GirlMostLikelyTo (9 page)

“Before I tell you, in my defense I had no idea what it
was.” He winced. “Ox penis.”

She cringed. “Oh my God. Where did you eat that?”

“China. When the guy next to me told me what it was, I had
to excuse myself and race to the bathroom. I couldn’t eat anything else. I was
worried about offending the host so I lied and said I had stomach flu. Luckily,
I managed to avoid the next course, which was duck feet marinated in blood.”

“Ugh. I’ve gone off the idea of Chinese. Shall we have
pizza?”

“The slices of ox penis were on a pizza.”

She stumbled and clapped her hands over her ears. “No they
weren’t, don’t tell me that.” He chuckled and she glared. “It’s no use
laughing. You’re ruining food for me.”

“I think you’re safe in Pizza Express.” He held the door
open.

But not safe from you.
Every moment she spent in his
company weakened her resolve. She’d told herself no more charming guys and here
she was falling for another.

Maybe it didn’t count because she’d fallen for him five
years ago.

They were shown to a table in the corner of the busy
restaurant and Adam held out her chair and waited for her to sit down. Wren
liked him. She’d liked him when she darted into that doorway to shelter from
the rain. She liked him when he made her come. She liked him when he held her
as she melted against him. She only stopped liking him because she couldn’t
spend her life hoping to see him again. It was easier to be angry with him and
herself instead. Only now, she wasn’t angry.

“Would you like wine?” he asked as they looked at the menu.

She hesitated. She wanted to pay for her half of the meal
but wine was going to double the bill.

“This is my treat,” he said as if he’d guessed what she was
thinking. “I insist.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.” She lifted her head from
the menu. “I’d like the four-cheese pizza, please.”

Adam ordered a bottle of merlot and the same pizza as her.

He stared at her across the table and sighed. “When I found
out on Saturday night where I’d be spending the next three weeks, I almost
didn’t come. It was only because my PAs would never let me hear the last of it
that I changed my mind. Now I owe them a bottle of champagne. At least.”

She smiled.

“What have you been doing since you left Italy?” he asked.

“I had another year to go at university before I graduated.
I wanted to find work as a translator but so did thousands of others. I sold
shoes for a while and eventually got a contract for some freelance translation
work. I really enjoyed doing that.”

“Translating what?”

“Er…”
Damn.
She paused too long, trying to come up
with a lie. “Novels.”

He furrowed his brow. “What sort of novels?”

Double damn.
“Romances.”

“What sort of romances?”

“Romancy ones.”

“Explain.”

Wren sagged. “Darn it. You had to push. Fine. They were
erotic romances.”

His eyes lit up. “That sounds fun.”

She stared at him. “Yep, it was. Of course it’s ruined men
for me.”

“How so?”

“Well, no guy can be like the heroes of those books.”

He gave her an inquiring look.

“They’re supermen,” she said.

“In what way?”

“Every way. Mentally and physically.”

She could see him trying not to laugh and decided to tease.
“I don’t want you to feel threatened but the men in those stories are every
woman’s dream. Alpha males with finely honed bodies, sculptured muscles and
immaculate six-packs. Their silky hair has no hint of dandruff and their smiles
are perfect, not a crooked tooth or cavity in sight. They’re amusing, charming,
brilliant in bed, and I mean
really
brilliant. They’re able to overcome
every obstacle, can eat ox penis without barfing and of course they’re totally
devoted to the well-being and happiness of the heroine. Or hero if they’re gay.
Or both if they’re bi and get lucky.”

He stared at her so intently, she was tempted to keep
talking to fill the gap but pressed her lips together. What was he going to
say?

“Threesomes?” he asked.

That’s what he picks up on?
And was that a croak in
his voice? “A few of the books were ménages.” Her heart hammered.

He coughed. “Did you like those?”

Yep, that was a croak.
“Some of them. Not the ones
with two women and one guy. I think that’s a guy fantasy, to have two women
doing—er—things to them and each other.”

Deep water alert!

“Not every guy’s fantasy.”

