Splash by Kristen Kelly (29)

Hot Spices

By Kristen Kelly

 

Chapter 1

Las Vegas, Nevada

Hunched over on his bar stool, Turner J. Howe of Land Lover Brothers Associates stared at the bartender with one closed eye, his collar unbuttoned, silk tie loose around his neck. It wasn’t like him to drink so much but for some goddammed reason he thought he needed to relax. Jack Daniels seemed the right recipe for just that.

Squinting, he stared straight ahead, trying to focus on the bartender but he kept moving up and down. Or was he was the one moving? He couldn’t tell. He blinked and then rubbed his eyes viciously. “There are sacrifices a man has to make to be successful in this world,” he muttered trying not to slur his words. He raised his glass. “Work long hours, travel around the country and in my case, wine and dine the right people.”

“You mean women,” the bartender corrected as he poured another drink. A lecherous grin quirked his chapped lips.

Turner nodded. “Right you are, my good man. It’s a tough job but somebody has to do it.” He took a sip of his Jack Daniel’s, feeling the burn slide along his throat. With a thumb, he traced the wood grain of the bar. Oak. Definitely oak. Not as good as mahogany but certainly better than butternut. Butternut was so soft, if you breathed on it the wrong way, one might as well have put down fly paper.

“Why not the men?”

“What’s that?” Turner asked, looking up.

“Don’t a lot of men hold the purse strings? Aren’t they flipping the bill for these remodels?”

“Only figuratively speaking,” Turner held up his glass, studying the copper liquid. “It’s the women I have to make happy. If I can keep her content through the whole ripping-out-her-house-process…keep her excitement going…you know… about the house designs…and control her anxiety, just a bit….” He pinched two fingers together. “Then the husband is overjoyed. It’s all about  keeping the wife relaxed.” He let that last word stretch out.

“I’m guessing you have some sort of…” A sound of derision sputtered from the older man’s lips. “—exercise for that relaxation?”

Turner laughed. “I have a talent for making women ….excited. About the renovations…of course.”

“Of course.” The bartender chuckled and wiped a rag across the bar.

“Hey, laugh all you want but I tell you it works. I’ve never lost a female client yet. Married or not. Well, fortunately, most of them are married so they’re not looking for anything more from me.”

“Fortunately.”

Was there an echo around here. he swiveled his head around when a redhead came in the door. She made her way across the parquet floor. He smiled with appreciation and gave a low whistle. He couldn’t help himself and the tie wasn’t the only thing loose on his head. Who could blame him though? Six inch heels and a skirt that practically hit the woman’s pubic bone left nothing to the imagination.

After several minutes of oogling her long shapely legs, he turned back toward the bar. Eyes bleary, he found himself talking to his drink. "Bar Keep," he shouted. "Another. I’ll have another." He pounded the empty glass on the bar. Lately, the act of talking about his life made him ill. Why would today be any different? Perhaps that was why he was drinking. Trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his gut, the sense that he was nothing without Land Lover Brothers, had become a full time hobby for Turner. But why? He had everything. Money. Women, if he wanted them. A hit television show. What else was there to life?

The bartender, who had moved several feet to the left, gave Turner a half nod, apparently deep in conversation with a man twice his junior.

"Hey." Turner shouted again. He wouldn’t stand for being ignored. "I said I need a drink!"

"I heard ya the first time," said the bartender, but he didn't move. Turner frowned and rubbed his chin the stubble chafing his soft hands. Those portable razors sucked big time compared to his electric. Unfortunately, he’d left  his Braun back in New York. He took another drink and then jolted as something bobbed against his teeth. He stared into the bottom of his glass. Was that a cherry in his whiskey? He hated cherries and expressly forbid the bartender to add any. Not that cherries normally accompanied whiskey. Apparently, the bartender had a sense of humor. He snickered and then snipped out the cherry with a toothpick. He left it on a napkin.

He searched his data banks, trying to remember the last time he got this drunk. Oh yes, the day they pulled his sister-in-law and nephew out of the Hudson. The sister-in-law he could not have cared less…but the kid…well, the kid was innocent. There was that hollow feeling again, only this time it was carved in stone. A weight around his neck. Sam should never have hooked up with her. If he’d only listened.

He looked into the large mirror behind the bar. It captured his reflection; cut the edges of his face into sharp angry shards, like lasers cast on metal. “I look like shit,” he muttered to no one in particular.

The bartender took the tumbler from Turner's hands. "That’s it. You’re shut you off, mate."

He scowled at the man. "You do that, and you can kiss these babies good bye." He waved a hundred dollar bill under the man's nose. The third one in the last fifteen minutes. Sliding forward,  his elbows glanced the waxed wood surface. He slipped the crisp new bill inside the bartender’s shirt pocket. "A tip," he muttered. The older man grinned and opened another bottle of whiskey.

"Just keep em coming." He really should stop himself. Liquor never got a man anywhere but he was so damn frustrated, the liquor numbed his brain. He wished it would ease the throbbing in his temple but a man couldn’t have everything, could he? Well, he sure as hell tried.

Fuck! His head felt like it could burst from his skull. What on earth made him think he could pick up two women in the same location just a few days apart and not have them run into one another?  At first, he was thrilled to find out they were sisters. Didn't sisters share everything? Apparently not these two, unless you considered his head on a spike. Now he remembered why he chose this place. A person had to be of a specific clientele to get into the Bellagio. There wasn’t a chance those two chicks would make it past the bouncer. Not that they weren't pretty enough, but he doubted either of them had daddy’s money. They were more the girl next-door types. High on looks but low on cash.

He placed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, wincing, and then glanced once more around the high priced Vegas bar that was becoming the most annoying place on earth. The place was packed and it looked as if it were made of gold for Christ's sake. Everything glowed, from the gold chairs, dinner napkins and light fixtures to the dropped circular canopy made of mirrors shining down on three shelves in the middle of the bar. Iridescent lights glittered behind top shelf liquor bottles.

The bartender refilled his empty glass. "More? As in what, exactly?" he surprised Turner by asking.

Turner swiveled around on his bar stool, not quite recalling what he'd been blathering on about for the last three hours. Perhaps it had only been two but who could remember, what with finding, his rental car keyed and all four tires slashed after he broke up with Nora the night before. He should have known better than to tangle with a woman who went on and on about soul mates and commitment like it was some sort of religion or goddammed cult. Of course, the tangling was not something he regretted. Her skin had been soft as rose petals, her smell just as sweet, and the things she did to his—He sighed dreamily, adjusting the half aroused erection in his fine-tailored trousers. Maybe her name wasn’t Nora. Maybe it was Cora or Flora. Maybe too, he was a cold-hearted bastard after all. Dating three women in one week was certainly asking for trouble.

He held up the bottle, squinting. There was only an inch of the cool copper liquid.

"You were saying," Turner mumbled.

"I asked you a question."

"Oh. I can’t  remember anything with this much whiskey in my veins.”

"You told me you have this rule about the women you date."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You allow them three dates but the last one you dated for three weeks because you wanted more. So my question is, more of what?" An evil glint reached the publican's eyes. "I'll be damned if I know what any woman can do in three weeks that she can't do in three days."

"It wasn't about sex, if that's what you're thinking."

"Son, it's always about sex."

"Not this time."

"Then enlighten me. What was the more that you wanted from this woman or any women if that’s what you meant?"

"Damned if I know." He didn't know what he wanted, not at first, and Nora definitely wasn't the one but he'd dated her a bit longer to see how it played out. For research, so to speak. It had been a mistake. A big one.

"I guess when I saw how it was with my brother, Sam, something inside me just clicked, know what I mean?"

The bartender frowned and scratched his head. "Not really. No."

"We're  twins," Turner explained as if that was all the explanation needed.

"And?"

"And he went and got married on me."

"I see. So you want to get married?"

"No." He contemplated the half bottle of whiskey on the bar and wondered how much more it would take to get him so stinking drunk he wouldn’t remember his name. The responsibility was killing him. He wanted out from being his brother's keeper. A role he'd not asked for in the first place but Sam was all he had in this world. No parents. No relations. Not even a dog. It was why he'd taken this trip to Vegas. To get away from it all. That…and for business..

"Nah. I'm not marriage material. But it did make me think. At first, Jane was wonderful for Sam. In the beginning he was so…happy, you know. I wondered what it must be like being with…her. It made me think long and hard."

“What!” The bartender clutched Turner's arm, his sausage-like fingers digging into his skin. "You want your brother's wife? Man, that's low. Really low, son. Don't do it. You'll regret it. You'll regret it every day of your life."

Turner pinned him with a dark look. "Not her, you moron!  The thought of being with one woman for any length of time. That’s what I’m talking about. You know, the whole happily ever after thing. Minus the wedding vows that is."

Turner's brows rose as he looked up from the hand on his arm, scowling.

"Oh, sorry,” said the bartender. He patted his arm gently before releasing his vise-like grip.

"So you and your twin are close."

"Yeah."

"And he made you think, made you want to reevaluate your life somehow."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"I think so. Yes."

Turner knew it was more complicated than that. He took a gulp of whiskey.

"And you saw how happy your brother was. That's the more you wanted."

"At first, yeah.”

“And is he still happy?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Long story but in a nutshell, that bitch was crazy, man. And not just a little self centered. The woman could not even function on her own unless Sam was with her twenty-four seven. At first, she blamed it on post-partum depression.”

“They had a kid?”

“Yeah.  The doctors placed her on antidepressants but then other things began happening. Mysterious phone calls. An irrational outburst over Sam talking to a female client. Not to mention, the race across town that sent her brand new Cadillac into the Hudson.”

"So, do you think it was worth it? I mean if he found out she was crazy and all that?"

"Probably not," Turner admitted. "It just got me to thinking what if she hadn't been crazy? What if she was…great, ya know?"

Turner groaned and held his head. His memory fuzzy, he could not remember paying for the last couple of drinks. Reaching inside his pocket for a credit card, his fist curled around his money clip. He slid two hundred-dollar bills toward the bartender this time. He handed one back to him.

"But you don't want to get married," the bartender said doubtfully.

"I don’t know what I want but I’ll tell you one thing. It does make me curious as to why a man would do it in the first place,"

The bartender took a rag from his shoulder and wiped down the bar. He wiped the insides of several shot glasses then placed them beneath the bar. "Hate to tell you this, son but takes a lot longer than three weeks, never mind three days, with a woman to make a relationship work."

"So I've heard."

"So what's up with you anyway? You've been sitting there for over four hours."

So that's how long it's been.

Turner shrugged. "Long story."

"Am I right in thinking  you have lady troubles?”

Turner uttered a noncommittal grunt. "You could say that but it's not what you think. I'm not the one with a problem."

"I'm listening."

"I need to get Sam back on the right track."

"Your twin," said the bartender lifting Turner's glass. He swiped a rag below it.

"I don't know if you can understand.”

“Sure I can.”

“Got any siblings?” Turner asked.

"One sister. Lives in England." He jutted his chin toward the door as if she was right outside. "Don't know what I'd do if something happened to Jenny. We're aint twins, mind you but I am her big brother." He chuckled. "I remember the first time a guy didn't do right by my Jenny. He still walks with a  limp.”

Turner gave him a knowing smile. "So you know what I mean."

"Sure, mate. What did you mean when you said your brother was off the tacs."

"Track," Turner corrected. "My brother is off the tracks."

"Oh."

"Means he's kind of screwed up." Turner picked up his glass. He swirled the ice cubes around, enjoying the clinking sound. Without asking, the bartender refilled it in mid-air.

Understanding registered on the bartender’s face. "Oh. Like a train off its tracks."

"Yeah."

"And somehow you feel responsible for your twin. Why is that? You're both grown men. You own your own business. What makes you think you have to take care of each other?"

Wouldn’t that be a kicker? Someone taking care of me!

"Sam was always the more tender hearted of us both but he was a dare devil too. When I  was ten, I got a bicycle but Sam wanted a mini-bike.  And he wasn’t afraid of anything. We were just little kids and here was my brother at ten years old setting up barrels in the back woods to jump his mini-bike over. I remember one time, he did it blind folded! Anyway, we were playing on our swings one day when a police car pulled into the driveway. I didn’t pay any attention to it because my father had friends who were cops but Sam was fascinated. He went to see what was up.”

“You didn’t follow?”

“Nah, we had a new puppy and I was all about that dog, so I stayed put.”

“Why were the cops at your house?”

Turner dropped his gaze toward the glass. “My parents were killed in an accident. They came to deliver the news.”

“Awe, that’s rough.”

“Yeah, well, our uncle…tough old bird…thought Sam could handle it like a man because of how brave he was.”

“But he was only a kid.”

“Exactly, and this was different. When Sam heard about our parents, he ran away. The police looked everywhere No one knew where he was for eighteen hours and…”

“You found him, right?”

“Not at first but then I remembered how much he actually liked the dark. Said it was where nothing could ever hurt him.”

The bartender half chuckled. “Opposite of what some people think about dark places.”

“Yeah, well Sam was different.”

“So where did they find him?”

“In a cave,” Turner said. “Ever heard of Howe Caverns?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I…we…actually own that cave. Big tourist attraction in New York.”

“And that’s where your brother was hiding out?”

“Yup. I’ve been protective of him ever since. We're all each other have in this world.” He took another drink. “You have any siblings?"

The bartender murmured in agreement. "A sister. We were raised by a single mother. I'd kill anyone who'd try and hurt my sister, Jenny."

"Well I don't want to hurt anyone. I just need Sam to stop blaming himself."

"For what?"

"The death of his wife and son."

"Maybe you shouldn’t try. A man has to come to terms in this life all on his own."

"I thought about that but …"

"But what?"

" Let's just say I don’t want to go to another funeral."

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Valentina Rosita Rodriquez flinched but it was too late.

Her ex-husband's sperm was in her hair. In her fucking hair!

She scooted backwards, for all the good it did, his frenzied solid hips still pumping away like in mid air.

“Diego!”

Hot thick cum spurt like an exploding geyser, hitting cheek, breast and thighs. At least she'd turned her face away, avoiding a full frontal assault.  Knees still sunk into the soft plush carpet of the hotel room floor, Val fumed, stung by the fact that her Ex had not even tried to save her what was left of her indignity. She didn’t like sucking him off. She didn’t even like him.

"Ahhh!" Diego groaned, shaking out the last few drops on the towel by his feet. The towel his seed was supposed to hit. Grinning down at it, he chuckled.

