Hot Sexy Desire Page 7

  “There!” She bends her knees a little and points at a spot on a tile.

  I squint, then finally see a small spider, moving its legs slowly.

  Holy shit. All that screaming over a spider?

  I exhale roughly, take a final look around and holster the gun, clicking the safety back on. It could’ve been worse, I guess. Like a real asshole showing up.

  I start to bend down, and Kristen yells, “Don’t hurt it!”

  “What?”

  “Just…uh… Don’t hurt it. He probably didn’t mean to scare me.”

  Oooo-kay. I pick the spider off the floor and put it on the short ledge out the window, then make sure to lock it again.

  Nothing happened. Kristen’s safe. It was just a bug.

  But that does little to calm my restlessness. The recent cocktail of emotions and violence bubbles up inside me like lava. My hands are shaking slightly.

  “Antoine?” comes Kristen’s small voice.

  I look at her. Her wet hair clings to her freshly scrubbed face. She seems impossibly young and vulnerable. The shower has flushed her cheeks and lips; a drop of water traces the lovely curve of her cheek, then falls, landing a few inches above her cleavage and rolling down below.

  She couldn’t look sweeter or more fuckable. I have to get out of here before I do something really stupid.

  “You aren’t hurt, right?” I rasp, wanting to make sure she didn’t somehow fall or cut herself in her spider-induced panic.

  She shakes her head.

  “Okay, then…” I start to walk away, although my feet are dragging as though they have a mind of their own. She’s so close. I could lean to one side, just a little, and we’d be in full body contact…

  Don’t even think about it. I grit my teeth. She reaches for a bottle of lotion she must’ve dropped earlier, then suddenly slips, pitching to the side.

  “Ack!” she cries, her hands clutching at me for balance. But she pulls too hard, and my feet slip on a wet section of the floor.

  We fall. I roll with her, shielding her so she doesn’t hit the hard tiles. Air whooshes out of my lungs as her body slams against mine, my back to the floor.

  I need to move. Except I can’t. Not because the fall hurt that much, but the feel of her ass against my dick is killing me, cell by cell. And then the sensation as she turns slowly until her front fits against mine is indelible, like every valley and dip of her body will be stamped on me forever. One of my hands is on the small of her back, while the other is cupping her bare ass—and the smooth, shower-damp skin. My brain finally registers that her towel is no longer around her. The knot must’ve come undone in the fall.

  The restlessness I’ve been feeling all evening expands until I feel like my skin’s about to split. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me. Oh…shit. My dick. It’s so hard I could bludgeon someone with it. She’s definitely feeling it against her bare belly.

  Lust is like a living, starving monster inside me. Kristen’s lips are only a hairsbreadth away. And they’re so soft, so lush, so pink.

  I don’t know who makes the first move, but the feel of her mouth on mine fries all sense of propriety and control. All I care is that her tongue is licking across my mouth, from one corner to the other end, like she can’t bear to leave even the smallest area untasted. Then she’s nibbling it, greedy for every texture, every way she can devour my mouth. And I’m flicking my tongue against her soft, sweet lips and tasting a headiness that hits me harder than a fifteen-year-old whiskey. My head spins as I pull her closer, plunging my tongue between her pliant lips.

  She moans softly, the sound full of need and greed. Her nails dig into my shoulders, the sharp pain fueling my lust, sending hot sparks down my back. I shape the tight roundness of her ass, loving the small, mewling noise she makes low in her throat. She’s so freaking perfect, so beautifully formed, delicious and passionate in her desire. Her legs fall apart, cradling my cock between her thighs. I can feel the dampness through my pants.

  Some primitive part of me howls. Yes, yes, yes!

  But I don’t relinquish her mouth. I want to drink her in as long as I can. I love kissing her, the way we can stroke each other’s lust until we’re both going mad.

  She rubs against me, rocking gently, and I feel like my heart is about to explode with desire. I run a hand down her spine, feeling every little bump. She shivers, then bites her lower lip.

