“READY?” CROSS ASKS.
Delphine suddenly had the case of flu this morning and she begged me to go to the WBC party in her stead, claiming it wouldn’t be fair on her date to be stood up at such an important event. With a little persuasion from Cross, I agreed to attend.
I take a moment, wiping the palms of my hands on my long bodycon white backless dress. It’s been six days since I last saw Lenic, and I’m nervous to see him again. I remind myself when life gives you lemons — you grab the salt and Tequila, and then you party.
“Sure,” I tell Cross, smiling. Escorted inside, I feel more than a little out of place given that most of the guests here are familiar with one another.
I didn’t expect the heat, or the ear-splitting music. I also didn’t realise how packed it would be as the five hundred or so VIPs from the world of sport and showbiz all converge as the first rounds of fights begin. The atmosphere in the private arena, owned by one of WBC’s partners, is one of excitement, the tension rolling off everyone in waves. It means there is a guarantee of gore and blood and broken bones and teeth.
The noise of the first-fight announcement and the countdown to the first bout over the PA system resonates in my ears as I glance around the grand high-ceiling amphitheatre. The crowd is full of the rich and powerful, and I recognise famous faces as I seek out West.
"Looking for Lenic?" Cross asks smoothly.
I blink. He is glancing at me in a very disturbing manner. “What are you up to?” I ask slowly.
All of a sudden, I feel his hand rest at the small of my back. The material of my dress is very thin, and it feels like he is touching my skin.
"Um … Cross?"
I can’t deny that Jack Cross is undeniably attractive. Every time the guy walks past a group of girls, at least two or three of them look about ready to faint over his rugged good looks. But he has nothing on a certain dark-eyed pretty-boy ex-Royal Marine.
Amusement flashes across Cross’ features. The same amusement I witnessed in Delphine’s, right before we said our goodbyes at my front door.
“Sometimes you are so stupid, Cross, it is breathtaking. If you don't remove your hand,” I grit out through a tight smile, peering at the other guests milling around us, “I will make certain, that you, and your fiancée, will never make love again.” I glance around, keeping my forced smile on show and move forwards, just enough to break the unwanted touch.
“Relax.” He smirks, as if he knows exactly what he has done and thinks it is hilarious. “Before you turn me into a one-handed widower, just remember — sometimes you need to bring the mountain to Ali. And this was Delphine’s idea, not mine.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sometimes Big Man needs a dog to guide him to the hot girl.”
I tilt my head. “Are you a friend with my best interests at heart? Or an enemy that has dangerous motives?”
“Just go with it.”
“No—”
“Felicity,” a rumbling voice calls from behind.
Unprepared, I flinch at the sound of his looming presence and turn around, facing the imposing figure who towers over me, even in my five-inch heels. I feel all the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise, as I am faced with the broad width of Lenic’s shoulders that the well-tailored suit barely hides.
My eyes narrow in loathing as I take in the man who was once my knight in shining armour, now a thorn in my damn side. At least, an outside observer would view it as loathing. But Lenic might know — might — if he can even remember the electricity that shot through us.
The level of anger I sense coming from Lenic is palpable. His gaze lingers to where Cross’ hand once rested on my lower back, then snaps back up to glower at his manager.
"Ah, Lenic, so nice of you to join us,” Cross says, seemingly amused at his subterfuge.
“I’ll kill you,” Lenic spits, grinding his jaw. “You’re dead. You hear me? Dead.” Straight to the heavy artillery. No hello or how are you.
“Come on, man. Where’s the sugar? I thought you were gonna stay glued to the back wall like you usually do at these events, Big Man." Cross calmly ignores Lenic’s clear show of temper with a half-arsed grin on his face. It’s like throwing a red flag in front of a riled bull.
"Felicity, excuse me. Need to mingle with the other guests. I’ll find you later this evening. Since Lenic is never much help with these events, I trust he will at least take care of you for the time being." With that somewhat unsettling statement, Cross struts back into the throng of the room, smoothly charming his way through the crowd.
"You're Cross’ date?" Lenic asks in a sharp tone.
