Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

Vocabulary aside, I don’t think my mother understands the catharsis of a good fuck.

‘I can’t find my clothes,’ I mumble, castigating myself silently as I continue my search, hyper-conscious of his eyes. Probably on my arse.

Nice girls don’t fucking swear or fucking fuck.

‘I think you’d have more success in the bedroom.’

‘You would.’

He laughs quite suddenly and holds out his hand. ‘I’m serious; come.’

‘Don’t think I could manage it again,’ I mumble, placing my hand in his to stand.

Laughing still, he pulls me into his arms.

In the bedroom, he points to a monogrammed laundry bag draped over the arm of a very boudoir chair. ‘Laundered, with the exception of your underwear, which they seem to have misplaced somehow, hence . . .’ He indicates the small bag lying hooked around the hanger, discretely branded
Bordelle
.

‘New undies?’ Expensive ones, too, by the looks of things as I open the bag, and heaps above my usual fare of K-Mart undies. Strange, I didn’t see a lingerie shop in the hotel. I think I saw a Louis Vuitton
.
‘You didn’t have to.’ But I’m pleased he did.

He shrugs lightly. ‘You didn’t strike me as the type to go without.’ And that’s why. ‘Now, get dressed before you force me to break all the rules.’

‘You threatening to break out those ‘cuffs again?’ I reply deadpan.

‘Hmm, they do them to match this set.’

Ignoring my fish impersonation, Kai sits on the edge of the bed somehow managing to make it look like an invitation. I remind myself my loyalty is to Niamh today, mantra-like, over again and again in my head. But I’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to be tempted, and I suppose that’s what got me here in the first place.

‘Well?’ he questions, with what I’m becoming to think of as his trademark quirked brow.

‘Well what?’

‘You’ll need to.’ His hand moves in a small, dismissing motion, golden bedroom eyes suggesting something entirely else. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind because if you stand there much longer looking at me like that . . .’

The implication hangs in the air as heavy as the weight of his gaze. I drag my eyes from his to the contents of the lingerie bag. The delicate scraps of cream lace are pretty, and sort of exclusive looking, the bra barely a demi-cup and the knickers smaller still.

Is there an attractive way of stepping into your undies, rather than staggering around the room with them hooked around one leg? If there is, I think I must’ve missed that class.

God, how am I going to do this with him looking at me like that?

Taking a deep breath to suck in my stomach, I decide it’s nothing he hasn’t seen over the past few hours—and probably from less flattering angles—so I allow the towel to slip to the floor. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, a smile curling on his gorgeous mouth.

But there’s something about being naked before him which makes me very aware of my skin. It almost pulls at my frame. My carriage is definitely altered, my movements slow and sinuous with a definite absence of klutz. Stepping into the knickers and leisurely drawing the fabric up my legs, each movement is deliberate and unhurried and absolutely for show. For an encore, I run my index fingers across the elastic at my hipbones, making it snap softly against my skin.

Despite my cool outward appearance, I feel lightheaded and breathless as his eyes brand every inch of me, forcing me to turn from his gaze. I slip my arms into the straps of the bra and reach behind to fasten the clasp. Liquid heat races through my veins as he moves almost silently to stand behind, just a whisper of air separating us. His finger slips under the strap at my shoulder, so intimate, yet barely a touch, and I tremble as his soft breath brushes my skin. He kisses my shoulder, just once, before moving away.

As the door to the room closes behind him, I’m left shivering from both relief and regret.

Chapter Twelve

I feel mildly giddy, in a silly schoolgirl-crush kind of way as Kai reaches for my hand in the corridor.
A gorgeous boy wants to hold my hand!
Unfortunately, the thrill doesn’t detract from my now pinching shoes as I transfer my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the elevator to descend. I probably look like I need to pee.

‘Stop fidgeting.’ Kai’s hand tugs my own. ‘I’d ask if you have ants in your pants if I didn’t know any better.’ He smiles, white teeth showing and I notice his incisors are a little pointed. It’s a small imperfection, but it suits him. He is sort of wickedly beautiful.

‘Very funny. Not.’ I make an effort to curtail my returning smile and glance down. ‘I was just wishing I’d packed thongs.’