“You asshole,” Val yelled. She wrinkled her nose, trying to hold back the obscenities she wanted to hurl. After all, it was her own fault. Why the hell did she expect anything different from the man?

"I am sorry," he said in a low growly voice. "I know you don't like this…this…what I did." He grinned sheepishly and she knew the apology wasn’t sincere. A look of supreme satisfaction and satiated lust etched his ruddy face. Jet black hair glistened above chocolate dark eyes. Diego had been her undoing more than once. She couldn't resist him, nor any man with his sort of charisma. Someone who would wine and dine her. Someone who opened doors and told her she was pretty. Someone who spread it on thick, just for her. Her desire to be wanted put her in hot water more than once yet she never seemed to learn her lesson. Either that, or her hormones got in the way. This time was strictly business, however.

"I only do this because you say you will help me. The least you could have done was…” Val sneered at the mess all over her body. She wiped it up with the back of the towel best she could. “Never mind Diego. You are a snake. A slithering disgusting snake who only cares about his own pleasures." She had to admit his pleasures had been nice once but that was a long time ago. Now, all she wanted from the man was connections to stay in the United States. That, and the funds to start up her own restaurant. Okay, okay. Sex was a much-needed bonus. Was she really this desperate? And with Diego! It looked as if that little bonus backfired and not in a good way.

With one large hand splayed across his chest, Diego appeared affronted. "It is not my fault," he explained in his usual Spanish accent. "You are so lovely. You are the one cast a spell on me, Valentina. I don't know my own strength when you are near." He reached for her then, but she shuffled back. He groaned and went red in the face. "Awe, now you make me feel bad. I try to stop. Really I did." He gave himself one last shake and then tucked himself inside his boxers.

Groaning, she jumped to her feet, grabbed his t-shirt from the back of a bedpost. She wiped her face with it and ran to the bathroom, all the while cursing in half Spanish, half English.

"I said I was sorry," he shouted after her as she whizzed by in a blur of tussled black hair, smooth olive skin, and bouncing bare tits. He smiled at himself in the mirror and sucked in his gut before pulling up a pair of very worn blue jeans with the Puerto Rican flag on the back pocket. "I'm sorry for you too," he added at the top of his lungs while zipping up his fly.

Val knew exactly what he meant. Once the man was done, he was done. Nothing could raise that monster from the dead, not for at least twenty-four hours. She sighed. Her battery operated boyfriend would be the only one to console her tonight.

Why the hell had she fallen for his lies? There was no way in hell he could get her another visa to stay in the US. In fact, so many crossed the border illegally; the locals named it The Mexican Freeway. Val had always come to the US the legal way because at least that way she didn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder. She was sick of going back and forth though. Each time she had to start all over again trying to find gainful employment, a place to live, and register with Immigration. She could only stay six to twelve months each time, and that was only if she had a job.

She came out of the bathroom dressed in her black and white maid's uniform. While rubbing a towel through her hair, she perched herself on the edge of the bed. Why do I let you do this to me…again?" She knew why though. She was using him just as much as he was using her. In addition to the visa, she needed to get laid. It was better to have sex with someone she knew than pick up another man who thought it foreplay to slap her around first. Why were those the ones she was attracted to? Rich powerful men who liked to gamble and drink while having a piece of whatever they could find along the way. What was a girl to do? She worked so much she didn't have time for normal dating and her sexual appetite was off the charts. As a full time employee, the Bellagio was pretty much her home away from home. She even left a toothbrush in one of the bathrooms.

Diego pulled his Ex-wife onto his lap. He swept a dark tendril from the side of her face. With a soft touch, he traced a finger along her chin. He was about to slide the digit inside her lip when she pushed him away. "It won't work, Diego, so don't even try,” she hissed. In a show of frustration, he threw her off his knees and she rolled onto the bed. Diego man threw up his hands in surrender but made no remark.

Valentina stood. She smoothed down the ruffles in her black skirt, frowning. "When do I get my money and my visa?"

Diego reached in his pocket and pulled out a twenty. He threw it on the bed.

She stared at the currency with contempt. "You think I can start a new life with twenty bucks? You promised me money, Diego."

Diego shrugged. He tilted his head and the pulled the pockets of his jeans inside out.

Val looked at him suspiciously. "You're gambling again. Aren't you?"

"It is a minor interruption in my cash flow. That is all,” Diego said. “But do not fret my sweet, there is a big game at the.. at the…" He snapped his fingers repeatedly as if conjuring up the name of the hotel he needed to recall. "The stratosphere! Yes, that is the name of it."

A queasy feeling lurched in Val’s stomach. She knew where he was going with this. "I thought you were broke, Diego. How are you going to—oh no! No you don't. Don't look at me like that. I'm the one who's supposed to be getting paid here not the other way around."

Diego burst out laughing. "For that?" he said looking down his nose at her. "Was good, Val but not ten thousand dollars good." He pulled the whiskers on his chin. "If you had sucked me off proper, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

"Asshole," she muttered. The orbits of Val's eyes flared. Swallowing her pride, she tried to think of a way out of this mess. If he'd lost all his money, he wasn’t having any of those high stakes poker games right now and if he didn't have anything to bargain with...oh this was worse than she thought."Dammit, Diego. I just paid rent and I've already given my notice here at the hotel. Soon, I will have no job, no money and my visa is running out the end of the month." Her voice had escalated to a primal screech making her tremble with the force of it. She opened and closed her fists several times. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "We had a deal, Diego. I set you up with an empty room every Friday night and you pay me ten grand at the end of the month plus put in a word with Immigration."

"Er about that," he began lowering his gaze.

"What? No. You didn't piss off the Immigration officer too. Tell me you didn’t."

Diego scratched his head. "How did I know he was Jewish?"

"And the little round thingy on his head wasn’t a giveaway?"

Diego shrugged. "Some guys are so touchy.” He blew out a breath.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Her teeth were on edge, her temperature heightened and she felt as if she wanted to jump out of her skin. Must not panic. Not here. Not now. What the hell am I going to do?

She was looking out the window when a warm hand settled around her waist.

Not this. Certainly not this.

He groaned into her hair, his scent laced with cheap beer and male sweat. "Forget what I said, my lovely. You are the best at what you do. The very best." Sweeping her hair out of the way, he nibbled on her ear. “And we can market that.”

No way!

"For a moment, she tried to ignore his insinuation. Maybe he had a secret stash somewhere hidden for special clients or, he had a windfall coming in from a foreign investment although she knew he wasn't that kind of criminal. More, Diego was a slam-bam-thank you for your money-man. A card shark, yes but not an intelligent businessperson.

She shook out of his grasp and turned around, glaring. "Not on your life, Diego," she said quietly, taking a step back.

"But you have talents we've yet to explore. We could make a beautiful business together, you and I."

"I am not pimping for you ever again!"

"Such a dirty word," he said. "I prefer to call it Social Engagement."

His face was deadpan as he opened up a piece of gum and stuck it in his mouth. "Anyway, suit yourself but you’re energy has got me started all over again. Who knew?" He  laughed and started to unbutton his pants.

"I said no, Diego! Not with you. Not with anyone."

Choosing to ignore her refusal, he sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. He took off his socks and shoes one by one. Then he threw them. The shoes hit the wall with a thunk. Keeping his gaze fixated on Val’s face, he stood, unzipped his pants and they dropped to the floor. "I apologize for before…but just talking to you has me hot all over again. I am new man, I guess." He laughed hysterically.

"You have got to be kidding,” Val said, keeping her distance.

"I've a little more energy these days than I used to. Must be this man-juice stuff I be drinking." When he pulled down his briefs, his cock bobbed free, stiff as a frozen trout.

Is he joking?

"I'm sure you'll find my performance satisfactory this time," he murmured. Stepping out of his jeans, he took hold of his bouncing semi and waved it at her.

Val's eyes widened. "You tell me you're flat broke and then you wave that thing at me as if you can make all our problems go away?"

“Maybe not but sure will be fun trying.” Pausing to pour himself a drink, he downed it one gulp, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy arm, a look of determination aimed in her direction.

He advanced toward her."My setback is only temporary, Val. Just lend me the money for the big game. In the meantime, let me make it up to you. I owe you one, do I not?"

Valentina shrunk back. "Not a penny, Diego," she warned.

“Please,” he begged.

“No!”

His face grew hard. He grabbed her wrist, threw her on the bed and then fell on top of her. " I shall have to quench my frustration some other way then," he shouted. His breath was hot on her neck, his breath sour. Her heart thudded in her chest, her anger flared. My gun! Where the hell is my gun? She’d dropped her purse with the gun in it on a table inside the door. The only way she was reaching it was to fly like the wind but his body felt like a lead weight upon her chest. She could use Yolanda Montez’s super powers right about now.

Squirming and fighting, she struggled to push him off her but he was far too strong. "Get…off…of me. Get off, you asshole!"

Diego laughed.

She felt moisture by her ear and all she could think about was wiping his poisonous saliva from her cheek. She struggled beneath him, tried to unpin her arms but her movements were useless.

Diego groaned. “Why do you fight me, my sweet?”

“Get off! Get off me before I kill you,” she screeched. She managed to get one arm free and started pummeling at his back. It only served to make him laugh, however. “Kill me? You wanna kill me?” He laughed again. “Such fire. We are the same you and I. Just accept it.”

“I am not like you.”

"Of course you are. We come from the same place. We know what it is like to be poor. I had thought you would be sympathetic to my pain, Val. We are the same!"

She spit in his face making him reel back slightly in shock."The same? The same! You are a lieing cheating bastard. I am nothing like you."

Diego groaned with agitation. "I have been very patient with you, Val" he snarled. "But my patience runs low. Very low." Slamming her body down on the bed, he pushed the full force of his body down on top of her. Frantic cold hands pushed up her skirts, grazing her torso with his nails. He managed to tug her panties off with one rip. Hot roaming fingers drove inside her core. "Oh yes. You are so ready for me," he growled. "So ready." He nudged her legs wider. “No!” She struggled, hitting him with her one free arm but it was like flies bouncing off a glass. She could feel him at her entrance.

Her gaze flicked back and forth around the room. He swiveled on his hip, leaning over for his pants on the floor by the bed. “Protection,” he muttered under his breath.

Val wriggled a few inches to the right. Her fingers settled around the base of a lamp on the table, but when she pulled on it, something was holding it back. She pulled once more and then again. Finally, it broke free. With all her strength, she brought the lamp down hard over Diego's head.

“Argh!” Diego, jolted, letting go of Val’s other arm. He sat up and grabbed onto his head. Blood trickled down his face. Val stared up in horror. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him but there was nothing she could do. He appeared dazed but more out of surprise than being seriously injured she hoped. For a moment, they just looked at each other and Val started to shake. Now you've done it. He'll kill you for sure. Her skin quivered, blood rushing in her ears.

Diego took his hand from his head; he looked at it in awe. Fresh blood trickled down the side of his left temple seeming to fascinate him. It was just long enough for Valentina to wriggle out from under him.

She gasped as he fell forward and tumbled off the bed. Heart racing, she grabbed her purse from a nearby chair, lunging toward the door. Pumped with adrenaline, she pulled on the doorknob. It jiggled in her hands but didn’t open.

"Get back here," commanded Diego. "You are mine, Valentina. Until death do us part, you are mine!"

“We’re divorced, you jerk,” she screeched.

He was on his knees now, one hand braced against the table as he pulled himself up. His eyes flashed and his nostrils flared. "Valentina!" He stumbled forward. Forgetting his pants were around his ankles, he fell on his knees once more.

Val fumbled with the purse. She was shaking so much she couldn’t get the clasp undone nor did she know which compartment she’d hid the gun in.

There was no time.

She threw the strap across her shoulder, telling herself she would wrestle out the tiny gun the minute she had some space between them. Fumbling with the door handle she managed to unlock it at last. She threw it open and hurried into the hall. She ran half limping half running because she'd lost one of her shoes. She made a beeline for the one room she knew as always deserted. The room few could afford to rent. The room she used to sneak naps in and take showers. Unfortunately, it was at the other end of the hall and around the corner. She wanted to yell for help but that would alert the authorities and also Immigration. She was on her own.

It took a few minutes before Diego came after her. In the nick of time, she slipped inside a stair well, heard him right outside the door but the idiot never looked inside. He didn’t even pause. She ducked down below the window, trying not to breath and took out her gun. Diego kept running and shouting Val’s name. She heard his footsteps, his growly voice muttering under his breath. Finally it petered off. She opened the door and peered out. The coast was clear. She ran to the end of the hallway and turned the corner.

And there it was. The one room she had yet to clean. The room no one wanted. She always cleaned it last because it usually remained empty. She fumbled for the keycard in her purse and inserted it through the slot. Keeping her eyes glued on the hallway, she opened the door and stepped inside.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

The room was not disserted.

Pulse racing and gasping for breath, Val leaned on the doorjamb, peering out into the hallway. Her hands were shaking so bad, she had to steady the gun against the side of the door casing to keep from dropping it.

"What the hell…?"

Val swung around fast and then leaned into the door until it closed with a loud thump, gun raised like an FBI agent at the handsome man clothed only in a white towel.

“Who are you and put that gun down,” the man demanded.

She looked at the gun as if it had just grown out of her hand. She'd only had the German semi-automatic pistol for three days and this was the first time she’d aimed it at a man. What if it had gone off? What if she shot Diego? Or this total stranger. She was more than happy to lowered the thing slowly.

His sharp eyes were a mask of pure emotion, the dark hairs on his chest gleaming under a hard sculpted chest. Her breath stopped as the muscles in his left arm flexed while he adjusted the towel at his waist. She swallowed, wanting to rip the towel off.

"I asked you a question," he said in a sweet and salty voice, this voice the only thing registering besides that white towel.

"I…uh…uh..." For some unknown reason, she raised the gun. It wavered in her hand. Why hadn't she pulled it on Diego in the hotel room? Why was she pointing it at this guy?

Safety, she told herself. A little late.

With long brawny legs, the man advanced on her, patting at the air with his palms. "Put the gun down," he repeated and then added, "sweetheart."

"You…you aren't supposed to be in here," Valentina blurted.

"I'm not supposed to be here," the man said incredulous. “I think you have that backwards. I paid for this room." He advanced toward her, one hand tucked inside the towel at his waist.

