Her eyes flew open and she saw Phillip grinning at her. Indicating he’d scared her, she patted her chest, then mimed fanning her face. With sparkling eyes, Phillip pulled her pelvis to his and preformed a dirty dance move. No big deal, Birdie went with it. Phillip would only get covered with her sweat if he pulled her too close. When she stumbled after not following his lead, she laughed and tried to get into the dance again. No, Phillip wasn’t Ozzie when it came to dancing. There was a man whose lead she could easily follow. A handful of other men she’d met as Drew’s friends joined the ladies on the dance floor, and for several songs they gyrated around, no one dancing with anyone in particular. She danced by herself, and she danced with all of them, men and women alike. Other than making love to Ozzie, it was the freest she’d felt since arriving in England. No stuffy rules. No grandmother clucking over her manners, or dress. Just pulsing music, writhing bodies, and fun.
And loneliness. She didn’t really know these people. They were nice to her, well, nice enough to insult her as they insulted each other, but there was still a reserved air about them. Was that because they still weren’t sure of her or was it merely a byproduct of their upbringing; she didn’t know. Only time would tell. Intellectually she knew that. But her heart longed for the deeper friendships she’d known growing up.
No, that wasn’t quite right, either.
She longed for how Ozzie had made her feel on Monday afternoon. The connection she’d felt in her soul looking into his eyes as his body entered hers. Suddenly the club held no appeal for her. Smiling and waving, she made her way back to the table where she found Anne sitting and watching something on a phone. Birdie sat beside her and Anne let out a cheer.
“Way to go, Attenborough!”
“What? Did Ozzie do something?” Birdie leaned forward to look over Anne’s shoulder.
“Ozzie, eh?” Anne’s smile was mischievous as she glanced over her shoulder. “Now that it’s done, I suppose you can watch this. It’s where the guys were earlier.” She fiddled with the phone, then handed it to Birdie.
At first she couldn’t quite make out what was happening. Some sort of sporting event judging by the crowd. In the middle was a…cage. An octagonal cage. Her heart stuttered.
Fortunately the video taker zoomed in then, and Birdie could make out two men bouncing on opposite sides of the cage. The camera zoomed in on the profiles. Calvin Whetmore in loose red shorts. The video panned to the left and she gasped. That was Ozzie! Wearing black shorts with a tighter fit than Calvin’s. No mistaking those lean muscles and ripped abs. Definitely an Ozimander moment. Seriously hot.
“What is this?” she shouted at Anne, her gaze glued to the screen.
“Cage fight between Oswald and Calvin. Oswald challenged him for putting the roofies in your wine on Sunday. Serves the arsewipe right.” There was no mistaking the glee in Anne’s attitude.
While Anne talked, the two men met in the middle of the cage. Birdie’s heart beat so fast she wasn’t sure she’d avoid fainting. Was this why he’d put her off all week? Anger drove her heartbeat up another notch.
“Hey,” Anne said and put a hand on Birdie’s arm. “You all right?”
Still fixed on the screen, Birdie shook her head, scowling at the tiny screen. “Why?” she demanded.
Anne wrestled the phone from Birdie’s grip as the first series of strikes flew. “Now I know why Ozzie didn’t want you to know.” She punched the screen and the video disappeared. “Bugger. Now I’m in for it,” she muttered.
“Anne. Explain.” Birdie clamped a hand around her friend’s wrist. “What happened tonight?”
Anne sighed and shot a desperate look at her brother still on the dance floor. “There was a cage fight tonight. Oswald set it up Sunday while you were sleeping off the roofies. Of course Calvin never confessed, but he has a history and he accepted Oz’s challenge. That right there was as close to an admission of guilt as we’ll ever get.”
Large hands settled on Birdie’s shoulders, and she flinched before she realized it was Phillip.
“What’s going on, Anne?” he demanded.
“I screwed up, okay?” she responded. “I couldn’t wait to watch the vid, and then Courtney shows up and sees it over my shoulder. Since she’d seen that much, I figured what the hell, and started it for her. Only apparently she doesn’t like fighting and nearly passed out.”