  “Kristen…”

  She puts a finger over my mouth, raising her torso. “I want you.”

  The sight of her bare, pendulous tits draws my gaze, and…I stare. They’re stunning, round, plump and tipped with hard, pointed pink nipples that beg to be kissed and loved.

  Then I spot a red impression on her side, underneath her right breast. I scowl. How did she…?

  I know. It’s from my gun.

  My lust vanishes. I start to sit up.

  “What?” she says, one hand on my arm.

  “I’m here to protect you, not take advantage of you.”

  She tries for a laugh. “It’s called ‘mutual fun’ if we both want it.”

  “You have no idea what you’re asking, Kristen,” I say, doing my best to ignore her nudity. Or the hurt that’s starting to bleed through her eyes.

  “I’m not an idiot, Antoine. I’m twenty-six years old.”

  “And I’m thirty-one. Too old to act on impulse.”

  “What’s wrong with impulse?”

  “Kristen, you’re like the baby sister I never ha—”

  “Oh, God, shut up! You’d never look at a baby sister the way you’re looking at me now. You would’ve never kissed a baby sister the way you just kissed me. At least be honest with yourself before giving me your usual bullshit excuse. I’m not stupid.”

  “Kristen…” I sigh. I don’t know what to say. Just tell her how shit can go real bad when you break the code? There’s a reason why rules like “don’t bang your best friend’s baby sister” exist, and it isn’t to drive me insane. I place the towel around her, which has to be the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life. “Get dressed and get some sleep. I’m going to ask Tolyan to watch you and hit the gym. It’s leg day.”

  “Fine.”

  I get up and leave. She stays on the bathroom floor.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Antoine

  I wish everything I felt while kissing Kristen was just horniness. The little head, trying to have its way. My dick’s very insistent, even if it’s incapable of vocalizing its wants.

  I lifted weights, then ran until my muscles felt like rubber and my stomach was ready to heave. Normally I would just crash now. But no. I still can’t sleep. Because if I’m honest, I know it’s not about the restlessness or wanting to work it out with sex or even just simple lust. And every time I close my eyes, Kristen’s scent and taste invade my mind. Along with the hurt and anger on her face.

  So now I’m at a bar near my place, finishing my third martini. I’m not worried about Kristen’s safety. I managed to lure a few paparazzi away from the penthouse when I left, and Tolyan said he’d be more than happy to relieve me for the night. He’s a scary motherfucker. I wouldn’t want to fight him because I know he’d rather die than yield. The only thing he cares about is winning.

  A ruthlessness like that can come in handy. If I were that callous…I would’ve been able to get up and leave before being stupid and kissing Kristen.

  I signal for another martini, then scroll through the contacts on my phone, wondering if I should just hook up with someone. That might do the trick. At least I wouldn’t be horny anymore. Or annoyed. Or restless.

  “Hey, lover!”

  My thumb pauses over the screen, and I look up. The blonde sidling up close to me is vaguely familiar. She has bright green eyes and the kind of well-carved cheek bones that cameras love. Her body is a marvel, an hourglass tight enough to tempt a saint, while her soft facial features somehow make her look like she’s barely legal…although she has to be legal to be in the place with
a drink in her hand. But where have I seen her before…?

  Then I remember. Cindy. She and I hooked up last year…I think. She was a redhead back then, her hair cut short. A tomboy with a killer body, and an aspiring actress. I don’t recall a whole lot about my time with her. We were together only for like a month, and she was mainly interested in talking about her aspirations—the biggest one being she wanted to be the most famous actress in Hollywood—and screwing my brains out. I didn’t mind on either count.

  Cindy’s in a stretchy emerald dress that brings out her eyes and shows her to her best advantage…even giving me a little peek here and there, depending on how she angles her body. She twirls her long hair around a finger as she smiles.

  “Hi, Cindy,” I say, hoping my grin looks cheery.

  “Hey! I had no idea you were still in L.A.”

  “Well, you know… Work’s in L.A., and I gotta keep paying the bills.”

  “I hear that.” She leans forward. “So what are you doing here by yourself?”

