The Tempest

by Brit Constantine

  “About Lenic,” she begins, “don’t give up on the first hurdle. Go and ask him out.”

  “Del, you’re French. If you ask a guy out — you’re seducing him. If I ask a guy out — I’m being desperate.”

  “No, that is simply not true. You are the sexiest girl I know. Guys are always pushing past me just to get to you.”

  I shake my head, and smile at her. “If Lenic wants me, he can come and get me. If I chase a man like Lenic, I will be chasing him forever, and chasing off all the other contestants. I don’t chase the wolf dressed in wolf clothing. I drip maple syrup all over my beautiful behind and wiggle it at the sexy bastard.”

  “At least you’ve met someone who gives you butterflies in the tummy. I hope I get to have my own Lenic Reevus one day. But who could it be?”

  My phone signals with a message. “West,” I say, at the same time she says, “Jack,” spotting him outside on the Square.

  I’ve always dreamed about West marrying Delphine. But I’m not so sure, anymore. Team Cross or Team West for Delphine?

  “As for you … everything will sort it self out. I promise,” Delphine says firmly, after a moment, like she has inside information, looking through the window towards Cross. She stands up, grabs her bag.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “I’ve just got to go and run an errand.”

  I instruct her to buy more wine from the local shop as she exits the house. Spying out of the window, I watch Delphine walk up to Cross. They talk for a pretty long time, glancing over at my house every so often.

  My best friend is scheming something.

  And I have a gut feeling I should be very worried.

  11

  “I WON’T BE ONCE BITTEN, TWICE LENICKED.”

  FELICITY

  “READY?” CROSS ASKS.

  Delphine suddenly had the case of flu this morning and she begged me to go to the WBC party in her stead, claiming it wouldn’t be fair on her date to be stood up at such an important event. With a little persuasion from Cross, I agreed to attend.

  I take a moment, wiping the palms of my hands on my long bodycon white backless dress. It’s been six days since I last saw Lenic, and I’m nervous to see him again. I remind myself when life gives you lemons — you grab the salt and Tequila, and then you party.

  “Sure,” I tell Cross, smiling. Escorted inside, I feel more than a little out of place given that most of the guests here are familiar with one another.

  I didn’t expect the heat, or the ear-splitting music. I also didn’t realise how packed it would be as the five hundred or so VIPs from the world of sport and showbiz all converge as the first rounds of fights begin. The atmosphere in the private arena, owned by one of WBC’s partners, is one of excitement, the tension rolling off everyone in waves. It means there is a guarantee of gore and blood and broken bones and teeth.

  The noise of the first-fight announcement and the countdown to the first bout over the PA system resonates in my ears as I glance around the grand high-ceiling amphitheatre. The crowd is full of the rich and powerful, and I recognise famous faces as I seek out West.

  "Looking for Lenic?" Cross asks smoothly.

  I blink. He is glancing at me in a very disturbing manner. “What are you up to?” I ask slowly.

  All of a sudden, I feel his hand rest at the small of my back. The material of my dress is very thin, and it feels like he is touching my skin.

  "Um … Cross?"

  I can’t deny that Jack Cross is undeniably attractive. Every time the guy walks past a group of girls, at least two or three of them look about ready to faint over his rugged good looks. But he has nothing on a certain dark-eyed pretty-boy ex-Royal Marine.

  Amusement flashes across Cross’ features. The same amusement I witnessed in Delphine’s, right before we said our goodbyes at my front door.

  “Sometimes you are so stupid, Cross, it is breathtaking. If you don't remove your hand,” I grit out through a tight smile, peering at the other guests milling around us, “I will make certain, that you, and your fiancée, will never make love again.” I glance around, keeping my forced smile on show and move forwards, just enough to break the unwanted touch.

  “Relax.” He smirks, as if he knows exactly what he has done and thinks it is hilarious. “Before you turn me into a one-handed widower, just remember — sometimes you need to bring the mountain to Ali. And this was Delphine’s idea, not mine.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sometimes Big Man needs a dog to guide him to the hot girl.”

