Not fucking Avery is growing harder by the day—as is my poor cock. She continues to waltz around my apartment in her lingerie with furled nipples, occasionally asking if I’ve made any progress on catching the calla creep. While I’m sorry to say the answer is not yet, but I have a plan in place, I’m increasingly less sorry that she’s still under my roof. Even if my balls are ready to explode. I’ve managed to avoid any more fuck ups the past couple of days, primarily because I’ve been fucking my hand in the shower at every given opportunity. But it’s only a matter of time before I break again. I know it. And she knows it.
The question is, if I break, how devastating will the destruction be—to her and to me?
Austin’s background check came back clear. There was nothing on the CCTV on the streets surrounding Elixir. I haven’t been able to locate the source of these calla lilies. I’m currently in the process of cross checking every man in the country with a diving qualification or diving experience against anyone Avery worked with over the past three years, so far, I’ve come up with sweet fuck all.
The stalker is worryingly elusive.
‘Are you packed?’ Avery asks, wheeling a ridiculously large Louis Vuitton case to the top of the stairs.
‘Here.’ I run up the short flight of steps from the lounge area to grab it from her. ‘Let me.’
‘My hero,’ she pretends to fan herself.
Little witch.
At least she has clothes on today. Though if she were mine, I’d enforce a naked in the penthouse rule, purely for easy access.
I place the case on the floor by the door. ‘I thought this was a four-day trip, not a fortnight.’
‘It is, but a girl can never be too prepared.’ She beams at me. In an elegant cream cashmere dress and chocolate coloured leather boots, Avery looks simply stunning.
‘I hope you packed pyjamas in there.’ The Ritz Carlton is fully booked, like she said, but I would have stayed in her suite regardless. There was a cancellation on a different floor to Avery, but apart from the fact I sleep better to the soundtrack of her breathing, I can’t protect her if I don’t have eyes on her at all times. Thomson and Sterling took the other room instead.
‘Of course.’ She winks, and it does things to my dick. Not helpful.
‘You didn’t tell anyone about this trip?’ I triple check.
‘No one. And I used the burner phone you gave me to confirm the details.’
‘Good.’ Finally, she’s taking this seriously.
‘Are you sure Annabelle will remember to feed Jasper?’ She nips her bottom lip. ‘I could ask my mother to stop by.’
‘I pay Annabelle a ridiculously generous salary in order to remember precisely these details.’ I eye the litter box to the side of the kitchen. ‘And she’s under strict instruction to change that thing four times a day.’
‘That’s a bit excessive.’ Avery rolls her eyes.
‘It’s not. Trust me.’
The following evening, we reach the Ritz Carlton near Union Square. The time difference is a killer—for me at least. Avery is bright eyed and bushy-tailed and looking for a cocktail as usual.
‘I need to soothe my nerves before the meeting.’ She begs, taking my hand and dragging me to the hotel bar. Thomson and Sterling did a sweep while we checked in at reception. I put out a false schedule for Avery, including her appearance at the Luxor Lounge. I deliberately didn’t encrypt it as deeply as I could have. Our stalker is highly sophisticated and I don’t trust him not to hack even some of my tightest systems. I made sure he didn’t have to.
Rian’s PA circulated an email to the elite members of the Luxor Lounge detailing that Avery’s the celebrity guest dancer this weekend. There will be some extremely disappointed patrons at his gentlemen’s club, but should our stalker stumble across the ‘schedule’ I planted, he won’t question it.
It’s only a matter of time before my men will have the sick, twisted bastard in my warehouse in Wicklow, which is why I’m feeling slightly more relaxed than I have in weeks.
I glance pointedly at the chunky silver watch on my wrist. ‘Your meeting isn’t for approximately forty hours.’
‘Not the point,’ Avery shrugs. ‘I’m acclimatising to the time difference. Besides, I need something to help me loosen up.’
I could loosen up every muscle in her lithe body ten times over, and ten more again if the circumstances were different, but they’re not. And I’d do well to remember it.
Avery and I are from different worlds.
She lives in the limelight.
I live in the shadows.
I’ll never be able to have a relationship with a woman who I have to share with the entire world.
Fuck. Up until recently, I would never even have entertained the idea of having a relationship again at all after Sarah.
But I’d be lying if I denied I like having a woman in my apartment. Well, not any woman. Attention-seeking Avery, of all women. She certainly has my attention, every damn minute of every damn day, whether I want to give it to her or not.
She has my attention—but she also has my heavy heart.