Wren felt as though an overenthusiastic dental hygienist had
just sucked all the moisture out of her mouth.

“Two bi guys and one straight woman sounds good to me,” Adam
said.

Really?
Wren was desperate to speak but no words came
out. Was he telling her something here? Hinting? Had she just made the jump of
the millennium?
Adam, Tomas and me?

“What about you?” Adam asked.

What about me?

Wren opened her mouth and still speech eluded her.

He leaned closer. “You like the idea of two guys sharing a
woman, looking after her, taking care of her?”

How did they get into this?

“Depends on the guys,” she managed to force out.

“You like blond guys?”

Oh God.
“I prefer dark hair.”

“Glad to hear it.” He sat back. “Now explain the
brilliant
in bed
.”

She was saved by the arrival of the wine.
Thank God.

“Later,” he said.

She gulped. This was heavy-duty flirting and she needed an
asbestos suit. Her nerves were shredded. Eating pizza seemed impossible.

Adam poured the wine and held up his glass to chink against
hers. “A special toast. Sorry. Please. Thank you.”

“You’ll have to explain that.”

“Thank you for agreeing to dine with me. Sorry about my
abysmal performance in your Italian class. You might have guessed I know about
ten words of the language. Please—well, I’ll leave that for later.”

Her heart did a backflip but she dragged a snarky comment
out of her head. “Ten words? As many as that?”

He chuckled. “On the other hand, I’m fluent in Elvish.”

She smiled. “That could be useful if you stumble across
Rivendell. But you ought to be in an Italian for beginners class.”

“Do you teach one?”

“No.”

“Then please can I stay in yours, Miss?”

He gave her a cheeky grin and Wren’s heart continued its
complicated gymnastics routine, bruising lungs and stomach as it flipped and
twisted.

“I won’t be a nuisance,” he said. “I’ll just sit and
listen.”

And distract me as well as smirk at Tomas.

“If you don’t pass the end-of-term test, I’ll be in
trouble.”

“A test? Seriously? Christ.” He sucked in his cheeks. “I’ll
cheat.”

Wren raised her eyebrows. “You don’t seem the type.”

“I’m not. I’ve never cheated at anything.” He stared
straight into her eyes and Wren felt herself sliding. “I don’t want to cause
you problems. You’d have to give me the answers unless…you’re prepared to give
me intensive private lessons.”

Oh God.
“I’d be in even more trouble for that. We’re
not allowed to privately tutor Ezispeke students.” Nor go to bed with them,
though she suspected that rule and her personal resolve would be tested later.
She twirled her glass. “Mind you, since I’m already a thorn in Olive Speke’s
side, maybe I could bend the rules.”

“She doesn’t like you?”

“If I breathe in her vicinity it annoys her.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did. She treated me like everyone
else to start with and then one day she just didn’t anymore. I don’t like not
being liked. I go out of my way to be the sort of person people are happy to be
around. Mostly.”

The pizzas arrived and they started to eat.

“I didn’t used to be bothered by what people thought of me,”
Adam said. “I wasn’t a nice guy and I knew it. I rode roughshod over others’ feelings,
sacked people without a second thought. I was so driven to succeed that I
didn’t see what I was missing, what was missing in me.”

He gave a short laugh. “Shows how much I’ve changed that I
can even admit that. I put an ad out for a new PA a year ago, ended up taking
on a tag team and finally realized how good it felt to have someone who
genuinely cared about me. Two someones, either of whom would tell me when I was
being a jerk, worry when I was sick and praise me on a job well done. Things my
parents should have done when I was a kid.” He picked up and then put down his
glass. “Ah damn. I don’t think that confession was very alpha male of me.
Should I add that I single-handedly saved the planet from alien invasion on two
occasions?”

“Very impressive.”
I love you.

Except Wren knew she didn’t. Not really. This was just lust
raising its greedy head and roaring like a hungry lion.

I will not fall in love with this man.

Only she suspected she could say it a thousand times, and it
would make no difference.

