by Abby Gordon
“Thank you, Tom. And…” She swallowed as the enormity of it all crashed down on her. “Tell Pippa she did very well last night. She really did.”
His back to her at the door, Tom nodded and left. Quickly, she swung out of bed and stood. And caught herself with a hand on the mattress. After everything last night, her legs didn’t want to work. Well, she’d had a number of orgasms, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath. It was no wonder. But she had to hold it together until she reached home.
Eyes on the bathroom, she forced her legs to work.
She had lost her bra and thong in the living room of the suite. Shuddering, hoping Andy hadn’t seen them and taken them, she pulled on her slacks and sweater, then slipped into her loafers. With no other choice, she met her own eyes in the mirror. She looked exactly like what she was. A woman who’d had an incredibly passionate night and been betrayed. Her lips were still puffy and bruised from his kisses. There was the hint of a love bite at the edge of her sweater and her hair was wild from his hands. Just as her body still stirred from his caresses. Her eyes… well, her eyes now were hollow from the shock of his betrayal. From being left alone.
Bowing her head, trying not to cry, she pulled on her trench coat, belting it tightly as if it were armor. Picking up her tote, she peeked into her wallet and found the pound notes in an envelope. Silently blessing Tom for his thoughtfulness, she went to the door. Hand on the light plate, she glanced over her shoulder at the shower, remembering how sleek his body had been and… Her pussy tightened, wanting his cock again. Even though it was sore from all the pounding. Forcing the emotion down, she thumbed the switch down and walked out.
She entered the living room of the suite and found the men waiting. As she’d feared, Andy had her bra and scrap of thong. Chin held high, she walked over to him, plucked them from his fingers, and tucked them into the tote.
“The one good thing about this is that I will not have to put up with your constant illegal sexual touches at work,” she stated, turning her head to look at the hotel owner who was startled at her words. “You’ve closed-circuit TV cameras everywhere. Check the CCTV of the private room last night. Behind the bar. About eleven o’clock. After Mr. Livingston had the group photo taken. And that’s the least of what your cousin has done to the women who work in the club. You’re lucky none of them have gone to a lawyer.”
Andy choked out a protest, but she ignored him and walked out.
Somehow she managed to move. She caught the bus, thankfully within five minutes. Whisked through the market, getting enough food for a few days, and got home.
“Jessica Munroe, I thought better of you,” the old woman who lived on the ground floor told her, disapproval in every line of her expression.
Ice gathered in her stomach. Tom had been right. Andy had called the tabloids.
“Good morning, Mrs. Dawson.”
“It’s all over the telly. You and Sean Livingston and you being fired.”
“Well, Mrs. Dawson, if Sean Livingston had wanted you in his bed, you’d have fallen into it quick enough,” Jessica replied with a slight smile. “A woman would have to be dead a week not to.”
The woman’s mouth snapped shut as she blinked at the thought, and Jessica fled up the stairs to her third-floor flat. Safely inside, she put the food away and hung up her coat. Finally, she let herself accept what had happened.
And crumpled on the floor.
****
“Mr. Livingston? Mr. Livingston? Sir?”
Growling, Sean hit the pause on the recording and stalked over to the door. On the other side was the island manager.
“Saul, I’m…”
“It’s Miss Charlotte, sir,” the native told him, speaking quickly. “She said she’s been calling you for two hours and asked me to come to have you call her immediately. It was extremely urgent.”
“Maisie,” Sean breathed, turning and reaching for the phone in the small studio. He’d turned the ringer off but the message light was blinking frantically. “Thank you, Saul.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Sean didn’t see him leave. He was too busy punching in the numbers for his ex-wife.
“About damn time,” she said when she picked up. “What the hell were you thinking this time, Sean?”
“What?” He blinked. “What are you talking about? How’s Maisie?”
“Besides having a father who runs around sleeping with women and leaving them in his hotel room to get fired and deal with the tabloids the past week?” sneered Charlotte. “Oh, she’s just loving the teasing from the children at school.”
“What are you…” Her words hit him. “Jessica,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “Jessica. You’re a blithering idiot sometimes, Sean. Did you honestly think that you could go on Britain’s most popular morning radio show, talk about a fantastic night of passion and say the woman was so exhausted she was still in your bed when you left, and no one in the hotel would find out and go see if she was still there?”
“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned.
“That’s about the size of it,” she agreed.
“What happened?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to know. “I’ve been in the studio since I got here.” He’d practically written and recorded half an album already. But something told him Charlotte’s anger would increase exponentially if he mentioned that. His stomach growled. “I can’t remember the last time I ate.”
“Typical,” Charlotte sighed. “Honestly, Sean. You have only three redeeming qualities. First, you’re a fantastic lover whether you’re gentle or go all caveman. Second, you’re an absolute professional, if a bit obsessive, whether you’re singing or acting. Third and most importantly, you are absolutely devoted to Maisie. But, you’re an absolute disaster at just about everything else.”
“Charlotte,” Sean tried to be patient. “What has happened to Jessica?”
“She was found in your hotel room. Sleeping. By the owner and the club manager.”
