Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

How bloody dare Matt! He was such a tool. Frikken’ men, where the hell do they get off . . . other than the obvious places.

Second note to self: men can be complete arseholes.

The liquid gleams like blood in my glass as I stare into it, my head continuing to swim with angry thoughts. Matt’s behaviour and old news from home, such that it was, are uncomfortable reminders of the promises I’d made to myself.
To protect myself
. But how is it that, even as cross as I feel, my every second thought is of Kai? Of how, last night, I’d stepped out of myself for a moment, out of my comfort zone. How right it felt. Could I have done that with anyone else?

Closure. That has to be it, a sort of primal thing. And like Niamh said, getting under a new man to prove I’ve moved on from the old. Okay, slightly drunk and incredibly horny closure, but my reasoning is sound, right?

Maybe I should dig out
Reading without Heaving
, or whatever it’s called. Reread a few chapters. Once I’ve finished my wine
.

In the dark, I come to, my face plastered against the sofa cushion, an empty glass cradled to my chest. My phone is ringing. Wincing, I switch on the kitchen light, mentally preparing some choice vocabulary additions for my mum, just in case. I have two missed calls from Australia, along with the current one.

‘Kitten.’ This one husky word pulls taut invisible strings inside. If voices were a flavour, I’m sure Kai’s would be caramel. And despite earlier abstinence plans, I find I don’t mind being referred to as a feline by this man. ‘You do know the thing you’re holding to your ear is called
a mobile
for a reason, or are you avoiding me?’

I can almost hear his rancorously raised eyebrow down the line.

‘No, I like talking to you. You’re a pretty cunning linguist,’ I say with a giggle, then replay the statement in my head, surprised the words came out coherently.

‘Cunnilingus?’ Enunciated slowly, the word rings with salacious intent. ‘Are we talking dirty again?’

I don’t have a response. In fact, I can’t think beyond his mention of cunnilingus. The effect on my body is disconcerting, my knees requiring that I sit down.

‘I didn’t say that,’ I eventually answer, albeit a little breathlessly.

‘Don’t spoil my fun, I’m allowed to imagine.’ He laughs, the rich, seductive sound vibrating down the line.

And I like that he’s imagining. In fact, right now, I’d like to audition for a starring role in those thoughts. That I don’t answer doesn’t seem to put him off his stride, the words rolling down the line and straight to my lady-parts.

‘You’ve been on the sauce and that’s something I don’t need to imagine. Your face flushed with wine, lips plump with the taste of it . . . Tell me, did you enjoy a girly liquid lunch or are you drinking alone now? Drowning your sorrows and thinking of me, perhaps?’

‘I’m not lonely,’ I answer, realising this as true. Dubai hasn’t allowed me to be.

‘I thought you might be missing me.’ Forlorn. It’s like a sweater that doesn’t fit.

‘I had sundowners. Martinis.’ No need to mention the half empty bottle propped next to my arm. ‘Dirty. Like you.’
Crap. Did I just say that out loud?

‘And you like that, do you?’

‘Maybe.’ My fingertips jump and dance along the worktop as he hums down the line. It’s the best explanation I can come up with; a breath of appreciation that curls around my ear and shoots straight to my crotch.

‘Dirty from the girl who suggests cunn—’

‘Did not.’

‘It’s always good to know what’s on your mind. It’s even better when minds are synchronized.’

My brain and mouth may not be cooperating, but I’m sentient enough to know if he were here, I’d be in trouble.

‘You’ve gone awfully quiet.’ His smouldering tone turns to teasing. ‘I’d love to know what you’re thinking.’

‘Trust me, you don’t.’

‘Would you like to know what
I’m
thinking?’

‘Erm, no.’ Because his tone drips with it.

‘So you
don’t
want to know I’m wondering if you’re free tomorrow.’

‘Oh. Yes.’

‘Yes, you want to know more, or yes you’re available for anything I please?’

‘Depends on what you have in mind.’

‘Lots of things, but I’d settle for something to eat and a chance to . . . talk.’

‘I could do that.’ I try, and fail, to suppress the squeak at the end of my words, before remembering the realities of the day. ‘After work?’ Definitely not dinner. No alcohol or bad decisions made in the cocooning dark.