Chapter Nine

Tomas eyed the contents of the bag he’d taken from Veton’s
car with a mixture of disgust and alarm. He ripped the wrapping off two items
and laid them on his bed—black vinyl pants that were going to stick to his skin
like…skin…and some sort of harness made up of strips of black leather a couple
of inches wide, fastened together with rings and silver buckles. The damn thing
belonged on a horse.
Shit.
One problem, well more than one, but where
the hell was he supposed to stash the phone that was his lifeline?

He stripped to his boxers and snatched up the pants. At
least no one had worn them before him, though he hoped bartending at Cirque
wasn’t going to be a regular request. While he worked the door, he wore a long
black coat. He stalled on the zippers. There were two at the front, allowing a
flap to drop down and uncover his cock, and one at the back that’d run up the
crease of his butt.
Fucking hell.
Tomas flung the pants down, slumped on
his bed and had a conversation with himself.

I don’t want to do this.

No one’s going to see you.

How do you know?

Do you know anyone who goes to a fetish club?

How do I know until I’m there?

No one’s going to touch those zippers except you.

Yeah, well he had
that
right.

Tomas thought about searching for his luggage locks and
securing the zippers with those. If he’d known where they were, he might have.
After he pulled the pants on over his boxers, he groaned, took them off again
and removed his underwear. Now he knew what a visible panty line meant and although
he’d
feel
a prat in the pants, he’d also
look
a prat with the
line of his boxers showing. His snort of amusement sounded false and overloud
in the room.
I care what I look like?

He got tangled trying to put on the leather harness until he
realized it wasn’t supposed to only cover his chest, but be attached lower
down. Tomas bristled. No way was he wearing anything round his cock. Those damn
pants would hide nothing. He unfastened a couple of the buckles and threw the
strips aside. He was left with an empty ring dangling at the front over his
sternum and one at the back. Maybe he should hang a “hands off” sign from both
of them. His subsequent burst of laughter was genuine.

Tomas stood in front of his floor-length mirror and glowered
at his reflection, annoyed because he almost liked what he saw—a pissed-off guy
with black eyes who could have walked off the set of a sci-fi movie. He pulled
black shoes and his gray peacoat out of his wardrobe and snagged socks from his
drawer before he called his real boss.

“Orange service. How can I help you?” Julia asked.

“I’d like to top up my phone.”

“How much would you like to put on it?”

“Twenty-two pounds.”

“Two calls in one day, Tomas?”

“Aren’t you lucky? I’m out tonight and can’t take my phone.”

“Out where?”

He should have known he wouldn’t get away with only that.
“Marco wants me behind the bar at Cirque.”

“Why can’t you take your phone?”

He gritted his teeth. “I could leave it in my coat but I
have to wear a bartender’s outfit. No pockets.”

There was a short silence at the other end. If she made any
comment, he’d—

“You need backup?”

He stiffened. “Absolutely not.” Since he was the cop most
likely to bring down another partner, it was best he work alone.
Christ.
Bad enough that he had to go out in public like this, let alone end up the
laughingstock of the force. “Marco’s just testing my compliance. He doesn’t
suspect anything.”

“Call me the moment you’re back in your flat. If I haven’t
heard from you by five a.m., I’ll have Veton brought in.”

“Okay.”

Julia had a whole series of actions lined up in case he went
out of contact. He suspected they were all a waste of time. If Marco found out
who he was, he’d be dead before anyone could rescue him.

He buttoned his coat, stuffed Marco’s phone in his pocket
and slunk out of his flat.

* * * * *

“Excuse me, but we’re closing.”

Adam and Wren jumped. Wren glanced at her watch and gasped.
It was nearly midnight.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said to the waiter. “We lost track of
time.”

They’d talked through almost two bottles of red wine. Adam
had laughed at her stories and she’d laughed at his. She’d never heard of
anyone trying to cook in plastic containers. Setting your kitchen on fire three
times had to be a record. But for all Adam’s domestic failings, she could sense
a guy very much in control in his business life. He was used to giving orders
and being obeyed. He was like the guys in the books she translated—and the ones
she’d bought—heroes with flaws. Who’d really want Mr. Perfect?