  I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  She puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re really tight. No wonder.”

  I should be okay with the touch. But somehow it feels off. I like it less as she starts kneading the muscles. “I was in the gym, that’s why,” I toss out a nonsensical explanation as I gently wrap my hand around hers to get it off me.

  “I know a great way to solve insomnia.”

  She looks into my eyes. I should just take what she’s offering. But my dick suddenly shows zero interest in fucking. What the hell is wrong? I love blondes. And Cindy is certainly willing.

  Except she smells off—rose and licorice. And she’s blonde, and her eyes are green.

  When I don’t answer immediately, Cindy frowns. “What’s wrong?” Then she tilts her head. “Is it a woman? Someone else you’re with right now?”

  “No.” Kristen isn’t a woman. And she and I definitely aren’t together.

  Oh, but she felt like a woman for sure, my dick reminds me. Fucking traitor.

  Cindy laughs. “Come on, Antoine. I’m not stupid. The only time my charm doesn’t work is when men are gay or taken—”

  “I’m not taken,” I say tightly.

  She waves that away. “As in, his heart is with someone else.”

  I almost spit out my drink. My heart isn’t with Kristen. How could it be? I mean, I like her, sure, and watch over her…but it isn’t like that. I couldn’t give my heart to someone I can never have sex with. That doesn’t make any sense. Male evolutionary instinct is all about fucking and spreading our seed. You can’t do that if you’re in love with a woman you can never have.

  Before I can formulate a suitable response to Cindy’s ridiculous assertion, I hear the familiar, overly breathless greeting. “Antoine! Fancy running into you here.”

  Oh, for— I almost pull something as I whip my head around. It’s Maman, in full makeup and a light summer dress. Her hair’s twisted into some kind of updo that must’ve taken hours, and she looks like a single woman on the prowl to get herself a guy.

  Except for the ring she hasn’t bothered to take off.

  She studies Cindy with the satisfaction of a cat who’s discovered a fresh canary buried in her bowl of cream. Cindy stares back, her expression slightly wary.

  Maman tilts her head slightly. “Are you going to introduce me?”

  “Uh…this is Cindy. A good friend.” I wrap a hand around my mother’s arm and pull her away, mouthing, Sorry, crazy relative, to Cindy.

  I drag Maman away to a café a block down. It’s one of those places that never closes because of late-night coffee addicts and big law firms in the area with their associates working until the half-circles underneath their eyes become permanent facial features. Sure enough, the place is somewhat crowded despite the late hour, but it’s private enough for a conversation.

  “How did you find me?” I ask, after I get an iced tea and take a table.

  Maman smooths her skirt, then crosses her legs demurely. A blueberry muffin sits in front of her, but I know she won’t touch it. She usually buys one just in case she wants it, but she never eats the damn things because she’s gotta maintain her figure.

  “Easily enough. I had you followed.” She sips her cappuccino, her eyes on me.

  “What?”

  “Do you think you’re the only one who can do mysterious, clandestine stuff?” She laughs prettily. “Nicolas hired people to follow you around to figure out who you’re seeing. I guess he’s trying to sabotage your…efforts. Don’t worry. I’m having my people follow his people and him.” She smiles, looking at me expectantly.

  Maybe I should clap—or something—at this spectacular waste of resources by two people who should know better. But this explains those cars on my tail.

  “So. Who’s the girl?”

  “Weren’t you watching?” I wouldn’t put it past her to eavesdrop.

  “Of course not. I wasn’t following you myself, Antoine. I receive reports and make a move when I think it’s time.”

  I can’t help but wonder if there’s some action movie soundtrack playing in her head when she says stuff like that. “I told you. Cindy. A good friend, but not someone I’d consider marrying or dating.”

  Maman laughs again, the sound almost too musical…and creepy. “You’re so funny. Not her. The other one.” She leans forward with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “You’re aiming for Kristen King, aren’t you?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Antoine

  I spit out the tea. Unfortunately, my reflexes fail me this time, and the cold brew lands on my shirt. “You should warn me if you’re going to make a joke,” I say.