“Shit,” he muttered, pacing the small confines of the studio.
“They fired her. From what I can figure out, she barely got home before the paparazzi staked out her building.”
“I never said her name,” he protested. “I didn’t…”
“I think someone at the hotel tipped them off,” Charlotte told him.
“That damn club manager,” Sean growled, recalling the man’s actions after the group photo.
“Maybe, but the fact of the matter is that you’ve managed to absolutely ruin that woman’s life.”
“What has she said about it?”
“Not a damn thing,” Charlotte replied, a mix of awe and surprise in her voice. “No one’s seen or heard from her. None of her friends are talking, not even from the hotel.” A light laugh came over the speaker. “One young woman, a blonde, snarled and yelled at the paps for being parasitic pathetic little worms before someone identified as the head bartender told the two women she was with to get her home.”
“Pippa,” Sean guessed.
“A man claiming to be her uncle tried to get in the building, but the landlord wouldn’t let him. The uncle tried to talk to the paps but even they decided he was too crazy to be real. It’s like a mini circus out there, Sean.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, collapsing into the raised chair before the equipment. “Fuck. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Especially to Jessica. She doesn’t deserve something like this.”
“Tell me about her and getting her into your bed.”
“Weird question from an ex-wife,” observed Sean.
“We’re beyond that,” she said briskly. “We’re friends, Sean. I’m probably your best friend now.”
“True,” he agreed, smiling. “That’s something I realized in London.”
“So, tell me about Jessica Munroe.”
“I first saw her about five years ago. God, she was maybe eighteen.”
“Jesus, Sean, you didn’t…”
“No, no,” he said q
uickly. “Last week was the first time. She was in the dining room at first. But worked her way into the club, first as a waitress, then a bartender. She is, was,” he corrected himself. Shit, how could he have been so damn reckless with her? “The assistant bar manager. She usually handles the private room. When Nora got caught with Henry by his wife, and I got absolutely shit-faced, Jessica was the one who…” He sighed. “I left the suite. I’d managed to drink just about every drop of alcohol in my suite and wanted more. I left the elevator and headed for the club. It wasn’t open yet, but I was headed there anyway.”
“Hoping she was there?” Charlotte asked softly.
“I think so,” Sean replied slowly. “The paps were there and I couldn’t get through to the door. Then…there she was. Calm and collected, taking my arm, telling the desk clerk to send two pots of Earl Grey and the roast beef sandwich platter to the private room. Hotel security was there and cleared out the paps. Jessica took me to the private room, poured the tea, and made me eat. And she listened. She didn’t say much. I don’t think she would’ve been able to. I was babbling too much.”
“You don’t do that often,” mused Charlotte.
“I think that was maybe the third time,” he agreed. “And she never said anything to anyone about what I said.”
“What did you say?”
“To be honest, I don’t remember all of it. I just… I remember sitting there, drinking the tea, eating, and talking. Her sitting there and listening. God, her eyes on my face. She got angry, sympathetic. No, more like empathy. As if she really cared and was sorry for what had happened. And after Athens, my first visit, she was there. I’d gotten in the habit of having tea and a sandwich before I did any drinking. She brought it over, instead of having the room waitress do it. And I looked up at her. She just poured the tea and took a sip. Then she cut out a bite from the center of the sandwich and ate it. And when I wanted a drink, she had me come up to the bar. She pulled out sealed bottles, rinsed out everything before using it, and made the drink in front of me. And took a sip before handing it to me. She didn’t make a big deal of it. She just acted as if she did it for everyone.”
He fell silent, remembering the calm steady look in her eyes.
“And last week?” Charlotte finally prompted.
“It was lots of things. I realized I’d been so busy, traveling so much, it had been months since I’d had sex…”
“Oh, good lord, Sean,” she groaned. “I always wondered if that would get you into this kind of mess.”
“And that with everything she knew about me, she had never said anything to anyone. Ever. You’re about the only woman I trust. Especially after Nora. Anyway, we get to the private room. And there she is behind the bar, rolling her eyes at one of Frank’s jokes, and I got hard just seeing her. She looked over at me and I saw her reaction. She knew what I was thinking.” He frowned. “You know something? I think it was the first time she really seriously thought about having sex with me.”
“Out of her reach?” wondered Charlotte.
“I’m not sure,” he mused. “Anyway, when I wanted a second drink, she brought it and the meat pastry over. She took a drink like always, then took the fork, cut the pastry, and pulled out a piece of meat. She swirled it in the juices before putting it in her mouth. Then she leaned over and whispered in my ear.”
“What did she say?”
“Delicious. She purred in my ear better than any femme fatale in the movies.”
Charlotte hooted. “Oh, damn, that’s good. I’ll bet you were rock-hard by then.”
“Damn straight I was,” he growled.
“So how did you get her up to your room?”
“I called down ten minutes after closing and ordered a nightcap, requesting she bring it up.”
“Clever,” murmured Charlotte. Sean could almost hear the wheels in her mind spinning. Knowing his ex-wife, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she was thinking. “And then, after what I’m sure was several hours of passionate bliss, you acted like an absolutely heartless cad, leaving her in the bed when you went on the radio and talked about her.”