  I tilt my head. “Are you a friend with my best interests at heart? Or an enemy that has dangerous motives?”

  “Just go with it.”

  “No—”

  “Felicity,” a rumbling voice calls from behind.

  Unprepared, I flinch at the sound of his looming presence and turn around, facing the imposing figure who towers over me, even in my five-inch heels. I feel all the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise, as I am faced with the broad width of Lenic’s shoulders that the well-tailored suit barely hides.

  My eyes narrow in loathing as I take in the man who was once my knight in shining armour, now a thorn in my damn side. At least, an outside observer would view it as loathing. But Lenic might know — might — if he can even remember the electricity that shot through us.

  The level of anger I sense coming from Lenic is palpable. His gaze lingers to where Cross’ hand once rested on my lower back, then snaps back up to glower at his manager.

  "Ah, Lenic, so nice of you to join us,” Cross says, seemingly amused at his subterfuge.

  “I’ll kill you,” Lenic spits, grinding his jaw. “You’re dead. You hear me? Dead.” Straight to the heavy artillery. No hello or how are you.

  “Come on, man. Where’s the sugar? I thought you were gonna stay glued to the back wall like you usually do at these events, Big Man." Cross calmly ignores Lenic’s clear show of temper with a half-arsed grin on his face. It’s like throwing a red flag in front of a riled bull.

  "Felicity, excuse me. Need to mingle with the other guests. I’ll find you later this evening. Since Lenic is never much help with these events, I trust he will at least take care of you for the time being." With that somewhat unsettling statement, Cross struts back into the throng of the room, smoothly charming his way through the crowd.

  "You're Cross’ date?" Lenic asks in a sharp tone.

  I grit my teeth. If Lenic bothered to ask me to come as his date, he’d have no reason to be jealous. For a second, there is a temptation to walk away and say screw it — screw him. We won’t achieve anything here. It won’t be an emotionally charged beautiful reunion. It will be angry and bitter. But it would be a cowardly move.

  I push the breath I’ve been holding out between pursed lips and force a smile on my face. I hold firm, glancing up casually, as if I haven’t been listening. “Hmm?”

  He clenches his jaw. “I said — you Cross’ date?”

  “Let me think … no one else invited me,” I reply, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “Someone sounds jealous. But that couldn’t be the case, right? I mean, that could never ‘happen again’.” I watch as his jaw ticks, and I guess he is figuring out just what to say to me. But I decide to relieve him of the chance. “So far, this conversation isn’t engaging my interest. In fact, I’d rather talk about what current bait you’re using for fishing.”

  My words are harsh. Mean. Only adding to my own amusement. Then I laugh. It sure isn’t a nice laugh. His eyebrows knit together. “Oh, there’s West by the bar. It was lovely to see you, as always. I hope you have a wonderful evening, Lenic.” He blocks my path to the bar. “You’re standing in front of me to … what? You want a dance or…? With the way these gentlemen are looking at me in this dress tonight, you might be waiting a very long time.”

  I don’t wait for him to react, turning on my heel. But when my heel clicks on the stone floor, he plants his hand on my arm and whirls me around. I’m ready to let him h
ave it with both barrels, but the expression facing me is hardly the mask of arrogance expected.

  “I didn’t want this,” he says, his voice underpinned with a faint vulnerability.

  He is staring into my eyes with this … this intensity that is all Lenic — that is danger and lust and the reason I just can’t get enough of him. The reason why my underwear is slightly damp now, when really I just want to shove him away — and OK, maybe let him finger me. But, oh god — he is so damn good at fingering.

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Things … are complicated.”

  “Really? Because for me, things are getting more and more simple.”

  “Felicity,” he snaps.

  I look up at him through fake eyelashes. “What is it that you want, Lenic?”

  “I want you.”

  “It’s good to be ambitious.”

