Eighty-Two
Isobel
“You’re quite making your own rounds tonight, aren’t you, my little minx?” Hugo crept up right behind me, whispering mockingly just as Luca announced that the high limit blackjack tables were open for players.
“Well, you know little ol’ me,” I responded as I quietly bid farewell to Dimitris Kosta. He was quite impassioned when it came to films. I was certain it wasn’t just me who was saddened about his unfortunate departure. I mean, there were still a lot of hot, talented male actors around, but they sure as heck didn’t have those bluer-than-blues that made a woman weak in the knees. The Greek in me simply took over and was quite proud that he was one of our beloved actors. The paparazzi even more so.
Dimitris Kosta was a favorite of the tabloids. Greece just simply couldn’t get enough of him and his wealthy family. Women graced his arms left and right, but ever since he left the filming industry, the women had lessened. News still broke out about him, like him engaged to be married to that French woman named Claudine or something? There were rumors about him, too, being married to an American woman, but that it was annulled because she was too wild for him.
“You really need to learn how to mask your adoration,” Hugo commented the moment he heard me sigh in awe because of the handsome Greek. “You won’t fare well in gambling or with anything else in life that needs you to lie without blinking.”
He had a point. Much more so when it came to how I’d deal with Damen once it was time for me to tell him the less sordid version of my little stint of being Hugo Xavier’s plaything.
“You’re right. I will keep a close observation to learn from the very best.”
He smirked. “Keep this up, and I won’t be held accountable if I spank you in the nearest room available.”
Damn. Double damn, I thought disturbingly when I realized that I was very much turned on by this. What was wrong with me? Since when did the thought of being bent over with my arse up in the air and being spanked hold appeal?
“You don’t really behave, do you? Even in social functions, you’d still fuck me if I allowed you to.” It was the first time I had uttered the word fuck and me in the same sentence, and my God, my body’s reaction was amplified tenfold: blushing, goose bumps, and the works.
“Ma belle…” His already deep voice went down another notch, making me wantonly bite my bottom lip as he spoke into my delicate ear. “I don’t just fuck. While I’m seated deeply in your delicious cunt, I’m ensnaring your soul, making love to your heart.” My breathing hitched as he held me entranced with the images he was planting in my mind before adding more visualization, “I fuck ruthlessly…demandingly. But most of all, I’ll fuck you until you gasp my name. Until you breathe me in and let me conquer you like no other man ever did. I take, Isobel,” he said ominously. “I take with no intention of ever giving it back.”
His arrogance was enlightening, alarming, arousing…
“What if I don’t…I don’t want to give any of that to you. What then?” Though I had meant to challenge him, I was disconcerted with the thought of him doing as he had so explicitly described. It simply made me want to give in just to test his assumptions. Surely someone had to put his arrogance into place? Well, I could at least very well try to do so.
“You will. There’s no question about that.” His confidence was appalling. “When your legs cling to my waist, caging my body while I take the liberty of yours,” he murmured the words just as his lips softly brushed against my nape, “I’m going to be the best thing you’ve ever had in between your thighs. Guaranteed.”
Fuckity fuck. Where did this man ever get his lines? I needed to brush up on mine because he kept rendering me speechless.
“I don’t mean to crush your ego, but let me remind you that you can never be the best thing in between my thighs because there’s no emotional connection between us, so that can never be the best. For a man to do that to a woman, he has to be the king in all of those aspects; thus furthering my valid point that only a couple in love can achieve this sort of severe, transcendental connection.”
Taking a deep, slow, calming breath, I tried to remind myself that this was a game, like chess, where one needed to think three steps ahead of your opponent. Or, maybe more similarly, like the chase of Tom and Jerry. Yeah, I supposed the latter sounded more on par.
“So, you, my dearest, arrogant French man, cannot—will not—ever be the greatest thing for me. Never forget that, even if your passions override commonsense.”
“Oui…” he agreed without arguing with me. “Indeed, I will never forget this important detail, Isobel.”
“Good. At least we have something we agree on.” I smiled at him before giving him a soft peck on the cheek, but Hugo’s playful mood had completely left him.
The three card poker and blackjack tables were situated below deck where it was supposed to be the State Room for meetings and conferences. The minimum bet per hand was five hundred Euros. It was appalling how these people spent their money as if it was of no consequence, yet at the same time, it was quite something to witness firsthand.
After our little playful banter upstairs on the deck, Hugo decided that he wanted to squander some of his fortune while I stood a foot away, close enough to his chair to take note of how he played cards. After all, he was a casino owner. I was sure he had tricks up his sleeves.
His table consisted of five other men and Jacques. It seemed that the French racer was losing money fast, while Hugo’s stack kept rising. It was apparent I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed, too. The women had certainly started to mill about the table, taking an interest in the game, the money, and the players.