As they stepped onto the street, Adam slung his laptop bag
over his shoulder and took her hand. Wren barely smothered her sigh of delight.
When he wrapped his fingers more firmly around hers, her body hummed like a
tightening wire.

“I’ll take you home,” he said.

And she was instantly filled with butterflies. If they went
to her place, she knew what would happen.

I am incapable of saying no.

Did she want to?

In three weeks, he’d be gone.

For three weeks, he could be hers.

In three weeks, he might want to keep her.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Do we need a taxi?”

“We can walk.”

Maybe by the time they reached her apartment, common sense
would have strangled her lust. She tugged him in the direction of the Headrow,
one of the main shopping streets of Leeds. A drunken guy staggered past them,
his girlfriend clinging to his arm as she teetered on high heels. A group of
youths congregated at a bus stop, swearing loudly at each other. Wren didn’t
like Leeds at night, but she felt safe with Adam. He moved to walk between her
and the rowdy group.

“Leeds is a different place when it’s dark,” she said.
“Things crawl out of the woodwork. I suppose all cities are like that.”

“Where would you like to live?”

She blew out a breath. “In an isolated beach house made of
weathered wood, with big windows looking out onto a wild sea. What about you?”

“In an isolated beach house made of weath—ouch.”

Wren had elbowed him.

“I like my house in Greenwich,” he said with a wry smile.

She imagined his home to be some minimalist pad with
stripped floors and artistically distressed brown leather couches. He’d have a
big white bedroom and she saw herself lying in bed next to him reading the
Sunday papers while they fed each other chunks of buttery croissant and drank
freshly squeezed orange juice.

“And my house in Zurich and my house in Colorado and my house
in France,” he said. “I’m thinking of buying an isolated beach house.”

“Ha ha. Favorite food?” she asked.

“Steak. Yours?”

“Peanut butter and Alaskan king crab legs. Not together
obviously, though I must admit I’ve been tempted to try that. I’ve only had
crab legs a few times but they are
sooo
good. Although I did throw up on
each occasion. Too much melted butter. I never learn.”

He chuckled.

“Your biggest fear?” she asked.

“My business failing, letting my employees down, letting
myself down.”

She squeezed his hand. “Mine’s totally selfish. I’m
terrified of being eaten by a great white shark. That wild sea is purely for
decoration.”

Adam chuckled.

“What’s your biggest regret?” she asked.

He stopped walking beside a brightly lit store, pulled her
round to stand in front of him and stared straight into her eyes. “Failing to
find you five years ago.”

Pain and pleasure flared in Wren’s chest.

“I always wondered,” he said. “Now I know.”

She understood he was talking about whatever this thing was
between them. He stroked her cheek and she turned into his caress, her heart
racing.

“What if we’d not been separated by the crowd?” he
whispered. “What if we’d gone back to my hotel or your apartment? Would our
lives have taken a different path? Would you be teaching in a language school
in Leeds? Would I have been so wrapped up in my business I forgot…how to live?”
He choked on the last few words.

The city faded to mist. All she could see and hear was Adam.
All she could feel was his desperate sadness that echoed her own.

“Would another touch of your face…” He swallowed hard.
“Would those extra moments have made the difference? Kept us away from that
mob? Would another kiss have melted my heart and made me a better man?”

Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it pulsing in her
head. Forget that she wasn’t supposed to go out with a student. Forget that she
wasn’t supposed to fall for another charming guy. Forget that a sensible woman
wouldn’t let this go any further, tonight at least. Wren wanted him with an
intensity that should have terrified her but instead it set her ablaze with
excitement.

He is irresistible.

She stepped even closer so their bodies brushed together,
slid her hands to his head and traced his face with her lips, running them down
to the hollow of his neck and around the curve of his jaw up to his ear. His
already unsteady breathing turned ragged. She couldn’t remember when she’d last
taken a breath. He pulled her tight against him so she felt the hard ridge in
his pants.

“Christ, Wren,” he whispered against her temple.