‘If you’d prefer. My driver could collect you at four, if that suits?’

‘I can make my own way . . . wherever.’

‘Nonsense,’ he scoffs. ‘What would be the sense in that?’

‘No, really. I’ll get a cab.’ I’m not sure why I feel the need to be so insistent, or why I feel a sudden satisfaction as he agrees in an exasperated tone.

‘At the hotel, then. Make yours a martini, shall I?’

And with what can only be described as a filthy laugh, the line goes dead. Just as well, as I have no words. Not in my throat, not in my head, although my thrumming pulse seems to have quite a bit to say. Mouth suddenly dry, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and carry it into the lounge, collapsing once more against the sofa.

He says he wants to talk. I wonder if that’s a euphemism for something else.

Chapter Fifteen

Act in haste, repent in leisure.

Playing it cool I’m not as I stand outside waiting for my overdue cab. The late afternoon sun is still hot enough to scorch the pavement, its rays rebounding from the surface and burning my work tired feet. At least I’d had the presence of mind to wear ballet flats today.

I’m not dressed for the weather, the fabric of my dress is unforgiving in the heat, making it feel like some kind of horse-hair/latex mix. It had seemed like a good choice for a daytime meet, not too overt. Functional, with a side order of sexy. A sort of I-like-that-you-look-but-I-won’t-allow-you-to-touch kind of dress.

Wonder if it’ll work?

Just before my body reaches the chemically correct point for melting skin from bone, my cab arrives.
Hurrah!

The hotel foyer is sublimely cool after the taxi’s crappy air con but as sweat beads on my back, I further regret my choice of dress. I imagine a dark spot forming at the base of my spine and pull the fabric away from my skin in a flapping motion as, with a sinking feeling, I realise I don’t know
where
we’re supposed to meet. There have got to be at least a dozen restaurants here.
Then, all of a sudden, Kai takes my hands in his much larger ones, mid-flap.

‘You’ve kept me waiting.’ His is a serious tone and for reasons I don’t understand, it makes my stomach flip. Dressed in dark jeans and a gleaming white shirt, he looks pristine and polished, with just an edge of rogue.

He towers over me, making me feel tiny, helping me recall how amazing it felt to be held by his arms. Flustered, I blink rapidly and stare up into his mock-admonishing expression.

‘S-sorry, my cab was late.’

‘Forgiven. I hope you’re hungry.’ His eyes glitter in the setting sun as he steps backwards, leading the way.

But for Kai and myself, the elevator is empty as the doors close in a soft susurrus
. He leans closer, his nearness stealing the breath from my lungs. My b
reath hitches in that instant, an instant where I can almost taste his mouth. I tilt my head as, eyes lustrous, his hand reaches out, fingertips brushing my waist. My entire skin ignites, my heart pounding loudly as I anticipate the touch of his mouth over mine . . . Then I realise he’s reaching for a button on the elevator panel next to my hip.

My heart stays on the ground floor as the elevator rises, my shoulders following suit.

‘I thought about it.’ The words are delivered in a low rumble, his hand grasping mine, lightning fast. Where they join, a very masculine watch covers his wrist. The kind I imagine comes with an instruction manual to decipher its many dials and functions.
Breitling, maybe?

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Your poker face leaves a bit to be desired.’ He glances at me pointedly, challenging my pretence with his fingers at my chin. Raising both my face and the stakes, he kisses me softly, pressing me against the wall.

‘Someone will see.’ I make a half-hearted attempt to pull from his arms, conscious of the elevator doors and their propensity for opening unexpectedly.

‘And if I’d acted on your expression?’ he whispers hotly against my ear. ‘Because there’s no hiding what’s on your mind.’

‘Maybe you need glasses,’ I rasp, extracting myself from his embrace precisely one moment before the doors ping

‘Don’t ever play poker, kitten, unless it’s strip and with me.’ Laughing, he guides me into the restaurant at rooftop level, his hand pressed against the small of my back.