Val didn’t know what to say. What to do. She just kept backing up and backing up until she fell bottom first into a large tufted chair with a surprised "Oomph!" Amazingly, the gun never went off, the warm steel in her sweaty palms, comforted her or should have. She still didn’t like the finality of it.

Those legs. They looked so strong, so powerful. She lowered the gun, pointing it as his…”

Shaking herself free of her wicket imagination, she aimed the gun higher.

Anything to keep her mind focused on his face.

The man watched from where he stood, arms folded, an amused look on those gorgeous lips. Were they soft? They defiantly looked soft.

"You aren't supposed to be in here," Val squeaked. The door. It wasn’t locked." She realized  her words were ridiculous. As if they gave her permission to pull a gun on him. She giggled, nervously.

Her eyes popped as his towel slipped open showing the crest of one thick muscular thigh, hardened by what must have been oodles of glorious muscle flexing exercises. She imagined the vise-like grip he would have around her torso as he pushed himself inside her. Was everything that…firm? Her hand shook.

"I assure you young woman. This is my room." He took another step, eyes focused on the bug. He kept a reasonable distance.

Val gritted her teeth. Should she let her guard down? What if she regretted it? It would be too late if she did. All her life men were telling her what to do. Even this guy! For the first time, she felt in control and it felt good. Damn good.

He patted the air once again. "Just Relax, okay? I'm not going to harm you."

"Damn straight you're not." Without realizing it, she licked her lips.

The side of his mouth curved up, his eyes heated.

That little action of licking her lips betrayed her every time. She didn't even know she did it anymore.

The man chuckled. A full throaty laugh that was nothing, if not sexy. A sudden heat crept up the side of her neck. Damn, even this guy can get me turned on, I’m hopeless.

He inched closer. Close enough to smell the whiskey on his tongue, make out the tattoo along his neck. LLB in sharp scripted letters. What the hell is LLB? His initials? The initials of his girlfriend?

"Listen," he began, adjusting the tuck inside the towel around his waist. Man, he was hot! What else you have to show me, big boy? What am I saying?.

As if reading her lustful thoughts, he snapped his gaze up and down her body, his eyes slightly bleary. "I need to get some clothes on." He cocked his head, smiling. "That is, unless you want to shoot me in the buff."

He dropped the towel.

And her jaw fell open as too. Woe baby!

There it was, the answer to her wildest imagination. All six and a half inches of glorious strength. She could not help staring at the hard length of him  in awe. Forcing herself to look up, he shot her a devilish grin, obviously tickled by her reaction.

Val swallowed the last bit of air sucked out of the room. Her mouth went dry, her knees weak, and if she were not already seated; she would have swayed on her feet. She lowered the gun slowly. This time for good.

"Give it here," he commanded. The deep sound of his voice startled her. Like butter over bread, it sliced into her core melting her insides. With a body like that, she'd do anything he told her to do. He didn’t sound dangerous though. "Now," he finished, his smile turning into a wry grin.

His beauty, his velvety voice mesmerized her. Entranced, Val nodded her ascent. She turned the gun around pistol grip first and handed it over.

"Good girl." Hating herself, she almost blushed at his compliment.

He gave her a wink and then bent to grab the towel. Then he turned on his heel, not bothering to wrap the towel around his waist. He disappeared behind a closed door.

Who was that!

Valentina sighed, trying to revive herself by fanning herself with a magazine.

 

 

***

 

 

After an hour, the hottest man Val had ever seen still had not returned to grill her about her intentions or to ask her why she had a gun. Confusion mixed with apprehension settled in her brain. She didn’t know if she should spend the night or try to escape while she had the chance. Nervous jitters filled her stomach keeping her awake. Where was he? At first, she feared he had called the cops but  after several hours she knew that was unlikely. Twice, someone rattled the door handle but then she heard laughing and followed by footsteps down the hall. Two hours went by. Then, three. She stared at the closed door. The place where Towel man disappeared. She guessed it was his bedroom. The very act of keeping her eyes open made her eyes sting. The gun!  I need my gun back?

She would have to sweet talk the guy. If that didn't work maybe another lamp attack. It worked once. Maybe it would work twice. Exhausted, Val's eyes grew heavy. She resolved to stay awake at all costs, even if it meant not using the bathroom, which she needed to do desperately.

She should never have relinquished her weapon. What the hell was she thinking? Men couldn’t be trusted. Not Diego and certainly not this man who somehow managed to wrangle a gun out of her possession without lifting a finger. He appeared inebriated as well, which was probably why he hadn’t come back. He was simply sleeping it off but what would happen when he did? She envisioned the pistol in her possession, the barrel hard against her palm, pointed at his head. Yeah, right. For safety’s sake she hadn’t even loaded the thing. There were no bullets in the gun! Great job, Yolanda Montez. Where are your superpowers now?

 

***

 

Finally, toward morning, Val fell asleep but not for long.

Curled against the back of the grey leather couch, she bolted awake by the clamoring of a door buzzer. He eyes blinked once and then twice as she tried to clear her vision.

Examining her surroundings, she tried to get her bearings.

Crystal chandeliers, check.

Skylight and oak beams, check.

Granite and silver range hood, check.

Yep, she was in the executive suite, the most expensive room in the hotel. It was the only room with a full size kitchen and loft style bedrooms. Not that she'd ever had the pleasure of staying in such a room. Legally that is.

That incessant buzzing began again, overshadowed by the sound of brisk footsteps rushing down the stairs. Towel Man paused at the bottom. He glanced from Val to the front door and then back again. He gave her a wide grin. Val smiled back, taking in his messed up hair , the look of sleepiness in his eyes and bare feet which completed the ensemble of adorable cuteness. He certainly was a hottie.

"You're up. Good, good," he said, now striding toward the door. "Sounds like breakfast is here." In his stocking feet, he was dressed in cool blue woolen slacks, a white silk shirt half buttoned, and a striped tie slung haphazardly along his neck. He opened the door and a man in a white uniform rolled a silver food trolley into the room. Towel Man stopped him halfway. He lifted the lid off the first entre, taking a terrific sniff. "Momma Mia," he crooned. "Never thought I'd be so damn hungry after a long night of drinking." He looked in Valentina’s direction. "I'm Turner by the way and you are…?"

Val swallowed. He was even more devastatingly handsome in the morning. "Val. Valentina Rodriquez." She sat upright on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. Smells of poached eggs, sausage and piping hot coffee wafted into the room. Her stomach rumbled.

“I’ll take it from here,” Turner said. He gave the man a tip and then rolled the cart himself  across the carpet into the dining room. Then he set out napkins, tableware, coffee cups with saucers, and two plates. After placing the entrée dishes on the table, he placed a bud vase with a single red rose in the center. He beckoned Val over. “Bone appétit,” said Turner. Val had never seen so fine a spread. When he lifted the silver domes covering eggs and sausage, cheese and fruit, hot muffins, smoked salmon and caviar, she almost fainted. Who eats caviar for breakfast?

"Come on, Val. Dig in while it's still hot."

Val forced herself off the couch. Out of habit; she made to put on one black leather work shoe, but then remembered she'd left the other with Diego and threw it aside.

Damn it. I don't even have shoes to wear.

"Come. Sit, sit. I can't eat this all by myself." He was pulling out a chair for her. A fucking chair! When was the last time a man did that? She refused to let such a gesture impress her. She'd seen it all before. First manners and then do as I say or else. Hesitating, she sat down.

“Good thing I have the gun," Turner remarked pouring coffee in her cup before asking if she actually wanted one. "Because you look as if you want to clock me right about now." He held up a hand. "I swear on my parents grave, I am not trying to poison you."

A thread of guilt twisted inside her. She had to admit, the man had been a gentleman so far. He could have taken advantage of her or at least try but he hadn’t. Maybe he was too drunk to make a pass. Paranoia ran thick as pudding in her blood.

"Cream or sugar?"

She placed a hand over her cup."Black. I take it black."

"Black it is," said Turner pouring cream into his own cup. He stirred the coffee with a spoon. “May I?”

Val nodded. Then he served them both frittata, sausage links, toast and two small bowls of fresh tropical fruit. "So …" He looked up and Val nearly melted from his warm genuine smile. “Do what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I…”

“Don’t worry, whoever you’re hiding from, I assure you I’ve no intention of getting in the middle of it.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I take it you don’t pull guns on every man you meet.”

Val shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “But don’t get any ideas, buddy. Okay? No funny business, understand? I know karate.” Karate? Where did that come from? She didn’t even know how to fend off a boy scout.

A look of amusement crossed Turner’s face. “All right then. No funny business as you say.” He chuckled over that one. Wiping his lips with a napkin, he opened his mouth to ask her another question but was stopped short when the door buzzer howled. Val's eyes almost burst out of her head. What were the odds of it being room service again? She almost choked on a piece of pineapple.

Seeing her distress, Turner motioned toward the bedroom and Val followed his lead. Legs shaking, she moved fast as she could. If she had any doubts about whether he wanted to have her arrested, they’d leapt out the window. Relieved he was a man of his word, she left him to it, closing the door behind her.

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

Turner watched the backside of Valentina in her tight black skirt. All through breakfast, he’d watched her eat. The way she tasted everything with the tip of her tongue was absolutely sinful and when she got up to clean her plate he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. That sway was killing him. The way she moved. It was like a sledge hammer. The blood pounding through his groin. He didn't know how much longer he could take looking into those deep sultry eyes, not touch the dark tendrils brushing her slender neck, not pull her into an insatiable kiss. His stomach grumbled because he’d hardly been able to eat. He wasn't actually hungry. Not for food anyway. His thirst ran along the lines of wanting to stroke her from the backs of her slim legs to the top of her sinfully satin thighs. She’d been so close. So close he could smell her hot breath, see the pulse inside her throat, taste the heat   all through his body. He wanted to make her come beneath the table.

Last night had been a blur. A mirage, he’d thought when he awoke. Had he really revealed himself to this gorgeous senorita? Or had he imagined that part of it? Geese, he really needed to stay off the booze. And yet… He saw something feral in her eyes when she looked at him, a tiny gleam of hot sweat.  Had she actually salivated in stunned silence, those dark sultry eyes twinkling? He thought she might have and that made him even hotter.  He would have done anything to drop that towel and beg her to her go down on him. He licked his lips, trying to ignore his throbbing cock. The fantasy was arousing as fucking hell.

Watching Valentina sashay herself out of sight, Turner took in a much-needed breath. Her long legs electrified something inside him. At three am, he'd woken to find her sleeping on the couch downstairs. He had a perfect view from the loft. He saw legs like a gazelle, her hand wedged between perfectly formed kneecaps. A ceiling fan overhead blew wisps of hair around her face. A strand of saliva fell from pouty full lips, her lipstick smeared.  He watched her for some time. Even when her hand slipped inside her panties. She looked softer than his usual dates and small. Small yet feisty. In short, she looked amazing.

 

A sharp knock echoed in the hall. He glanced in the direction of the master bedroom and then back toward the door. Either it was someone here to give him more bad news about his brother or whatever evil Valentina was afraid would find her. Neither of which gave him much comfort. He opened the door anyway finding two men, one dressed in a business suit, the other  jeans and a t-shirt. "Mr. Howe?" the suit said.

"I am."

"I'm Mr. Goldstein with Immigration and this is Mr. Rodriquez."

"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"

The one dressed casually tried to stick his head inside the room but Turner leaned to the left, blocking him from the back bedroom. Not that he could see through a closed door. He’d never liked snoopy people and he really didn’t like this one.

"We're looking for a woman," said Mr. Goldstein. "She's armed, and extremely dangerous. She's already attacked a man." The man in the jeans rubbed his swollen jaw.

"And you're knocking on my door because …?"

"We have reason to believe she's hiding in one of these rooms."

Rodriquez ducked his head under Turner's arm, the smell of tequila wafting up. "That's her purse! The little brown one and that's her shoe. I have the other in my—." With a flourish, he pushed his way inside the room. "Val! Valentina. Come out. Come out now or I'll drag you out by the scruff of your neck!"

Turner’s body stiffened. A vein throbbed in his temple. "Hey you can't…Get the fuck out of my room!"

It was too late. Ignoring the purse on a chair, Rodriquez glanced to the closed bedroom door and then over to the stairs.  Pausing, he appeared to decide on the later and raced up the stairway. He shouted Val’s name every step of the way while slandering her in Spanish. When he didn't find anything, he headed back down. He took two steps at a time with loud ka-thuds. He grinned at the bedroom door. He tried the handle but it was locked. His fist pounded on the wood. "I know you’re in there, Valentina,” he shouted. “I can hear the water running. Open it or I'll break the door down."

“Oh no you don’t,” Said Turner. He yanked Rodriquez by the shirt. He pulled him so hard he went flying across the room. With a look of astonishment, Rodriquez landed against the wall with a startled, “Ooomph.”

"There’s no one here and you’re trespassing,” Turner shouted.

“Oh yeah,” said Rodriquez. “Then whose that running water in there?”

Turner’s body went rigid. He clenched his teeth as he grabbed Rodriquez’s arm. “ What kind of man are you? Of course, there's someone in the shower and yeah it’s a woman. This is Vegas for god's sake.”

Rodriquez stared with hard eyes toward Mr. Goldstein.

“I told you this was a bad idea. We’ll need a search warrant, Roddy.”

Rodriquez stuck out his bottom lip.  "Are you telling me that's a prostitute in your shower?"

"I didn't say that."

Rodriquez grunted. “Yeah, you didn’t have to and I wouldn’t believe you anyway.”

Mr. Goldstein nodded his bearded head. He tipped back his black hat. "Come on. Roddy. This may not be the right room."

Rodriquez looked desperate as Turner clutched his arm with a vise-like grip. “Woe mister. Don’t hurt me, okay?”

“Get out of my room before I do,” Turner warned.

"But…but..Hey!” He pointed over to the sofa. “That’s her purse and I'm sure that's her shoe."

Without letting go, Turner grabbed the purse and draped it around his shoulder.

“Don’t think this belongs to any of us so I’ll just keep it right here for my lady friend, shall I?” He patted the purse on his hip and then he picked up the shoe. "Looks to me like this is one of the staff's shoes." He pushed Rodriquez toward the door. He stumbled into Mr. Goldstein who righted himself, and then brushed off his long coat. Then Turner threw the shoe at Rodriquez, hitting him square in the chest. "The shoe was here before I rented the room. Probably left by one of the maids. Got a problem with that?"

Mr. Goldstein cocked his head. "That makes sense," he told Rodriquez.