Phillip’s hand flexed on Birdie’s shoulders while her head swam. “I didn’t almost pass out. I’m pissed off. Now show me,” she managed to spit out the words. “Show me the video.”
Phillip took the phone from his sister. “No. Oz didn’t want you to know about it at all, much less see it. It’s my arse he’s going to kick from here to Beijing.”
Birdie held out her hand in demand. “I want to see it.”
“No,” Phillip said. “All you need to know is Oswald wiped the floor with Cal. You don’t have to worry about him ever again. Word is out that he’s a rapist and he’ll be shunned. Oswald, of course, is your knight in shining armor, and you won’t find any of our crowd willing to cross him by asking you out.” The crooked smile on his face said he was one who’d keep his distance. “Well, unless you need an escort and he can’t make it.”
Birdie narrowed her eyes, something Phillip should have seen as a danger signal. “Are you saying he’s claimed me?”
Oblivious, Phillip grinned. “Exactly. God, it’s so great when women get it.”
With a snarl, Birdie lifted her glass, nearly full of the rum and lime drink, and tipped it back, swallowing it down, before slamming the empty glass back on the table. “Like hell he’s claimed me.” She grabbed the nearest full shot glass and drank that down in one swallow and slammed that glass on the table. Ugh, tequila. There was one more on the table and she grabbed it too. “I have something to say to him about that.”
Now Phillip and Anne looked a little nervous. “Um, Courtney, Birdie, what’s wrong?” Phillip asked.
“Never you mind, mister.” Birdie stood tall, threw her hair over her shoulders, and shoved past the Neanderthal blocking her way. The stupid man actually reached out and grabbed her arm. It was most satisfying to see him step back at her glare.
“Where I’m going is none of your business, Phillip.” She yanked her arm from his hold and started pushing through the crowd blocking her way to the front door. So what if her steps were a little wobbly? All that dancing, on those stupid shoes, it was enough to wear out anyone’s legs.
“Birdie,” Phillip pleaded, using the nickname he’d heard Drew using.
“My name is Courtney,” she shouted over her shoulder, then stopped and glared at him. “Remember that or I’ll start calling you something like dipshit.”
Hands up, he didn’t step back this time. “Sorry. Courtney. You came with Anne. There’s a law that says you leave with who brought you.”
Imagine that, he managed to deliver that line dry as dust, totally deadpan. “I’m taking a cab.” Mid-spin she grabbed the side of a booth to steady herself.
“Where are you going?” he pressed.
“I’m going to Ozibutt’s. I’m going to give that man a piece of my mind; then I’m going to kick his ass into next week.” After that, she’d probably pin him to a bed and do him silly, until neither of them could walk.
“Um, that might not be a good idea…” Phillip’s voice sounded pained.
“Not your problem.” She continued her march toward the door, Phillip hard on her heels.
“How are you getting there? Do you even remember where it is?” The man was like a damn leech.
“A cab driver can figure it out.”
“It’s clear on the other side of the city. A cab will cost a fortune, and I know you girls never bring enough cash. Let me drive you.”
“How much?” she asked, mentally calculating how much cash she had left. No, she’d have to give some of it up for her share of the drinks. What would cover that? Thirty? Forty pounds? Damn
, that would mostly kill the hundred she’d tucked into her purse. Pushing her hair back she took a moment to steady herself. Damn these stupid shoes. She was throwing them out the minute she got home. After digging in her purse, she counted out the money, then handed the bills to Phillip. “Give that to Anne. For my drinks.”
Phillip turned and handed the money to his sister. “Take this.”
“It’s too much,” Anne protested.
“Put it toward next time,” Phillip told her. He took Birdie’s arm. “I’ll drive you over there, but don’t yell at me if he won’t let you in, right?”
Oh Ozzie would let her in. Even if it meant taking an axe to his door.