Laughter bounces off the walls as he reaches a long arm around my waist. ‘Is that so?’ Pulling me to his chest, he kisses the top of my head, his hand briefly brushing across my butt. ‘I see no problem here.’

‘What?’ I angle my head in question. ‘I usually have some in the bottom of my purse for after nights out. Blisters are no laughing matter.’

‘What kind of emergencies are we talking here? Blisters
and
spare underwear?’

‘Underw—not bum-floss! Thongs as in
shoes,
you know, flip-flop thingies for your feet? Not thongs as in underwear, G-string thingies for your . . . your . . . well, you know.’

His eyes shine with amusement, but
I can’t tell whether he’s being serious or having fun at my expense.

‘That makes much more sense.’ He pulls my body against his again. ‘My mind was drawn to much more lewd conclusions, somehow.’

‘Honestly, talk about being divided by a common language.’

At the hotel’s grand entrance, Kai’s car pulls up: the behemoth black SUV from last night.
Was it really just a few hours ago?
Stepping into the brilliant sunshine, I wince and shield my eyes as Kai, the consummate gentleman, opens the passenger door.

‘Where to?’ he asks, manoeuvring into the busy road.

‘Mall of the Emirates.’

‘Main entrance okay?’

‘Sweet,’ I answer, trying not to watch his profile and failing badly.

Turning to the side window, I allow a curtain of hair to shield my face. If last night wasn’t enough in the fantasy stakes, this morning feels almost as surreal.
I bet the price tag on this car would buy a large chunk of a small house, at least.

‘You’re pretty delicious yourself.’ His gaze slides my way, one brow cocked.

‘I meant sweet as an affirmation, not sweet as in
you
,’ I reply.

As the car slows for a red light, he twists in his seat, my face reflected in his aviator frames.

‘You don’t think I’m sweet?’

He sounds a little hurt, and by his tone alone I might almost believe him. But the fact is, while I could think of lot of words to describe him,
sweet
wouldn’t be one of my choosing.

‘Not so much,’ I answer honestly.

His hand reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, the back of his hand grazing my jaw. ‘I could make your teeth ache in
so
many ways
.
’

Ho-ly!
I believe him; why not? He can make the nerve endings enclosed in my undies dance, make my mouth water,
and
render me almost mute, just by looking at me like that. The lights change and Kai’s eyes return to the front. Mine don’t budge from the highway for the rest of the way.

As we pull into the valet parking bay—an idea as absurd as a ski-slope in a mall, as far as I’m concerned—Kai’s hands seem to almost anchor him to the steering wheel.

‘May I call you?’

A mixture of relief at his courtly question catches me off guard, and I actually giggle before examining my hands. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Then I shall. Have a good afternoon.’

‘You, too,’ I answer as the attendant opens the door.

‘Katherine?’ Kai calls as I step away. ‘I look forward to further thong discourse.’

I’m left with the impression of his smirk as the valet closes the dark-tinted door.

Niamh is waiting for me just inside the entrance, which is just as well because the mall appears to be massive. I don’t think a month of Sundays would be time enough for me to find my way around. Maybe that would be a month of Fridays in Dubai? Lounged over the railings and peering at the floor below, my arrival goes unnoticed as she chats on her phone.

‘Does it have a happy ending? Loads. I especially like the one where he says, all commanding, like,
roll over Arabella, I’m going to come in your bum.
’ Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she spots me, wiggling her fingers in a wave. ‘Listen, I’ve gotta go. Talk later, yeah?’

Open-mouthed, I glance around the not empty mall as she simultaneously slides the phone into her oversized purse and an arm around my shoulder. ‘You, my girl, are late but being the bestest friend that I am, I’ll still give you the choice: a spot of lunch or shopping first?’

‘Am not. And what in the name of
arse
was that all about?’

‘What?’ she asks pulling away. ‘The phone? I was just havin’ a laugh, winding up one of the silly cows from my book club. You wouldn’t believe some people are such prudes. Hypocrites, too. The stink she’s kicked up about our latest read, but you can bet she’s off looking for the dirty pages right now. Not that it’s strictly one-handed reading material, if you know what I mean.’ I frown because I’m not sure I do. ‘You know,
Sixty Shags
? For feck’s sakes woman, have you been living in a cave?’