He glared at Rodriquez. "I'm sure a man like you wouldn’t allow your own wife to work as a…servant. Am I right?" asked Turner.

Rodriquez scowled. "What about the purse?"

Turner shrugged. “Like the man said. You’ll need a search warrant. Everything in this room is mine and last I checked the two of you have no authority anyway. I think you better talk some sense into your client, Mr. Goldstein.”

“Come on, Roddy,” said Mr. Goldstein but Rodriquez wasn’t budging. He made a disappointed sound in the bottom of his throat. He glanced toward the closed bedroom door and then at Turner. "Why should we take your word for that being a prostitute in there?"

Turner bottom lip tightened. "You are wearing my patience, little man. Listen, just because you’re  pissed off your wife, doesn’t mean you have the right to invade a man's privacy. She isn’t here, dammit!" He jutted his chin  at the Jew. "What the hell has she done anyway?"

"Miss Valentina Rodriquez is a very dangerous woman,” said Mr. Goldstein calmly. “She's about to be deported and will do anything to stay in this country. I can see she's not in your apartment but if you do see her…" He handed Turner a business card. "Please call me right away. Let's go Roddy. We've wasted enough of Mr. Howe's time."

"Howe?" said Rodriquez. "As in the famous Land Lover Brothers?"

"Afraid so."

“Bet you stay in a lot of rooms like this, huh?”

“When I travel,” said Turner.

“Well…” His face brightened. “Perhaps you’re not the kind of man who…Here’s my card.” He pushed it toward Turner but it fell on the floor. Stooping he picked it up and placed it in Turner’s shirt pocket. “If you ever find yourself in need of anything.” He grinned. “Anything at all. Really.”

"Come on, Roddy," said Mr. Goldstein tugging his client out the door. "We have other rooms to check." He tipped his hat toward Turner. "Have a nice day."

As Turner watched them walk away, he wondered if he had made a mistake.  After all, she did pull a gun on him and she definitely wasn’t a clean as a whistle snowflake. He could tell that right off. She could be a mass murderer for all he knew. Too late, he told himself but his curiosity was peaked.

After pronouncing the coast was clear, the bedroom door swung open. Out stepped Valentina, soaking wet. Water dripped from her jet black hair. The white cotton blouse  clung to her breasts like a second skin. She shivered , dripping all over the carpet.

"What happened to you?"

"I jumped in the shower when I heard them and…" She looked like a cat who just had his tail rocked over a thousand times, her gaze tense and untamed.

Turner knew he was a cad for staring but he couldn't control himself. The white blouse, unbuttoned at the throat, was practically see-through. Her brown areolas shone right through two different fabrics. Sports bra. That's what they called it. He could only think of one sport and it had nothing to do with brassieres as play equipment. He looked away so as not to disturb her with his stare but sudden warmth still flooded his fevered groin. When he looked up, she was smiling at him. Those lips. Raspberry. That lip balm definitely was raspberry. Tamping down his desire, he forced himself to smile.  "I am so sorry," he said. "I have a bad habit of not turning the shower off all the way. I leave it dripping all the time. You aren't the first woman to try and shut the shower off only to get doused with a full spray."

Val peered down at her bare legs. She had ripped off her stockings after getting out of the shower but it did little to keep her dress from dripping all over the carpet. Trying to hide her embarrassment, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Got anything for me to wear?" she asked giving him a sheepish look.

Now that was a loaded question. Even her under garments must have been drenched. The thought made his cock itch. “Come on.” He took her by the hand and went inside the bedroom. Almost grateful there was somewhere else to direct his gaze, he flipped open his suitcase on the stand and reached inside. Rustling through the neatly folded dress shirts, he selected a  blue striped one. He handed it to her. “Wear this. It’s all I’ve got…for now.” He smiled. There was nothing more alluring than a naked woman wearing one of his silk button down shirts and nothing else although he was sure she wouldn't look right leaving his hotel room  like that. She needed proper clothing. He had no desire to see her put that uniform back on either. She appeared too….classy for that.

Valentina took the shirt but didn’t put it on right away.

Turner pulled a wallet out of his pants pocket. "I uh… could order you some clothes. Nice ones."

"I don’t' have any money,” Val snapped. Her voice was curt, full of challenge. She backed up against the bathroom door, her eyes narrowed.

"Who said anything about money? Please. Allow me." He pulled a Visa, MasterCard, and a Discover from his wallet and waved them at her.

"I saw a nice boutique down in the lobby. I'm sure they can fix you up right fine." He threw the cards on the bed. "Pick one. They're all unlimited. Please. Money's no object. Really."

Her body thumped against the door. Was that fear he saw in her eyes.

"Oh, no. I couldn't really," she murmured.

"Well you have to wear something."

"I have clothes."

Turner looked her up and down. A frown creased his brow. "You have a uniform. You don't have clothes…and I doubt you want to risk running back to wherever you came from to find any. Am I right?"

"Maybe," she said timidly.

"Then let me buy you some.”

She seemed to ponder this for a bit and then said, "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why do you want to dress me up? Is it so you can take them off later and hold it over my head while you do?"

Turner was flabbergasted. "You think I …? That I'm a man who …? No! No, I don’t expect anything. I told you that. I'm loaded. You need something and I just happen to have the means to give it to you. Just let me do this. I don’t expect anything in return."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Like I said, why?"

Turner let out a frustrated breath. "Listen, if it makes you feel any better, you can pay me back."

"I can?"

"Yeah, sure."

"But I told you I don't have any money."

"Something tells me you're a very resourceful kind of gal. I have a feeling you'll find a way."

Val bit her lip."Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Then it’s a deal." He held out his hand and they shook on it. There was something mysterious about this girl and a fizzle of electricity added to his curiosity. "I'm Turner by the way."

A shy smile splayed across her lips."Valentina but you can call me Val."

"Hi Val. Now go put my shirt on before you freeze to death in those wet things."

She  raised her eyes, making him chuckle at his own foolishness.

"All right. You're not about to freeze to death in this room but I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable in my dress-shirt than in a sopping wet blouse." He gave her a wink. "Don't worry. It's long enough to hide all your parts."

Her lips curved up and she cocked her head. "I may be more comfortable wearing nothing but your shirt…” She gazed down at the bulge in his trousers. “…but I'm guessing  not everyone will be comfortable." She threw the shirt over her shoulder like a sack and grinned.

The blouse wasn’t all those breasts were clinging to. They were tattooed on the back of Turner’s eyelids. He grinned at the thought. So that's how she wants to play it, eh?

He took his cell phone out of his back pocket. He called the front desk, knowing exactly the kind of outfit he wanted to see Val in.

 

Chapter 5

 

The door closed behind Val.

She leaned against the door, huffing and puffing while she tried to regain what she considered her usual nerves of hardened unbending steel. She took a deep breath. Just being near the man was enough to ignite a small fire. She had to be strong. She was not about to let that sexy smile or those sweet-talking lips derail her from her objective. She needed money and she needed to stay in this country. Probably needed a job as well. Her job as housekeeper was certainly toast by now. Her Ex would have seen to that.

When he’d handed her the shit, she had a sudden urge to lick him. He smelled that delicious, like hot chocolate on a cold day. Surprised she could be so attracted to someone in such a short span of time, warning bells sounded off her brain. Focus, Val. He’s a man like all the others. Nothing special.

The longer he looked at her the more turned on Val became. It was as if he could see right through her or at least read her dirty little mind.

His body oozed sexuality. His sleeves had been rolled up, something she’d always found incredibly sexy in a man. It showed off his wrists and the flexing of his triceps. His mop of dark hair begged to be tousled.

The way he looked at her was a crime though. When his gaze snapped up and down her body, currents of electricity shot sharply through her core. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. It looked as if he couldn’t either. What was it about a wet woman that turned a man into stone like that? Pushing through the bathroom door, she moved around the hot tub and went toward the mirror over the sink. A wet bedraggled woman stared back at her. "Holy shit!"

"What was that?" Turner called from the other room.

"Um, I said I hope it fits," Val lied.

Standing before the mirror, she pulled her blouse tight against her chest. How hell! How long have my nipples looked like that? No wonder he was drooling all over the carpet.  If she was going to play hard to get, she had better get into some less revealing clothing. Or at least stop taking showers in her clothes. Jeans, definitely jeans, but for now the shirt was all she had. Throwing her wet skirt and blouse into the tub, she sniffed Turner’s shirt. Disappointed that it didn't smell like man, but more like dry-cleaning, she placed it on the top of the closed toilet. She realized the wet bra was even worse than no bra at all. Unhooking the front clasp, she took it off and then decided the panties may as well come off too. She threw them in the tub and then slipped into the shirt. She buttoned it to the neckline. Stepping back, she surveyed herself in the mirror. “Hmm. Still a bit damp in the booby department. I need a distraction.” Reaching up to unpin her hair, the dark tendrils partially obscured her chest. “That should conceal them a bit.” Thankfully, the shirt nearly hit her knees, making it more of a dress than anything else.

When she entered the sitting room, Val found Turner engaged in a heated conversation on the phone. Curious but also hungry, she sat in the breakfast nook where she could both eavesdrop and stuff her face.

"That's not like him at all," Turner was saying. "I mean I know he's a picky eater but…uh huh, uh huh…so make him what he wants. Screw the doctor's diet. He's gotta eat, right? A long pause. “ I don’t' care what you feed him but he's gotta eat. Anything. No. Don't wake him. He needs his sleep too. I'll call you tomorrow but please…call me if things get worse. All right?" Turner popped the phone in his breast pocket,  with a frown. He looked like a dog who found out its owner died.

"Problem?" Val asked, looking up from her coffee cup.

"A bit. You know how that saying 'I am my brother's keeper'? Well in my case it's true."

"I take it you're the older brother?"

"By five minutes, yes." Pulling out a chair, he took a seat across from her. With a fork, he speared a chunk of pear from a bowl of tropical fruit.

" So what's his problem?"

Turner's troubled expression lightened. "Not a problem per say. Just, circumstances."

"Circumstances,” repeated Val, intrigued.

"Depressing chain of events actually. You don't want to hear it. It’s awful. Just awful."  He shook his fork for emphasis and then picked up a napkin. He dabbed at his lips. "I'd rather talk about you, Val."

Val flushed, the heat of dread settled in her heart. Before she could decide how much of her private life she wanted to divulge to this total stranger, the doorbell rang. What was it with this guy that people were dropping in at all hours.

Turner jumped up to answer the door, the anxiety on his face vanished. “Ah, that was fast.” As he swung open the door, two men and a girl strolled in pushing two separate rollaway racks containing clothes on hangers.

"Oh, wow," exclaimed Turner. "This is great but…I told you to be discreet and you show up with this monstrosity. I don't want anyone to know she's here and if someone gets wind of these clothes—" Hanging his head outside the door, he glanced up and down the hall. Seeing no one, he pulled back. The door slammed with a thud.

"I assure you, Mr. Howe. No one saw where we were going?" said the man.

"This is a huge place. How can you be so sure?"

"I pulled the fire alarm," chirped the girl. She was wearing a tie-dye shirt, her blonde hair braided with pink and purple stripes. "Everyone is outside waiting on the fire department."

"What? No way.” Turner’s low-slung brows creased.

Val ran to the window and gazed down. A crowd had formed right behind the pool and the courtyard. The place was teaming with guests. "He's right," she announced. "There must be a thousand people down there."

Turner laughed. "How the hell did you… and why didn't we hear the alarm?"

"You're in a luxury suite. It's sound proof."

"But what if there was a real fire?" Val asked.

"Then we would have sounded the private alarm attached to this room," said man.

"Splendid," said Turner. "Now what have you got for us here?"

 

 

***

Val wanted to jump out of her skin when she saw her new wardrobe. Giggling on the inside, she tried to hide her enthusiasm but the clothes were nothing short of amazing. Much better quality and glamour than Val was used to. The fabric caressed her skin and she had never worn jeans that fit so perfectly before. It was like being in the movie of Pretty Woman. Not a wrinkle, pucker, or baggy seat to be found. Everything felt as if they were sewn right onto her body. The jeans were her favorite. Val chose two, in different shades of blue denim. She put one pair on and then paraded herself before Turner while clutching the other pair under her arm. She couldn't help smiling. “Thank you,” she said for the fourth time and then blushed when Turner grinned at her.

"Try this one on now," Turner was saying. "For me." His dark smoldering eyes sparkled as he held up a scarlet red dress encased in plastic. How did he know she would look beautiful in that? Red was so her color. It brought out the highlights in her hair. Lifting the dress bag, she fingered the stretchy fabric, knowing it would fit her like warm stockings but who needed warm stockings when one was wearing a uniform or lounging around the house? "I don't wear dresses," she said in a low voice. She took a step back. It was gorgeous though.

Turner ripped off the plastic. Then he flattened the dress below Val's chin, softly brushing her hair behind her neck. His lips. They looked impossibly soft up close. So close she wanted to devour them.

Seeing his affect on her, he lowered the dress slowly. "I guess you're right. A girl like you probably couldn't pull off a dress like this."

"What!" Her ire raised, she saw him wink and then smile. It was a killer smile and her frown turned upside down. Somehow, the words did not feel like an insult. He was simply playing with her.

" I like the way your eyes light up. They match the dress you know. Of course, who can be sure without trying it on, eh?"

"It's pretty," Val muttered. "But I have no use for a dress like that." Even if Turner bough this one for her as a gift, how would she rationalize the money spent? The tally in her head already reached eight hundred dollars and she had no idea where she was going to get that money.

Turner tipped his head as if looking at the dress from another angle. He pursed up that gorgeous mouth of his, considering. "I want you to let me buy this one for you."

She looked at him skeptically.  "Why?"

"Relax, Val. I told you before, no strings attached. I just want to see you in it and …" He glanced at the untouched breakfast on the table. "And I think we should feed you before you're scooped up by the authorities."

That remark made her stomach churn.

"I would like to take you to dinner…wearing that." He pointed to the dress.

"Take me to dinner? Huh. Didn't you hear those men? I'm a wanted woman and I'm probably going to be deported soon as they catch up with me. Besides, how the hell am I going to leave this room? They can't set off the fire alarm every  time."

Turner turned to pick up a large hatbox below the dress rack.

"What's that?" Val asked.

"Your disguise. Now go try on the dress. Please." He took the blonde wig out of the box. This was getting exciting. She’d always wanted to be a blonde.

