Mick shook his head. “And they’re cheering?”
Bruno placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Mick, mon ami, you must understand. The French do well in three areas above all others.” He ticked them off on his fingers, “Le sexe. L’art dramatique. La déception.”
Even with his severely limited French, Mick understood what Bruno had just said. The French excelled at sex, drama and deceit.
Chapter Nine
Mick didn’t know about the sex bit, but Bruno was right about the drama and deceit parts. The French starting lineup not only played their parts to a T, but they also made a big show of asking Mick over and over again how he was enjoying France, as if they hadn’t met him many times before on the opposing sides at stadiums all over the world.
Magically all women were turned away at the VIP lounge’s velvet rope unless they were married to or dating a member of the team. The girlfriends and wives who did get through were quickly cornered by Bruno and obviously given the drill because when they came over to Mick and Kayla, sitting together on one of the cushioned settee benches, they introduced themselves and acted as if they had no idea who he was. The team also managed a feat he’d never seen performed by a group of soccer players in his life, which was not talking shop. Or at least not talking shop to him. But for all he knew that was all they were talking to each other about in French and various other languages. After a while, Bruno sat down on the other side of Kayla and peppered her with questions about her trip and prize.
“Mine isn’t nearly as nice as Mick’s,” she shouted over the loud electronic music blasting from all the speakers. “I mean, they flew me first-class from California, but my hotel is basically a small box compared to his, and no extras, just the hotel and flight. That’s it. Nothing like this.”
“Oui, Mick’s package is very generous,” Bruno agreed. “We will be taking him to breakfast tomorrow morning and then he will sit in on one of our morning practices. But after I believe there is—how do you say—a shopping spree, at Je T’aime Tourdin, a very nice boutique in the Golden Triangle. My female friends all love it, and of course, Mick will take you.”
Kayla quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—”
“’Course you could,” Mick said, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “I’m not one for the fancy stuff meself. You want me to just leave all those shopping spree euros unclaimed?”
He could see Kayla’s practical mind weighing his argument.
“I guess not. And I was planning on getting a few new outfits for work when I got back home…”
“Oui! Oui!” Bruno said approvingly. “Dress for success as they say.”
“Okay,” Kayla said, smiling at Mick shyly. “As long as it’s part of the package and not costing you any money.”
Mick smiled back, not caring a bit how much money this shop Bruno had suggested would cost him.
“I’ve got to go the bathroom,” she said.
“Yeah, sure.” He stood up with her and watched her go, appreciating the view from behind as she left.
Almost as soon as she left, Bruno and the rest of the French team gathered around Mick, congratulating themselves on their acting and wondering if they shouldn’t have their own reality show. Mick laughed along with them, relieved that they’d been able to pull it off as promised. He was taken aback by the easy camaraderie he felt with them.
Bristol United actually had movies made about their particularly violent fan base, and the team tended to court young hotheads like himself—real aggro players who could barely stand to be in a room with themselves, much less with each other. But the Paris L’élite footballers were a great time. They were easy to talk to, warm and able to have fun without busting heads.
Which was why it took him so long to realize Kayla had yet to return from the toilet. About twenty minutes after she’d left, he went looking for her. There was a line outside the one-stall women’s toilet, and the overly made-up brunette who emerged definitely wasn’t Kayla. She had shown up to the club in a button-up yellow baby doll dress, which she apologized for, and a pair of orange Teva sandals, which she’d apologized for even more profusely.
“They were the only things close I could find in my suitcase,” she’d said, eyeing the other women in VIP, most of whom were wearing designer gear. “I didn’t have your number, and I didn’t want to keep the car waiting, so I figured I better…”
“You look great, baby,” he had told her. “Truth is, I’m just happy to see you outside a Suns jersey.”
Now he asked the line of women dressed mostly in fashionable black if they’d seen a black woman in a yellow dress.
One of the women pointed to the door at the end of the hallway. Then she asked him something in French that ended with “Mick Attwater.” He didn’t understand what she said, but it was easy to figure out from the way the other women in line turned and stared.
“Sorry, I don’t speak French,” he mumbled and made his way to the door at the end of the hallway before anyone could follow up in English.
The door let him out into an alley at the back of the club. And, sure enough, he found Kayla there, leaned up against the wall, head bent over her phone. From the intent way she was looking down, it was obvious that whatever she was reading had her full attention.
He thought of the ex-boyfriend who’d cheated on her. The wanker who’d let her get away. He’d himself had never pursued a girl again after breaking up with her, but there was one bloke on his team who’d begged his wife to take him back seven times after getting caught with various other women. He didn’t know who was more stupid, his teammate for cheating or the wife for continuing to take him back.
He approached Kayla angrily. Had he misjudged her? Was she like his mother, always willing to stay on, no matter what kind of abuse his dad ladled on her?
“Kayla,” he called out to her.