I grit my teeth. If Lenic bothered to ask me to come as his date, he’d have no reason to be jealous. For a second, there is a temptation to walk away and say screw it — screw him. We won’t achieve anything here. It won’t be an emotionally charged beautiful reunion. It will be angry and bitter. But it would be a cowardly move.
I push the breath I’ve been holding out between pursed lips and force a smile on my face. I hold firm, glancing up casually, as if I haven’t been listening. “Hmm?”
He clenches his jaw. “I said — you Cross’ date?”
“Let me think … no one else invited me,” I reply, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “Someone sounds jealous. But that couldn’t be the case, right? I mean, that could never ‘happen again’.” I watch as his jaw ticks, and I guess he is figuring out just what to say to me. But I decide to relieve him of the chance. “So far, this conversation isn’t engaging my interest. In fact, I’d rather talk about what current bait you’re using for fishing.”
My words are harsh. Mean. Only adding to my own amusement. Then I laugh. It sure isn’t a nice laugh. His eyebrows knit together. “Oh, there’s West by the bar. It was lovely to see you, as always. I hope you have a wonderful evening, Lenic.” He blocks my path to the bar. “You’re standing in front of me to … what? You want a dance or…? With the way these gentlemen are looking at me in this dress tonight, you might be waiting a very long time.”
I don’t wait for him to react, turning on my heel. But when my heel clicks on the stone floor, he plants his hand on my arm and whirls me around. I’m ready to let him have it with both barrels, but the expression facing me is hardly the mask of arrogance expected.
“I didn’t want this,” he says, his voice underpinned with a faint vulnerability.
He is staring into my eyes with this … this intensity that is all Lenic — that is danger and lust and the reason I just can’t get enough of him. The reason why my underwear is slightly damp now, when really I just want to shove him away — and OK, maybe let him finger me. But, oh god — he is so damn good at fingering.
“You could have fooled me.”
“Things … are complicated.”
“Really? Because for me, things are getting more and more simple.”
“Felicity,” he snaps.
I look up at him through fake eyelashes. “What is it that you want, Lenic?”
“I want you.”
“It’s good to be ambitious.”
I could try and ignore Lenic, but after a split second of looking into those eyes, a flood of suppressed feelings surge under my skin, and even though my body, my eyes, and my mouth give jack shit away, my emotions are like an out-of-control rollercoaster.
I feel the caustic anger that only Lenic can provoke in me. He has all the ammo. And he knows just how to use it. Then there is the desire, that need, that stupid want that comes with having messed around with someone in the most dirtiest imaginable ways, and seeing them in the flesh for the first time, after what seems like too damn long.
And Lenic looks good, really good in a suit. And the sweat and the grime, and the dense smell of bodies and testosterone and raw masculinity, and everything about this situation and the atmosphere, brings that feeling of forbidden desire. But it isn’t the place or the time to share those feelings.
I hear him sigh. “I was a dickhead.”
I am so stunned by his apology that it takes me a few seconds to respond. “Yes. Yes you are a dickhead. I’m pleased you’re finally able to admit it. My condolences to you and your family.”
He rakes a hand through the side of his head and grunts. “I meant, for the other night … I was trying to do the right thing by you.”
“Then … why start something you can’t finish? I never expected anything from you…”
I am not the kind of girl who needs coddling and special care. If I am hurt, really hurt, I’d make sure Lenic never feels it. My heart won’t shatter into a million tiny slivers, and my eyes won’t gush the damn Niagara Falls for him. That isn’t me. That’s never been me. Even so, I feel a slight crushing sensation beneath my chest, and I hate that my eyelashes flutter from hurt, giving a little of the hidden part of me away.
“All I wanted was to please you.” The timbre of his voice is velvety, and it makes me lift my foot up an inch off the floor, curling my toe.
I stifle a shiver. “And why is that?”
“Felicity…” His voice drops lower in a you-should-know-better tone. “As if you need to ask.” His hand goes to the small of my back. Unlike with Cross, I melt into the fires of Hell, burning my flesh into it. He leans in so close, that I think he is going to kiss me in the middle of the arena, surrounded by everyone.