 

***

 

Val checked her reflection in the mirror one last time, amazed by the blazing number they called a dress and how it hugged her soft curves. It was form-fitting but not too tight with horizontal cutouts of red tulle just above the chest, waist, and thighs giving the illusion of bare skin. Turner was right. She looked like a knockout in the thing. She didn't look bad as a blonde either although no one would believe she had blue eyes. Who knew contacts could do such wonderful things? The blonde wig itched though.

After applying matching red lipstick, she looked in the bathroom mirror of the restaurant and puckered up, distributing the color evenly. She smoothed her hands along her body turning this way and that. The dress fell halfway up her thigh, showing plenty of long lean leg. She never felt sexier. "Oh!" she said, startled out of her stupor to see Turner waiting outside the door when she opened the it. She felt a crawling warmth go up her neck when he dazzled her with a gorgeous smile. He cleaned up rather well too. Wearing a smooth wool blend, the flat-front slacks slung snugly at his hips, the white shirt and red tie flashing below his dark stubbled chin. He looked cool and suave like James Bond in a bowtie. Val felt breathless every time she looked at him.

"Just want to make sure you're safe.”

"Why?" she asked, slightly alarmed. "What's going on?" A quick sweep over the restaurant showed nothing out of the ordinary. At least not at first glance. A young man bussing tables. People eating. Soft piano playing in the distance. Was there something she was missing? Her heart thudded in her chest.

Turner slid a hand along her cheek. "No, no. Everything is fine." He snuggled her into his side and splayed a big hand across the small of her back. "Just don't want to take any chances." The heat of his touch soaked through her dress and spread; it pooled between her legs. She swung around when Turner gave her bottom a fond pat. Val's body went rigid.

"Excuse me. I am not some little tart." As the words spilled from her mouth, she realized she was loving it. The attention. The fine clothes. The fancy restaurant. However, it all hit too close to home when he patted her on the rump. "Do that one more time and I won't be responsible for what comes next," she hissed.

"Just want this to look real."

"Real?"

"Yeah." He leaned into her ear. "We don't want to tip anyone off about you being an escaped fugitive."

She giggled. "I'm not…all right, whatever." She maneuvered herself around a large potted plant.

To accentuate his point, Turner pinched her making her jump in her six-inch heels. Heels that made her tower over him like an Amazonian. Not tower exactly but close.

"Try that again and you'll be sorry," Val warned stepping to the side. I may just pinch you back.

"Yeah?" He lifted an eyebrow, appearing more intrigued than wary. He placed Val’s hand on the crook of his arm. They strode across the plush carpeted floor toward the table.

"I have five brothers and they've shown me a thing or two about defending myself so watch it.

“Right. You know karate.”

“I do? Oh…yeah.”  She tried to sound fierce, neglecting to look him in the eye. The thought of throwing Turner to the ground and pouncing on him made her core tingle, her mouth go bone dry, and all she could think about was the heat of his body beneath her. Now, what was that she’d been saying again? Oh yes. She needed to establish some ground rules.

"Oh. What sort of things?" Turner asked. Damn!  Her attempt at intimidation wasn’t working. “Sort of things?”

“You said your brothers taught you a few things about defending yourself.”

“Oh.”

"Let's just say you wouldn't be the first guy I laid out in public?"

As Val stared into those dark dreamy eyes of his, the look on his face heated, she realized her threats were simply foreplay.

"You'd do that?" Turner asked.

"Damned straight."

A firey humor tweaked his lips. "I bet you would too." He laughed but he didn’t seem frightened in the least.

Turner pulled out Val’s chair—he pushed it in as she sat down. It was so…nice. He had done the same at breakfast.

"Know what I think?" Turner asked, taking off the bow tie and placing it on the table. "Fabulous dress by the way. I think those gals in the boutique are brilliant. Just brilliant! All I told them was you had very dark hair and fabulous legs." He lifted the tablecloth and snuck a peak below it.

"And I can see the dress shows them off perfectly."

“Did you just look up my dress?”

“Of course not. You're nervous. Don’t be. I had this place checked out. No way will your Ex find us here."

"You don't know Diego."

"Well I know the people who run this restaurant. It’s very exclusive. He'd have to be from a specific political party or some sort of celebrity. Private party, tonight. We're the only ones not on the guest list."

" It's just you and me tonight. Well…and that couple over there although they're so old they'll be lucky if they live to have dessert."

Val laughed. She looked over her shoulder. He was right. The old man looked about eighty, the woman about fifteen years younger. Behind them, a private room housed the party in the opposite end of the restaurant. Brightly colored balloons floated around the entrance.

"I think we should get to know each other a little better but first let’s eat." He picked up the menu. "Now…what …looks…good?"

 

 

Chapter  6

 

 

Turner almost fainted when Val licked those drop-dead, lip-smacking, flaming red lips of hers. He'd noticed her lips right off but now that he was seated across from her, he realized they were erotic as well. Lips like that were just begging to be kissed. Wasn't it a sin to tempt a man with such blazing hotness in a public place? So brilliant was the color, it animated her mouth with little specs of glitter, the skin osculating each word as she flexed and stretched each syllable off her tongue He took a deep breath, holding it for several seconds. If he didn't calm his rambling libido, he was going to reach across the table and… And what?

The air in the room felt hot, charged with electricity—Turner could not catch his breath every time he looked at her in that dress. With hooked fingers, he pulled at his collar but it wasn't his shirt trapped inside his trousers squirming to get out. It was his dick.

Head-down, Turner tried to read the menu but he couldn't keep his thoughts on anything but the woman across the table. Those killer dimples and tight dress were wreaking havoc with his groin. And her smell. Oh her smell. Lilacs, spices, and something lemony in her hair. He'd always been easily distracted by women. Especially pretty women and especially by this woman that he obviously couldn’t have. Too gun-shy. Too disgusted by scum bags like her Ex to give another man the benefit of the doubt. Still, what he wouldn't give to wipe that nasty frown off her lips. With his tongue!

He felt the heat of Val's intense stare. When he glanced up, she flashed a flirty smile. Oh I get it, sweetheart but you've met your match with me. Two can play this game. You don't bother me one bit. Subconsciously, he adjusted his length inside his trousers. A fine sculpted brow raised in his direction. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Oh yeah.

They gave their orders to the waiter and then slipped into easy conversation. “So both Sam and I joined the army. After that, we lived in Texas. That’s where we first began Land Lover Brothers but when our uncle died we moved to New York.”

“To take over Howe Caverns?”

“Sort of. It really doesn’t make any money. Not real money but our parents were wed there and Sam just didn’t want to sell it. Like I said he’s a bit of a romantic.”

“Unlike you?”

“I’m more…” He took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. “Business oriented I guess you could say. I take care of all the finances. Sam’s brilliant though. Don’t get me wrong. Some of our houses have been featured in Better Homes and Gardens. That’s all Sam.”

“But you’re the brains behind the business?”

“I’m the…one who says no sometimes.”

“No to what?”

“When a venture doesn’t make us any money. Enough about me though. I want to know what it was like living in Mexico.”             

Val's eyes glistened and she leaned forward with her drink. A frosty something or other with a straw. She licked the sugar off the glass. Or was that salt. At any rate, it was driving him crazy and she knew it. “Not much to tell. My father drank. We were poor. End of story.” She changed the subject. “So what kind of publicity are you here for?" she asked sweet as you please. Her tongue did laps around her glass.

"Publicity?"

"You said you were in Vegas to do publicity."

"Oh right." He stifled the urge to wriggle in his seat. "Not just publicity. Somehow, it’s turned into more. We built a Habitat for Humanity house. You know, the charity gig?”

“I do.”

“ Well, that took a month and a half and then there was this cooking show. That was the publicity part. At the moment we’re renovating some big wig’s house as well."

"Cooking show?”

"Actually, it was a competition. Not a cooking show. I was one of the judges."

"Wow. That’s amazing."

"You like to cook?"

"I was a master chef back in Mexico. I worked at some very upscale places."

"Huh. I wouldn't have pegged you for a gourmet chef."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that. You were wearing a maid's uniform."

"Yeah, well…." She leaned back in her chair, arms folded. It made her breasts bulge beautifully. They both glanced toward the kitchen. "Why is it these fancy pants restaurants always take so long with your order?" Val wanted to know.

"The best takes time, sweetheart. You of all people should realize that."

"Hmm. The jury's out on that one," she said with a flippant tone.

"Don't  you like the atmosphere?"

"What? The red velvet upholstery or the white lace tablecloths? That's just Christmas wrapping. It kinda feels like a strip club to be honest.”

Stripper. Turner peered around the room, trying to hide the arousal he was certain showed on his stupid face. "Anyway what would you…?” Val glared back. He chuckled. “Never mind. I’ll have you know, Michael's Gourmet Room was voted one of the top five places to eat around here. It has a four diamond award."

"Doesn't impress me,” Val said. “What does impress me is good food."

"Fair enough," Turner agreed. "Ah, and here it is now."

A tall waiter wearing a white coat and gloves carried a huge silver tray. As he set the tray on a nearby holder, Turner glanced at his watch. He smiled at the waiter. "Only fifteen minutes," he said as the dishes were set on the table. "Not bad service so far."  Val placed her napkin on her lap. The waiter lifted two silver domes off, letting the steam escape. Next, a girl with a white cap offered fresh hot popovers from the basket on her arm. "One each," Turner said when she asked how many. After delivering the popovers she set a tray of five kinds of butter in the center of the table.

Turner buttered one and took a bite. "Awe, this is good," he said. He offered a popover to Val who waved it away.

“You sure? They’re really good,” he said. “All right. Suit  yourself.” He took another bite, swooning from the moist hot flakiness against his teeth. Next, he bit into the filet mignon smothered in a cognac cream sauce. He closed his eyes and for several seconds everyone around him disappeared. There was nothing in the world could compare with good food and expensive wine. Turner was a connoisseur of both . He  wished Val would enjoy herself as much as he was. She must be nervous, he decided. If only she’d drink the wine…He closed his eyes. “Mmmm.” The spicy hot flavors rolled along his tongue as he tried to get a sense of  the ingredients in the sauce. “Rosemary,” he said, holding up a fork. “Garlic too.” He nodded while he kept on chewing. “Olive oil. Shallots. And cayenne pepper gives it just the right zing.” Swallowing, he opened his eyes to find Val staring at him, her food untouched. “You haven’t touched your food. Something wrong?” Obviously she wasn’t the kind of woman who was used to such fine dining, he thought. She probably didn’t know which fork to use. Then again, it wasn’t confusion that registered on those deep dreamy features. More like disgust while she batted her food around the plate.

Turner leaned across the table. "It's called Marseille shrimp," he said in a low voice. "In case you were wondering."

"I know what it is," Val snapped. She looked angry and very stiff.

Was it his presence she objected to or simply the food? He took a large sip of wine, settling his brain around the later. "Not your thing huh? I’m…I’m sorry, Val. I shouldn’t have ordered for you but I thought…"

She didn’t make eye contact, her gaze glued to her plate. "Marseille," she muttered as if it pained her to say so. "Like no one would know the difference if they called it that."

"You've had it before, then." Phew! Then it wasn’t my company that filled her mouth with distaste.

She didn't meet his gaze—but attempted to swallow another mouthful—her face twisted in contempt.

"You don’t like shrimp?"

“Oh, it’s not that. I adore shrimp if its cooked properly.” Huh. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was being snooty.

"Here… Let me try a b…" He reached toward her plate with his fork but then paused mid air when she glared at him, horrified. He chuckled and drew back his utensil. “Okay, maybe not.”

Gingerly, Val placed her fork on the side of her plate. "I just don’t understand how they can pass this off as Marseille shrimp,” she complained. “And at these prices!" Her impossibly long lashes fluttered along her cheeks, glittery and shining against the scarlet of her dress. "This is not Marseille shrimp," she said, nostrils flaring.

“It’s not?” asked Turner, confused.

“It’s really an injustice to pass it off as such.”

She really is angry, he thought, amused. By shrimp! He couldn't help grinning at how worked up she appeared to be. If she got this excited over fish, he wondered what else could light a fire under that pretty little pout. “How do you know about French food anyway?”

Val shrugged, her blonde wig shimmering by candlelight.

“Forget I asked. Let’s order you something else.” He raised an arm and snapped his fingers, hoping to catch the attention of one of the waiters.

“I don’t want anything else,” Val said.

“No? So  then you do want it?”

“Um..”

“Val, you don’t have to eat it but you have to eat something. And there’s no reason why you should accept food you’re not happy with.” He frowned. “What are you looking for? I told you. No one can get in here without an invitation.”

“I know that. I’m trying to get a glimpse of the chef in the kitchen.”

“Look, sweetheart, let’s just order something different. Really. They won’t mind changing your order.”

“It’s not the food I object to. It’s the principal.”

“The principle. It’s shrimp!” He snapped his fingers once more, this time, catching a waiter’s attention. A dark-headed man with a gold earring in his left ear was at his side in record time but. Before he could even open his mouth though, Val was grilling him about spices, cooking times, and didn’t he want to check with his conscience before serving food that masqueraded as some other dish?

“I am so sorry, Madame. Perhaps I can interest you in…?”

“You must whisk in the mayonnaise,” Val was saying. “Not a blender. Never a blender and the oil must be extra-virgin. Nothing else will do.”

“I…” stammered the waiter.

“I assume they used saffron?”

The man shifted foot to foot. “I wouldn’t…”

“I knew it! Now I know what’s missing. Why, saffron is the most important ingredient.” She patted he palms in the air. “Now I know what you’re going to say and I know saffron is not easy to come by. Damned expensive too but come on…we’re…” She swiveled her finger between herself and Turner. “He’s… paying premium prices for this dish, is he not?”

“Yes madam,” said the waiter.

She snapped her gaze back toward the waiter. With raised brows she said, “Soooo…is there saffron in this dish or not?”

Before he could answer, she made a disappointed sound in the back of her throat and shook her head, obviously not appeased by the waiter’s creased brows and lowered gaze. “Why am I wasting my time with you?” With an exasperated breath, she threw down her napkin, and shot to her feet. “I’ll ask the chef myself.  Pausing only long enough to adjust the strap on one of her heels, she strutted across the mosaic tiled floor toward the kitchen.

