Easy

by Donna Alam

Her gaze clouds for a beat, her expression softening with regret. Perfect.

  ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘You’ve been rude to me every moment since I turned up at your door.’ Probably not the fairest of statements, since I’m not the person she thinks I am—considering I’ve been goading her pretty much the whole time.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to offend you.’

  ‘Then say sorry,’ I demand. Pressing my hand over her fingers, I slide them a little lower. My stomach muscles tighten, her fingers searing my skin through my shirt. ‘And say it like you mean it.’

  Her chin tipped up, and she looks at me properly for the first time since we’d arrived. Her eyes are dark and her mouth so perfect and lush, coloured like a summer plum. It strikes me that Sadie is the perfect name for her. In a world full of stick-thin Siennas, Sierras, and Skyes comes Sadie. The girl with the old-fashioned name and a vintage kind of authenticity. There’s a reason curves never go out of fashion in the real world. Sadie with the cupid bow’s kiss, fit for the silver screen.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she whispers, no longer looking at me, but rather watching her fingers as they twitch against my abs. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just . . . I feel nervous enough already, and now I’m confused and nervous.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘You make me nervous.’

  I don’t believe her, not fully. She wets her lips, which I could take for anxiety but for the way her nipples are visible between the folds of silk. She wants me. Maybe she doesn’t want to, but she does. Her body’s reaction to me makes her nervous. To test the theory, I slide her hand a fraction further, and—

  What the fuck.

  I’m pushed forward by a force behind me, stopping just short of jostling her. A solid hand lands on my shoulder, and I turn my head to be met by a vaguely familiar face.

  ‘Sorry, mate. Domino effect. I just—Will? Fuck me, it’s been an age!’

  ‘Julian.’

  He grabs my hand, shaking it profusely. ‘How long as it been?’ he asks, smiling widely. ‘What, three, maybe four years?’

  Julian is a consummate liar. The last time I saw him was a couple of weekends ago. At very close range, actually. We were both fucking the same girl, but from different ends.

  I admit that before that moment, I hadn’t seen him in quite some time. And that had suited me just fine. Julian and I used to move in the same circles a long time ago, in very particular kinds of circles. Ones full of parties with the narcotic kind of favours and multiple willing girls. And then he’s appeared at the place I now keep my extracurricular activities. It’s a particular kind of club.

  Hint: It’s not a cricket club.

  ‘It was at Rosa’s, I think. Shame the business went under,’ he says. ‘The best tortellini I’ve ever tasted. I’m so pleased you got the invite, man.’ And he does look pleased, genuinely so. So believable. So magnanimous. Such an accomplished liar. And a complete arsehole.

  As for the invite, who the fuck knows. I’m not a slave to my inbox—my work email is taxing enough. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he has no idea if he invited me or not, as his eyes slide over Sadie like a snake. I think that’s probably just my take on the situation because he’s very good at the wolf in sheep’s clothing thing.

  But as I glance at Sadie, I’m not so sure as my companion appears to have swallowed something unpleasantly painful. My attention flicks between the two. Yep, something is making her uncomfortable. While he looks . . . completely unaware. My mind attempts to work out how they could’ve met, but I can’t even remember what he does for a living. It’s not the kind of question you ask when you’re each on the opposite end of a girl.

  Long time, no see! Pass the lube, would you? How’s business been?

  ‘Truthfully, I felt a bit of an arse sending the email,’ Julian blethers on. ‘But Emma—you remember Emma?’ His sister. I do remember her, probably in more detail that he’d care to learn. ‘She’s moved into event management and insisted on throwing tonight together. What can you do, eh?’ he says with a good-humoured shrug.

  Sadie’s shoulders curve inwards, not that he seems to notice her entire posture crumpling. If I’m reading her right, he’s the reason she’s here tonight. And him? The dumb bastard doesn’t have a clue. Was it a drunk hook-up that he’s already forgotten? Nothing would surprise me with this fucker.