I try to read his face, his body language, scrutinizing his sincerity. The warmth in his eyes looks genuine and it brings my smile back. I force down the girly, bouncy, happy feelings that begin to bubble towards the surface. Force it away immediately.
“I am no one’s pet,” I mumble, shrugging very slightly, just to let him know I hardly even noticed or cared about getting the brush off, that it didn’t matter. “I'm not easy. You can’t click your fingers and I’ll come running back to the alleyway.” My voice is cold, disinterested.
His lips twitch. “Good,” he says. “I only like it when it’s hard.” I can almost hear his laughter, rough and deep, and so damned sexy.
A smile pinches at my lips. “Just the way I want it…” I bite my lip in a slow tease, my gaze drifting to his mouth. Feeling an ache between my thighs, I mentally shake myself. “But maybe it’s too late. Maybe, I have moved on.” I taste the lie on my own tongue. He is all I can think about. But why venture to make the path easy for him? “I won’t be once bitten, twice Lenicked.”
“What?” he asks, his smouldering gaze turning into an inquisitive smile.
I reach up and pretend to check the backing on one of my earrings, and send a sideways look towards a tall broad-shouldered guy with a heavy head, close-cropped hair, and a burnt-looking stubble of beard. His face is a death mask. He is the complete opposite of my type.
I give him a wink, nevertheless.
Lenic tugs at his collar and hisses, “Don’t, Felicity. Chekhov’s an arsehole who treats girls like shit. He fucks them then dumps them, like they’re something his boot stepped on. Bastard has a thing for teenage virgins — he’s a sicko. He doesn’t deserve a girl like you.” When Chekhov gives me a dirty smile, I twist my ring around my finger and purse my lips at the Russian fighter in a suggestive kiss. Lenic steps in front of me, blocking my view. He is like a wall.
“Hmm. Piece of chain, and you’d be quite the guard dog.” That gets me a dark look.
“I said I was a dick, now quit playing.”
OK, this is just about all I can take. The tension of not seeing Lenic for a few days, and now we are finally face-to-face, and his damn sexy mouth, running off words with all his jealousy and testosterone, expecting me to just take it when he was the one to end something beautiful … something he cut ties with before it had a chance to survive ... it should piss me off, but all it does is make me want to kiss him.
I know what a man like Lenic can do. I know it just as well as the world does. Alpha male types who assess threats to territory and shoot like a ball from a cannon. It’s rumoured he can take a tree down with the palm of his hand, and I’m starting to believe the legend. Six-feet-four of fury, he is like a human tempest as he aims an icy glare at Chekhov and growls.
“See. This is what I love about being single.” Lenic’s head snaps back around to me. “Getting to know so many guys in one night. You never know who you’re going to hook up with at these exclusive high-profiled steamy-hot events.” He searches my expression, but I know he won't find even the smallest hint of indecision in my eyes. He glares at me, jaw set like stone.
I turn to leave, but his hand wraps around my wrist like a vice, keeping me in place. He stays rooted to where he is, cold eyes watching Chekhov. It should simmer my blood, but my brain immediately sinks back to that same hand pinning me up against the brick wall, and those same fingers thrusting deliciously inside of me ... I know what those lethal bare hands can do.
“Don’t,” he says, once more.
“I’m flattered, really.” I try to extricate my hands from his grip. It is useless. And I hate that it is turning me on. I hate that I’m having dark and dirty fantasies of him tying me up.
I look straight up at him. “Whenever I start to feel like an arsehole, just remind me I have you to compare myself to. Now let me go.”
“No.”
“Why?”
He leans in closer, pressing the heat of his body against mine. “Because the thought of another man touching you like this…” I watch his chest rise and fall, and I admire his directness.
“I thought you didn’t care—”
“I do.” His voice is guttural, raw with emotion, and I feel my heart clench.
We stare into each other’s eyes for one, long, emotionally charged moment. It seems like the world turns into water as though I am drowning, and everything isn’t clear anymore; everything I thought I knew is distorted. And I start to understand something unknown. Even with just this tiny display of his prowess, I wholly understand.