In half an hour’s time, the audience grew at our table compared to the other ones nearby. My eyes kept wandering about the new onlookers, and it seemed that Jacques and Hugo most especially got more come-hither looks than the rest of the men there.
Were they always this desperate? I mean, I got it in a way; to be in the presence of all these successful, power-driven, and not to mention überly sexy men sure did evoke all sorts of unjustifiable feelings of helplessness, admiration, heart-stopping and jaw-dropping moments that left women in a bit of a tizzy. I, too, was guilty as charged, but come on, didn’t they see that Hugo had come with a date tonight? That date being me. I felt a little insulted that they didn’t mind at all.
With Damen, I hadn’t experienced this kind of disrespect because he and I always did things together, and people didn’t dare question that we were in love. Anyone with eyes could see how smitten we were with one another. Therefore, this situation wasn’t familiar to me. It was an unwelcomed, foreign feeling to which I wasn’t sure if I should feel proud to be gracing Hugo’s side or if I should make a move, a statement that would ensure my position that he wasn’t up for the taking.
Or I could simply ignore them all because Hugo could pretty much do as he pleased. And if his alcohol consumption was be taken into account along with his blatant display of sexual prowess from earlier, the man could pretty much accept their invitations with a quick nod before striding into the nearest available spot where he could shag to his fancy. The most shocking part was that this scenario wasn’t too far-fetched. In fact, this was the real Hugo Xavier. Curbing his appetite would merely make him more ballistic, and sooner or later, he’d eventually give up and seek physical comfort in the nearest woman who would accommodate him all night long. And the supply of willing bodies was endless.
The sensual laugh from the French woman who was standing with a martini on my close left brazenly reached out to touch the lapel of his jacket, making him glance at her with a stern look. “Vous regardez grave, mon chéri.” (You look tense, darling.)
Hugo glanced away the second the new draw of cards were being distributed. The French woman stayed put, much to my chagrin. Maybe it was how Hugo hadn’t seemed bothered that some random woman touched him, or maybe it was the fact that he’d never said anything at all that made me want to put the woman in her place. Either way, I wasn’t happy about any of it.
The crisp sound of the new chips drew my eyes towards his hand that was producing the sound. His large, masculine hand covered a stack of purple chips as he let the chips fall, sounding more like dominoes falling.
Then, out of the blue, the table erupted with cheers.
Blackjack.
Twenty-one. Spades suited.
“Putain de merde!” (Fucking shit!) Jacques huffed out as he threw his cards back on the table before looking to his left and grinning at Hugo. “Sacré veinard!” (You lucky bastard.)
That’s right. The man sure was lucky, I thought proudly. I was about to reach out to congratulate him when the women came in droves.
“You’re such a fantastic player, Hugo.” The blonde woman with amber eyes blushed when he gave her those one of a kind toe-curling smiles that used to get me every single time.
The friend smiled even wider. “It’s in his blood.”
More over the top compliments were thrown around, and I was literally a breath away from wanting to stomp my foot on the expensively carpeted room and mark my territory.
Grounding my teeth together, I gazed at all of them like a woman about to unleash wrath before common sense directed me to leave him be to bask in his popularity and find my own solitude before I truly did something that I’d regret, like claim him as mine.
My mind was a tricky thing. I knew he wasn’t mine per say, but my body somewhat protested.
Feeling frustrated, I slowly crept away before I found myself on the opposite side of the yacht, away from the loudness of the gathered party goers, partaking alcohol, dancing, and gambling.
I was on my way to seek a quiet spot when I luckily walked past a barman and asked for a bottle of champagne, uncorked. The second he handed me a Rosé, I went on my merry way towards the back of the yacht and found a spot where I sat facing the glittering silhouette of Monaco.
I lavished on the chilled bottle while I reflected on my life, my ghastly behavior—or more about how my thoughts were getting muddled by it all—Damen, my friends, and well, Hugo, as if my mind would ever let me forget about him.
Staring at the dark sea, the thought of Damen partying around women, getting zonked, and having the time of his life without me made me feel a tad depressed. What if I wasn’t the only one fighting sexual attraction? What if, he, too, was going through the same thing I was, being attracted to another woman? Would he act on it? Would he still love me after he shagged her?
Troubling questions marred my mood, yet the more I thought about it, the more it sunk in that this was quite possibly happening. And if so, what would I do if Damen told me he’d had sexual relations with other women? Would I still be able to take him back and love him the same as I had before? I mean, would I still be able to hold him in such high regard? It was my fault our relationship had halted, and maybe it would make him feel better if he did. It would serve me right for causing him such heartache.
However, as much as I tried to be rational about it, my heart begged that this wasn’t the case. That our love was strong enough that he wouldn’t dare fancy another warm body sleeping next to him at night.
Damen, please wait for me, I prayed to the stars above, hoping they’d send their bright energy towards Damen tonight somewhere in Mykonos, possibly drunk and gullible to any woman’s advances.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Hugo’s voice boomed behind me.
