She felt dizzy with power, with madness.
His erection was thick and hard against her center, and Frankie opened her legs so he could settle between them. When he grinded against her, Frankie’s world went black. She could come like this, dry-humping a billionaire on a beach.
She should have been embarrassed, should have had better judgment. But before those thoughts could take hold, Aiden trailed one large, capable hand down over her breast and surged against her again.
She murmured meaningless words against his mouth. This. Now. Here. She didn’t care.
“Fuck,” he whispered, before diving back into the kiss. Her blood had gone molten. Lava flowed through her veins now. More was the only word left in her vocabulary.
Aiden abandoned her breast, and when Frankie moaned her disappointment, he made up for it. That hand was now shoving the skirt of her dress higher. Her body sang to the heavens. If he didn’t shove a part of him inside of her in the next thirty seconds, Frankie knew she’d die a slow and agonizing death.
He was grinding against her thigh now, prodding her with what felt like a painful erection.
“More, Aide,” Frankie whispered. Begging. She never begged. But in this second she was happy to plead her way to orgasm.
“Hang on, baby,” he murmured against her lips. “I want you so fucking bad.”
This was not the ice-cold man she’d met in the ballroom. Or the game-playing chauffeur from the airport. No, the man whose hand danced over the satin of her thong was a sinful lover, all heat and dark promises.
“Fuck,” he whispered again when he pressed the tips of his fingers to her center.
She cried out, softly, brokenly as he started one of those tiny circles he’d worked his way up her thigh with under the table. He knew how to touch her. Whether it was instinct or obscene experience, she didn’t give a good damn.
“You’re so damn wet, Franchesca. So wet for me.”
Frankie bucked against his hand. “Touch me,” she commanded. When he looped two fingers under the seam of her underwear, when his knuckles brushed her soft folds, she reached for him.
He grunted his approval when she gripped his hard cock through his pants. “I want your hands on me, your mouth,” he growled.
“Right back at you, Kilbourn,” Frankie murmured.
His knuckles brushed her again, and she melted under him.
“I’m going to fuck you, Franchesca. Not that surfer, not Davenport. Me.”
Her body thrilled at the words while her mind reeled at the possession in his tone.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
His fingers were poised at her entrance, her tongue buried in his mouth when Frankie found herself squinting into a blinding light.
Chapter Fourteen
Aiden contemplated killing the security guard with his own two hands. If the man continued to shine his flashlight in the direction of Franchesca’s nipples that were trying to cut their way out of her gown, Aiden was going to break his fucking neck.
Franchesca stood full of fury, hands on hips. He’d forgotten himself, forgotten where they were and why they were here. He’d heard the guard’s approach and had gone with the lovers out for a romantic stroll-slash-fuck story. Touching her? Tasting her? It had wiped out all instincts besides the need to take her.
He could tell by the way she refused to look at him that she thought he’d taken advantage of her. And he had, or at least he’d taken advantage of the situation.
Now, he was going to kill a security guard, and then Franchesca was going to kill him.
“Look, sir,” Franchesca said, her cheeks still flaming. “We just slipped away from the party and got carried away.
Aiden stepped in front of her. He couldn’t tell exactly where the guard’s gaze was falling, but he imagined it had to be somewhere around Frankie’s heaving chest.
“It’s my fault. I got carried away,” he said, offering the man a chagrined smiled. “I’m sure it’s not the worst you’ve seen tonight.”
The guard stared blankly for another moment. Aiden felt Frankie grab the back of his jacket with both hands.
“I just caught two girls skinny-dipping in the lobby fountain ten minutes ago,” the guard announced. “Go on back to the party, and keep your clothes on.”
“Will do,” Aiden promised. Frankie’s eyes were as wide as big screen TVs as they hurried past the guard onto a path that led to the crowded terrace that served as a dancefloor. “Well that was easy,” he said. He reached up and picked a leaf out of Frankie’s hair. He was starting to wonder if he was obsessed with her hair. The thick, dark curtain that fell in curling waves. He wanted to bury his face in it.
