CHAPTER 28
LUCKY
Everything was pink. The exterior of the Beverly Hills Hotel was pink, and every where you looked in Bungalow 5, you found a new shade of it.
“Elizabeth Taylor loved this bungalow,” I said to Ziggy. He was a little rough around the edges, his long, blonde hair, black leather vest and menacing tattoos deliciously contrasting with the luxurious surroundings.
“The couch looks comfortable,” he said, setting his backpack down on it. “I’ll hunker down here for the night. Blade and I can take turns guarding the door.”
“Suit yourself,” I said, shrugging as I poured myself a drink from the shimmering glass bar. “The bed’s incredibly comfortable, though.”
He grunted and sat on the big, fluffy pink couch and I suppressed a laugh.
“Want a drink?” I asked.
“I shouldn’t,” he shook his head, “I’m still on duty.”
“What if I give you a different job?”
“What are you talking about?”
“What if I pay you just to have fun with me?”
“Those aren’t the skills you hired me for.”
“So, we’ll change the job description.”
“I’m not a gigolo, Lucky.”
“Well, you’d make a damned fine one!” I said, downing my whiskey and pouring another one. He watched me flitter around the room. I picked up a little marble statue of a pink bird and inspected it, feeling his eyes on me. The whiskey began it’s warm buzz, a welcome relaxation settling over me. I put down the bird and turned back to Ziggy, our eyes crashing together.
He looked away instantly.
I poured another glass of whiskey and walked it over to him.
“Come on,” I said. “The day’s over. We’re all alone. Nobody will know if you have a drink. And with Blade out there, nobody is getting in here. Not even Nicholai.”
His name sounded ugly on my lips and I wished I’d not mentioned him, because Ziggy’s eyes clouded with a darkness that I’d come to recognize. It also came with a reminder of why we were here. Still, I was happy to see it when he took the glass from me and took a small, tentative sip.
“Just a little,” he shrugged.
I smiled and left him alone, wandering out onto the terrace, which was a beautiful, secluded garden with a couple of lounge chairs and a fire pit. The sweet perfume of white gardenias lingered in the air, the moon full and high in the clear night sky.
It felt amazing to finally have a day free of Nicholai’s torture. Thankfully, I’d not gone through with firing the Gods, because they’d proven themselves to be efficient and effective. If Nicholai had tried to get through to me tonight, it hadn’t worked and that was because of them.
I glanced back at Ziggy, sipping on his whiskey and watching me through the open French doors.
“Come out here. Look at the moon with me,” I urged.
He stood up, stepping out and towering over me, his frame almost blocking out the view of the moon. “Look,” I pointed up. He lifted his head, his beautiful face awash in moonlight, his features almost feminine. I reached up, caressing his sharp cheekbone. He gasped at my touch, reaching up and grabbing my fingers and bringing them to his lips. I melted at his gesture, leaning into him.
He turned and looked down at me, his eyes a raging storm.
“We’re all alone,” I whispered, hoping he didn’t walk away this time.
Instead, he nodded thoughtfully, his eyes drinking me in. He pulled my fingers from his lips, intertwining his fingers with mine and pulling me in close. Heat rolled from his chest, hitting me with an inferno of desire that seemed to pulse between us.
His lips were on mine in a sudden fury of chaos and fire that threatened to knock me off my feet. With all the pent up frustration of the last few days, his kiss was hard and deep and hungry. I kissed him back with the same intensity, so desperately needing to communicate how much I wanted him.
My words hadn’t worked.
My teasing hadn’t broken through his resistance.
The suggestive looks I’d thrown his way had only caused him to turn away.
I kissed him with all the hope I had inside of me, with all the clarity I could muster, to let him know that without any doubt, I needed him.
I needed every inch of his skin against mine. I needed his heat, his fire, his desire. I needed him to want me, to take me, and take me again, to make everything fall away, just as he’d done before.
I needed him to take all the pain away.
To make me forget.
I put it all into that kiss like it was a matter of life or death.
And he took it. With a savage hunger that I could feel ripping through him, he kissed me with a passion that reflected my own perfectly.
And then, just like that, in the blink of an eye — he pulled away, taking it all back, removing his heat and leaving nothing but cold emptiness.
“I can’t, Lucky,” he growled, the words ripping from his throat painfully. “I just can’t.”
“That’s too bad,” I whispered, watching him walk back inside, grab his backpack, and walk out the front door while my heart broke clear in two.