Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) (29 page)

‘He is a . . .
tombeur
, no? One woman is never enough, and he has needs you can’t understand.’ Her eyes flick over me again, this time almost apologetically. ‘I offer him something you can’t.’

Absurdly, the word
anal
pops into my mind. I actually laugh myself as I turn to face her, despite jealousy and anger tightening my gut. ‘I hope it’s something other than vagaries and obscure references.’

‘He always comes back to me.’ She spits the words out, eyes turning to flint. ‘You don’t even live here, this is just some holiday romance.’

‘Wrong. I do live here. I live near the mall, you know the one’—my hand moves to one cocked hip—‘on the corner of
I don’t care
and
I don’t give a fuck?
’

Then, for the first time in my life, I actually appreciate what spinning on your heel is all about. I do so, gratifyingly, ignoring curious glances and the ominous sound of my heels against the stone floor. I head in no particular direction before remembering the bar, so head indoors.

Vague bitch! Why couldn’t she have just said it: she fucks him? Or he fucks her.
My heels click angrily, each step pounding in my skull.

‘Vodka tonic,’ I growl at the barman, adding, ‘please’ as an afterthought.
‘No. Wait. Hold the tonic
—
vodka, straight up.’ Taking a leaf out of Matt’s book, I decide I’ll use it as a disinfectant: hard liquor to cleanse her clinging insinuations, to numb my brain. Elbows against the bar, I put my head in my hands.

‘You said you’d wait.’

Kai’s voice is relief and persecution all in one breath. I don’t turn around, just take the tumbler of vodka into my hand.

‘I haven’t left. Yet.’ My reply is as hard and sharp as shards of glass, the shards I’d like to poke him with. I don’t want to look at him, and not stab him, exactly. Maybe just punch his face.

Lifting my drink, I tilt the glass at the barman in silent salute.

‘It’s not what you think.’ Kai’s low-pitched words fall in a tumble, the heat of his body scorching me from behind.

‘No? Then what is there to tell?’ I use his earlier words, the same bland inflection. ‘Besides, I thought your talents didn’t extend to mind reading.’ I half turn, my grip on the glass like a vice, realising, after all, that I do want to chuck it at his head. At the wall.
At something
.

‘She wasn’t invited and I meant what I said.’

‘About her being an easy lay? Yeah, I got that, thanks.’

‘That we’re over.’

‘And Essam wants sloppy seconds?’

‘He isn’t to be trusted.’

‘Is that a family trait?’

‘Is that
 . . .
straight vodka?’ His hand sears my wrist, but I refuse to turn fully, to acknowledge him.

‘It is. Today’s clusterfuck is brought to you by the letter V.’ I make the victory sign with my fingers against the glass, without the benefit of triumph
.
‘The cleaner of all thought.’

The glass slips from my hand in an instant. ‘Mixed drinks cause injudicious decisions.’ With a flick of his wrist, he empties it on a nearby potted palm. ‘You don’t need it but you do need to hear me out.’

‘Yeah? How about you don’t tell me what I need, especially after hearing what
you
need from her.’ I twist back to the barman. ‘Another one please and he’s paying.’

‘No. No more. And this is a free bar. My tab. And for the record, she’s got nothing I need.’

And, of course, it’s a free bar. Have I not been humiliated enough?

The glass meets the wood of the bar with such force I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. He braces his hands on either side of my body, blocking me in and I try hard not to tremble, to suppress my body’s reactions, the anger, the desire. The absolute need to turn and kiss him brutally, mark him as mine.

‘Turn around.’

With the intention of smacking the arrogance from his tone, I do turn, but we don’t speak. Just stare, eyes boring into the other in a silent battle of wills. My hand twitches from the force of needing to slide it into his hair. Slap his face. Pull his head to mine. One or all of those things, but my anger is like another person pressed between us, hands out and keeping us apart.

‘Kate.’ His stony expression cracks for a moment, fingers tentative on my jaw. ‘Believe me, I would never
—
’

‘Kais,
darling
.’

Right before me, his eyes close, almost as though hearing something painful, the muscles in his frame drawing tight. His fingertips slip from my face as he turns to Sofia. Stepping out from behind him, I render us a triangle of awkwardness and unease.

‘What are you doing here?’ His words are loaded with a quiet menace, much more threatening than a whisper should ever seem.

‘I like art,’ she simpers coquettishly. ‘And you forgot our Friday.’ Her eyes touch mine like lightening as she exhales a brittle laugh. ‘Did I really mean so little to you?’ With a seductive sway, she draws nearer. ‘
Habibi
, you expect me to just step aside, pretend we meant nothing at all?’

‘Yes, because that’s exactly what it was, Sofia. Nothing. You need to leave.’ A harsh and intractable order she ignores, as like a cat, she slinks closer still.

‘Introduce me to your little friend,’ she purrs, her tone winding around us like a tiger’s tail, her hand sliding around his arm. ‘I’ve missed you, and you know I don’t mind sharing. Three has never been a crowd in your bed.’

‘This is over,’ he growls, untangling himself without even a glance in my direction. ‘If you answered your phone, or spoke to your assistant, you would have saved us this scene.’

‘You can’t mean that.’ Her eyes are venomous. ‘Darling, not for
 . . .
for
 . . .
vanille!
’

‘This never should have begun.’

‘But
 . . .
you need me. When you have family in Riyadh
—
’ The look on her face morphs instantly, from panic to knowledge, or possibly power. Her demeanour altered, the tension in her posture seems to fall away. ‘This is a secret, no?’