Turner laughed, thunderstruck by what just happened. She’s actually going to confront the chef. It tickled him that she was so brassy…so…. Sure of her convictions. She obviously knew a great deal about French food, maybe fine food in general as well. His mind was already doing the math. Would she know how to get Sam eating again? Maybe he’d not had the right food. Maybe he’d not had enough calories. Maybe he’d just not had the right woman. Well, he knew that last point was right on, but he certainly didn’t want to set his twin brother up romantically. Not now. That was exactly how he’d come to be a basket case. He married the wrong woman. Still, if he had someone like Val watching over his sick brother, just until Sam snapped out of his depression, perhaps he could finally live his life. Yep, a babysitter was what Sam needed. Someone who didn’t take his shit. Val certainly wouldn’t coddle him. She was just what Sam needed.

Halfway across the restaurant, Val froze in her tracks, eyes wide as a baby calves’. “Diego,” she breathed.

“Oh shit!” Turner threw down his napkin and leapt from his chair, upsetting his wine glass in the process. How the hell, did they get in here?  “Dammit, Michael, how could you put someone like that on the guest list?” he muttered under his breath. He reached Val before Diego caught sight of her. In fact, it appeared the blonde wig had him stumped. It appeared he didn’t recognize her but Turner wasn’t waiting around until he did. He grabbed Val’s hand and the two of them bolted through revolving doors leading into the kitchen. The humidity and scents of roast beef, hot soup and steamed vegetables, assaulted them as they entered. Shining copper and steel pots hung overhead while confused chefs and kitchen staff in white uniforms heaved cleavers, ladles, and pairing knives over long metal tables. A waitress swung around, nearly falling into one of the pots; a large platter flew out of her hands into a sink. Warm soapy water  splashed everywhere.

Turner’s vision swiveled right to left, searching for an escape route. An older man with in tall chef’s hat shouted in angry French.

“Yeah, you call yourself a chef,” Val said. “But let me tell you…” Turner yanked her in the other direction, freezing the rest of her words along her tongue.

The chef waved a cleaver at Val but Turner  quickly stepped in front. “Don’t go there, pal,” he snarled.

The chef  didn’t flinch. “Sortez de ma cuisine! Sortir! Sortir! Sortir,” he said.

Turner threw up his hands. “Okay, bub. Put the knife down.”

“A rat! A rat!” Val shrieked. “Over there.” She pointed toward a back shelf right above a  hot steaming kettle. Taking advantage of everyone’s surprise and flurry, Val grabbed Turner’s hand. “There,” Val yelled. They ran into a man carrying a large pan of fancy French desserts. The boy  reeled into a tail-spin and the frantic couple ducked beneath the tray. “This way,” Turner yelled. He pulled Val along. “I see the exit!” They pushed forward, turned a corner by the walk-in freezer, left at the double sinks, and then straight out the exit doors into a night filled with stars.. They didn’t stop running until they were at the other end of the parking lot.

“You okay?” asked Turner.

“I will be,” Val replied

Slowing, they stopped to catch their breaths. “That was close,” Val said. Her face flushed red and she’d caught a snag in her stockings.

“ How the hell did your friend there get through?” He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh.

“My friend!” said Val, annoyed. “I thought you checked that place out?”

“Well he must have some kind of connections, that’s all I can say.”

Val took a deep breath. She looked exhausted and her mascara was running.

“I don’t think anyone is following us,” Turner said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Turner leaned forward, huffing and puffing, his hands on his knees.

“I thought you said they’d never find me…damn I lost my shoe again,” Val limped past him toward the shoe,” muttering something about men being useless and not trusting any of them.

“What was that?”

“Not a thing,” Val replied.

“Uh oh.”

A large burly man  with what looked like a trash bag came out the back door of the restaurant. “Who the hell…?” Val paused, trying to distinguish if she knew the guy but it was impossible to tell from this distance.

“Let’s not stick around to find out,” Turner said. “Come on. …‘car’s this way.”

Val put on a pouty face. “But I liked those pumps,” she whined. “They were…pretty.”

“I’ll get you new ones,” Turner said, pulling her toward a white Cadillac. He held the passenger side door open to her. “Get in, Cinderella.” He shut the door and then got in on the other side. Then they sped away into the night.

 

Chapter 7

 

 

Valentina’s pulse quickened in her veins and something inside her sizzled and popped. She was beyond excited. Beyond aroused. Filled with the desire to show Turner her appreciation for whisking her away mere minutes from Immigration’s evil clutches, she struggled to reign in her enthusiasm.

She’d never met anyone like Turner before. Not even close. He was sweet and kind but still maintained an air of authority with everyone he met. Strong yet compassionate. A master of his own universe. She saw how he treated the waiters, the coat girl, the valet. While complimenting them on their service he’d made it very clear what he’d expected in return. He’d treated her like a princess. That is, what she imagined how a princess might feel if she were being chased down by a mad man and a prince showed up in his shining white chariot. She smoothed down the wrinkles along the skirt of her scarlet silk dress. She’d been skeptical about the clothes but  when she knew he had no intention of asking her for sexual favors in return, she was more than happy to model for him. Despite his hungry gaze, she had nothing to worry about. Not really.  The perfect gentleman, he’d even pulled her chair out in the restaurant. Only men in fairy tales did that.

Even with the console between them, Val’s body tensed from the heat radiating off Turner’s body. Still out of breath, he seemed to charge the air with electrons inside the car. She found herself wriggling against the wet spot inside her panties.  That, and she was sweaty as hell from all the running. A warm hand pat her gently on her leg. A gesture of reassurance. A promise she had nothing to worry about. Heart beating like a hummingbird’s, Val didn’t move, hoping he would move his hand higher.

The car crawled inside the traffic. Vegas was on fire. Bright lights lit up the hotels, making the strip appear like fantasyland. Neon signs blinked and glittered.

Val rolled down the window just as a loud boom went off. She jolted and her eyes went round. “We’re being attacked!”

Turner laughed. “Not to worry,” he soothed. “We’re not being attacked.” He pointed to her left. Bits of smoke filled the air as a life-size replica of a pirate ship loomed large in a lagoon. Men in period costumes stood on deck waving swords. They appeared to have shot a cannon ball not fifty feet away from the car. “For the tourists,” Turner explained. He patted Val’s thigh and then put both hands on the wheel.

The car took a sharp right and then a left up a side street leading away from the strip.

“Where are we going?” Val asked.

“I told you. I restore houses. It’s the perfect place to hide out, don’t you think?”

“How would I know?” Val replied

Soon it was apparent by all the expensive homes, they were in a different part of town. They stopped before a lemon colored house with a garage attached. Val’s mouth dropped open. “This is it?”

“Uh huh,” Turner said pulling the car up to the curb.

Val took in the enormous width and breath of the house. “Wow,” she said. “You did a nice job.”

“Oh it’s not done yet,” Turner explained.

“It isn’t?”

“Nope.” He went around to Val’s side of the car and opened the door for her. She stepped out of the car and onto the walkway, feeling  like she was trespassing somehow.

She’d expected a wreck. According to the television show, Land Lover Brothers usually purchased dumps so they could make a total transformation. But this was no dump. In Val’s opinion, this was a cookie cutter doll house. She stared up at the sharp peaked roof. It was edged in white ruffled trim. Large floor to ceiling windows gave it such beautiful curb appeal she half expected Mary Poppins to step out. The front door with brass knocker glowed from side lamps that flanked left and right. Scaffolding and building equipment perched against the house ten feet from the door. “Your project,” Val commented.

“Yup. Do you like it?”

Val shrugged. She didn’t want to admit it was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen, nor that she’d never stepped foot into one so lavish before. The houses back in Mexico were simply shacks compared to this. AT least in her part of the country. “It’ll do,” she said nonchalantly.

“Good because this is where we’re holding up until I figure out what to do with you.”

“Do with me,” Val echoed as they walked up the stone path. Her skin prickled. Not the comment she was hoping for. He made her sound like something he needed to dispose of. “Listen, I’m not your problem. Okay?”

“Uh, yeah. You kinda are. That guy back there…” He jerked his head in the direction of the street. “The one with Immigration? Unfortunately, he’s one of my investors. I need to figure out how to make this right with him and keep you in this country.”

“Good luck with that,” Val said. She leaned into the heat of him as his arm came around to insert the key in the lock. She didn’t want to think about Immigration or Diego. All she wanted was a release from the world, her problems, and her screwed up life. She could worry about everything else tomorrow. Turner seemed just the man to make her forget too.

He swung the door open and urged her forward. “Voila, my sweet senorita. Mi casa es su casa.”

Crossing the threshold, Val blinked. She shuddered into the bright white foyer; her one shoe clicking out a rhythm on harsh marble tiles. “Lovely,” she said trying not to sound too impressed.

“Well, it will be,” Turner said. “Once we’re finished. We need to finish a few things first.” He pointed overhead. “I want to hang a crystal lamp right there. Gets pretty dark at nightfall. Come. Let me show what we did with the living area.” She followed him to the right, trying to not feel like a maid with a mop inside her evil stepmother’s palace. Her throat went dry, her pulse raced. Any minute she expected an alarm to go off. You don’t belong in a place like this. You never will.

Turner, apparently sensing her unease, took her by the hand. The fact that he was beside her, made her settle, but not in every way. She’d been fighting the urge to see him naked again, the minute she’d laid eyes on the man. He was everything she found attractive in a man. Broad shoulders and fine ass. A sweet barely-there accent. A swagger to beat all swaggers. She itched to know if his bare skin was as soft and pliable as she suspected, if those hard muscles would contract to her touch, how long it would take for his release if she was bold enough to suck him off.  His prettiness aside, there was more to Turner than met the eye and that was what really sealed the deal. He liked to play the wolf in sheep’s clothing act but that’s all it was. Just an act. He seemed to lack the selfish streak most highly successful men of his position and power possessed. The sense that the world needed to bow down to him. To give him what he desired at precisely the moment he desired it. Tuener was anything but snobbish. He tipped heavily, complimented everyone he came in contact with and seemed to be a generally nice guy. Which made it difficult to do what she knew she needed to do.  Damnmit, I need to get my head out of my pussy.

Turner plopped himself down on the sectional leather sofa. Another white room, this one sported a plush navy carpet that felt like heaven on Valentina’s stocking feet.

“What do you think?” Turner asked. “This room is just about finished.

“Huh,” Val heard herself saying. “Needs some wall art though.”

“You think so?” Spreading one arm over the back of the sofa, he patted the space next to him. “Come. I think it’s about time we get to know each other. Again. This time we’ll have no interruptions.” He chuckled. “I hope.”

Tentatively, Val sat on a separate sectional cushion, a few feet away. She trusted Turner but she didn’t exactly trust herself. Not when all she could think about was how big the man was inside his trousers, the way he looked without that towel and... Lost in thought, a sudden heat crawled up her neck. She pretended to study the texture of the couch. When she looked up, she found Turner was frowning. Within seconds he was grinning again.

“I respect your distance, Val, but I assure you, I won’t bite.”

Val gave him a tight smile. It wasn’t his bite she was worried about.

His gaze traveled down the length of her. His hot look scorched ten degrees higher when they settled on her eyes. He surprised her by whistling. “Mm, mm,” he said shaking his head. “My, do you like nice in that dress.”

“Thank you. Er, you like nice too,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

He loosened his tie and threw it on the glass coffee table. Then he undid the top four buttons of his shirt and leaned back, his arm draped along the back of the white leather couch.  “So, how did you know so much about French food?”

“My first husband was a chef,” Val replied. “I used to watch him cook. I took notes when he wasn’t looking, you know...in between…well…” She looked away. “He had a bit of a temper.” She stroked her cheek as if she’d just been sucker-punched.

Turner’s brows furrowed. He seemed to be genuinely concerned by what she said. “Sorry, Val. You deserved better than that.”

“Oh,” she said as if this was news to her. “It wasn’t all bad,” she explained. “I did learn a lot from him.”

Turner leaned forward, his hands clasped between his spread open thighs. It made his shirt fall open. It showed a dimple in the middle of his chest—a few dark hairs peaking out. His hair was cut short on the sides but thick sexy waves swelled along the top of his perfectly shaped head. But it was his eyes she noticed most. The color of a clear blue sky, they darkened to sapphire when he looked at her. Through her actually. Holy smokes, batman, he’s gorgeous.

“Cooking,” Turner murmured in that cool sexy voice. “It’s  something you love, isn’t it?”

“Uh…”

“Val?” His grin expanded. She could tell he enjoyed the effect he was having on her.

“Uh, yes. It’s the only thing I love to do,” she stammered. “Well…almost.”

He licked his lips and she instantly wished she could take back her last comment. Especially after seeing that wolfish grin dangle in the corner of his mouth. Damn, he had beautiful teeth. She wondered what it would feel like to be nipped. Just a little…right inside her thigh. The thought made her antsy, her legs restless. Val sprang to her feet. “Damn stockings,” she complained. “I never wear these stupid things.” Reaching beneath her dress, she tried to straighten her binding pantyhose. In a huff, she yanked them down to her ankles. Stepping out of the wrinkled nylons, she threw them on the table. It didn’t escape Turner’s notice that they landed on top of his tie.

“What?” Val snapped, seeing his  eyes grow dark. “Don’t get any ideas, hotshot.”

Turner laughed. He looked down at his trousers. “You heard the lady.”

Val’s eyes flashed but she couldn’t help the giggle escaping from her throat. Crossing her legs, she tucked them beneath her on the sofa.

“And Diego?” Turner asked. “What kind of a husband was…” Before he could finish there was a noise like a garage door opening.

Val jumped to her feet, her eyes wild.

“Relax, sweetheart.“It’s just my crew.”

“Crew?”

A clatter of something metal hit the ground outdoors. The windows shivered. She ran to the window and looked out.

“Who are those men?”

“Landscapers. They’ll be dropping off their gear so they can work on the back gardens  tomorrow morning. Not to worry though. They won’t bother us tonight.”

“I see.”  Val took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “You know…I really need to get my purse from the hotel…and my old clothes. And I need to pay you back soon as I find work.” She backed up quickly when a young man waved to her from outside. She turned around. “Um, you sure it’s not safe for us to leave tonight?”

“I’m sure. What’s the hurry anyway?”

“I don’t know. I just feel…like I owe you somehow.”

“I told you, Val. You don’t owe me anything.”

“But…”

“Listen, after what happened at the restaurant, the first place they’ll look for you is at the Bellagio.”

“You’re probably right. But I will pay you back for the clothes. I just don’t know how yet.”