Her panties were soaked. Her pants too, probably. She verged
on the point of dissolving.
I want to kiss you.
Wren tipped her head and
looked into his dark eyes before she touched her lips to his.

OhGodohGodohGod.

But it was
his
tongue that slid against the seam of
her mouth seeking entrance, and for a few seconds she resisted, wanting to
prolong the anticipation. He pressed a little harder and with a soft groan, she
allowed him in. Adam wrapped his arms tighter around her as he tasted and teased.
They slow-kissed with a desire that grew like a thunderhead. Soft and white
gradually morphed to hard and dark. Slow shifted to fast until they were
kissing each other as if it were their last moment on the planet. If it had
been, it was the way Wren wanted to bow out.

When they came up for air, jarred out of the moment by a
piercing wolf whistle, they lifted their heads like startled deer and burst out
laughing.

“Christ,” Adam said. “We’re going to get arrested.”

* * * * *

Tomas didn’t try to hide his bad temper. He slammed the
coins down on the bar and checked for the next customer.

“You need a lesson in manners.”

He ignored the comment. It had been made by a big, bald guy
wearing a long black leather coat. The jerk had been staring at him off and on
for almost an hour.

“You need
me
to teach you some,” the man said.

“Fuck off,” Tomas muttered.

The guy laughed, which annoyed him even more. The more Tomas
snarled, the more people seemed entranced by his surly attitude. The Doms saw
it as a challenge. The subs assumed he was a Dom. Only the fetishists ignored
him, mostly too vanilla for their tastes.

Though he
had
been directly propositioned by a Dom
seeking a sub—did he fucking look as if he wanted to lick someone’s feet? A sub
desperate for a Dom—puppy eyes were never going to work. He wouldn’t hurt a
woman whether she wanted him to or not. By a woman with a plastic tail who
wanted to stick it in his asshole—no thank you very much. By a man with horns
who had a face full of metal and apparently a cock that matched—
really
no thank you, and through it all, the bald guy continued to eyeball him.

“Another whisky,” the guy said.

Tomas sloshed a measure into the glass, wetting the bar.
“Want lemonade in it and pink parasol?”

The guy leaned toward him. “What I want is to shut that
smart mouth.”

“Oh, and I thought you wanted me to suck your cock.”

“That’s one way of shutting it. You offering?”

Tomas stared straight at him. “I always confuse suck and
chew, but if that not a problem…”

The man chortled.

Tomas moved away to serve a woman who resembled a lethal
weapon, her hair spiked to sharp points. He considered himself broad-minded.
What people wanted to do with their lives was up to them provided it was legal
and didn’t involve pressurizing others. Cirque wasn’t his bag. He had no
interest in fetishism or BDSM. Well, nothing hardcore. A bit of play with
handcuffs and blindfolds was fine. Smacking? Yeah, that was okay. But pain? No.
When he’d been in the army, he’d witnessed too many soldiers and civilians
getting hurt to ever understand how pleasure could be found in inflicting pain
or in receiving it.

He gave a sigh of relief when the bald guy finally took the
hint and wandered away, only to groan when he saw Veton heading in his
direction. Tomas itched to wipe the smirk from the jerk’s face. The day he
realized Tomas was a cop was a thought that kept him smiling in his heart.

“Marco wants you in the Crypt,” Veton said. “Tables need
cleaning.”

Tomas chewed the inside of his cheeks. He felt as if Marco
was swallowing him, drawing him deeper and deeper. He picked up a tray and a
cloth and slipped out from behind the bar. The bouncer controlling the entrance
to the Crypt nodded as he passed. Another guy unlocked the heavy barrier at the
end of the corridor and he walked into a much quieter room. The music
presumably low so the cries and moans seemed louder.

It was almost impossible not to look. Even if he didn’t, he
could still hear the wails, smell the sex and the coppery tang of blood, almost
taste the adrenaline. He had to accept that cries of pain came from those who
wanted to be hurt, that blood was willingly spilled, pain pleasurably endured,
but it went against everything he knew.
Christ, I hate this fucking job.