Chapter 25
Oswald rolled his neck and adjusted the ice pack on the knuckles of his right hand. Why was it always the right hand? Just once he’d like to place a left jab just right and knock his opponent out. Just one clean hit, over and done. Of course Whetmore’s head was a little too hard for something so simple.
Not that the fight had taken very long. It was almost a shame all those spectators only getting a five minute show. Which was why Jameson had lined up six other fights before his against Whetmore.
Still, as short as it had been, it had been incredibly satisfying to take the bastard down. Hard. First he’d played the guy. Let him get in a jab or two. A block. And just as he’d gotten cocky, Oswald knocked him clean out. TKO.
Whetmore was probably still trying to figure out what his own name was, much less which decade they were in.
The best part was the investigator Oswald had put on Whetmore had turned up photographic evidence of the arsewipe putting drugs in a girl’s drink. The young woman was extremely grateful when the PI had told her not to drink it. Her boyfriend had required restraining by the club’s bouncers when he’d been told what had happened.
As a result, Whetmore’s name was ruined. A couple of the tabloids had been given the story complete with photos. So much for his ancient and proud family line. He’d have to take himself into exile before the crown got wind of it. Which meant he’d have to be on a plane to anywhere sometime tonight. The sooner the better to Oswald’s mind.
The investigation had also turned up dozens of accusations that his father’s money and influence had managed to get swept under the rug. Public knowledge of that little fact was going to be more than a bit embarrassing for the family.
The victory would be even sweeter if he could somehow tie Deirdre into Whetmore’s sick schemes.
Oswald lifted the cut crystal glass filled with whisky to his lips, contemplating his next move. Turn on the telly or haul his slightly battered self up to the whirlpool? It meant climbing two flights, which he’d have to do eventually to get to bed, anyway. While contemplating, he savored the smooth burn as the whisky flowed down his throat and into his stomach. The smoky flavor lingered pleasantly in his mouth. Water of the gods indeed.
As his last taut muscle relaxed, his doorbell began pealing. Like someone was holding the button down. What the bloody hell?
He pushed onto his feet only slightly, babying his sore ribs where the bastard had gotten one good kick in. That was going to hurt for a few weeks. His own fault for toying with Whetmore when he should have gone straight to the beating.
Not in the mood for whoever had the misfortune to choose his door to pound on, he had to remind himself to not throw a punch first and ask questions later. Probably a pissed friend of one of his neighbors. Just one issue he had with the nearly identical terrace houses. Sometimes the numbers were hard to see in the dark, and he wasn’t known for leaving the front light on.
Just for the hell of it, he flipped the light on before throwing the locks and jerking the door open.
To his surprise Courtney fell into his arms. A nearly naked and drunk Courtney. He could smell the alcohol wafting off her as she pushed against him trying to find her balance on a precarious perch of platform stiletto heels. At the end of the covered portion of the walk, Hammond stood looking wary.
“She insisted,” Hammond said. “I tried driving past her building, and she practically caused an accident by grabbing the wheel.”
“Ozzie, you stinking rotten misogynistic rat fink!” Clutching his arm for balance, she used her spare hand to poke him in the chest. After a few pokes, the hand flattened over his heart, then began petting him. “Oh, damn, you look hot,” she muttered. “Why do you always look so hot?” She stared up at him blearily, mascara and smoky shadow smudged around her eyes, her lipstick half chewed off. Around her shoulders, hanging down to the middle of her back, her golden hair looked as wild as if she’d been in a windstorm. Probably created by her own mouth, he’d wager.
“Where the hell was she?” he snapped at Hammond.
“Out with Anne. Karma Temple. Dancing. Stopped at the pub across the street beforehand and met Wanda and Matt.”
Oswald rolled his eyes and pulled Courtney up against his chest. He told himself it was to give her more stability on those ridiculously sexy shoes. Not that it felt good to hold her. Not at all.
“What is she going on about, anyway?” He couldn’t make out a word she said buried face first against his shoulder.
Whatever Courtney was muttering didn’t sound exactly complimentary to him.
“She saw part of the video. Anne was watching it.” Hammond shrugged. “Didn’t tell her until she nearly passed out after only watching the first round of punches.”