“That’s important to you, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“I have an idea. Why don’t you make breakfast for the crew tomorrow morning.”

“Sure but that’s not enough…”

“We’ll discuss that at a later date. Okay? At least this way you’ll be working toward that debt. Will that make you feel better?”

“Probably.”

“Okay. Now that that’s settled, where were we?”

 

***

 

The two stayed up into the wee hours of the morning drinking wine, talking, and laughing. Val expressed her desire to escape her six brothers, an overbearing mother and ex-husband who couldn’t get it into his thick skull he was no longer married to her. Turner admitted he had no idea what it was like to have that much family around. Brought up by an elderly uncle, the only family Turner had left in the world was his twin brother, Sam. “Sam was always the tender hearted one,” he told her. “I think that’s why he fell so fast for his wife and let me tell you, that bitch was a nightmare.”

“She died, right?”

“Yeah along with his infant son.”

“Aw, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, my brother couldn’t handle it…not even a little…he just fell completely apart. Stopped eating. Didn’t clean himself and just stares at the television all day...I’ve never seen anything like it. His not eating is the real problem though. I’ve hired cooks around the clock to get him to eat. Each time, he finds some reason to get rid of them. Either that or they quit on their own, like this last one. ”

“Are the two of you identical?”

“Fraternal and we’re are nothing alike. In fact, our features are so different that if I hadn’t seen our birth certificates I’d say we weren’t even twins.”

“Well, I look just like my brothers,” Val admitted.

“Oh, I doubt that,” said Sam with a grin. “I bet I could tell the difference.” He poured more wine into Valentina’s glass. “This has to be the last one,” she said. She’d already moved to his side of the sectional, her bare feet perched on his lap so he could massage her feet. “Oh god, that is so good,” she moaned. “My arches were so swollen from being in those high heels.”

“Swollen huh,” Turner said. His fingers slid along her ankles. His hand curled around the underside of her kneecap where he rubbed the skin there—gentle as a kitten. A glean of deviltry crinkled in his eyes. “This okay?”

She nodded, trying to inhale the oxygen which had mysteriously been sucked from her lungs. His gaze slipped lower to her cleavage. If only they could stay like this forever. Him rubbing her feet and her rubbing his… Pulling her feet out of his lap, she tucked them once again beneath her.

She needed to keep her wits about her and she needed Turner’s help to stay in the country. Sleeping with Turner would just make everything more…complicated. But he was sooo…nice. When was the last time she had…nice? Sweet talking,  toes-curdling, everything’s right with the world kind of nice? Try, never. The man definitely knew how to give a killer foot rub. What else was he good at?

Turner’s eyes darted to the bedroom. Desire flickered in his eyes before he took a deep breath and said, “Well…I guess we better get some shut-eye before morning.

What? No!

“Who knows what time these guys are gonna get here. You can have the bigger bed though.”

Damn! Always the gentleman. It was definitely a mistake to sleep with him anyway but it would have been nice if she turned him down. Well, technically she had. Earlier. She couldn’t help feeling even more aroused by his refusal though. If that was even possible. It was nice to meet a man who actually listened to what she said for a change.

Irritated with herself, she slammed her feet down on the floor and headed toward the bedroom upstairs. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“It’s the one at the end of the hall,” he called after her.

 

Four Hours Later

 

Val grabbed her pillow and headed down the hall toward the stairs. Unable to sleep in Turner’s bed—it  smelled like Turner, she’d decided the couch was a better choice. Besides, the couch was on the first floor, directly across from Turner’s bedroom making it easier to fantasize about him. She couldn’t get the thought of his naked body out of her system and for some screwball reason she wanted to be closer to him even if it was two rooms away.

Wrapped in a soft chenille robe, she lay on her side, staring at Turner’s closed bedroom door. She thought of that chiseled chest above the towel he’d worn. What was the name of those muscles? She’d known once when she took an anatomy course in high school. Back when she thought she could do anything. Even become a doctor one day. It all came back now. Pectorals major, thick fan shaped muscles attached to ribs and sternum. A sternum that was rock hard. Hard and nearly hair free. Oh god, what if he slept in the buff?

Inwardly she groaned. Stupid…stupid…stupid. What the hell was she doing? Fantasizing about a man she knew was out of her league. Besides, that, she had one objective here. She needed money and she needed a way to stay in this country. Perhaps, Turner could help her with that but she refused to act the whore just to get what she needed. If he helped her, fine. If he didn’t, she’d move on. No ties to either one of them. It would take every neuron in her fevered brain to figure all this stuff out. Fucking Turner would just muddle things.

She punched her pillow for the umpteenth time. She was sleeping…or not sleeping…for that matter…in one of Turner’s silk shirts. It smelled of his cologne. Hot and spicy. Every time she rolled over  she got a fresh whiff of it, her nipples caressed chafed at the stiff starched linen.

And she wasn’t wearing any panties. She was so wet from the shower, she wouldn’t have slept in them anyway. In fact, she probably should have taken another shower. Preferably a cold one.

How was a girl supposed to sleep when the hottest man she’d ever met was on the other side of that door? Perhaps he wasn’t sleeping either.

If she could just get a glimpse. A quick little peak. Just to see what position  he slept in. Certainly he slept naked. A man like that. So full of confidence and power. Did he curl himself up like a baby, sleep on his back, his dick pointed north by morning? Or did he drool into his pillow?

The leather sectional sofa squealed in protest as Val rose up on her knees. She squinted through the shadows. She needed to see him. Needed something to soothe her imagination. Then maybe she could sleep.

Throwing off her robe, she tip-toed  across the carpet. A clock dinged somewhere and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Shaking like a leaf, she felt like a peeping Tom. No. Cat woman inside Batman’s cave. Meow! And Cat Woman never did sleep with batman. At least she didn’t think so. She was strong, just like the super hero. She could do this. She could control herself just fine.

Before she reached the end of the carpet, a light flickered beneath the door and she scurried herself back in record time, hiding behind a potted plant that couldn’t possibly cover her whole body. She went over in her head what she would say if he caught her there. She was looking for an earring? She thought she saw a  mouse?

More footsteps and then nothing, as if he were pondering what to do next. She’d not heard the bed squeak so she was fairly certain, he hadn’t gone back to bed. Was he thinking about opening that door? Her heart raced, pulse thumping against her ears. If he did open the door, he’d see her right off. Her face warmed, just thinking about it. What kind of  a woman tells a man point blank she’s not interested and then tries to see him naked? Frozen, she waited, hardly breathing. She contemplated about running back to the couch but her legs felt like they were nailed to the floor.

Another door closed from inside the room. Water running.

The shower. He was going to take a shower.

Yes! Curiosity kills the cat.

I don’t care.

Moving from behind the plant, she tiptoed toward the bedroom door again and leaned  her ear flush against it. Was that a groan or was she imagining it?

Pumped with adrenaline, Val tried to picture the tall, dark-haired, god-of-a-man soaking wet, hot jets scalding that delicious muscular body. She imagined the soap gliding across his skin. He’d use those tiny bars you get in hotels. Impossible to hold. In her mind’s eye, she saw him bend over to pick up the soap, his package fully revealed between his legs. Long and thick with two plump balls just begging to be squeezed.  Fuck, the man was hotter than a porno king. And he was sweet too. Val’s temperature soared. How was a woman to resist…that? She just had to take a peak.

Tentatively, she turned the knob. She poked her nose inside a crack. The bathroom door was open but not enough that she could be seen if she slipped inside. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see him either, which she should have anticipated. Weren’t there frosted doors over shower stalls? Deciding not to risk being caught, she stood still, listening to him in the shower. As she imagined, she heard a bar of soap clattering against the tub. I knew it! Turner muttered a few obscenities. She imagined thick suds lathering chest and genitals. Mmmm.

Then he groaned. A low, guttural sound of pure lust. He sounded like an animal, all growly and wild. Oh god. Her face flushed hot. Her nipples tingled. He did it again, the guttural groans thumping against her ribcage. She opened the door wider.

“Ahhh!” The glass doors shook.

Oh god.

She couldn’t see him clearly through the frosted glass but she could see enough. He was so big, the movement of his hand so frenzied, it was clear by his performance. She crept closer to the door jamb. The doors shook and jiggled on their track. He groaned. Male and heat-packed. “Val. Valentina!” Her name was like a song. A low growly erotic song. It sizzled inside her ears and she swooned with pure pleasure as she saw what looked like his head rolling back, one arm braced against the wall. A vigorous pumping and his breath started to hitch. He wanted her. It had been no joke. This man. This heart-stopping gorgeous rich man who had wined and dined her, admitted he wouldn’t force her into sex, truly wanted her.  No man had ever bought her anything, not even a simple trinket or breakfast without expecting to get something…anything…in return. Turner’s honesty, the desire they obliviously shared for one another’s bodies, gave Val second thoughts about ignoring the passion she felt for him and he for her. It wasn’t just sex though. Something drew her to him. Like an invisible thread. The pull was incredible like nothing she’d ever experienced. A woman could only take so much.

 

 

Chapter 8

Turner

 

Lowering his head slowly, Turner shook the last of his load into the warm running water. Valentina. God, she was hot and sleeping all alone in practically nothing on the other side of that door. How he wanted her beg him to be fucked. Stop, he told himself. She wasn’t interested and he’d never made moves on any woman without knowing she was indeed interested. Just once, he yearned to do that though. Not to actually force a woman but a challenge would be nice.

He watched the thick goopy cream circle around the drain and then threw his head back, groaning. Hopefully this was the last time for such torture around the woman. That long dark hair yearned to be touched. It simply begged to be tussled. Just being in the same room as her was driving him crazy. Oh, well. Once he helped her retrieve her clothes, she’d be gone. It was a new feeling. This sense of loss he felt and she wasn’t even gone yet. Just sleeping above him in his bed. His bed. Fuck! He could feel his cock growing again so he slapped that shit down. He’d never get any sleep at this rate.

Stepping out of the shower, Turner toweled off his hair and groin. He pushed the bathroom door leading into the bedroom open and stood there in shock, staring straight ahead. He sucked in a breath. The last thing in the world he expected—three in the morning no less—was Valentina sleeping in his bed.

Towel wrapped quickly around his torso, he shut his eyes tight and then opened them slowly. Was he dreaming? A trick of the shadows? Nope.  Still there—her dark silky hair splayed prettily upon his pillow, naked back glowing in the nightlight. He grew hard. Again.

“Oh,” Val said rolling on her side. “You’re done.” She smiled up at him and threw back the covers. “Come. Let me warm you up.” Without questioning, he dropped the towel and then crawled across the bed.

A huge smile warmed his heart. This was how it always happened so why was he so surprised?  It was normal for pretty girls to make themselves available to him. Especially when they found out who he was. What he was. His notoriety overwhelmed them and dollar signs shone in their eyes. But this felt different, didn’t it? Not his normal. He was ready for her. Oh, so ready. He didn’t want normal anymore. He didn’t want nice either. He wanted heat and passion, her screaming his name into the dark.

He sat up on the bedcovers, cock pointing up, and caught her fevered stare. “Why?” he asked.

She looked at him, incredulous. “What?”

“Why. And how do you plan on warming me up?”

Val chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious?” She threw a lock of hair behind one shoulder. God, those breasts! They seemed enormous with incredibly dark areolas. It was all he could do not to dive right in and take one in his mouth. Then she arched her back, pinching herself. “Mmmm. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Not what you said last night,” Turner replied.

“Girl can change her mind. Can’t she?”

Skepticism crossed his mind. Maybe she was after his money after all. “You didn’t answer my question, Val.”

“I can’t believe we’re playing twenty questions here. Damn, it’s hot in here.” She kicked off the blankets and he could see that she wasn’t naked after all. She still had on her underwear. No! His boxers.

“I need to know exactly what you want from me, Val.”

“Want?” she asked, her face a picture of innocence . She drew the sheet to her chin, grinning.

“Yes, what do you want and be explicit.”  He gave her a wolfish grin and he knew—just knew—he was making her panties catch fire.

Her breath caught in sharp waves when his hand settled on his dick. Just rested there, ever so lightly. Her lips parted and a tiny tongue came out to lick them. “You. I want you, Turner. I can’t make it any clearer.”

“Oh, I think you can.” He raked his fingers through her hair, making her shiver, his breath blood hot beneath his other hand. He squeezed himself, not even aware that he was doing it.

“Do I have to beg you?” she asked.

“Actually yes.”

A thought of deviltry filled his heart. Maybe games were what were lacking with all the others. This could be fun. If he was never going to see her again, he wanted it to be fun. And hot. Hotter than hell, actually. “Say it. Say what you want me to do to you, Val. Say it and I’ll give you whatever you want.” He realized with a start, the words screamed ‘pay me and I’ll go away.’ Not how he meant it to come out.

She seemed to ponder this for a moment and bit her lip. Was she angry? Uneasy about his request. Fuck, he just didn’t know how to talk to women, did he? Actions were always his better game.

He slipped beneath the blankets and lay on his back. He clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. The bathroom light suddenly extinguished but there was still a nightlight in the corner. Shadows fell over Val’s lovely face giving a smoky glow to her cheeks. She leaned toward him, sliding a tongue along his neck. He caught  her by the wrist, stilling her movements.

“Okay okay,” she snarled leaning into his hot upper body. She smelled of  hot sweat and sweet wine. “I want…Turner, I want you to…um…damn…this is hard.” He slid her hand beneath the covers. “Aint that the truth?” They laughed. “Try again?” he coaxed.

They were so close. Her hair tickled his ear, moist lips a breath away from his earlobe.

She didn’t beg him though. Nothing as simple as that. She actually turned the tables on him. A refreshing hot lip-suckling switch of erotic demands. He kissed the top of her head, the tip of her nose, and then sank into a hot melting erotic kiss while she caressed him with her words. And just to make sure there was no confusion, he repeated back her expectations and in what exact order.  “Wait a minute. What?”

“If you come before I climax, you give me a thousand dollars,” she said.

Turner’s eyes widened. He gave her a sideways smile and then chuckled helplessly. “Sweetheart I can go all night. Well…not all night but assure you, that won’t be a problem. You shall have your pleasure and then some.”

“So it’s a deal?”

“A woman who strikes good deal. I like that.”

Val frowned. “Maybe we should shake on it,” she said, her tone serious. She shot a hand toward Turner but he pulled her on top of him. “Now what was number one again?” Oh yes. Kiss the girls.” He couldn’t stop laughing until she braced herself over him. Her breasts dropped over his head. Hot need shimmered in her dark eyes.

