Chapter Six
Julian
Pizza and beer. One of the most perfect pairs, period. It doesn’t matter how much money you make, if you’re a CEO or a nobody, you can’t deny that combinations like this are fucking brilliant.
I’ve got both in hand when I get back to the hotel room. My stomach is growling and I’m ready for an easy night in after a long day.
“Melody,” I call out as I step inside.
No answer.
I try again, “Melody.”
There’s not many places she could hide, and she doesn’t really strike me as the type to play games. The bathroom door’s a bit ajar and I knock on it, opening it a bit more.
“Hey,” comes a startled shout and then there’s sloshing and spraying from the shower as she pulls the curtain closed.
She doesn’t do a very good job.
I get a tempting glimpse of soaked perfection, a hint of a smooth leg, rivulets of water trailing from the curves of her breasts across her abdomen and between her legs. She’s a beautiful maelstrom in a bathtub and I’d be happy to drown in her.
My cock is surging in my pants, straining against my jeans as I think about all the possibilities that wait for me just inside the doorway.
“Privacy, please,” she says, reaching out of the shower to slam the door in my face.
Did she wink at me?
I ignore it and remind myself that this is just business. That’s all. We’re going to eat pizza, drink some beers, and just get some sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.
“I’ve got food. Come out when you’re ready.”
I stay in my place by the door, listening to the running water, to the skittering of the shower curtain along it’s metal rack, to the shuffling of a coarse cotton towel sliding over her body.
I can’t even see her right now, but still, she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.
The door opens and she’s wearing one of those flimsy hotel robes that ends just above her knees. Whatever knot she’s tied is hardly doing it’s job and the front looks ready to come undone.
“My clothes really need a wash,” she says with a sheepish smile on her face. “Which is sort of what I should have expected after spending a day fear-sweating.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
She takes a beer and a slice of pizza and sits down on the edge of the bed, causing the edge of her robe to rise up high on her thighs, giving me an incredible view.
Jesus.
“Please,” she says, opening the beer and taking a long drink. “I felt like I was going to die at least a dozen times.”
“You’re not going to die. Remember what we agreed on? Trust me.”
She shrugs her shoulders and stretches, lifting her tits upwards and forwards, and they’re straining at the threadbare fabric of her robe. My cock is about to burst, pressing against my jeans and screaming to come out. My brain is short-circuiting at the raw heat that is emanating from every exposed inch of her. “Call me a skeptic for not trusting the word of the famously reckless Julian Stone.”
There’s this little smile on her face and this look in her eyes that wasn’t there when I left. What the hell has gotten into her?
“If you want out, there’s a bus terminal in town, I can drop you off there tomorrow. Hell, I’ll even give you fare.”
She frowns. Even her frowns are sexy.
“That’s not what I want at all. I just want to know a little bit more about what I’m getting in to,” she looks back over her shoulder and trails her fingertips along the duvet in this seductively slow way. “And I want to know a little more about who I’m getting into bed with.”
I blink. So that’s her game.
Well, I’m happy to play along if it keeps her showing off her body. And nothing says I can’t have a little fun of my own.
I take my shirt off, watching her out of the corner of my eye and fighting back a grin as she flat out stares. They always do that. Every single time. And I’ll never get tired of it.
The bed-springs squeak as I sit down next to her, and I think she squeaks, too. I pop the top on my own beer and taking a long drink of some dark stout.
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to know all about you,” she says, in the most over-the-top, breathy Marilyn Monroe-type voice I’ve ever heard. “All about us. Our relationship.”
She slides closer; the only thing separating the curve of her hip from my touch is some worn terrycloth that’s so insubstantial it might as well not be there.
I take a breath.
This is more than just blue balls. At the rate she’s going, my whole body will blue before the night’s over.
“Fine. Let’s invent our relationship. We’re engaged, we’re wildly in love, we’re mad for each other’s bodies,” she says, as her eyes flash and she shifts a little and I can’t help picturing her without that robe, with all of her bare for me to explore. “So, where did we meet?”
I think for a second. I’ve got to pick somewhere believable, and also somewhere where the more conservative execs on the board at Stone Capital have rarely been. “Have you ever been to Portland?”
“I live in a small town on the Oregon coast and every once in a while I crave civilization and buying things. Of course I’ve been to Portland.”
Time to put her off balance.
“Then, I’m sure you know that Portland is the strip club capital of the United States. Houston’s got a few more overall, but Houston’s also four times as large as Portland. Per Capita, Portland beats all challengers.”
Her expression changes, from searingly-sexy to slightly squeamish. “And?”
“There’s your answer.”
“No. Just, no.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. I knew when I suggested it, that it wouldn’t fly. Mainly I just wanted to see Melody get angry. There’s something about the way her eyes flash that makes my blood run hot. “You’re beautiful and if you got it into your head to try it, I’m sure you could twist any man you wanted right around your finger. That’s one of the reasons I asked you for your help — it’d be insane for me to be engaged to anyone who isn’t a knockout.”
She adjusts her robe, blushing, trying to cover up, and it does absolutely nothing. If anything, it shows off even more of her legs. That robe of hers is the most purpose-less robe in existence.