  ‘Julian, this is Sadie,’ I say, sliding my arm around her waist, silently shoring her up while also pulling her close. Multitasking, you might say.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Sadie. Let me tell you, you’ll have your hands full with this one,’ he adds jovially. Because that’s Julian’s M.O. The light-hearted, carefree bloke that everyone likes around. But nice boys finish last—everyone knows that. Including Julian. He uses the guise purely as a ruse or ploy. Because there’s nothing very nice about him, actually. Even his tastes in suiting is horrible.

  ‘Hello.’ Sadie’s voice wobbles, and for the world, she looks like she might cry. I hope she hasn’t shagged him because that would piss right on my cornflakes. Because I don’t care how lovely she is, she’s not crying on my shoulder tonight. ‘H-happy Birthday,’ she adds valiantly.

  ‘Thank you, Stella!’ Unless coke has rotted his brain, he really doesn’t know her. Stella, for fuck’s sake? ‘Listen, I better go and mingle. I’m getting the daggers from Ems.’ He throws a thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of his sister, assuming her glare in our direction is a sign for him. Red blonde hair and fiery, Emma’s and my parting was a little grim. Still, it was a good weekend, except for the bit when I woke in the small hours to find her bowed over my junk, Zippo lighter in hand.

  I’d manscaped. Apparently, my pubes weren’t long enough to stay alight.

  The gods were kind to me that night.

  As Emma glares in my direction, I raise my brows in greeting. She returns the look with a silent, though very obvious, get fucked.

  Ah, well. You can’t be friends with everyone.

  Chapter Six

  SADIE

  Stunned. Stupid. Gullible. Naïve. And just plain ridiculous . . . I’m all those things as well as a monumental idiot! I can’t believe I came all this way to be . . . fucking ignored!

  ‘You okay there?’ Will asks. He places his hands on my shoulders, dipping his knees to bring his gaze level with mine.

  ‘I’ve been better.’ So it’s a bit of an understatement because I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me, leaving me flat on my ass while everything around me is unchanged. I feel so growly. I should’ve tossed my drink in his face. Kicked him in the shin! Could he have amnesia? Schizophrenia?

  More likely is that he’s just a complete shit sack.

  I was so foolish to come here, foolish to think a chance encounter could lead to something real. Something tangible. True love. What a crock! Is there even such a thing?

  ‘What can I do to help?’

  He didn’t recognise me. The man who said he could’ve fallen in love with me didn’t. Even. Recognise. Me. And they say women are the fickle ones.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s anything you can do.’ My words sound acid and sharp, much like I feel myself.

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  My gaze glides over his shoulder, past him to the room and terrace beyond. Julian is out there chatting animatedly, waving a bottle of beer in one hand, the birthday boy the centre of his adoring crowd.

  I thought we had a connection. Turns out, we didn’t even have a dial tone.

  ‘You know,’ Will begins, ‘they say revenge is a dish best served cold. But I’ve always found the opposite.’

  ‘What?’

  I look up to see a smile that is wickedness personified.

  ‘Revenge,’ he says. ‘I’ve found it’s best served hot.’ His gaze roams over me with a look of such lust as his voice rumbles, ‘So hot.’

  His words hit me r
ight where they shouldn’t. But I couldn’t, could I?

  Then an image suddenly assails me; a snapshot of Will’s body sliding against mine moving in the rhythm of sex. Heat hits my body, though strangely, not in my face. I don’t feel embarrassed. I feel . . . turned on. Strange that there’s no shame in imagining myself sleeping with Will—paying for his services. Whatever form they may take.

  I close my eyes and will the sensations away, the heat in my gut turning to humiliation as they spring open when Julian’s laughter carries through the room.

  My emotions upend themselves again. From lust to rejection, super quick.

  ‘Rainy days. Unexpected gifts. Roses.’ Fists clenched, I keep my hands by my side as I try to refocus on the good rather than my shame. My foolishness.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Will’s question is part enquiry, part chuckle as his hands slide from my shoulders to my curled fists. The whole motion feels like a caress.