I could tear him down.
Eventually, he loosens his grip and I feel his hand lace with mine. He is holding my hand, again, smoothly fighting my reluctance. The peaceful gesture is so out of place in the violent world we are standing in now. But Lenic wants me on his arm all night, and somehow, for some stupid damn reason, I would do that for him. Let him.
I look up. “You like holding my hand.”
“I like holding you.” He clears his throat.
“I’ve never let a man hold my hand.”
“Good. Keep it that way. You look beautiful tonight. You’ve done something different with your eyes. I like it. I like looking at them.”
“Awww. What a beautiful kiss-arse.” He chuckles softly at my playful insult.
“Be careful, Hazelnut. You keep looking more beautiful every time I see you — next time you come into my bedroom I'm locking the door and throwing away the key.” I try to ignore the heat rising on my cheeks. “Felicity, give me another chance. I won't ask again, I won't need to. This is it for us. I told you a man’s allowed to make one mistake in his lifetime. I already used mine up to push you away. Now all I wanna do is pull you into me. ” I look away from his eyes, because it’s too much, he is too much, and glance over to the match in the centre of the room. “I’ll fight every single man in this arena, rip them apart with my bare hands — whatever it takes.”
“You’d do that? Just to have me?”
“I’d go to Hell and back. I’ve missed you. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to forget. I trained. Sparred. I even tried drinking last night. I’ve never broken the rules, but I did. I had to. I had to stop myself from getting into my car and driving to your place. I had to stop myself from going up to your bedroom and taking you. I did everything I could … but I still missed you. It’s been Hell. Six days of Hell. Six days is all I can take without you.”
What is it about this man that makes my heart pound in my chest like this? All poetic words and charm that I should hate, yet all I can do is stare at those lips, think about how they felt on my mouth, how they felt on my inner thighs, and I remember every electric touch … and it had never felt so good.
“From the very first moment you walked in here and I saw you in white … you goddamned killed me. I knew then I’d made the biggest mistake I would ever make in my life. And as if that wasn’t enough to end me, you went ahead and looked at me in the way you always do … and it killed this dead-man-walking twice.” He looks at me for a beat. “I want to start over.”
“What would you do differently? What would you change about our beginning?”
“I'd take you backstage and make you sit on my face. I've wanted it from the moment you asked for it … from the moment I saved you. I only wish I’d thought of it first.” His thumb starts to stroke the back of my hand. “Come back to me, Hazelnut. I’ll make you happy.”
Everyone flies with angels by their side. His wings are the Devil's wings. He could sweet-talk me into walking through the Gates of Hell, willingly, if he so desired it. Every time I am in his presence, I feel like I'm burning up in hellfire. That sinful, clever tongue of his could have me repenting my sins for eternity.
Still. He hurt me. I can’t give in too easily. I just can’t.
He should sweat a little … before we sweat together.
“I’ve been thinking about us in the last six days. Thinking about how it would have never worked out between us,” I lie.
His eyebrows draw down. I feel like I’ve just kicked a box of kittens. “Why not?”
“Because you're too…” I flick my gaze downwards, resting on his groin. “…big.” He stares at me, frustrated and confused.
“Stop thinking between your legs, Lenic. I was referring to your height and width. Tell me, how would that work with my tiny body underneath your large, crushing one? You would squish me like a bug.”
“What?” he grunts.
“Oh, look. West is calling me over to the bar. We will have that dance you wanted later tonight. But I think it’s only fair you wait.” I shrug off his hold on me, and with a sway of my hips, a quick smile over my shoulder … I turn my head and melt back into the chaos of the arena.
His hand has left a hot impression on my skin that I try so hard to ignore as my heart races. Crossing the room towards West, I know Lenic’s eyes are on me, but I force myself not to turn back and look.
The crowd has built up in the bar area even in the short period of time since I arrived. West sips what appears to be his usual glass of ginger beer and sets it on the bar. “They’ll let anyone in these days,” West quips.