  I could try and ignore Lenic, but after a split second of looking into those eyes, a flood of suppressed feelings surge under my skin, and even though my body, my eyes, and my mouth give jack shit away, my emotions are like an out-of-control rollercoaster.

  I feel the caustic anger that only Lenic can provoke in me. He has all the ammo. And he knows just how to use it. Then there is the desire, that need, that stupid want that comes with having messed around with someone in the most dirtiest imaginable ways, and seeing them in the flesh for the first time, after what seems like too damn long.

  And Lenic looks good, really good in a suit. And the sweat and the grime, and the dense smell of bodies and testosterone and raw masculinity, and everything about this situation and the atmosphere, brings that feeling of forbidden desire. But it isn’t the place or the time to share those feelings.

  I hear him sigh. “I was a dickhead.”

  I am so stunned by his apology that it takes me a few seconds to respond. “Yes. Yes you are a dickhead. I’m pleased you’re finally able to admit it. My condolences to you and your family.”

  He rakes a hand through the side of his head and grunts. “I meant, for the other night … I was trying to do the right thing by you.”

  “Then … why start something you can’t finish? I never expected anything from you…”

  I am not the kind of girl who needs coddling and special care. If I am hurt, really hurt, I’d make sure Lenic never feels it. My heart won’t shatter into a million tiny slivers, and my eyes won’t gush the damn Niagara Falls for him. That isn’t me. That’s never been me. Even so, I feel a slight crushing sensation beneath my chest, and I hate that my eyelashes flutter from hurt, giving a little of the hidden part of me away.

  “All I wanted was to please you.” The timbre of his voice is velvety, and it makes me lift my foot up an inch off the floor, curling my toe.

  I stifle a shiver. “And why is that?”

  “Felicity…” His voice drops lower in a you-should-know-better tone. “As if you need to ask.” His hand goes to the small of my back. Unlike with Cross, I melt into the fires of Hell, burning my flesh into it. He leans in so close, that I think he is going to kiss me in the middle of the arena, surrounded by everyone.

  I try to read his face, his body language, scrutinizing his sincerity. The warmth in his eyes looks genuine and it brings my smile back. I force down the girly, bouncy, happy feelings that begin to bubble towards the surface. Force it away immediately.

  “I am no one’s pet,” I mumble, shrugging very slightly, just to let him know I hardly even noticed or cared about getting the brush off, that it didn’t matter. “I'm not easy. You can’t click your fingers and I’ll come running back to the alleyway.” My voice is cold, disinterested.

  His lips twitch. “Good,” he says. “I only like it when it’s hard.” I can almost hear his laughter, rough and deep, and so damned sexy.

  A smile pinches at my lips. “Just the way I want it…” I bite my lip in a slow tease, my gaze drifting to his mouth. Feeling an ache between my thighs, I mentally shake myself. “But maybe it’s too late. Maybe, I have moved on.” I taste the lie on my own tongue. He is all I can think about. But why venture to make the path easy for him? “I won’t be once bitten, twice Lenicked.”

  “What?” he asks, his smouldering gaze turning into an inquisitive smile.

  I reach up and pretend to check the backing on one of my earrings, and send a sideways look towards a tall broad-shouldered guy with a heavy head, close-cropped hair, and a burnt-looking stubble of beard. His face is a death mask. He is the complete opposite of my type.

  I give him a wink, nevertheless.

  Lenic tugs at his collar and hisses, “Don’t, Felicity. Chekhov’s an arsehole who treats girls like shit. He fucks them then dumps them, like they’re something his boot stepped on. Bastard has a thing for teenage virgins — he’s a sicko. He doesn’t deserve a girl like you.” When Chekhov gives me a dirty smile, I twist my ring around my finger and purse my lips at the Russian fighter in a suggestive kiss. Lenic steps in front of me, blocking my view. He is like a wall.

  “Hmm. Piece of chain, and you’d be quite the guard dog.” That gets me a dark look.

  “I said I was a dick, now quit playing.”