Music, soft Arabic fusion, fills the cavernous room as we bypass the bar on our way to a table marked reserved. Persian rugs cover wooden floors, metal lanterns glowing with a muted amber hue. We sit as directed by the hostess, under a canopy masquerading as a Bedouin tent. I lay my head back and sigh contentedly, soaking in the ambiance and regional feel.

‘You look beautiful.’ Kai’s expression is solemn, his gaze intense. I try not to squirm, murmuring a half-hearted protest.

‘Stop looking at me as though I’m edible.’ I look nice, but beautiful is a stretch.

‘Then learn to accept a compliment. Or stop looking so
 . . .
ripe
.’
      

Thankfully, the waiter interrupts us before I’m required to form a reply. Although addressed in English, Kai answers in Arabic. I’m fascinated by the exchange, watching his mouth wrap around the unfamiliar and exotic sounds. The waiter, a lean, boyish looking African national, stares at Kai just a fraction longer than necessary, mesmerised as he flips through the menu, his long finger trailing the pages.

‘Do you do that on purpose?’ My eyes follow the retreating waiter, narrowing at his lingering cow-like glance.
‘Why’d you suppose God gave men all the good lashes when they don’t even wear mascara?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You.’ I wiggle my fingers in the direction of the waiter. ‘On purpose, with the beguiling.’ Kai’s brows rise in bemusement as I carry on. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he slips you his number along with the food.’ Though I think maybe he’d like to slip him something else
.
Or maybe he’d like it the other way around; who can tell?

With no more than a cursory glance, Kai blinks solemnly before exhaling an inelegant snort. ‘Not my thing, I assure you. I’m much more interested in what’s sitting on your chair.’
H
is gaze flicks exaggeratedly down.

‘So much for wanting to talk. You just want to get into my undies again.’

‘Merely stating my preferences.’

‘But it’s hardly dinner table talk.’

‘I don’t object to tables.’ As though to reinforce the point, he presses his palms into the solid, wooden surface, testing stability. ‘A versatile item, the table.’ His teeth are exposed in a smile, white and wolf sharp.

All
the better to bite me with, if I’m lucky.

We’ve been in each other’s company no more than five minutes and we’re already talking sex, like it’s our default mode. Not that I’m complaining. I find it exhilarating and can’t help match him word for word. It doesn’t hurt that he’s seriously hot. Maybe Niamh’s right; maybe he’s just the distraction I need.

‘The question is,’ he asks, folding his arms on the table and leaning in, ‘do I beguile you?’

Tapping my finger against the wood, I answer, ‘Not enough to get me on this.’

‘Pity.’ He smiles, leaning back in his chair.

‘I’m glad you’re here, whatever the reason.’ Our eyes meet for a long, thoughtful moment, my smile wavering hesitantly under his gaze. ‘You’ve gone awfully quiet.’

‘I pretty much am,’ I answer, twisting a linen napkin in my hand. ‘Despite what you see.’ One eyebrow rises a fraction, but he offers no response. ‘The thing is, the hotel, that was so out of character for me. Despite giving good . . . banter,’ I add, to the further ascent of his brow, ‘I’m not usually easy.’

I continue my torture of the fabric. How can I justify how I feel when I can’t make sense of it myself? Beyond the fact that Kai is pretty much irresistible and the new Kate is a bit of a goer, apparently.

‘I’m going to take that as a compliment to my vast powers of persuasion.’ His tone is playful as he rests his elbows on the chair arms. Fingers steepled beneath his chin, his body language is casual but contradicted by his amber gaze. I feel like a small animal gazing back at the large bird of prey again.

‘What I’m trying to say is, Thursday I was—’
Drunk? Horny? Easy?

‘You were exquisite.’

Oh, man, he’s good.

Heat fills my cheeks—and my knickers—as I shoot him a dubious look.

‘It’s still the boss thing, isn’t it?’ Quite honestly, I hadn’t given it a thought today but a tiny spasm of panic flares in my gut. ‘I’ve told you it doesn’t matter.’

‘Other than the fact your family owns the place I work.’

‘It doesn’t have to be an issue. I like you and I think you like me. Anything that happens between us will be entirely separate.’ He pushes a rough hand through his hair. ‘You make it sound almost sordid, like I’m some despotic noble abusing the staff.’