“Easy?” she hissed, slapping his hand away.
“Well, you didn’t have to flash anyone this time,” Aiden pointed out.
Her gasp was worth the anticipation.
“You saw me?”
“I saw quite a bit of you.” Aiden decided not to mention that he’d been a split second slow in covering Antonio’s eyes.
Frankie slapped him in the shoulder.
“What? You’re the one who decided to flash half the island.”
“Yeah, but that didn’t mean you had to look, too!”
“I wasn’t about to miss out on that view, Franchesca.” He reached for her, and she held up her hands.
“Keep your hands off of me, or I’ll break off that hard-on you’ve been sporting all night and slap you in the face with it.”
How could he not want more of her? How could she believe that he’d leave her alone?
“Are you trying to draw attention to us?” he asked, pulling her into him. Those blue-green eyes narrowed at him. “We’re on the dance floor. So dance.”
She glanced around them and seemed to notice for the first time that they were surrounded by the upper echelon of California royalty. Aiden recognized a few faces here and there. A half dozen politicians, a handful of celebrities, but mostly it was a collection of heirs and heiresses to various fortunes who had clearly had more than enough to drink.
“What’s wrong with these people?” Frankie asked, allowing Aiden to draw her further onto the dance floor. Even the band was trashed, judging by the limping tempo to their song. “Oh, my god. Is that Meltdown?”
“The band with that song that you hear on the radio every six seconds? It would appear so. And what’s wrong with everyone is they’re wasted.”
It was like witnessing last call at an all-you-can drink gun raffle. The over-fifty crowd was straight up drunk. One man was projectile vomiting over the stone balustrade. A woman in her mid-sixties was sloppily pouring a homemade champagne fountain, pausing now and again to swig out of the open bottle.
There was a couple on the dance floor drunkenly leaning in time to the offbeat music and taking their clothes off.
It appeared that the younger set had graduated from alcohol to something harder. There were four women in couture gowns sitting in the shallow end of the pool laughing like hyenas. Further into the deep end a “who can break their neck first” diving competition was in full swing.
The bride was standing on the bar mainlining cosmos and shouting “I’m married, bitches!”
The third cosmo spilled like a waterfall down her bejeweled dress.
“Classy as fuck,” Frankie whispered to Aiden as they danced and dodged their way toward the hotel. “That’s a twenty-six-thousand-dollar dress.”
“Wonder where the groom is? Running for the hills?”
Frankie pointed toward a large potted palm. “I think he’s the one with his tongue down that groomsman’s throat.”
“Ah.” Aiden said.
Frankie shook her head. “This is like the Great Gatsby with a drug and alcohol problem.”
“And you thought Pruitt’s bridesmonsters were horrible,” Aiden teased.
A finger poked him hard in the shoulder. “Hey! Who arrrre yoooou?”
Aiden twirled Frankie around so they could face the poker together.
<
br /> “I’m Aiden. Who are you?” he asked the woman. She looked to be in her forties and trying desperately to hang on to her twenties. Her lips had been done, badly. The tight skin around her eyes and forehead screamed BOTOX or facelift. One strap of her ivory colored dress was broken. She held a bottle of champagne in one hand. Her hair extensions were coming out of some intricate knot at the back of her head and hung over her eye.
“I’m Priscilla.” She swayed as she said her own name. “Are you fren of bride or the broom?”
“We’re friends of the broom,” Frankie said, stepping in smoothly. “I’m Druscilla, and this is my paid escort, Aiden. I met the groom on Season Eight of Trust Funds and Trophy Wives.”
“’Zat a reality show?” Priscilla asked.
Frankie nodded. “Oh, yeah. And the exposure was great. It really launched my career as a foot model. I can give you the producer’s number if you’re interested. It was the best eighteen months of my life if you like living on a yacht near the UAE.”
“Druscilla, we really should be going,” Aiden said, pinching Frankie in the waist.