Twisting my head to look at him, I saw he was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking like the opposite of the cheery man inside who had just won an exorbitant amount of money.
“Are you ready to leave?” he asked, not bothering to come any closer to me.
Sighing loudly, I nodded towards the silhouetted glow of the land. “How? We’re in the middle of the sea.” Stranded until someone was ready to go home. Bugger.
“My helicopter can take us back to the mainland.”
His helicopter? He had one parked on one of the helipads? Well, of course he did.
Taking the bottle with me, I strode towards him, feeling blue.
How had this night started so well only to end in such a way? I had taken care to look this gorgeous, and for what? The man couldn’t even look at me properly when it was hours ago he couldn’t seem to stop admiring me from head to foot. I was starting to hate myself for even wanting his attention. Seriously, what was wrong with me?
The walk towards the awaiting pilot and the helipad was done in silence. There was no talk of how fun his card playing had been, or how brilliant it had been to win in such a way.
The same irritating manner went with the short helicopter ride from the yacht to his hotel at The Riviera.
The prolonged, silent standoff made me wish to scratch a chalkboard to evoke some kind of reaction from him. But no, the bastard was in one of his mercurial moods, so I best entertain myself until boredom eventually killed me.
Following his lead, I wasn’t at all surprised when he produced a keycard the second we entered the elevator to take us to his private penthouse suite. With the amount of alcohol he had in his system, driving wasn’t the wisest thing to do.
“You look upset,” he said the second we entered the double doors to the suite.
I look upset? Ha! Upset was rather mild to describe the storm that had been whirling about me since that woman had touched him.
“Piss off,” was all I said as I tried to focus on the elegant surroundings. I knew it was pretty, but it somehow didn’t register because I couldn’t seem to take in anything other than his close proximity.
“What did I do now?” he asked casually before he strode past me and went straight to the bar where he poured himself a hefty amount of cognac. He then let his drink sit on the marble countertop while he took off his bowtie, jacket, and before I even had the chance to register anything else he was down to unbuttoning his dress shirt until it hung loose and open, showcasing his superb pectoral and abdominal muscled perfection.
My mouth ran dry before I urged myself to look away, blushing profusely.
“Isobel?”
Fuck. Get it together, I chided myself before I faced him again. He was taking a careful sip of his drink while his eyes hadn’t wavered from me.
“I don’t have any clothes.” To be quite frank, this was the last thing that had been on my list, but for some reason, it was the one that my mouth blurted out. Feeling like an idiot? Oh, no, I definitely was one tonight.
“There’s a robe in the master bathroom,” he informed me while I simply kept staring at him. “I want to touch you whenever I want. I don’t want any lacey or silky scrap of clothing to hinder me from your body.”
We’ll see about that, shall we?
I left for the bathroom, fuming at the thought of him throwing it out there, as if tonight I hadn’t witnessed him failing to bar women from thinking that he delighted himself in accommodating their brazen advances.
Stripping the blasted dress, I yanked the robe off the hanger before I covered my body with only a mere thong hiding behind the soft, plush robe. I didn’t care that he’d requested me naked underneath it. This was my way of showing him that I was rebelling from his orders. He could take it however he saw fit.
The thought of washing my make-up off came to a halt when he didn’t care to knock on the door before letting himself into the massive bathroom.
“I was hoping you could join me in the hot tub? It might do you the world.”
“I’m fine,” I gritted out, wishing he’d leave me alone to simmer in peace.
The bastard didn’t seem pleased. “You’re going to join me, Isobel.”
“I said no, Hugo.”
His jaws locked as he gave me a brooding look. He seemed to try to control his temper before addressing me again. “Are you defying my orders?”
Fuck. He couldn’t be serious.
Bracing my chest, I was about to respond to him that yes, I was defying him when his chilling voice cut through the tension.
“The door is open if you wish to walk out. I’m not holding you hostage.”
Mindfuck. He was playing me to get what he wanted. Bastard!
“Very well. Have a great night,” I called his bluff before turning around and heading towards the door
“Très bien. And please, don’t forget to inform your father that he still owes me money. My lawyers will contact him tomorrow for the balance owed, with your services deducted of course.”
He flagged me down with a threat, knowing very well that my father didn’t have money to pay him even half of what he owed.
“Tonight, you played with what? A quarter million? Maybe half? My father’s debt is laughable compared to how much you spend on entertainment. Couldn’t you at least pardon him just this once?”
“And why would I do that, Isobel? Your father means nothing to me. Pardons and favors are out of the question.”
He was selfish, and he wasn’t holding back on showing me who was in charge of the situation. I didn’t have a choice. It was either stay or walk out and deal with my father’s wrath for doing so. And the latter was too horrific to even dare think about.
“You win, Hugo,” I conceded as I exited the door and went in search of the hot tub.