  OK, this is just about all I can take. The tension of not seeing Lenic for a few days, and now we are finally face-to-face, and his damn sexy mouth, running off words with all his jealousy and testosterone, expecting me to just take it when he was the one to end something beautiful … something he cut ties with before it had a chance to survive ... it should piss me off, but all it does is make me want to kiss him.

  I know what a man like Lenic can do. I know it just as well as the world does. Alpha male types who assess threats to territory and shoot like a ball from a cannon. It’s rumoured he can take a tree down with the palm of his hand, and I’m starting to believe the legend. Six-feet-four of fury, he is like a human tempest as he aims an icy glare at Chekhov and growls.

  “See. This is what I love about being single.” Lenic’s head snaps back around to me. “Getting to know so many guys in one night. You never know who you’re going to hook up with at these exclusive high-profiled steamy-hot events.” He searches my expression, but I know he won't find even the smallest hint of indecision in my eyes. He glares at me, jaw set like stone.

  I turn to leave, but his hand wraps around my wrist like a vice, keeping me in place. He stays rooted to where he is, cold eyes watching Chekhov. It should simmer my blood, but my brain immediately sinks back to that same hand pinning me up against the brick wall, and those same fingers thrusting deliciously inside of me ... I know what those lethal bare hands can do.

  “Don’t,” he says, once more.

  “I’m flattered, really.” I try to extricate my hands from his grip. It is useless. And I hate that it is turning me on. I hate that I’m having dark and dirty fantasies of him tying me up.

  I look straight up at him. “Whenever I start to feel like an arsehole, just remind me I have you to compare myself to. Now let me go.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  He leans in closer, pressing the heat of his body against mine. “Because the thought of another man touching you like this…” I watch his chest rise and fall, and I admire his directness.

  “I thought you didn’t care—”

  “I do.” His voice is guttural, raw with emotion, and I feel my heart clench.

  We stare into each other’s eyes for one, long, emotionally charged moment. It seems like the world turns into water as though I am drowning, and everything isn’t clear anymore; everything I thought I knew is distorted. And I start to understand something unknown. Even with just this tiny display of his prowess, I wholly understand.

  I could tear him down.

  Eventually, he loosens his grip and I feel his hand lace with mine. He is holding my hand, again, smoothly fighting my reluctance. The peaceful gesture is so out of place in the violent world we are standing in now. But Lenic wants me on his arm all night, and somehow, for some stupid damn reason, I would do that
for him. Let him.

  I look up. “You like holding my hand.”

  “I like holding you.” He clears his throat.

  “I’ve never let a man hold my hand.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. You look beautiful tonight. You’ve done something different with your eyes. I like it. I like looking at them.”

  “Awww. What a beautiful kiss-arse.” He chuckles softly at my playful insult.

  “Be careful, Hazelnut. You keep looking more beautiful every time I see you — next time you come into my bedroom I'm locking the door and throwing away the key.” I try to ignore the heat rising on my cheeks. “Felicity, give me another chance. I won't ask again, I won't need to. This is it for us. I told you a man’s allowed to make one mistake in his lifetime. I already used mine up to push you away. Now all I wanna do is pull you into me. ” I look away from his eyes, because it’s too much, he is too much, and glance over to the match in the centre of the room. “I’ll fight every single man in this arena, rip them apart with my bare hands — whatever it takes.”

  “You’d do that? Just to have me?”

  “I’d go to Hell and back. I’ve missed you. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to forget. I trained. Sparred. I even tried drinking last night. I’ve never broken the rules, but I did. I had to. I had to stop myself from getting into my car and driving to your place. I had to stop myself from going up to your bedroom and taking you. I did everything I could … but I still missed you. It’s been Hell. Six days of Hell. Six days is all I can take without you.”

  What is it about this man that makes my heart pound in my chest like this? All poetic words and charm that I should hate, yet all I can do is stare at those lips, think about how they felt on my mouth, how they felt on my inner thighs, and I remember every electric touch … and it had never felt so good.