‘Not really my thing,’ I mumble, recognising the title from its media furore. Mummy porn, wasn’t that what it was dubbed? I like my smut best with a historical slant.

‘Sex is everybody’s thing, Kitty. I’ll loan it to you, but it better not come back with stains.’

‘Er, thanks?’

‘Where to, then?’

‘Coffee
defo
, and a muffin. I overslept and I’m so hungry now that my bum’s eating my knickers.’ With a furtive look over my shoulder, I adjust the elastic creeping across one cheek. ‘Maybe on the way, a shoe shop? I
so
need to buy thongs.’

Niamh’s gaze flicks down—she gets it, she knows what I mean—before scanning the rest of my appearance, aching toes up.

‘Katherine Louise Saunders,’ she says with a mockingly-stern slow shake of her head. ‘You haven’t been home, have you?’

‘Well, no . . .’ I feel my face redden under her scrutiny and come back on the defence. ‘But that’s hardly my fault.’

‘
You hoower!
’ she exclaims, clapping her hands in glee. The round of applause does nothing to ease my embarrassment. Am I being congratulated for being a dirty stop-out?

‘A bit louder, yeah? There’s a bloke on the top floor that didn’t quite hear.’

‘I want details, dirty great ones. Coffee’s on me!’ With a death-grip on my arm, she pulls me toward an escalator.

‘Shoes first,’ I whine, shuffling behind.

‘I dare say by the look of you, your feet aren’t the only thing that hurt,’ she trills as we step onto the first tread.

Golden fittings, marble floors, and huge domed ceilings give the mall a very luxurious air. Add to that, a ski slope
and
an aquarium, and you’ve got not only a spot of shopping but a full day out as well. People of all sorts and designs fill the mall. Families trailing kids, some trailing uniformed maids to boot. Women dressed more for dinner than shopping and guys looking like they’ve just stepped off yachts. Then there are Emiratis: women exotically glamorous in their black flowing cloaks, designer handbags dangling, their husbands and sons pristine in gleaming white robes.

I blanch passing the stores—Chloe, Armani, Louis Vuitton. Alexander McQueen! I’m going to need a mortgage to afford shoes here.

‘There are chain stores further along,’ Niamh says, as though reading my mind. ‘They don’t call this place
do-buy
for nothing.’

Eventually, we arrive at Nine West where I buy a perfectly comfortable pair of jewelled thongs, my feet grateful and, what’s more, they were in the sale! At a coffee shop, a Gloria Jean’s, for the love of all things Australian, Niamh steers me to a comfortable chair before heading off to order our drinks. The décor is very familiar and comforting, so recognizable it could be home, save for its customers. My local GJ’s is more likely to be filled with the daggy than the debonair. Mums on their way back from the school run—sometimes still in their pyjamas—and tradies, bricklayers and plumbers, dressed in work boots and short shorts.
This
particular GJ’s, however, has a very different vibe
.
A group of teenagers worthy of their own
H&M
ad titter over cell phones and frappés, while at nearby tables Emirati ladies sip espresso, elegance compressed into their kohl-lined lids.

Dubai is a city that seems to take its appearances very seriously.

Niamh interrupts my people watching with a bucket-sized frothy coffee and a muffin almost as big as my head.

‘You’re a legend!’ I rip off the paper, so hungry I could probably eat dust. I think I’m going to have to complain next time I’m in my local store, though. Size definitely does matter I decide as I take a bite.
Wonder if everything is bigger in Dubai?

Throwing herself into the armchair opposite, Niamh shoots me a quizzical look before drawing in for the kill. ‘Come one, dish!’

‘What?’ She gives me a faint but unimpressed, lift of her brow. ‘I had a great time. He’s a little intense but really . . . cute?’

‘Feck off! Gorgeous, maybe. Hot, for sure. But cute?’ She shakes her head. ‘Come on now, tell Auntie Niamh what the bad kitty did.’

‘We hung out and I . . . slept over. The usual stuff.’ Ducking my head toward the bucket, I concentrate on the foam.

‘So fluids
were
involved. Where’s he from? First though, was I right, is he any good?’

‘God, yes!’ I blurt, choosing to answer the final question from the barrage.