“Both. I need both sucked.”

“Right. I see my little senorita is not a submissive.”

“Was there any question? Oh, that’s nice. Now the other.” He was caged in her arms, his member heavy against her belly. He fondled one nipple while nipping at the other. Val moaned. Her fingers fluttered in his hair.  “I want to taste you too,” she said.

He couldn’t lose his power over her. Her female bossiness, although cute, would not satisfy her in the end. And he wanted to satisfy her. He wanted her to know, he wasn’t like all the men before him. A small part of him wanted to redeem mankind but more importantly he cared about her experience as much as his own. He didn’t want her to look back and regret any part of this.

“Swivel your body around on the bed,” he demanded.

“But…”

“Sixty nine. It’s next on the list, isn’t it?”

“Yes but…” Hesitating for a just a few seconds, she rolled off  him. “My rules. Remember?”

“Your point?”

Of course she had none. He could see that. There was fire in those sultry eyes, a desire, fueled by anticipation. Oh, she was liking this. Him taking control like a caveman.

“On your back, woman!” Then he added. “Please.”

Her breathing became labored, her voice exaggerated with every word. “Thousand dollars, Turner.”

“You let me worry about the money, sweetheart.” And with that he covered her with his body half kneeling half lieing on top of her. “And no touching. Got it? That’s my rule.”

“What? Why not?”

“Your rules about your body. My rules about mine.” Shimmying himself down on the bed, he sucked on her inner thigh and coasted his tongue along her leg. Moving higher, he tickled her shaved pubic area with his lips. His thrust forward, slipping his tongue inside her clit for just a few seconds, enough to cover his face in juices.

“Oh!” She stretched up to meet him.

His dick was only inches from her face. He yearned to plunge forward. Past those pretty pretty lips. But he wanted her to want him, as much as he wanted her. He wanted her greedy for him. So greedy she would scream if she didn’t have him. The smell of her sweat  and lavender shampoo was driving him insane, the hot flesh of her legs burned like ashes. She was so ripe. So ready for him.

“Please, Turner. Please.”

He paused. “Are you begging me to stop?”

“No!” Her breath sped up. “ I need more, Turner. More for god’s sake. How long are you going to tease me?”

He gave her a little bite, right beside her clit electing a tiny yip from the corner of her mouth. He liked the way she sounded. He liked it a lot. All moist and hot. He wanted her screaming like fucking hell. With two thick digits, he slipped inside her core and rubbed along the sides. She arched again, nearly jumping off the bed. “That’s it, sweetheart. Do you like that?”

“Oh god, Turner. I’ve wanted you the moment I saw you.”

“Mmm.” His fingers circled around her bud. Circling. Circling. Coating his fingers in secretions; he sucked two in his mouth. She tasted good. So good, his cock felt like dynamite, ready to explode. He didn’t know if he could take any more of her sounds, her writing body, the searing heat between them.

He slipped his tongue inside her core, swirling with deep soft suction. Her moans changed pitch.

Turner rose up on his knees, scrunched his lower body up along her torso until his cock was in position. Not quite touching her.

Eagerly and without objection, she stretched her neck. The first drops of semen, dropped along her tongue. “Give it to me,” she demanded. “Give it to me now.”

“What exactly do you want, Val.”

“I want…”

“Beg me. I want you to beg.”

“Please.”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please,” she whispered. “ I want your cock inside my mouth. I want to suck you off while you eat my pussy.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I sure as hell don’t want any misunderstandings later on.”

Her knees spread out further. “Turner! Lick me. Please.”

He chuckled. “Atta girl. Now was that so bad? Dirty talk is fun, don’t you think?”

She huffed at that but then screamed as he went down on her again.

Spreading his thighs wider, he slid them alongside her head. “You may have me now,” he murmured. The suction was immediate and for a minute he wondered if he would last. But she was new to this. She took a little time to get going on him. Maybe it was his girth. He’d been told he was big but he never had anything to compare himself. To him, he was just normal. Hot. Always hot, but normal. Thousand dollars my fucking a…! “Oh baby. That’s good. Yeah. Right there. Deeper. Take me deeper.”

He lowered his head and shot his tongue deep inside, his lips suckling the tender flesh while she got a rhythm going below. He licked harder and faster and so did she. He felt her tongue roll around his tip. He grunted and spurred her on, his pleasure rising to incredible heights. Sharp outrageously high—jump-off-the-rooftop heights, until he was sure he would explode. Ah fuck. What the hell is money anyway?

She drew him in, paused and then a slight gag reflex as she struggled with his size.  Her teeth skimmed his cock. Shocking him into pleaser pain sensation. He thrust forward. “More,” he said trying to be gentle.“ Take in more of me.” She did and he went back to pleasuring her sweet clit. Simultaneously, they worshipped each other’s bodies with their lips. They tongues. Their voices raw with uncontrollable lust.

She drew him in deeper. Harder. The sound of her sweet voice muffled by climax swelled inside his chest. Her body convulsed, throbbed along the bed. A spurt of  fresh juice slid along his tongue, the flavor changing.

Seconds later, he felt his own climax building to epic proportions. Intensification. The crowning point of his erotic bone-melting pleasure.

He gripped the bed sheets, white knuckled. “Val…”His body tightened. He thrust forward again and again. “Valentina I’m…” He tried to pull back, give her the option of releasing along her belly but she pulled him in quickly, nails digging into his backside. A mumbling of ‘…don’t care.’ She wanted all of him. Every hot steaming drop.

“Ahhh!” Sweet explosive release traveled down that pretty pretty throat.

Panting with exhaustion, he collapsed on his back in deep euphoric bliss. Turner switched his body around on the bed. Now they were head to head. He lay on his side, cradled her cheek with one hand, and smiled down at her. He ran a finger down the side of her jaw and traced her bottom lip. Then he kissed her gently. “Do I owe you anything?”

“I think I owe you,” she said with a breathy voice.

“I say we go Dutch.”

“We what?”

“I think we’re even.”

After regaining a semi- normal breathing pattern Val said, “Mmmm. That was nice.”

 

Chapter 9

 

Wearing Turner’s shirt and nothing underneath the next morning, Val stomped around the tiled kitchen floor like she was marching into battle, furious with her ex-husband, the world, her lack of recourses but most of all—furious with herself. Turner had been so sweet, so giving and she couldn’t remember the last time she had this much fun with a man. Who knew sex could be fun? She knew what she had to do and she didn’t like it. Not one little bit but what choice did she have?

Why the hell did he have to be so nice? So attentive. Like a goddammed god in that huge brass bed. All sexy and dripping with masculinity. Damn! She’d never experienced such orgasms. Best lover she’d ever had. No. Only lover she’d ever had. At least in the real sense of the word. Most men just got their rocks off and left her squirming in the sheets. Most men came on her in minutes. Most men were not Turner Howe. He’d worshipped her body like she was a freaking goddess, never taking pleasure for himself until he gave it up first. Fuck! Why did it have to be the last time in his bed? She could get used to feeling this good. This relaxed. This…satisfied. She hugged herself, thinking of those hot male lips, wet tongue probing her insides like he was drinking every raw exploding atom.

Turner wasn’t only hot, handsome and rich but he turned out to be more thoughtful than she imagined. Two attractive qualities she’d never found in a man. Not ever. She’d thought men like him only existed in fairy tales.

Seated on the couch where she’d removed all her clothing, she pointed her toes, pulled on the expensive silk nylons slow and gentle-like. Her thighs ached from keeping them open so long but it was a pleasant ache she was willing to bear. Too bad she’d never feel that way again. She shook her head. Nope. This was something she would not do without any longer. She wanted a  man like him some day. Now that she knew they actually existed. She smiled at the thought, resolving her life would never be the same from now on.

Searching for the red dress, she wished she had jeans to put on instead. The last thing she felt like wearing was a skin-tight evening dress although at the time it had made her feel elegant. Yes, like Cinderella at the ball. The only other time she’d ever felt  like that was on her wedding day to her first husband.

Fifteen years ago, Marcus had been attracted to Valentina’s exquisite raw beauty. On their wedding day, he’d dressed her in fine silk and rare Italian gold, her dress backless with tissue fine lace. At the tender age of seventeen she’d not known what love was nor did she know what was going on until he ripped the dress to shreds when she showed signs of hesitation on their wedding night. Her first time was brutal and harsh. No coddling. No kissing. He’d no stomach for a slow sensitive fuck. He simply wanted what was his and took it. She felt shamed and frightened. It had been beyond anything she’d ever expected. He was rough, hopped up on tequila. Afterwards he forced the worm down her throat and then chuckled when she gagged. Then he’d invited his brothers, of which there were three, to have a go at her themselves, the last one destroying what was left of her hand-sewn cathedral length veil when she threw up all over it. She’d never been more humiliated in her life. Marcus was furious when she got sick. He got out a whip, pushed her down on her knees and whipped her until bloody. He would have killed her if not for four of her brothers breaking his door down. His body was never found. Why she was thinking of this on this morning of all mornings, she didn’t know.  Perhaps it was to remind herself of where she’d been or to ingrain that she was better off these days. No matter how slight. Swallowing that last drops of red wine she found in a glass, she slipped the dress overhead. She tiptoed back into the bedroom.

Smiling, she studied the man in deep peaceful slumber. His body all muscle and rumpled hair, one arm draped over her side of the bed. She wanted to join him, slide down under the covers, make him hard and eager for her all over again. She sighed.

Val watched for sudden movements but he seemed to be out cold, a light whisper coming from his wide supple lips. She smelled his maleness, sensed the firmness of his touch, the taste of salt upon her tongue when he came inside her mouth. She paused, wanting to kiss him one last time. She couldn’t risk waking him however. Her memories would have to suffice.

It’s now or never. Val tip-toed past the bed to the opposite side of the room.  A comb, a new razor still in the box, two silver cuff links, several condoms, assorted change, and a can of shaving cream spread upon an oak vanity. Beside it were Turner’s trousers crumpled on a chair against the wall. She reached inside one pocket and pulled out his wallet. She glanced toward the bed. He still lay there like a babe, oblivious to her thievery. Could she lift the contents without him knowing? Of course she could. Despite the butterflies in her stomach. Despite the fear inside her gut. Despite the fact she really didn’t want to do this in the first place. But she had to. She needed to escape Immigration and to get out of this town fast. The only way to do that was with money. She hadn’t survived this long by playing it safe and definitely not by trusting a man. Turner was still a man, she told herself. Like all the others.

She’d be mortified if he caught her. Now that was a first. He probably wouldn’t even notice the missing cash. Just a thousand, she told herself. Enough for an airline ticket and some food. She could find work just as soon as she was as far away from Diego as she could get.

As she unfolded the fawn leather billfold, she gasped. “Holy shit!” she muttered. A soft groan uttered from across the room.  She held her breath, her stomach doing flip-flops.

She stared at the wallet. There was nothing but five hundred dollar bills inside it. No fifties. No twenties. Not even a single, single. Who keeps that kind of cash on them anyway? And out in a strange town. Rich guys. That’s who. He definitely wasn’t a safety boy.  She took two bills and then a Visa and a MasterCard. For an emergency, she told herself.

Another stirring and a rustle of sheets. Val froze, her hands behind her back. Languorously, Turner raised his arms and stretched, the sheet covering his chest sliding. With a loud lion-like yawn, he rubbed his eyes. “You’re up early, Sunshine. What’s it…?” His oblique muscles flexed when he turned on his side to read the alarm. “Six? It’s only six in the morning. Come back to bed.” He winked and pulled the sheet open.”What are you doing?”

Self-loathing settled in her chest. “Uh, hi. I was just…um…” She grabbed the comb. “Looking for this,” she finished. “We left in such a hurry last night, I left my brush behind.”

Turner’s face scrunched. “Oh, okay. Let me mess it up again. I promise not to bite this time.”

Val giggled. One hand hid still tucked behind her, she pulled the comb through her tangled hair, wincing. “I…I didn’t mind.”

Turner grinned. Too much in the rising throws of lust, he obviously wasn’t catching onto her awkward movements. “Come back to bed, sweetheart. Let’s get to know each other all over again.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Her toes curled when he looked at her that way.

He surprised her by vaulting out of bed. “I’ll be right back,” he announced. “ I should freshen up for ya first.” He sprinted a few feet and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

“Um…yeah. Yeah!  No sloppy seconds for me,” she called out. A few seconds later she heard the shower running. “Aw, hell,” she muttered under her breath. She ran from the bedroom, slipped the cash and cards inside her purse ,and skipped eagerly toward the shower. Undressing quickly, she slid back the glass door. “You’re going to need this,” she said, holding up a bar of soap as she stepped inside the tub.

“Now that’s what I call service,” Turner said. He made to take the soap but Val pulled it away quickly. “Nope. My turn first,” she said, laughing. Lathering her hands, she slid them up and down body. Slowly and sensually, she rubbed at her wet skin, slipping along shoulders, chest and breasts. She pinched and pulled at her breasts.  Her nipples grew erect.

Turner’s eyes dazzled with heat. The irises, corn flower blue took on a hint of navy. Val turned to wash him next, starting first with his firm chest and ending with his cock. The rich aroma of male scent sizzled inside her skull. She’d never teased a man so. It was positively sinful but fun. When he leaned in to kiss her nipples, she tossed her head back, letting the full pressure of water jets pelt along their skin.

“Mmmm,” Turner moaned. “You are so fucking sexy, Val.” She swooned at his words. Never before had a man told her she was sexy. He definitely needed rewarding.  She dropped down, took him quickly in her mouth.  The floor was hard on her knees; she felt the honeycomb of the drain.

His breath caught—masculine and sharp. Excited, she drew the stiff rigid flesh to the back of her warm throat. His dick lengthened in response, encouraging her with his moans. Hard digits burrowed in her head, holding her where he needed her. Endorphins sizzled through her scalp.

He spread his feet a little and  leaned against the wall. Val shuffled forward.

A soft lazy suck. Occasional squeezes to his backside. “Yeah. Yeah. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

But she did stop. She had to take a break. Just for a moment though. Breathing heavy, she took hold of his base, swirled her tongue along the head. A salty flavor sizzled there. He jumped and then laughed.

“Tickles?”

“A bit.” Gratified, she said, “You like? Because I sure don’t want any misunderstandings,” she teased.