“I never mentioned her name,” he insisted.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Sean,” snapped her voice. “You just weren’t thinking. You were so caught up in your own bubble that you didn’t realize the ripple effect of your words. I’ll bet that within ten minutes they were up in that room, finding her and tossing her out. She’s been fired, trapped in her apartment ever since, and probably feeling like you set her up or something.”
“I didn’t,” he agonized. “I swear to you, Charlotte. I left her there because she was so exhausted.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure that does wonders for your ego, but that doesn’t help her now.”
Closing his eyes, Sean relived some of that night. He could see the heat in her eyes, feel her hands on him, her mouth. And saw the shaken expression when Andy had been behind the bar. He could just imagine her face now. Haunted. Hunted. Terrified. Because of him.
“Sean. Sean,” Charlotte was insistent. “What are you going to do? Maisie’s heard the whole lurid story at school and is very upset.”
“Is she there? Can I talk to her?”
“Of course. Just a moment. She’s in her craft room.”
Sean waited, hearing the heels on the parquet floor of their penthouse and the soft murmurs between mother and daughter.
“Daddy, what did you do? They’re saying mean things about you and saying that the woman—”
“Maisie, Daddy didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean any of this.”
His daughter’s sigh, so much like her mother’s, cut his heart deep.
“Daddy, they’re being mean to her. You have to stop them. You have to take care of her.”
And just like that, Sean knew what he was going to do. Hell, if he was going to be honest with himself, it was what he’d wanted for a while. What had been building up ever since he’d first seen her. He glanced at the notebook of lyrics and music. Everything he’d been doing for seven days was because of Jessica. His manager and record company had been pleading for him to do love songs. They were going to be thrilled when he sent them this.
He rubbed the week’s growth on his jaw.
“Princess, you’re absolutely right. I’m going to take care of her and make sure they aren’t mean to her ever again.”
“Good.” Satisfaction rang in her small voice. “You’ll be up here next weekend? Staying until Christmas?”
“I’ll be there,” he promised. “What day is it anyway?”
She giggled. “You’ve been in your studio, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and I’ve no idea what day it is or even what time it is.” He gasped and pretended to be horrified. “You’re not up at midnight past your bedtime, are you?”
Maisie laughed and Sean felt his world right itself again. Or nearly so.
“It’s Monday, silly. And it’s almost five o’clock.”
“Then I will see you in a week just in time for dinner.”
“Perfect. Here’s Mommy.”
He heard the heels clicking as Charlotte moved away from their daughter.
“What are you going to do?”
“Bring her here to the island.”
There was silence for several heartbeats. And bless the angels that looked after fools like him for giving him an ex-wife who understood him better than he did himself.
“Sean, you didn’t bring me to the island until we were nearly engaged.”
“Charlotte, I have to get her away from the press, away from the hounds. Let things die down or until the next scandal comes along to take their focus. Let her know my world.”
“You sure about this?”
“I can’t stay down here and ignore the fact that she’s in this position because of me. I have to protect her.”
His ex-wife was quiet another moment. “When you stop in New York to refuel to get to London, I’ll have some things for her.”
/>
“What?”
“For heaven’s sake, Sean, it’s late November. I doubt if she has anything for a Caribbean island.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted.
“I know,” she sighed. “I know. Have Pete call when he has his flight plan, and I’ll meet you at Teterboro.”
“Won’t you need her sizes and such?” he frowned.
Her laughter trilled, slightly mocking him. “Sean, her pictures have been all over. I can figure out her size. Trust me.”
“Yeah, right,” he muttered. Duh. Supermodel and fashion designer. Charlotte could probably figure Jessica’s measurements within an eighth of an inch. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, go arrange things to take care of her.”
Chapter Five
Hearing the horns outside, Jessica lifted her head from the arm of the couch. There was shouting, obscenities. It was enough of a change that curiosity got the better of her. Moving slowly, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Glancing down at herself, she wrinkled her nose. She was wearing the over-size tee and sweats she’d put on… She couldn’t remember how long it had been. She ran a hand over her hair and winced at the oil she felt. At least three days. She felt light-headed and knew she needed to eat. But the noise outside increased and there was pounding. Crossing the small room by holding onto the furniture, she peered through the curtain to look.
The mob of reporters was still there, but the two dozen or so had been forced to part for a black SUV that was followed by a luxury sedan and another similar SUV. All the windows of the vehicles were dark-tinted and she frowned, wondering who it was. Worried, she searched the crowd but didn’t see the face she feared.
Powerfully built men in black suits poured out of the SUVs and formed a line from the passenger door of the sedan to her building’s door. Bewildered she watched as the dozen men searched the area, glancing up and then all turned their heads toward the door. The man nearest reached for the handle.
“Bloody hell,” she breathed.
Clad in a long grey overcoat, Sean Livingston, face stern almost grim, appeared from the back seat. Without looking at the frenzied paps, he strode between the men right up to the door. The landlord opened it. Jessica stared as Sean disappeared inside.