Hell, I even put up with her ginger fucking cat shitting in my penthouse.
My gaze sweeps the room with military style precision. A couple in a heated, whispered debate at four o’clock. A group of women gathered for a birthday celebration at six o’clock. A few suits lurking at seven o’clock. Nothing to cause concern, but I steer Avery towards a quiet corner with our backs to the wall. I’d prefer if she ordered room service. She’s not as famous over here as she is in Europe, but still, there’s no such thing as too careful.
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ I lean deliberately close to her hear so my breath skims her ear. All I can smell is peonies. For the rare few hours I do sleep at night, I even dream about the damn things.
‘Please tell me you’ve finally reconsidered our situation and you’re prepared to bang me into next week?’ Avery’s blue eyes glitter as she turns to face me, pressing her chest against mine.
‘No, sweetheart.’ I tut. Though I think about it a million times, every fucking minute of every damn hour and her pressing those fantastic tits against my torso isn’t helping.
‘What then?’ She juts her chin upwards until her lips are just inches from mine.
‘Let’s order room service and have a couple of drinks in the suite.’
‘Why would I agree to that?’ Her eyes narrow. ‘I’m already cooped up in Ireland. Here, no one knows me. I have my freedom back—for a few days, at least.’
‘If we head up to the suite, I can relax with you, without having to survey every single person in the room.’
She twists her lips as she contemplates the idea. ‘You’ll have a drink with me?’
‘Maybe even two or three.’ God knows, I could use it. And I’ll need something to send me to sleep.
‘Whiskey?’
I know exactly where this is going.
‘Whiskey,’ I confirm.
‘Fine. You have a deal, on one condition.’ She brushes her body against mine and I stand rigid, willing myself not to get hard. Again.
‘What’s the condition?’
‘You dance with me.’
‘You want me to dance with you?’ I repeat.
‘Yes.’
‘Fine.’ How hard can it be? We already danced at Scarlett and James’s wedding.
‘And we order champagne.’
‘You should probably stick to the martinis.’ I steer her back out of the bar and to the glass elevator. ‘We both know champagne goes straight to your head.’
‘It might stop me thinking about giving you head.’ She shoots me a sidewards feline glance and my dick twitches in my pants.
Twenty minutes later, room service arrive with a silver trolley transporting a bottle of Dom Perignon in a bucket of ice, and a bottle of Macallan. Sterling and Thomson are stationed outside the suite door. They swept the entire floor for cameras, bugs, and anything suspicious. I’m satisfied that Avery is in no immediate danger, which is why I pour myself a double whiskey after pouring her a glass of champagne.
I scan the suite one last time before bringing the whiskey to my lips. There’s a queen-size four-poster bed which Avery has already dumped her handbag on. I eye the cream leather couch—my bed for the night. May as well test it out. I slip out of my suit jacket, toss it on the table and drop on to the sofa. I take a large mouthful of the Macallan before placing it on the huge mirrored top coffee table in front of me.
It’s no Beckett’s Gold, but it’s not bad.
‘I’m just going to freshen up quickly, then I’ll set up the tunes.’ Avery strides across the room towards the en-suite. I reach for my drink again. When I hear running water, I down it and pour myself another double. Anything to distract myself from the fact that every fibre in my body is screaming at me to run to the bathroom and fuck her in the shower.
I shouldn’t. I can’t. I won’t.
When she finally emerges, she’s wearing an ivory silk slip that might look virginal, if her dark, taut nipples weren’t glaring obvious beneath the thin fabric.
‘Put a robe on.’ I motion to the wardrobe where two fluffy Ritz Carlton embossed dressing gowns hang. My self-control is already maxed out. I’m teetering on the edge, and she knows it.
‘Why?’ Avery flicks her hair from her shoulder and pushes her chest out.
‘You know why.’ I swirl the whiskey in my glass. I’m going to need another one. Really fucking soon.
‘You don’t like what you see?’ She strides towards me, snatching up her champagne glass in the process.
‘Is that one of your three questions?’ Deflection. I’m the king of deflection.
‘No, but this is.’ She takes a mouthful of champagne. ‘Do you want me?’
I sigh. ‘Want doesn’t cover it. You’re utterly fucking arresting. That’s not the issue here.’
She picks up a remote from the coffee table and points it at the TV, flicking until she finds a music station. A low sensual beat floods the room and she turns it up.
‘On your feet.’ She beckons me over to her.
At times like this, I regret being a man of my word.