"My boobs could get me into 10 Downing Street if I wanted them to,” I reply, standing by his side. He waves down a busy bartender and orders me a single vodka and tonic. I thank them both and tip it straight into my mouth, closing my eyes as it burns the back of my throat.
I turn to face the crowded humid room, giving Lenic a covert glance. West notices and concern scrawls into his features. "Tell me you’re not here with him."
“I can happily tell you that I am not.”
West wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me in towards him, casting a smug glance over at Lenic. I watch Lenic grit his teeth, grind his jaw. I know how it is between alpha male types — men looking to spill blood, and it is all so nasty and depraved.
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" I ask. “To piss him off.”
"Of course. It's one of the main side benefits of being your closest friend."
I contemplate all being fair in love and war, and all that, but I can't quite summon up the enthusiasm to go through with it.
“West, don’t be an arse.” I push away from his hold, and notice Lenic getting distracted by an important-looking older man wearing an expensive suit, his fingers covered in thick gold rings. “It’s not fair on your date.”
“My manager forced me to bring Zoey Upton as my date for good publicity. She’s more interested in her singing career and sucking off a controlling billionaire to marry — nice dress." West gives my outfit a once-over and I twirl on my heels. “Besides, I’d rather talk to you. You’re the prettiest and funniest girl here.”
West orders me a glass of pink champagne and we take this opportunity to catch up. I start the conversation relaying my plans for a new line of underwear Delphine and I are going to manufacture and sell on our JUICED website. "I’m planning on sending you a bra for Christmas." I swirl the pink liquid around the bottom of my glass and take a sip.
"Why would I need a bra?"
West hasn’t dated anyone since his girlfriend passed away a couple of years ago. I met her only once at one of his boxing matches, but she was super shy, and I never had a chance to meet her again. It broke his heart. I think she was the love of his life. Ever since her death, he hasn’t allowed himself to find love again.
"Future girlfriend?"
"Don’t start," he warns, giving me a gentle smile, but I catch a flicker of melancholy in his eyes.
“Delphine has designed some brilliantly creative pieces too. She’s both beautiful and talented, don’t you agree?” I would be the happiest girl alive if he married Delphine.
Team West? Maybe.
“Don’t try and set me up with her. I’ll never be able to give her what she deserves and you’ll never forgive me.” I turn to lean my back on the bar, soaking up the atmosphere when West starts to laugh. “Maybe you ought to design better dresses first. There’s a rip in your dress, Flick.”
“No.” I search my dress frantically and curse under my breath. There is a large tear down the left side, and I am flashing side boob to all of the guests.
In a world that is full of hyper-masculinity and alpha dogs, I’ve made myself a target with a bullseye on the side of my dress. A stocky older man with a thick beard coughs throatily, noticing it. He winks at me and asks, “Want a spin on the dance floor, sweetheart? Or would you like to go somewhere private so we can … talk?”
I blink and shoot him down. Immediately. “Keep dreaming, sweetheart.” I start to wonder what it is about me that can elicit such a strong viewpoint that I’m a gold digger.
I hear West snigger and I glare up at him when his laughter gets louder. I grab his arm, dragging him into one of the corridors leading off from the arena. I turn the handle of the nearest door and pull West inside and shut it, muffling the base of the music and the cheering crowd. Whirling around to make sure we are alone, I realise we are in someone’s luxury office.
Luckily, I always carry emergency safety pins in my bag. I rush over to the far side, behind the desk, and pull down my dress so I can reach the inside and temporarily fix the tear. I instruct West to keep a watchful eye.
“Ouch,” I hiss, wincing when I prick myself on the safety pin.
“Here, let me.” West's face doesn’t alter in expression as he bats my hand away, snatches the pin from my grip, and takes over.
Five seconds later, thumping music pierces the air once more, and the sound of a throat being cleared draws our attention to the doorway of the office. "You gonna clue me in to what the hell you’re doing with him in here?" The voice is black, hard.