  “A joke?” Maman looks reproachful. “You shouldn’t lie to your mother. I can tell. It’s the coffeemaker. You haven’t used yours in at least a couple of days. It’s completely dry and smells a few days old.”

  Maman has an uncanny power to tell how old coffee is from just a sniff. She said she learned to do that while working at a café in her youth. The Dark Age, she calls it, because that was when Papy got tired of her and Tante Nicole’s antics and cut both of them off. Their allowances started up again after Maman and Tante Nicole agreed to a cease-fire of sorts—not that that stopped them from clandestinely trying to sabotage each other.

  But…my coffeemaker? “How the hell do you know—”

  “I’ve been inside your apartment, obviously.”

  “You don’t have a key.” I don’t do spare keys, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give one to Maman. She has no respect for privacy.

  She puts a hand over her chest and sighs. “Well. I ran into the sweetest man. Your super. He was skeptical at first, but I convinced him you and I are family. You look just like me…if I were male, of course, and larger. I told him I had no place to go, and you apparently couldn’t answer the phone at work.” The corners of her mouth turn downward. “Horrible to have Maman loitering outside like some”—she casts around for a sufficiently dramatic term—“unwanted vagrant.”

  I cover my eyes. I can’t even get mad at the poor super. Knowing Maman, she charmed the hell out of the man. He’s paunchy and sallow, with pockmarks all over his face. And he’s lost at least half an inch of hairline with every decade. He has no clue how to handle someone like Maman, who wields her charm the way gladiators wielded their swords.

  “It’s work,” I say, once I can speak. “There’s been an incident involving Kristen.”

  “Right. That’s why you took your clothes. Toiletries. A carry-on case’s worth to be precise. How long are you two going to under the same roof? Do you have to be in the same room as her as well?”

  Damn it. She went through my place like a team of cops with a warrant. And—predictably—leaped to one ridiculous conclusion after another.

  “But let’s assume for a moment you aren’t involved with Kristen.”

  “I’m not.” A kiss doesn’t count as “being involved.”

  She gives me a look normally re
served for a toddler trying to lie for the first time. “Have you spoken with Eddie? Are you seeing Tessa again, then?”

  I forcibly relax at the mention of my former best friend and his younger sister. “No. Why would you think we’d run into each other?”

  “Well, they are in Los Angeles.”

  I have to laugh. “L.A. has thirteen million people. And I’m busy working.”

  “You wouldn’t have to do if you’d just win Papy’s money.”

  “Like I said, I don’t want his money.”

  “Everyone wants his money.”

  Why am I bothering? She’s just going to project whatever the hell she feels like because that’s what she does best.

  “Including Tessa,” Maman continues. “The Maxim family fortune has declined significantly. She needs to marry well.”

  “She doesn’t have to marry me. And Eddie can make his own money if the goal is to restore the family fortune. Or marry an heiress himself.”

  Maman laughs, the sound oddly grating. “Women don’t marry poor men. It’s the other way around…unless he wants to marry a much older sugar mama, which is beneath him. Eddie’s pride wouldn’t tolerate it. But Tessa is pretty, and men love young, pretty brides.”

  It’s all I can do to not curl my lip in distaste. The topic is ridiculous and unpleasant, to put it mildly.

  “Your marrying Tessa would fix everything for everyone.”

  “You forgot about the baby part,” I point out dryly. I swore I’d never touch Tessa again, and I’m not breaking that vow.

  “She seems fertile, but I suppose you’re right. We should test her to make sure she can get pregnant.”

  My jaw drops. “Have you considered the possibility that maybe I’m shooting blanks?”

  Maman waves a hand. “Nonsense. The only reason none of your exes is pregnant is that you must be meticulous with condom use.”

  My skin crawls. The last thing I want to talk about with my mother is condoms. And making babies. I don’t know what it is, but lately, every time I speak to her, I feel like I’m rolling around in a particularly filthy pigsty.