Marbella Nights

by Shel Stone

  Sending off a dinner invitation to Hassan to meet him at one of Jakarta’s best restaurants, Quentin sat back and scrolled through his emails. He was going to need a lawyer. David Hetty, Dad’s COO, would know someone good. If he were going to start looking at proposals, he would need a commercial guy at his side so he didn’t unwittingly walk into trouble. Even thinking about it was boring him to tears.

  Another dinner engagement crept into his mind, with a certain fine-legged southern girl. He phoned the management at the yacht club and had her number texted to him within minutes. They weren’t allowed to hand out numbers, but with some of the prominent members, they were always a bit more lax with the rules.

  Punching in the number, he stroked a hand through his hair as he let it ring.

  “Hello?” she said, her Kiwi accent soft.

  “Adelaide, this is Quentin Cartright.”

  “Okay,” she said, that suspicion creeping into her voice, making him smile.

  I would like to sleep with you, how about tonight? he wanted to say, but had an expectation how that would be received. Although for many that would be all it took. “You ran out on me last night.”

  “My friend needed me,” she said. He could hear her react to his suggestion that she’d been rude. Maybe it was her working in a service-based industry that made her so sensitive to being thought rude. “I couldn’t stay.”

  “Ruined my entire night. I think I’m going to have to ask you to make it up to me.”

  “Is that right?” Fear of rudeness was gone, replaced by a disbelief at his forthrightness.

  “My ego has been quite damaged.”

  “I’m sure you’ll recover. Your ego could probably use with some adversity.”

  “Probably. Come to dinner with me.”

  “Can’t,” she said. “I have plans.”

  “I didn’t say when.”

  “Still have plans.”

  “Ouch. Hurtful. Downright cruel.”

  “Alright, if you cook, I’ll have dinner with you,” she said pointedly and he smiled. She knew damned well he couldn’t find a kitchen, let alone use one. “Alright then. If you are in the mood to take your life in your hands.”

  “Perhaps—”

  “Too late now. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven from the marina.”

  “I—”

  He hung up before she got that last sentence out, the one where she said she hadn’t agreed, because technically she had and he wasn’t going to give her an opportunity to back out. No, he was going to let that borderline puritanical need to keep her word work in his favour.

  *

  This was not going to work if he was late. He had to be there seven on the dot, or she would have her excuse. He could see her standing with her arms crossed, wearing a sleeveless white cotton top and jeans—probably the biggest ‘I’m not going to dinner with you’ outfit she could muster. She looked fresh and young and the skin on her shoulders glowed with health and sun.

  He pulled over, lowering the window. “Good, you’re on time.”

  “I didn’t actually agree to come with you.”

  “Yes, you did. And I went to the supermarket and everything.” A complete lie.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Dinner,” she said. “Then I have to be back.”

  She was curious alright or she would never have agreed otherwise. “Of course,” he said and leaned over to open the car for her, make it that bit harder for her not to comply. “After sex, I’ll drop you right back here.” As expected, she baulked. “Kidding. Really, what do you take me for? Come on,” he coaxed. “Don’t be so jumpy. Just dinner. You won’t regret it.” She hesitated for a moment then got in the car and he sped away. “I will kiss you, though, at some point. Forewarned.”

  “You seem to make a habit of that. Do you go around and randomly kiss people all the time?”

  “No, it’s a habit that’s broken out recently and the urge just seems to strike.”

  He drove along the coast towards his house. The sun was setting and it all looked gorgeous, the light hazy and golden. The windows were down and her hair was tugged around by the wind. There was that uncomfortable phase where they didn’t really know each other well enough to talk, at least not without the conversational lubrication that alcohol provided.

  “Going out with the boat again soon?”

  “Next week, apparently. Mr. Sumneroff is back. He’s having a party.”

  “That’s right,” Quentin said. He’d received an invitation through email, but he wasn’t going to be around for it.

  “You got an invitation,” she stated, judging from her reaction. He was sorry he was going to miss it now as she might be there.

  “Can’t go, though. I’m off to Indonesia.”

  “Indonesia?”

  “Business.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Scouting.”

  “For what?”

  “A deal, I guess.”

  She crossed her legs and it drew his attention, but he had to look away. When he was driving a high-performance machine, he couldn’t indulge in the shape of her thighs, imagining himself nestled there. Nothing damped the potential with ladies like a car crash. He’d learnt that the hard way in his younger years, crashing Father’s Porsche being three times over the legal limit. Had caused quite a bit of legal wrangling, that one. Since, he’d been a bit more careful with the drinking and driving.

  Pulling off the main road, he headed down towards the water’s edge, pressing the remote that moved the large gate to the property. He drove down the long driveway, seeing her reaction to his house—actually the family house, but neither his parents nor brother were here at the moment.

  He stopped right in front of the main door and got out, coming around to her side as she stepped out of the car. They walked towards the door, past the water feature that ran around the front of the house and through lowered paving stones in the walkway. The doors opened to a huge living room, with large windows to the backyard, the pool and the sea beyond. Their property was right on the water’s edge and they had a small private beach and a jetty down a set of stairs off the cliff edge.