Kai’s shoulders rise and relax as he exhales a disinterested sigh. ‘If I weren’t already ignoring what you were saying out of a sense of deep repulsion, I might
actually
give a fuck.’ He sounds almost bored. A tactic he uses well.

‘
Tu récoltes ce que tu sèmes
—’

‘
Ta Gueule!’
he yells,
startling us both. ‘
Je m’en fous!
’ The noise reverberates around the stark hall, echoing off the bare wattle walls. I don’t know what it means but by the look on her face, it’s not something you’d say to your mother. Curious eyes turn to our trio, eyebrows raised at the vulgar scene. ‘Rashid will help you find your driver.’ His tone returns to boredom as the taciturn man appears at her side.

‘
Va te faire foutre
,’ she snarls, her accent more pronounced. Her eyes shine with fury, as with one last penetrating look in my direction, she storms away, Rashid following at a distance.

‘Well, that was—’ I raise my chin aiming for disdain but as my mouth wobbles, I give in. ‘I think I’ll go home.’

‘Of course,’ Kai murmurs, reaching for my hand as I snatch it away, bringing it to my chest.

‘You probably need to stay. I’ll get a cab.’
Choose me
, my mind chants the unspoken request.

‘No.’ He grips my forearms tightly, causing me to start. ‘No,’ he repeats softer. ‘Please. Let me take you home.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

The journey home is an uncomfortable one, a ribbon of melancholy weaving through the silence of the car
.
I want to hear him deny her, need his reassurance, but the questions remain balled in my throat.

‘I’ll call when I’m ready,’ he directs Rashid as we pull alongside my building. I open the door without waiting. I want to get this over with, a quick escape to lick my wounds, but his hand is on my arm before I can step out.

‘Wait, please.’

‘Just let me go.’ I won’t look at him, won’t let the straining tears fall.

‘You don’t want me to come in?’

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’ My head is rigid, eyes unseeing beyond the window. As he murmurs something low
in Arabic, Rashid steps from the car without a word.

‘Please.’ His voice is as soft and compelling as his hand on my arm. I lean back against the seat, eyes closed in a moment of tear taming. ‘She and I
 . . .
’

His hand hovers over my own in indecision as a traitorous drop rolls down my cheek.

‘I don’t want to know,’ I lie, biting my lip, determined not to do this, to not let him see me cry. I want to appear grown up, like a sophisticated woman of the world, or at least what I think this mythical creature looks like.

No promises were made so why does this hurt?

‘Sof—it means nothing. It
meant
nothing. I thought we were both on the same page.

I’ve heard this line before. Why do they think it’ll help? Blood pounds in my ears as I open my eyes. He rubs a rough hand through his hair but doesn’t look at me. Instead, resting his elbows on his knees, he drags a hand down his face. ‘It was never serious. She has a husband and that suited me fine.’

‘You’re not doing yourself any favours here,’ I whisper.
Fuck, adultery.

‘You don’t understand.’

‘I think that’s supposed to be her line.’

Determined not to look at him, I shake my head, irritated with myself, trying hard to refuse to acknowledge my sadistic curiosity. The craving to hear every dirty, sordid detail to torture myself with. I close my eyes and screw them tight against the imagining, desperate to resist the images flooding my brain.

I have an odd and sudden sense of dislocation as his hand touches mine, opening my eyes to his long, elegant fingers resting over mine. Fingers that know the ways of my body
. Fingers that have stroked my insides.

‘If it’s over, why was she there?’

‘Playing games, curiosity, I don’t know. I called her house, went to her office but she refused to see me, didn’t return my calls. She knew, Kate. She had to know. I haven’t seen her or, since you and I
 . . .
I was supposed to be meeting her . . . our first night at the hotel—’

‘
That
I don’t want to hear.’ Acid rises, squalid fingertips pulling at my throat. I snatch the handle of the door. He was on his way to see her, fresh from the shower, damp and smelling fantastic. I let him fuck me, allowed myself to be used. Was I just more convenient?

‘No—I was going to end it that night—I was on my way. Then I saw you.’ His hands grasp my shoulders, words a fervent plea. ‘I couldn’t believe it. I was so happy to see you, ecstatic that you trusted enough to come back to the room. Don’t punish me for something that happened before you.’

‘I have to go.’ Out of the car, my steps falter at his next words.

‘Kate, the things I feel for you, I have no name for.’

‘Just
 . . .
just . . . give me some time.’ I half turn my head over my shoulder. I should hate myself but instead, I’m numb.
And what? Want him still.

‘I have to go away for a few days, for business. Riyadh. Will you see me when I get back?’ His voice is soft and hesitant, his eyes unreadable in the dark interior of the car.

‘Maybe,’ I whisper.

I take another step and refuse to look back.

Dropping my purse to the floor, I kick off my shoes with a savageness they don’t deserve, throwing myself across the bed fully clothed. Words and insinuations whirl through my head. My god, wasn’t learning this lesson once painful enough?

Moving to Dubai was supposed to be an escape from humiliation and heartache, a chance to be made over. A fresh start, not a repeat. But I couldn’t have anticipated Kai, six feet plus of hot, gorgeous and filthy, twisting my mind and body into complicated knots. Around him, my willpower, good sense and defences seem to turn to dust. And, against all my good intentions, and no matter what I tell myself, I think I’ve fallen in love.

But can I—should I—trust him? And why would I risk putting myself through this again? Unfinished and dislocated words swirl around me, my head a riot of conflicting thought. That h
e says he feels for me, but can’t give those emotions a name, no matter how many times I try, I can’t put a positive spin on that.