She places her drink down, prises mine from my hand and puts it on the coffee table. I step forward, trying to leave a small gap between us, dropping my hands on her waist like I did at the wedding. She presses those big, beautiful breasts against my chest. Her nipples are solid round buttons, and I’d bet my life her cunt is dripping for my touch. My cock is painfully rigid between us, and the satisfied glint in her eye tells me she feels it.
As we begin to move to the music, she slides her hands around my back, then palms my backside. ‘Avery.’ My warning isn’t as sharp as it should be.
‘What?’ she feigns innocence.
‘One dance.’ Am I telling her? Or myself?
She circles her hips in time to the beat and with every damn movement, my dick gets harder and harder. When the song finally comes to an end I jerk backwards, grab my drink and slump back into the couch. Avery helps herself to a refill from the champagne bottle, shaking her shapely hips the entire time.
She crosses the room to stand in front of me.
‘I miss the old days at the Luxor Lounge.’ Her eyes land on my tented crotch. ‘It would have been nice to have made that guest appearance.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Of course, she misses dancing nearly naked for hundreds of Dublin’s most eligible men each night. ‘You are the biggest attention seeker I know.’
That’s the problem.
‘The only attention I truly wanted was from the one man who refused to give it to me.’ She lifts a bare foot onto the coffee table. ‘I used to fantasise you’d book a private room and pay me to dance for you.’
I used to fantasise about fucking her on the stage so every man in the place would know she’s mine, but she’s not mine and she never will be.
I bite my lip, not trusting myself to speak. The final cords of my self-control are frayed, hanging by a fraction of a thread.
‘I used to fantasise about getting you all alone, about drowning in your undivided attention as your ravenous eyes caressed my body.’ She puts her other foot onto the coffee table and hoists herself up. Her bright blue eyes bore into mine.
‘I told you, sweetheart, it’s not that I don’t want you. Believe me, I do. But us,’ I motion between us, ‘We’d be dynamite in bed, but we’d be a nuclear bomb in the real world—we’d destroy everything around us.’
Well, I’d destroy anyone who so much as looked at her for too long.
Which is why we can never be.
She stares at me hard for a few seconds. Just when I think she’s going to challenge me, she switches tactic. She’d have made a worryingly good soldier.
‘Can I dance for you?’ The way she asks, it’s almost coy.
I observe her from over the rim of my glass. The rational part of my brain knows this is a terrible idea. But I’m not thinking with my brain. I’m thinking with my rock solid dick. The word no suddenly isn’t an option again. Not when, from where she stands on the table, I have the perfect view up her nightdress at her perfect, glistening seam. If that isn’t enough, it’s reflected in the mirror top of the table she’s standing on. I don’t stand a fucking chance. I was delusional to think I ever did.
‘Dance,’ I demand, pulling my wallet out of my pocket. I pluck a wad of hundred euro notes from it and toss them at her. I want to make every single one of her fantasies a reality. I can’t, not really. But I can give her this.
She smirks at the knowledge she has me hooked on her racy role play. This is a disaster waiting to happen but I can’t say no to this woman. She has her claws so far into my skin I can’t move without checking where she is first. I’d burn the world down for her if she asked me to.
She bends forward to scoop up the notes, providing me with a perfect view of her beautiful breasts.
I’m fucked.
So fucked.
Her hips circle and sway to the music, as she lowers herself slowly into a crouching position on the coffee table. I watch transfixed as she shimmies her shoulders seductively. One strap of her nightdress falls down. She pauses for a minute before shrugging off the other one. Her full tits spill over the top. An appreciative hiss slips from my lips. She smirks again.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore, she spreads her legs and gives me a full frontal of the pink perfection nestled between them. Her arousal gleams like a beacon. I have to lick up every drop. It’s not even a want, it’s a need.
‘Is this how your fantasy played out?’ I place my whiskey tumbler on the table and shift forwards to the edge of the sofa.
‘Not exactly.’ Her hand glides upwards over her inner thigh, hovering beside the junction between her legs.
‘Have you been touching yourself, thinking about me again?’ I straighten in my seat, inching closer to stare at the eighth wonder of the world—Avery Williams’ perfect pink cunt.
‘Every fucking day.’ Twin pools drag me under until I’m drowning in her desire.
‘Tell me how your fantasy ends,’ I demand.
‘I’d rather show you.’ She stares at me through hungry, hooded eyes.
My fingers are gliding through her slickness before my brain has a chance to remind me this is a fucking terrible idea.
Terrible—yet apparently inevitable…