  There was only residual light left after the sun had already set, but the red and mauve colours made the property look spectacular. “You live here?”

  “It’s a family property, but we’re seldom here all together. My brother’s working at one of the investment banks, so he’s in England most of the time.”

  They walked through the professionally designed lounge and onto the outdoor covered seating area, which had a huge sofa set and table.

  The Japanese chef stood waiting for them with the grilling tables set up for the occasion. A large man wearing white, with sharp knives in his hands.

  “I thought you were cooking,” she said.

  “We are cooking,” he corrected. “I’ll cook for you and you can cook for me.”

  They walked up to the table and the chef bowed and said something in Japanese. There were two grill tables set up and each had a wooden chopping board with onion, beef, zucchini, an egg and a small metal bottle. Heat was coming off the table and he looked over at Adelaide who was smiling.

  “First, you watch,” the man said in heavily accented English. He started by pouring the oil and it smoothly moved around the grill then congregated on its own into a pool. The chef ran through the oil with a square utensil. “Now you.”

  They both copied. Quentin poured the oil and looked over at Adelaide. This had been the right thing to do; she loved this. Her eyes were glowing with amusement and interest.

  The chef placed the onion on the oil and then salted, flicking the salt shaker in a way so it flipped over and landed in the back of the chef’s hand. They both stood there staring; they could never be able to do it the same, but the chef mimicked shaking salt on the onions so they would comply. The process was repeated with the zucchini and then the beef slices were placed on, and everything was turned over in turn.

  The chef finished off
by cracking the egg, swirling it around the plate and then slicing it at superhuman speed. With a nod, he expected them to do the same. Quentin made a hatchet job with his egg, but it would taste just as good.

  It was time to plate, and the chef did so with practiced art, flipping food and utensils, making a real show of it. “Time to eat,” he said with finality and bowed sharply.

  They took their meals over to the glass table by the pool, which was lit, as was the entire area.

  Quentin handed her the plate he’d made for her.

  “Okay, I hadn’t expected that.”

  “But I cooked as you requested.”

  “And probably the most unforgettable dinner I’ve ever prepared.”

  Internally he preened at the compliment and sat down, taking the lid off the bowl of rice. The food was delicious, even as the flavours were simple.

  “Umm,” she said as she took a bite. “You might have missed your calling.”

  “I only cook on very special occasions.”

  “And this qualifies?”

  “Definitely. Sake?”

  “Sure.”

  He poured the clear liquid into small ceramic cups. They clinked the little cups together and threw it back, the heat and coolness a shock to the system.

  “This was not what I expected.”

  “You set your requirements and I met them. I hope you are enjoying the evening.”

  “I am, and pleasantly surprised.” She smiled and started eating again.

  After dinner, they retreated back to the seating area and he didn’t turn on the full complement of lights, preferring the intimacy of the lower light levels. She tucked her legs under her as she accepted a glass of wine. The Japanese chef was long gone and would come back for the grill tables in the morning. The house was silent otherwise, just the two of them there.

  He sat down on the other side of the couch facing her, with one knee up and the other over the edge of the couch.

  “It’s insane that you live like this,” she said.

  “We’ve had this house all my life. I suppose I’m so used to it, I don’t question it.”

  “Not everyone lives like this.”

  “Some do. Do you hate me because I’m rich?”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Really? Because I had to work really hard to get you to come to dinner with me.”

  She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear, flushing slightly. She looked utterly gorgeous sitting there. There was no chance of her staying the night; he knew this. She was checking him out and he had to be on his best behaviour. Next time, though, she would be much softer and more pliable. He couldn’t wait, not that he strictly minded the work. It was nice sitting here with her. There seemed to be no pressure and only the delight of discovery. Perhaps it was that they had no history together, didn’t share common friends with all the drama that had gone before—past discretions coming back to haunt. This was just a guy and a girl, sitting with a bottle of wine and talking.

  Chapter 23

  APPARENTLY, THE PARTY at Shine was thrown together quickly and they all had to work throughout it. It was supposed to be a huge event, one of the highlights on the Marbella social calendar, and Katy Perry was performing.

  They all had to dance as they usually did, but their outfits were more burlesque than straight ‘club darling’. There were also other performers—fire eaters, real burlesque dancers and a few acrobats, twisting and turning beautifully. There was a couple who did these amazing poses, cantilevered off each other’s bodies. In all honesty, Trish felt a bit underwhelming compared to them. Her eyes had smokey makeup and her hair was set in a nineteen twenties bun with waves along her temples.

  The scene was less dancy and more talking. People were dressed in their most expensive designer outfits, some even looked like they were wearing gowns, which was a bit much for the occasion. Trish stood on her podium and danced—slow, twisting moves and the occasional flirty look. It was actually quite a lot of fun, just because it was different—as was the evening’s clientele. Both men and women were eyeing her up appreciatively and she did feel sexy in her dark satin costume and fishnets.

