I can hardly stand not touching him.

  “I’m sorry I overreacted,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head. “You didn’t. I would have been pissed in the same situation.”

  Lightness creeps back into me, taking me to the place I like to be when I’m with him. Relaxed. Teasing. Feeling good in his company.

  “Really? You would have been pissed to find another woman’s panties in my pocket?” I arch a brow.

  He looks surprised at my jest, but runs with it.

  “I don’t know. It depends on if I get to be the cream in that sandwich or not.”

  I smack his arm playfully. “You’re horrible.”

  “And you’re sexy. I still want you.”

  Taking my face in his hands, he pulls me toward him, pausing just long enough for me to whisper, “Yes.”

  With that, Luka kisses me. Maybe it’s because I want to believe him so badly that I do, but whatever my reasons are, I can feel the last traces of distrust fade away at the silken feel of his mouth on mine. He pushes me back against the pillows and I relax, awaiting his next move.

  I’m stretched out beneath him, anticipating his hands on me. He doesn’t make me wait as he claims my lips again, squeezing my breasts, my hips, my thighs through the frustratingly thick fabric of my dress. The kiss is scorching. He devours everything that I have to give him, in kiss after kiss, until I’m breathless and my panties are soaked.

  I raise my arms above my head and roll to the side so he can pull down the zipper on my dress. He removes it with a couple strategic quick tugs. I’m not wearing a bra, and I’ve never been happier to be braless in my life as he takes a nipple in his mouth at the same time he hooks a finger around the crotch of my underwear and pulls them straight down my legs.

  “I wanted to do this earlier,” he tells me. “Just rip this dress right off you.”

  I’m breathing so hard, I can barely reply. “I wanted that, too.”

  A low rumble comes from his throat as he kisses his way down my belly. “You know what I love most, though?”

  I tense in anticipation of his mouth on my clit, but he pauses to tease me instead, caressing my inner thighs with the tips of his fingers, whisking them so lightly over my skin that I tremble.

  “What do you love the most?” I murmur, fighting back the urge to push his head between my legs.

  He looks up at me as he finally lowers between my thighs. “This.”

  His tongue parts my pussy lips and dives in between, slow strokes up and down until I’m grinding against every lap of his tongue. The assault on my clit is intense. Pleasure rolls through me like hot liquid, capturing me in a riptide of sensations. I pinch my nipples as I ride his face, moans spilling out of me. I know I’m getting louder and louder, but I can’t stop.

  Luka holds my hips steady, licking me harder and faster like we’re racing to the finish line. I am. I want to get there. He plunges his fingers inside me, picking up the pace, jacking up my pleasure. I nearly come off the bed as he sucks my clit into his mouth. Clamping my thighs around his head, I fist my hands in the comforter as if I can hang on for what I know is coming. I don’t care if I fall through a black hole. I just want it. So bad. I need it…

  As my moans pitch higher, Luka starts groaning along with me, his fingers thrusting harder and deeper. At the animal sounds of his pleasure, I lose it. An orgasm crashes over me. I instinctively pull back as my clit goes tender and the sensation becomes too much, but Luka hangs on, licking me until I tumble into a second release that bursts through me like a firework.

  Panting, nearly out of my mind, I scoot up the bed and look down at him. He’s kneeling now, wearing a very self-satisfied grin. “Had enough?” he asks.

  “Never.”

  Putting my hand on his chest, I shove him onto his back. As I crawl over him and start unbuttoning his shirt, Luka groans and slips out of his pants and briefs. I throw his shirt across the room and then make my way down his body, taking the fat head of his cock into my mouth and sucking it down my throat. His fingers fist in my hair and I bob my head back and forth along his rock-hard length, filling my mouth with all of him.

  “Mmm,” I moan.

  “Fuck, Brooklyn.”

  The lust in his voice excites the hell out of me. I hold the base of his cock in one hand and his balls in the other, sucking him off until he’s thick and swollen and I can taste the pre-cum against my tongue. His balls go tight and I know he’s getting close.

  “I want you to fuck me,” I tell him, pulling back.

  He lifts me off the bed and onto the floor, spinning me toward the mattress, then guides my face down onto the blankets. My ass juts back at him, legs spread wide. Without warning he grips my hips and drives right into me, making me cry out at the immediate fullness. This is what I’ve been waiting for, and I can’t get enough. Luka pounds into me, pushing me toward another release with every stroke and glide. It’s heady and potent and I can’t get to it fast enough.

  He pulls out all the way, then slams back in. The friction sends me over the edge. I clamp around him hard as I climax, pushing him over the edge, too. He grips my hair and pulls my head back as he comes inside me, groaning softly as he shudders his release.

  Later, we’re in bed eating a snack that Luka had room service bring up to us. I got my strawberries after all, and I’m eating them with my head on his chest. His arm is wrapped gently around me and I swear, I could just about fall asleep like this.

  “This is what we should be doing, Brooklyn. Fucking. Not fighting.”

  “I agree.” I push the tray away and close my eyes. “No more fighting, okay?”

  “Just fucking,” Luka says, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. “And this.”

  I smile. “And this.”

  Brooklyn

  Chapter 15

  I’m ready to make my peace with Monica.

  It’s a sobering and surprising thought to have as I wake up early the next morning in Luka’s arms, my body deliciously achy with a sex hangover from last night. Yet I feel good about this decision. Whether Monica reciprocates or not, extending the olive branch to her is something I need to do before Luka and I can move forward. I know I’ll feel better in the long run. After all, Luka has been completely honest with me about his non-relationship with her, and I want to be able to put my jealousy behind me once and for all.

  Climbing on top of Luka, I whisper in his ear, “Are you awake?”

  “That depends,” he says, eyes still closed, his voice husky. “On what you hav
e in mind.”

  “I was thinking…” I drop a slow kiss on his lips, his jaw, his neck. “We should hit up the breakfast buffet. I’m sure they don’t call it the Bacchanal for nothing.”

  “If there’s an actual bacchanal going on down there, I’m not letting you anywhere near that buffet. You’re all mine.”

  He pushes me off him, rolling me over onto my back. I let out a squeal as he attacks me with kisses. “But I’m starving! I spent all night doing bedroom aerobics!” I insist. “Don’t you think I’ve earned a meal?”

  “That you have,” he says. “So let’s shower up real quick and get down there.”

  Both of us are ready to go in twenty minutes, which has to be an all-time speed record.

  I slip into a laidback sundress and a lightweight cardigan to stave off the arctic hotel air conditioning, braid my hair, and then apply a swipe of mascara and a sheer bb cream that gives me a sun-kissed glow. I feel great today. Satiated. Satisfied. Happy, even. Luka’s forgone his usual formal work suit in favor of a crisp button-down and dress pants. He’s never looked better.

  In fact, the lines on his face almost seem softer today. As if he’s completely at ease. I love this relaxed version of my husband, and I hope I can keep him this way.

  As we head down in the elevator, our fingers intertwined, I realize that the entire production crew will probably be there, too. After all, the shoot starts in a few hours and everyone is staying at the same hotel. Hopefully it will make confronting Monica that much easier—since there’s a much better chance she’ll act civil toward me in a public venue than if I try to approach her during the photo shoot later.

  “This is supposed to be the best buffet on the Strip. I can’t wait for the eggs benedict,” I say, practically doing a dance.

  Luka smiles. “You checked out the menu already?”

  “No. I’ve been too busy checking you out. But it’s a breakfast buffet. Eggs benny is a requirement to get a buffet license.”

  This makes him laugh. “I don’t think you’re wrong about that.”