by Mel Blue
Alastair rolled his shoulders, brushing off the unease, and dropped his hand. “With that out of the way, do you think we can have a normal conversation?”
Her dark-brown eyes smoldered in anger. “No.”
She’d spread her hands over the back of the couch and in that dress she made a sensual picture. Her light-brown skin held a flush that complimented the pale-blue frock she wore. If he ever wondered if her work clothes hid imperfections, this gown settled those thoughts. Her breasts were high, her waist slim and her hips curved in a way that made his palms itch.
And the mask she wore didn’t hide her beauty but enhanced it. The choice to stay away from broadcasting always surprised him. Her slender chin, full lips and high cheekbones gave her the right credentials for the camera.
He inched forward,and she tensed. The soft tendrils of her hair shifted forward. Tonight she’d left her hair down. The mass of curls brushed her shoulders. She looked like a goddess.
Alastair softened his tone. “Look, I know you believe I’m here for a story. I’m not. You can do whatever you like but stay out of my way. Don’t make your revenge my problem.”
“My revenge?” She nodded but laughed low.
His stomach tightened at the feminine sound. “Yours.”
“I’m not the one with the vendetta. What exactly did I do to you?”
How was it possible to want to throttle someone and kiss them with the same fervor? “Do you want the truth?” he asked.
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”
He inhaled in hopes that would cool his temper. Her scent hit him. She smelled of lavender and some other deeper, darker musk. He wanted to bite into her light-brown skin, hard, and he was uncertain if it was for pleasure or punishment.
Disgusted with himself, he said in a harsh tone, “You want to be Helen Thomas or Barbara Walters but you lack the stones. You take no for an answer. You wait for confirmation of unrest to show up for a story. Your timing sucks. No one cares how brilliant and insightful you are after the fact. That’s why I’ve been able to scoop you time after time. It’s why I will continue to do so.” Her jaw tightened, and he kept talking. “I bet you only thought to come here after you heard I was.”
The way her eyes lit let him know he was right. He placed a finger under her chin to annoy her. And, maybe, some part of him just wanted to touch her soft skin. “Now I’m going to say this one last time. Stay out of my way while I’m here. Maybe even try enjoying yourself. I know I will.”
She swallowed. “You want me to believe you’re only here for sex. If it’s the truth, it’s somewhat plausible. You are a man. Still, that’s kind of pathetic, Alastair. You can’t get a date?”
He bristled. “I’m busy.”
“I’ve never met a man that busy.”
The muscles in his back tightened. Her words hit close to home. “How many hours do you put in?”
She lifted her brows for a fraction of a second as though, again, his explanation sounded plausible. Most of their job involved unavoidable prep time, hunting down sources and then facts. There was an easier way to make a living but this, he didn’t doubt, was a vocation for them both. She narrowed her eyes.
He added after a few seconds, “Your silence will be your answer. Let this be the last time I see you.”
She wet her top lip. “That sounds like another threat.”
“This isn’t work.” His voice had roughened. “You want to annoy me when it comes to the job that’s fine, but this is personal.”
An understanding filled her eyes. “You play the nice guy but you’re pretty dark, aren’t you?”
“I like my boundaries.” He paused and then smiled. “Though you’ve yet to respect any of them.”
She smiled back at him, and it softened her features. “I’m a special kind of ornery.”
His annoyance ebbed at the need to laugh. “Indeed.”
She glanced down, and it was the first time he realized he hadn’t let her go after making his point. His body had detailed the proximity. Not surprising since the moment the lights from outside splayed across her smooth back, he’d been hard as fuck. That and that alone proved he’d ignored his sex drive for much too long.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“Fine.” His tone was affable, but his eyes narrowed. “If you want to watch me fuck a woman, let’s go back to the ballroom. I’ll pick someone and then you can take notes. Color me surprised. I thought you hated me.” He paused for effect. “Maybe that’s really what’s bothering you.”
He reached up again and took all those wild, soft strands and wrapped them around his fist, taming them. He gave her hair a short tug until he had exposed her neck. She didn’t flinch or back down. Her reaction is why he’d liked her the first time they’d talked. He’d scooped her and Zora’s response had showed her intelligence and wit. From that first exchange he had known she could, one day, have the stones to repay him for that favor. No. She hadn’t experienced what he had, but when he looked at her career it was like watching the path his life might have taken if he’d ignored the need to buy tea from the market.
If Alastair had been a different man, a different kind of journalist. But he had. That subtlety was a chasm.
Something in her demeanor changed as they held each other’s gaze, so when she laughed he heard the nerves. “You act like you don’t have it in for me but your actions say otherwise. You’re only touching me now because you know that’s the last thing I’d want. Hell, it’s the last thing you want. Are you trying to get me to back down? Go ahead.” Her voice lowered and a sensual husk colored her tone. “Let’s see how far you’ll go.”
Maybe when he’d first grabbed her it had been a tactic, but the challenge sounded wanton. “You’re playing with fire now, Zora.”
“I thought I was the flame tonight.”
She was. He started to reply but she beat him to it. “I’m going to get the story first this time.”