I turn to see Lenic leaning against the doorjamb, eyeing us both narrowly with barely suppressed anger. There is none of the soldierly calm, no mask, no bullshit. To anyone else, they wouldn’t see anything but anger in his stormy eyes, but I do. I see confusion and another emotion that flits across his face briefly.
“I…” My voice is hesitant, and for the first time tonight I feel my confidence slip. "OK, this isn’t what it looks like. I’m just showing West how handy a safety pin is."
"Yeah, I know how much you like to show things,” he says gruffly. “Offices are just as entertaining as the Internet."
"Flick,” West speaks up, “this guy giving you problems?"
Lenic's eyes fill with scorn as he addresses West. "That’s rich coming from you."
I can feel West bristle beside me as tension crackles in the air. "It doesn't sound like Felicity thinks there is much to talk about with you. So unless you had something specific that you needed, mate—"
“I’m not your mate.” Lenic glowers at West before turning his stony glare back on me. "You know, Cross is just outside."
"Sorry, what did you just say?" I meet his accusing gaze with a furious one of my own. I can’t decide if I am more angry or stumped at this point. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why does Cross have anything to do with what I’m doing?”
Lenic slams the door shut behind him. Imposing and powerful, he moves on me fast. At the sight of him, I feel trepidation bubble inside of me. Though I am sure West can hold his own, it is no secret that The Tempest is considered an unrelenting animal in the ring.
"Usually when you bring someone to a party as your date, you don't expect them to sneak off into a private room and let other guests strip them.” I glance at Lenic, completely shocked.
Then I start to laugh.
The Tempest is masking his overt jealousy by defending his friend’s honour — if Cross has any to begin with.
"You thought I was here as Cross’ date date? Lenic, just how much did you drink last night?"
Lenic’s jaw ticks under a paper-thin control. "He said you were his date."
"He told you I was his date? Cross didn't tell you the truth?"
Lenic advances closer, his eyebrows drawing down. "Answer the question."
I sigh. "Delphine is unwell so I took her place. Cross persuaded me to come instead by telling me there would be several members of the WBC federation board coming tonight, and that I should come and try to coax them into becoming sponsors for the Youths At Risk charity."
Lenic glances at me, seemingly making a mental note to eviscerate his friend later. "You're not on a date with Cross?"
"No. And that will never ever happen."
Lenic’s posture relaxes. Fractionally. And then his hostile eyes fix on West. "What about him?"
“What about me?” West spits. They’re practically standing nose-to-nose with one another.
"West … don’t," I warn, turning and laying a hand on West's arm, feeling it tense beneath my fingers. I glance up at him. "Do you mind if you leave me and Lenic alone? I think we need to discuss a few things in private."
“When Hell freezes over I will,” West answers, taking a protective stance in front of me. “I’m not letting you anywhere near her.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Lenic’s gaze meets and holds mine.
“What question?” I ask.
“You with this guy?”
West and I both answer at the same time without a moment's hesitation. But my answer of no is a contradiction to his yes.
Lenic towers over West, cold aggression pumping off of him “The woman said no—”
“Back. Off,” West grits out through clenched teeth.
Despite seeing the stern set of Lenic’s jaw, the angry flash in his eyes, it doesn't scare me, and I slip between them. Lenic immediately jumps back, shifting his gaze down to me. “If you’re with this guy — you should know not to trust him.”
“For Christ’s sakes, just stop it, both of you.” The two giant men in the room look stunned as I rebuke them. “You have both warned me about the other, but you’re keeping me in the dark. Tell me what’s going on.” My voice is even but firm, just like my gaze.
I wait, growing increasingly irritated with their mutual silence, my feeling of frustration intensifying. It is like dancing with phantoms.
When they go back to staring daggers at one another, I tell them, “I’m leaving for the bar.” I am done with their secretive feud. I am at an exclusive VIP event, and I’m damn well going to party until I drop. “If you two are in some secret love-hate affair, you’ve got the whole office to yourselves. Take my advice — make love on the desk and get it over with, already.” They both shoot me a look. “I’m done with the both of you.”
When I begin to cross the room, Lenic calls out, “Wait, hear me out first. There’s something I wanted to put to you.”