  She spotted Adelaide across the room and discreetly waved, pointing her towards the back where they took their breaks. It was time for her break anyway and she gave an indication to Amber that she was taking ten minutes and stepped off the podium, taking care to be stable in her high heels.

  “Look at you,” Adelaide said. “You look like some thirties Berlin cabaret dancer.”

  “These outfits are pretty cool. We should wear stuff like this more often,” Trish said, looking down at her black satin corsets and shorts. “This is quite some gig. Is the man of honour here yet?”

  “I haven’t seen him. We only just heard that we were invited. That bitch, Cheyenne, didn’t invite any of us—until Alexi heard of it. She is just awful, really gives me the creeps.”

  “Are you going to tell Alexi about what you saw?”

  “I don’t know,” Adelaide said, bringing her hand up and stroking along her mouth. “If the opportunity arises. We’ll see how it goes. It really is none of my business, but it’s cutting me up knowing it and letting him think she’s some kind of angel.”

  “He probably doesn’t.”

  “Which is the other thing I’m thinking. I don’t know,” she said with a sigh and Trish sympathised. If it was one of their crew, it would be a no-brainer, but these super rich people had other rules. “Those Aussie boys are here.”

  Trish frowned. A specific group of Aussie boys immediately came to mind—actually one in particular, but she didn’t want that complication preying on her mind tonight. He’d well and truly shown that their thing was a one-night thing—two nights, actually. “What boys?” she said tentatively, crossing her arms.

  “Nathan and Cory.”

  “Luckily Chrissy isn’t here,” Trish said sarcastically, imagining the drama she would wreak. “And how the hell did they get an invite to a gig like this?”

  “Apparently, one of the guys trains Cheyenne at the Athletic Club. Bitch is probably on the prowl for her next conquest.”

  “Well, she can have Cory,” Trish said bitterly. Okay, maybe she needed to check the bitterness a little. It wasn’t like they’d agreed to anything other than a hook-up. She should not be stuck on something it wasn’t. “I better head out. Jesus will have my tush if I spend the evening back here.”

  “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m probably going to crash before you guys finish tonight.”

  “Why don’t you come sit with us when Katy Perry sings? We’re not dancing through her performance.”

  “Good. I will.”

  Trish headed out and stepped up on her platform. All of a sudden, she felt much more self-conscious knowing Cory was there, and she hated that she reacted that way. Maybe there was a part of her that wanted to show him what he’d moved on from so very quickly.

  She lost herself in the dance for a while. The music was also different tonight, which was refreshing, not just the constant drone of the typical club DJ mixes, geared to set the beat for the mindless dancers. Tonight was about image and a hint of titillation. Jesus had outdone himself, but then she didn’t dare think what the budget was.

  It didn’t take long before she spotted Cory, standing against a column across the large room. A drink in his hand, he watched her. Trish felt a flush rise up her body. What right did he have to watch her like that? He’d moved on. His eyes were practically caressing her skin. And maybe she made her moves a little sharper, a little more staunch, knowing it made her jiggle a little in all the right places. To punish him. She lavished attention on the enthralled men around her, some of the women too, soaking in their adoration. It was all harmless, just a bit of upscale tease—quite PG actually, but it made it even more effective.

  He didn’t move the entire time and after what seemed like an eternity, it was time for the dancers to withdraw as Katy Perry was taking the stage. She was onl
y singing four songs, they had been told, and Trish jumped down from her platform and moved to the back, taking a glass of water off Ralph, the barman.

  The lights of the show blasted the stage and Katy Perry came on, looking absolutely stunning. She spoke to the guests and congratulated Alexi, who was standing at one of the booths to the side, dressed in a sharp suit.

  Trish watched intently as they were getting ready on stage.

  “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” a voice said quietly in her ear. She knew exactly who it was and couldn’t help her heart speeding up. “Can’t take my eyes off you.”

  “You didn’t have so much trouble the other night.”

  “I had to. You’re just too much.” Cory stood behind her; she could feel the slightest brush of him on her backside, which sent goose bumps rising along her skin. And here he thought he could make it all better with a few sweet words.

  “Too much?”

  “Mesmerising, in fact.”

  “Uh huh,” Trish said, less than impressed.

  “We’re alike, you and I.”

  “Are we now?”

  Fingers touched her along her back, over the satin material of her costume. “And you’re going to leave me in agony tonight, not able to think of anything but the way you move.” Warm lips stroked along the back of her neck. Her insides twisted at the lush touch. He was trying it on hard, and she should definitely be walking away, but she just couldn’t make herself, enjoying the grovelling. Against her better judgement, she melted when he touched her, and warmth pooled deep inside her body, making her core clench. Damn it. “We’re the same.” He stepped a little closer, letting her feel his body along hers.

  She was not the kind of girl that had her head turned like this—was seduced by needy words and hungry caresses. She knew what he was and that he chased whatever skirt caught his fancy. It was just that when his attention was squarely levelled on her, it was hard to duck out of its focus.