She looked up at him with such a guilty expression, he knew what he’d suspected was true. Jealousy reared up like a monster inside his chest, and his next words fell out of his mouth like sharp knives. “You came here to be with me, but you’re on the phone with somebody else. Who is it?” Then he guessed, “Marcus?” He hated how much he sounded like his father.
His parents had barely been able to go out to the local without coming home in a screaming argument about some bloke his father insisted his mother had been flirting with. But Mick couldn’t help himself. He had to know. “He’s been texting you this whole time? And you’re texting him back while I’ve been all over the club searching for you like some trained dog?”
Now her expression went from guilty to appalled. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how much international phone plans cost? Even if Marcus was texting me, they wouldn’t get through and I definitely wouldn’t be able to text him back without severe charges.”
Her words took most of the wind out of his sails. “Then why’d you look like you’d been caught just now?” he demanded, still feeling defensive but also foolish.
“Because I was kind of with somebody else,” she answered. She turned the phone toward him, and he saw what looked like an ebook pulled up on it. “Joseph and Mira. He’s a one-hundred-year-old werewolf. And she’s a human that needs math tutoring—they’re both in college together because he likes to get a new degree every couple decades or so. He doesn’t like humans, hates them for killing his kind, but he can’t resist her. However, he has no idea that her dad is a werewolf slayer, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep them apart.” She stopped with a self-conscious roll of her eyes. “So yeah, anyway, I was over here reading a new adult novel when I was supposed to be hanging out with you in VIP. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head and leaned his shoulder against the wall, the jealous monster letting him go. “If you were bored, why didn’t you tell me? We got a car waiting for us outside. Could have said goodbye, n
o worries.”
“Clubbing isn’t exactly my thing and I can only hang out in the VIP section for so long, yelling at the top of my lungs to be heard, before I need a break. But you looked like you were having a good time with those guys, so I came out here to get a breather.”
“I’d rather spend time with you.”
She nodded. “Because we only have one more night together?”
He shook his head and cupped her face. “No, because I’d rather spend time with you. No matter what.”
She decisively put her phone back in her purse. “I’d rather spend time with you, too,” she told him.
He took her hand and walked them through the alley toward the side of the club where he was told their driver would be parked.
“Hey!” she said as they emerged from the alley. “There’s the other Arc de Triomphe!” She pointed to the iconic stone landmark, sitting at the west end of the Champs-Élysées and illuminated from all sides by the lights of Paris. “I saw the other one when I went to the Louvre this afternoon, but it was smaller and it had statues on top of it. Three angels and four horses. Pretty neat, especially when you consider it was built back in the early-nineteenth century to commemorate the Napoleonic war victories. You’d never find anything like that in Los Angeles. If something was built in the thirties, we consider that really old. You’d have to go to the East Coast to see any big structures from the 1800s, and even then, most of isn’t nearly as majestic as either of Arcs.”
They arrived at the car, and he waved the driver off before opening the door to the limo for Kayla himself. He could see the Seine in the distance as he got in on the other side of the car, and he wished he could walk her home along it. The hotel was only a couple of miles away and he knew she would enjoy seeing the river all lit up at night, just as he knew he would enjoy watching her take in the romantic sight.
He also knew that he’d never be able to do something like that—not without putting on a disguise first. At home he kept a collection of hats and sunglasses in the back of his car, just in case he wanted to go some place without being recognized. But half the time even disguises didn’t work—probably because he drove a vintage Alfa Romeo, a 33 Stradale that would net at least a million pounds at auction now that he’d fixed it up. Either way, he really hadn’t expected to do much more than visit the Paris L’élite football club and hang out in his hotel room, so he didn’t have what he’d need to attempt such an impromptu act.
He closed the door on the view of the Seine and turned to Kayla. “Tell me more about your day. How’d you like the Louvre?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Seriously, you want to hear about my trip to the Louvre? I mean, you’ve been to France before so you’ve probably already been there, right?”
“Nope. Never been,” he answered. He didn’t add that being an easily recognized football player made going to places with tons of tourists impossible if he didn’t want to get mobbed. The only landmarks he had seen anywhere outside of England had been visited at odd hours in the morning and had come with advert and/or photo-op obligations attached.
“Well, the lines to view certain exhibits are super long, especially for the Mona Lisa. But seeing all the paintings is worth it. I don’t know much about art myself, but I mean, while looking at the Mona Lisa, it feels so alive…like it’s a living, breathing thing. it made me realize how much power these paintings carry inside of them. Those artists are fortunate because when they die they’ve left piece a of themselves behind. Their hearts and souls are displayed all over the Louvre.”
He nodded, loving the sound of her voice. Loving how she made going to the Louvre sound like more than just another tourist experience. Loving that she’d rather have a quiet conversation with him than enjoy one of the best VIP sections in France, loving…
He didn’t let himself think it. But in the back of his secret heart, there came a whisper. Loving her.