“Call me,” Frankie sang as Aiden propelled her past the frowning Priscilla.
“We’re trying not to get noticed,” he reminded her.
“Aide, the only thing these people are going to remember tomorrow is a big, fat nothing.”
He hustled her into the hotel’s open-air lobby. With the ocean and debauchery at their back, the lobby was rather quiet. He made a move toward the front desk but was thwarted by the foot-dragging Frankie.
“Franchesca, come on. We’ve got work to do.”
“Sorry. Geez. Does being wealthy require you to ignore awesomeness?” she asked, admiring the thatched ceiling two stories above them. Gold and white statues and heavy potted palms filled in the expanse of stone floor. Her eyes widened as they approached the front desk. “Is that gold leaf?” She pointed to a grand staircase that winged off into two different directions one level up.
“We can ask after we find Chip.”
“Right. Okay. I’m focused,” she promised. “What’s the plan here?” Frankie asked, nodding at the woman behind the desk.
“Charm first.”
“Good evening, sir. How may I be of service?” Hilde, according to her name tag, was tall and reed slim. She looked as though nothing in the world could ruffle her.
“Hello, Hilde. I’m looking for my friend’s room, and I’m embarrassed to say I can’t remember the number.” Frankie, pretending to be bored, wandered away from the desk over to the koi pond and out of Hilde’s line of sight.
“I see. What is your friend’s name, please?”
Aiden did his best to look chagrined. “My friend’s name is Chip. But the room is registered to someone else. Chip is about this tall. Blonde hair. This is his first night here.”
Hilde gave him a wan smile. “I’m sorry, sir. But I’m not permitted to divulge guest information. What is your room number, please?”
Aiden patted his jacket as if he were looking for a room key. “Let me look… Babe, do you have our room key?”
At that moment, two women, sufficiently intoxicated, stumbled past Frankie. “An’ then I poked a hole in the condom, told him I was on birth control, and vi-ol-a! I’m a millionaire, and he paid to fix my tits.”
“You’re like the worst human being ever,” the other crowed.
“I know, right?”
Frankie’s move was so fast Aiden almost missed it. One moment Millionaire Tits was stumbling across the marble floor, and the next, she was falling face-first into the koi pond.
The woman’s screeches combined with Frankie’s calls for help had Hilde grabbing a walkie-talkie from behind the desk and scurrying off toward the hub-bub.
“Hurry up,” Frankie hissed, appearing at his side. “Stand guard.” She shimmied behind the desk and sat in the vacated chair. “Shit. Password protected.”
The screaming had yet to quiet down, so Aiden poked his head over the desk. “Option one, we crack the password ourselves. Option two, we make Hilde give us the password.” He was weighing the pros and cons when Frankie’s fingers flew over the keys.
“Ha. Got it.”
“You cracked the password?” Aiden asked. Did the woman have no limits?
She snorted. “Don’t have to crack it when they tape it to the monitor for me. Okay, I’m in. Who are we looking for? No one’s registered as Kidnapper or Wedding Ruiner.”
Aiden skirted behind the desk, hopeful that the koi pond distraction would hold. “Scroll through the reservations,” he ordered, scanning the monitor.
“You think you’re going to magically recognize the name of the kidnapper?” Frankie asked.
“Shut up. There,” he pointed at the screen. “Room 314. Three nights. Who’s it registered to?”
“No name. Just a business. El-Kil Corporation,” Frankie read out loud.
Fuck. Aiden felt the sucker punch to his gut. He should have known.
“Oh, look! It’s gotta be them. Two hours ago they ordered a tuna salad sandwich with crushed up chips on it. Chip’s favorite! At least we know they’re feeding him. That’s good, right?”
“Good. Yeah.” Aiden murmured.
“Oh, shit.” Frankie exited out of the program and grabbed him. He heard the click of heels on the marble. They only made it as far as the marble column next to the desk. When Hilde and the fish pond woman appeared with a small entourage.