I don’t want to stop — I want to keep going and find the dance floor — but I can’t help it. It is that kind of voice. Commanding. Hypnotising.
I halt. Pause. Then turn around. “If I win the charity match next weekend,” Lenic starts, “you go on a date with me.”
I give him a blank look, taking care not to exult like a vain feeble fan-girl, but it is a contrast to the happy dance I am doing inside. “You’re egotistically sure of yourself.”
“Not egotistic. Thinking you’re better than everyone else is egotistic. Being the best you can be is confidence and that’s who I am — get used to it. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
I feel my mouth go dry. There is no other man like Lenic. “Do you expect your offer to meet with grateful approval?”
“Not from you, no. Wouldn’t want it any other way. And it’s not just any date. I’ll take you out to sea on my boat. Just you and me.” Looking directly at me, it seems as though every hot heady moment of our alleyway meet-up is ingrained into his heated gaze. “No escape.”
It is suddenly very hard to swallow, but somehow I manage and school in my features, despite the tension building in my stomach.
‘No escape?’ But who in their right mind would want to escape paradise?
“Is this your way to get me to come see you fight?” I ask casually. At least, I hope I sound casual.
His face curves into a delicious grin. “Yeah.”
“I could stand at the front and scream your name and throw my underwear at you. What do you reckon? Would you like that?”
“As long as you don't wash them.”
“The hell she will,” West snarls. “Back off, Reevus — you’re full of it.”
They are like two rabid dogs and I am the bone. It wouldn’t surprise me if they start thumping their chests and roaring up at the moon to show their dominance.
"Don’t agree to this, Flick. You're not gonna be a part of his twisted games.” West gives me that brotherly sort of look that says he is not going to let me out.
Lenic ignores West, looking at me expectantly. He breaks into a slight grin, and his eyes look like a mask, one that is hiding a deeper motivation. “I said I’d fight for a second chance with you,” he reminds me, simply and firmly, holding out his huge skilful hand — the very hand that drilled into me. I eye it speculatively, but then feel my cheeks grow warm as his gaze holds mine long enough to send a shiver straight down to the butterflies in my stomach, and set them fluttering. And when he licks his tongue slowly across his bottom lip … that one look … makes dust out of me.
I realise I am getting hooked by his bait.
He is a tempter, a man who can’t be denied.
“You’re on.” I take Lenic’s hand, watching with a certain degree of amusement as my hand disappears entirely into his. “If you win.”
“I always win,” Lenic says cocksure, and then turns his attention to West. “You’d better remember that when we go head-to-head.”
“This doesn't mean anything," I add, knocking down Lenic’s ego — ‘confidence’.
"Sure…" Lenic replies, that big boyish smile on his face making it crystal clear he believes otherwise.
“If you lose—”
“Never gonna happen.”
“If you lose,” I reiterate, “you star in yet another video for my channel.” I give him a secretive sort of smile that makes him give me a suspicious once-over.
“What you got planned?”
“Don’t lose and you’ll never have to find out. But you should know … it will test how far you are willing to stretch your dignity.”
He shakes his head. Sniffs. “You’re worth it.”
“The hell you think you're doing?" West’s venomous stare locks on to me. "You're not going through with this shit,” he announces, as if it is already a done deal. He is ever the protective brother. “Flick, I mean it, just trust me on this one.”
There is still time to back out, time to tell Lenic to take a hike, and end whatever we have here. But there is something about Lenic’s eyes that root me to the spot. They tell me everything I need to know about what’s circling in his head, like bloodthirsty sharks.
He has shifted the water from being cold to hot.
He is going to chase the heart of the girl of his dreams.
And his big boat … is coming for me.
Someone throws open the door, breaking my eye contact with Lenic. Cross enters the office. His brow shoots up when his gaze lands on my dress that is set halfway down to my waist, drinking in the way Lenic and West are standing so very close to me. I watch as Cross’ puzzled expression morphs into an eager one.
“Good God, Lenic. First you have an MFF ménage. Now you’re onto an MFM.” He grins devilishly. “Mate, you’re my spirit animal.”