He shook his head because hers was made out of a brick. For years he’d known about the Den. He also knew there was no story here. No one would be willing to talk on the record about their experience. He’d come here with the intent to find his own scandal. For one night, a handful maybe, he could indulge in sexual pleasure without consequences. The latter was part of the promise the Den had provided. Anything he wanted, any time he wanted and no repercussions.
He’d arrived on Wednesday. For seventy-two hours Alastair had been surrounded by pussy. All he had to do was crook his finger, and he’d have the honor of making a woman his for a time. It wasn’t until he’d spotted Zora in a pale-blue gown barely held together by a wish that it had finally happened—a stir of attraction. He’d seen her one time and still he had fucking known it was her in the ballroom.
Anger flashed through him then as it did now. His fist tightened in her hair. The long, slender slope of her caramel-toned skin was exposed. He clenched his teeth against the urge to bite down softly on the delicate line just to see her squirm.
She shifted under his glare, brushing her stomach against his cock. The irritation he’d pushed down rose again and leaked into his voice. “Be still.”
“Why?”
“You’re avoiding the real and hard question,” he smoothly replied though everything in him coiled. “Not surprising at all. It makes sense why I’ve been able to scoop you. If you ever want to be a real reporter, you should work on that.”
“Oh, right. Says the man who had to leave England just to get a job.”
He hid the flinch. Not many people knew why he’d left London in 2007. Alastair would like to keep it that way. “You’ve banged on that drum before.”
“When I get the real answer I’ll drop it. Until then I’ll point it out and watch you sweat.”
A corner of his mouth pulled up. He had to give her points for sniffing out the story around him. Zora may be far off in her assumptions, but her instincts for bollocks were dead on.
There was only
one real way to deal with Zora, and that was to knock her off her guard. He had to end this exchange before he did something daft.
Alastair bent down, gripped her hair just a little bit tighter and whispered, “Let me answer for you then. Be still or I’ll start to think you’re the woman I should fuck. You’ll be the one I bend over the first flat surface we find, and then I’ll make you come all over my cock. So be still, love.”
She let out a soft sigh that could have been mistaken for moan if it had come from any other woman. “I think I’ll pass.”
He let her go and stepped back. “Good. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to the ballroom.”
Zora relaxed against the couch but her breasts moved up and down at a fast pace as though her breathing refused to steady. He wouldn’t have noticed if his gaze had stayed on hers. His fucking libido had lost its mind. Leave. Now. Alastair turned away from the tempting display.
She waited until he was at the door to say, “I’m going to find out why you’re here, but I’ll stay out of your way.”
He didn’t turn around to take her in one last time or even to offer a rebuttal. He already knew she looked like someone he should bend over the couch and fuck until her moans grew hoarse. If he turned around, he’d go back. He’d give into to this new need for her. Alastair rolled his shoulders again and left while he still had the mind to.
CHAPTER THREE
Zora laid in wait near the front doors of the Beaudelaire’s gazebo. This spot near the main gardens gave her the best view of the stairs, the front door and folks arriving or leaving the restaurant. Anyone passing by would assume she’d decided to relax with a book at one of the many patio tables that decorated this end of the hotel.
An hour ago when she’d perfected the appearance of a woman on vacation, she could still feel her feet, hands and ass cheeks. The cold had slowly sapped most of her warmth. Didn’t help that while she’d slept last night it had rained and left New Orleans damper than usual, putting an extra bite in the frigid air. Her knee-high suede boots and long thin skirt were insufficient for her stakeout. Though she’d been smart enough to put on gloves, a Rastafarian beanie and a thick stylish coat.
She reminded herself of the purpose of the mission: to discover why the ambitious asshole had lied. Thankfully, it was disgustingly easy to get information. Find an employee, like a bellboy, slip him a Bill Franklin, and anyone—Zora—could then find out anything they wanted.
What had she discovered? Less than twenty minutes after promising to seduce her if she so much as breathed in Alastair’s direction, he’d received room service—for one. No other activity for the rest of the night. It could just be her, but that seemed suspicious for a man who professed he’d fuck the next thing with tits.
Really suspicious for a man who swore he wasn’t here for a story.
Her fingers tightened around the paperback. For a second she’d almost believed him, again. She let that righteous indignation warm her while she scanned for any sign of him.
A thick blue jacket she recognized flashed in the corner of her eye. Her head twitched in the direction of the main entryway. Alastair stomped down the stairs. She pulled her book up but watched him. The mid-day sun streaking through the open doors looked good on him, and then he smiled at a woman going in the opposite direction. Coyly, the woman reciprocated but kept going up the stairs.
Without a mask, Zora got the full brunt of that smile too. Some men could be boyishly handsome. They’d smile and she, along with any woman nearby, would kind of melt. Alastair’s smile seemed to say I know all the things you beg for in bed. That made him dangerously handsome.
It’s what threw her off when she stormed into his office all those months ago. They’d shared plenty of playful, maybe even flirty, emails after the first time he’d scooped her. Finding companionship and respect among her peers was tough. They all lived a very focused life with very little rewards, and even then, they didn’t last long. But for a month or two she’d found that with him.