“Let me call housekeeping and get you some fresh towels and a robe,” Hilde offered a soaked and shrieking celebutante.
“A fish swam down my dress. Do you think a robe is going to make me feel better after I was attacked by sushi?” the woman howled.
Hilde’s eyes narrowed when she spotted Frankie and Aiden standing next to the desk. Aiden thought about kissing Frankie again since it had worked so well the first time, but Frankie was faster.
She slapped him across the face so hard his head snapped backwards on his neck.
“You know it bothers me when you slip your sister the tongue. I don’t care how many years you spent in boarding school in Europe. That still doesn’t make it right!” Frankie’s voice echoed off the marble drawing every eye in the lobby.
“A. She’s my half-sister,” Aiden said, jumping on the crazy train that Frankie was engineering “And B. I can’t help it if I come from an affectionate family!”
“Oh, puh-lease!” Frankie’s scoff nearly knocked her off her feet. “Affectionate? Your grandmother grabbed my ass at Thanksgiving.”
“She wanted to see how the butt lift I paid for turned out.” He nodded toward the exit.
“Excuse me. I earned this butt lift!”
They kept up the argument for posterity’s sake, storming away from the front desk. As they passed, Aiden heard one of the audience whispering.
“What can you expect from a reality TV star and a male prostitute?”
News traveled fast.
He hauled Frankie outside. She started laughing the second their feet hit the resort’s grand circular drive. “You’re insane,” he told her.
“Oh, please. I saw that look on your face. You were thinking about kissing the hell out of me back there. And it wouldn’t have worked the second time around.”
“Why not?” he asked, rubbing a hand over the cheek she’d so efficiently slapped.
“I don’t make the same mistake twice, Kilbourn. And you’re a big, fat mistake. Now, come on. I think room 314 is that way.” Aiden watched in fascination as Frankie pulled a map of the resort out of her cleavage.
“Where did you get that?” Aiden snatched the map from her.
“At the desk.”
“We’re not going after Chip.”
“Excuse me? We know where he is, and all of the sudden, you want to call it a night?”
“What do you want to do? Knock on the door and demand that they give him back?”
“It’s a start! I’m not leaving my friend here.”
Aiden gri
pped her upper arm and started pulling her toward the cab desk. “We have the upper hand here. What we need is a plan. I have to go figure out who has him, and if I can do that, I’ll know why they took him.” The lie was easy. He already knew the who and the why, but he wasn’t about to add Frankie into the mix. He wasn’t sure who she’d murder first.
“I’m not leaving Chip here with some kidnapping asshole! Let’s call security or the cops!”
“We’re not calling anyone,” he said, tightening his grip on her arm.
“Why in the hell not? We know where he is!”
“We don’t know who took him or why. We know that he’s here and they’re feeding him. And that means he’s safe. For now.”
“For now?” She tried to wrestle her arm free. “Did you just track down his abductor because you were curious where they took him? And now, curiosity appeased, you want to go back to the resort for some margaritas and see how this plays out?”
Aiden rounded on her. “Look. Believe me when I say your loyalty is admirable. But we need to regroup. I need a plan. If we go in there half-cocked, it could be disastrous.”
When her gaze slid to his crotch, Aiden rolled his eyes. “Stop looking at my cock. We’re leaving.”
Chapter Fifteen
He walked her to her room as if she were a prisoner. They’d spent the entire ride in silence as Frankie stewed and Aiden plotted. She understood that there was a time and a place for planning and manipulation, but when a friend was in danger? That seemed like the ideal time to kick in a door and start making noise.
With barely controlled rage, Frankie swiped her keycard. She intended to storm into the room and slam the door in Aiden’s face, but he was faster. He caught her by the arm and forced her to look at him. “I appreciate all your help tonight. But I’ve got this handled now.”
“Excuse me, Lone Ranger?”
“Franchesca, I need you to trust me to fix this. I promise you, I’ll get Chip back before the wedding.”
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