Oswald looked down to see her glaring up at him with bloodshot eyes while one arm gripped his waist, fortunately not on the side of his sore ribs, and the hand on the other patted his chest. In a demented way, it was actually kind of cute.
“I’m mad at you, Ozimantis,” she said. “No, don’t you dare smile at me, dammit. You’re not going to get around me with your wicked sexy smile. You aren’t. You went and scheduled a big ass deal fight without telling me, you rotten fink, fighter-insect.” At least that’s what he thought she said. It was a little hard to tell through the slightly slurred words with her American accent and some off the wall mix-up of his name with a video game character.
“What happened to Ozichu? That’s my favorite.”
“Anyhow,” Hammond said, shifting on his feet, “I got her here. She’s your problem now.”
“That’s right, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor,” Courtney added while patting his chest.
On the one hand she was giving him hell, but her actions were more telling. Especially since the hand on his waist slipped downward to grope his arse. All while she snuggled up closer to his chest. At least she wasn’t gripping his sore side. Yet.
“I’m your problem and you’re my problem.” She emphasized each statement with a pat over his heart. “And you, I have a big problem with you going around defending my honor behind my back.”
“And you’re making absolutely no sense at all.” He pulled her tight and dragged her deep enough into the hallway he could close the door, but first, he had more to say to the other man witnessing this scene. “You’re a first class idiotic git, Hammond. I’ll talk to you later about what it means to keep things just between the men and to not involve the women.”
Hammond gave him a cheeky salute and turned away.
Sighing, Oswald shut and locked the door, then stood there looking at the top of her head. Good God. He was going to have to carry her up the stairs. Like that would help his ribs.
“Now I’ve told you what I think,” she said, “it’s time for me to kick your ass.”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed.
“Don’t you smile at me, or laugh at me, neither.” She probably meant to shout, but her voice lacked the power.
“I was just headed up to the whirlpool. Why don’t we discuss this there, hmmm?”
Courtney cocked her head to the side. “Like a Jacuzzi?”
“Big enough for two.” He nodded when she smiled. “Think you can walk up the stairs?”
“Of course. But first, the shoes
come off.”
“Allow me.” He lifted her thigh even with his waist, then trailed his hand down her smooth calf until he reached her shoe. He gripped it and tugged it off her foot. A flip of his wrist sent it flying into the parlor. All done without taking his gaze off hers. Courtney’s mouth dropped open in a sweet little O, her blue eyes wide as saucers.
It was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced, and despite his aches, he hardened against the notch of her body fitted exactly right against his.
He let her leg down slowly before shifting her to his other arm and reaching for her other leg. The height difference without the one shoe was dramatic enough he lifted her onto the first step of the stairs. In tune with him, she lifted her thigh into his hand. Moving even slower, he repeated his moves until he tugged the second shoe off and tossed it after the first one. Not once did they break eye contact. Both of them were breathing as hard as if they’d run a race by the time he pulled her body even tighter against his.
Damn, he had to kiss her now.
Courtney met him halfway, their mouths meeting, already open and hungry to devour one another. The hand holding her thigh moved to her perfectly rounded ass, slipping under the tight, stretchy material of the thing she probably called a dress. More like a rubber band the way it molded to her body. Despite the booze, he was still able to breathe in her lemony fragrance as his tongue plundered her mouth. She tasted of rum and lime, and surprisingly it mixed well with the whisky still coating his mouth.
Courtney moaned and slid her arms up his body and around his neck. He wanted more, but dammed if he’d take her on the stairs. It took little effort to urge both her legs up and around his waist. The eroticism was so drugging, he barely noticed the discomfort to his ribs as he firmly held both cheeks of her bottom and hefted her closer. From there it was a matter of counting steps to reach the first floor. There was a guest bedroom there, along with his home office, but he wanted her in his bed. That meant one more flight. Dammit, there were advantages to flats. For one, they were usually flat, as in one floor.
Her Improper Affair Page 25