“Thank you, but, no. Flattery won’t change my mind. I’m not going to be a stripper.”
I put my hand on her leg and lean in close to her ear. “I think you’d like it. This is your chance to live as someone completely different, indulging in those dirty fantasies you were too afraid to touch before.”
I pinch the knot of her robe with my fingers and she does nothing to stop me. If anything, her eyes are daring me to try — one tug is all it’d take and she isn’t backing down from my challenge.
Then, she laughs.
“So, what? We say my name is Candy, or Amber, or Jade, and…?”
“You’re a professional woman by day, you volunteer, and you’re stripper with a heart of gold by night.”
She snorts and then shoves me lightly. “Right. Wrong trope, genius. It’s hooker with a heart of gold.”
“If you want to be a hooker, you can be a hooker. There’s a whole world of possibilities is open to you.”
“My parents would be so proud. Oh, I’m tingling at all the options open to me: stripper, hooker, why, maybe I’ll have an addiction, too. I hear coke can be pretty fun,” her eyes roll slowly in this way that’s the definition of disdain. “Besides, what does that say about you? Dating hookers? I thought a wealthy stud like you wouldn’t have to pay for it.”
She’s not backing down. But then, neither am I.
I grew up with two brothers, I’m used to pointless fights.
“Never have, never will,” I say, my lips turning up in a smile. “Women throw themselves at me, and there’s nothing better than having a beautiful woman tear your sheets to shreds because she’s having such a good time she’s forgot how her fingers work. Would you like me to show you?”
A tempting smile’s back on her face and the hem of her robe slides a little higher. The heat radiating off her is palpable — just like her sarcasm. “Is that so? As your fiance, am I expected to scream to the high heavens about your sexual prowess? The shaking orgasms bestowed upon me by your thunderous penis?”
“Loudly and often. Pretty much every time you’re interviewed.”
“Sure,” she says, nodding, then she holds up her hand like she’s got a microphone and she’s interviewing herself. “I can picture it now: ‘Ms. Candy, what are your thoughts on your upcoming marriage to Mr. Stone?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know, Ms. Reporter from the LA Times, honestly, I’m too busy thinking about my fiance’s giant magic penis and the countless orgasms it gives to have an opinion on anything else. By the way, did I mention how much I love his penis?’”
“Yes. Exactly that,” I say. “And you wouldn’t be the first.”
“I wouldn’t be the first what? The first woman to praise your magic dick, or the first woman you’ve dated to be so empty-headed she can’t form a complete thought? Because, to be quite honest, maybe those two are related,” she says. Then, reaching out slowly, she runs the tips of her fingers across my chest and her voice suddenly turns sultry, the words caressing the most heated parts of me. “Maybe you need a more discerning critic?”
Where did this woman come from? How can she go from venomous to sensuous so quickly?
I shrug, feeling frustration building inside me. “Are we just fucking around here, or what?”
She drops the games, her look changes, and she pulls her robe tighter around her body. This time she does a good enough job that she’s actually covered.
“Tonight’s our last night before this whole whatever-the-hell-it-is starts. And I can tell you’re a driven man — you wouldn’t be doing this craziness if you weren’t. But don’t forget, I’m a person. I might be helping you in exchange for money, I might be playing along, but that doesn’t change who I am. And the second you start playing games without respecting me, one or both of us is going to get hurt.”
I nod. It’s such a one-eighty from her that I think I might have whiplash. “Of course.”
There’s this steely look in her eyes. “Don’t forget, Julian, you might’ve bought me, but you don’t own me. And I can cut apart your story with just a few words.”
It gets quiet between us and I ponder my beer.
Most people don’t talk back to me; they either know my reputation, or they know I have enough money to buy them many times over.
I’ve got to hand it to her. She’s earned my respect tonight. And all while looking beyond sexy in some worn-out hotel bathrobe.
“You’re right,” I say. “Trust has got to go both ways. And it will.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” she says, smiling. It’s friendly, warm, and she taps her beer bottle to mine. “Here’s to a beautiful partnership and a successful con.”
She isn’t just some trinket for me to show off, she’s my partner in crime.
“So, what now?” I say, cracking open another beer and handing it to her, then getting one for myself.
She leans against me, casually. “Well, exhausted as I might be — which I am, because I spent all day riding with some man who drives like a geriatric Evel Knievel — my fiance sprung for the honeymoon suite, which, if that sign on the front desk is correct, means we have HBO. Want to watch a movie?”
“That sounds perfect.”
I grab the remote, flip on the TV, and sit back down. I hardly pay attention to what’s on the screen. My eyes are on her. She’s got her head resting on my shoulder, her eyes are half-closed, and there’s this dazed smile on her face as she gazes sleepily at the screen.
This is probably the first time in my life where I’ve been in the same bed with a stunning woman, nearly naked, and not focused on how loud I can make her scream my name.
Not that I wouldn’t. But right now, I’m content just being with her. It feels like I have a partner, someone that I can really count on to help me make this crazy ambition of stealing the family business come true.
Melody lets out this little sigh and leans into me further. She’s asleep.
I settle in and watch the movie — I won’t be moving for a while and I couldn’t be happier about it.