The comfort and flirtation in those emails relaxed her guard. She’d let something slip, and he’d pounced on it. Naturally, she pounced back by barging into his office after reading her story in his newspaper.
She blew into his office like a storm. He’d glanced up at her with his brows furrowed, but that didn’t lessen the pure masculinity of his features. Need and a primal instinct to make him hers had stolen her breath. She’d forgotten why she’d hunted him down, and why his actions had felt like betrayal.
Maybe it wasn’t rational to hate him for her reaction, but it only compounded the problem. Alastair had used her like a source when she should have been his peer, and then for the last four months he’d added insult to that injury. Getting scooped in this business happened all the time, but with him it was… it was personal goddammit.
The wind slapped at her and cut her thoughts short. She blinked and focused on Alastair. He walked toward where she sat, and she pretended to not notice him. Alastair paused at the doors and then kept going.
She waited until he rounded the building to follow him, leaving her book on the table. He stuck to the walkways. Perfect. That left plenty of places to hide if he turned around. She barely noticed the beautiful landscape, so focused on him, but after thirty minutes, she started to question his true intent for a stroll. And her footwear for this mission.
She wasn’t new at this. People tended to have their clandestine meetings soon after leaving their comfort zone. Zora sighed and glanced back the way they had come. Clearly this was a false alarm. She turned her attention to Alastair and jolted.
He was looking right at her. He’d posed with such arrogant leisure with his hands in his jacket’s pockets, she wanted to cuss. A grin slowly crept over his face. After last night’s warning, there was only one reason he’d smile at her. Zora gasped, and without thinking, she marched toward him.
Before she could get a word in, he said, “Did you enjoy our walk?” He laughed, at her, and then added, “I don’t know what I loved more: The oaks or the rose bushes. I’m really torn. You?”
He’d known this whole time she’d been following him. And the bastard had let her. “You walked around in one big circle for thirty minutes.” She stammered for a moment, unable to think of anything really biting to say. “My feet hurt.”
His green eyes lit. “But it was such a beautiful day out. I thought you should see it. Isn’t New Orleans a sight to behold? I know our California has its own appeal, but this place is unique. It should be enjoyed.”
His flagrant mocking got under her skin. Disgusted with herself, she turned to leave. He stopped her with a tug on the hem of her jacket. “Don’t walk away mad, love.”
She slapped at his hand, but he didn’t release her. Zora faced him and hoped her annoyance radiated through him too. “You had your fun with me. Let me go.”
“You asked for it,” he said without a hint of remorse. “How long were you waiting for me to arrive?”
She tried again to push his hand away, but he curled his fingers into a fist. She stilled. “I wanted to get some fresh air.”
“Bollocks.” He pressed his knuckles into her stomach. “Your nose was red and you were shivering.”
All of a sudden, she couldn’t breathe normally anymore. A simmer of attraction slid into her stomach. The moment tipped them into familiar but uncomfortable territory. He was a different man when he only had words at his disposal. His intelligence was sharper, along with his wit, but she had to admit Alastair in the flesh was much more dangerous.
She swallowed. “You didn’t go back to the ballroom.”
That wiped away the smirk. He swept his gaze over her. “No.”
Some sixth sense told her not to push for an answer. In fact, she should walk away. Maybe even leaving the Den—being miles and miles away from him—was the best option, because if his knuckles pressed against her stomach could make it light and fluttery, anything else could undo her. She had another two days off from work anyway. Bett
er yet, while he stayed here getting his rocks off, she could find one hell of a story elsewhere and then rub his face in it.
But the same drive that made her hunt down her source to get an invitation to the Den, the same beast within her that refused to let these slights go, made her ask, “Why?”
This time when he laughed, it didn’t feel directed at her. He pushed her away and then pulled her back. “You’re such a pain in my arse.”
She would never admit it out loud, but she loved when he went all Brit on her. Just because they were rivals didn’t mean they’d stopped emailing each other. Now it was exchanges filled with insults, and he had often used words or phrases she’d have to look up. Despite her ire, usually when she found out the true meaning of what he had said, she could almost hear his voice—so proper, yet deep and tantalizing.
She bit down on her lip, and when his eyes followed the motion, she finally listened to that voice that screamed at her to leave. “Since I have nothing to show for freezing my ass off, I’m heading inside to warm up.”
“I’m not here for a story, love.” He sounded exhausted as he let her go.
His timbre almost swayed her. Zora shrugged and turned to leave. He caught the back hem of her jacket and tugged to keep her still. Her heart leapt like a jackrabbit as she froze, uncertain of what she should do. Tell him to let her go? Encourage him to yank her to face him? Arch her back so she could feel his knuckles on her spine?
Zora decided to ignore that pull because something strange was happening inside her. It felt like all her molecules were banging against each other, fighting for some nameless relief. She would not look to him for a solution. Before him, she didn’t fight with people over petty things. She didn’t feel the need to lay claim to her territory as a reporter either. He brought out the absolute worse in her, and Zora would not turn around to see what else he could drag out of her.