Chapter Ten
Mick really did seem interested in what she had to say about her day, which Kayla had thought was pretty boring in comparison to his own. But in the back of the limo with his arm draped around her shoulders, he’d listened to her talk intently to the point that something occurred to her. “Maybe we could go to the Eiffel Tower after the shopping spree tomorrow.”
His arm stiffened and he shifted in his seat before saying, “Don’t think so.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling crestfallen. She’d liked the idea of going somewhere romantic with him, but romantic tourist attractions probably weren’t his thing. “You don’t want to go.”
“No, I’d love to go there with you, but…” He shook his head, and he seemed like he was making a hard decision before he said, “Yeah, actually that’s it. Eiffel Tower’s not my bag. Plus I’ve already been, y’know.”
“Sure,” she said. “I understand.” Though, she didn’t completely. Refusing to go to the Eiffel Tower seemed more of a Marcus move than the man she’d come to know over the past two days.
“Now you think I’m a wanker like your ex,” he said, as if reading her mind.
“No, I just…” She shook her head.
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
“It’s stupid. I mean we only have one more night together after this. Why ruin it with real relationship expectations?”
“All right, then, if we were in one of those real relationships, if we were all about the communicating aspect of things, what would you be saying to me now?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged, but her words came out with more passion than she realized she had on this particular subject. “Relationships are give and take. It can’t be one person doing all the taking and the other person doing all the giving. If you want me to come out and do the things you want to do, you should be willing to do the things I want to do, too.”
“Was that how it was between you and Marcus the Wanker, then? He’d have you come meet him at some club, and you’d be bored to death, reading ’bout your new adult vampires and whatnot on your phone, while he arsed about with his American football mates and all that.”
“Werewolves,” she corrected. But other than that he pretty much had it right.
“Hey,” he said, squeezing her to his side. “I ain’t him, all right.”
“I know,” she said, laying her head against his shoulder. “I know that. And it’s unfair of me to bring baggage from my old relationship into this…whatever it is. I’m sorry.”
“Nope, you were right—I was being a right wanker. Thanks for calling me out on it. I appreciate you coming out tonight, especially considering that you were at a good part in your book and all that.”
She laughed.
“I’m going to make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Ain’t a question of have to. I want to. Understand?”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I understand and I’m grateful because you seriously don’t have to. I’m over it.”
“Hey, I’m over it, too. Another argument, and it’s sorted like that. No yelling or beer bottles thrown. Knew there was a reason I liked you.”
She suppressed her laughter. “I like you, too,” she said.
Then his mouth was on her lobe warm and wet as he whispered in her ear, “Really, really like you.” His hand moved down to underneath her skirt, then slipped under and caressed her sensitive inner thigh.
Her breath caught. “I really, really like you, too,” she said. “But we can’t. Not with the driver right there.”
His hand got even closer to her womanhood, so close she could feel the outside of his index finger against the seat of her panties. “Right there behind a tinted partition. If we’re quiet, he never has to know,” he said, his voice low in her ear. “Let me see if I can make you come before we get back to the hotel.”
Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of getting caught doing something as hedonistic as having sex with someone in the back of a limo. She should have pushed his hand away and told him to stop.
But she didn’t.
Instead she melted into him as she turned toward his seeking mouth. She loved the feel of his arm wrapped tight around the back of her neck, keeping her there, wanting her there, as his tongue delved in and out of her mouth.
She felt his hand move her panties aside, and his fingers began to do the same.
He pulled his lips away from hers to say, “If we’re going to get this done before the hotel, I’m going to need you to get nice and wet. Can you do that for me?”
The stakes he presented excited her as much as the hooked fingers he was slowly pushing and pulling in and out of her. She could feel herself becoming wetter in answer to his question. She could also feel his erection, now hard and unforgiving against the side of her thigh.
“That’s right, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “Get hot for me. Make this next part one-two-three-four.”
She was too turned on to ask what he meant by one-two-three-four. But she soon found out.
He removed his fingers from her, somehow unzipped his pants with one hand and took himself out. The hood of hard length was red and already dripping with pre-cum. “One,” he said.
He easily lifted her onto his lap. “Two.”
And just as easily slipped inside of her slick folds from behind, all the way to the hilt. “Three.”
He then slapped his right hand over her mouth when she cried out with the pleasure of being entered so thoroughly. “Four.”
He was so big inside of her but, oh, so right. She found herself whimpering against his hand as he started moving in and out of her in his seated position.
“Shh, baby,” he said in her ear. “I know it feels good, but if you’re too loud, we’ll get caught.”
She didn’t want to get caught. She bit back on her whimpers, concentrating instead on her breathing and how it felt to have his thick length sliding in and out of her. He laid her back against him now and she felt like a doll, barely doing any work but receiving so much pleasure.
Dim the Lights: Islands of DesireLiquid ChocolateHer Wild and Sexy Nights Page 22