  ‘Rabbits. Gardenias, apple fritters, and ice cream,’ I mutter, trying not to look at him. ‘I’m . . . I’m contemplating something.’

  ‘You’re not due medication or anything, are you?’

  ‘Are you suggesting I’m mentally ill?’ I ask sharply, trying to take back my fists.

  ‘No judgment here. Even the ones who think they’re Julie Andrews need loving.’

  ‘You’re sure you’re in the right business?’ I make a show of looking left and right, my eyes wide, and my next words whispered for effect. ‘The Sound of Music? You sure you aren’t gay?’

  ‘Would you like me to prove it to you?’ he asks, amused. ‘Like I said, even the crazy need—’

  ‘And I’m sure you mean loving in the most euphemistic terms.’

  ‘Actually, I was going to say a good fuck, but we can pretend it’s love you need, if you like? But we both know better. A good revenge fuck,’ he says, looking over his shoulder to where Julian still stands. ‘As for Julie Andrews, despite what you might think of me, I didn’t spring from the depths of hell fully formed and this gorgeous. The Sound of Music happens to be one of my mother’s favourite films. I could even list you a few of my favourite things. Would you like to hear them?’ I shrug, appearing uninterested, which is the opposite of how I feel. ‘Maybe later I’ll just show you instead.’

  ‘How do you do that?’ I pull away, realising he’s somehow standing even closer to me. ‘How do you make everything sound . . . so sexual.’

  ‘It’s a gift,’ he says. With a flick of his finger, he summons the barman. For someone who seems to live for teasing, I’ve also noticed the absolute authority he wears like a second skin. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Vodka tonic.’ In a bucket, preferably. ‘You can add it to my tab,’ I add pointedly.

  ‘Doubles,’ he says to the barman, holding up two fingers. His other arm leans against the bar top, one foot balanced on the silver coloured ledge near the ground. He’s a picture of ease and confidence. And why wouldn’t he be with a face like his. Charisma like his. A body like his.

  Stop it. Stop. So you have eyes. So does half this room, and he’s not schtupping them, either.

  I slap my clutch on the bar next to him and hop onto the tall barstool behind me when his fingers catch the back of the seat, swinging me to face him.

  ‘Let’s get one thing straight.’ He brings his head level with mine, and I notice for the first time the incongruent flecks of gold in his blue gaze. ‘Earlier, you said I make you nervous? Well, you’re just pissing me off.’ He straightens again, his jaw flexing, his gaze now concentrating on the barman. ‘Do as you’re told for once in your life. You might even find it’s actually fun.’

  My heart bangs in my chest, his words echoing something that Kallie had said on the phone. What would it feel like to be on the end of that kind of intensity? And before I can even object, my mouth seems to decide now would be a fine time to find out.

  ‘So if I was, hypothetically, about to offer you a proposition. With, say, a monetary component.’ His head turns slowly to meet mine. I moisten my lips, swallow, and begin again. ‘You wouldn’t be interested?’

  Of course, the barman takes that moment to slide our glasses in front of us. By his sardonic expression, he’d heard every nuance of my suggestion.

  Today’s headline: Tourist Jailed for Soliciting.

  I may turn puce from head to toe. More mortifying still is when Will doesn’t wait for him to leave before answering.

  ‘Women don’t pay me for what I’m going to give you. That level of pleasure just isn’t for sale.’

  The dark promise in his words hits me right between the legs. Not that anyone could guess by my answer.

  ‘You’re so full of yourself,’ I mutter as I grasp my glass and turn my head. I’ll look anywhere but at him. Or the terrace, I think, swallowing painfully.

  ‘We’ll see who’s full of whom a little later. And for the record’—he makes a show of looking at his watch—‘my shift is over. I’m off the clock as of now.’

  And I really don’t have an answer for that or his smug expression.

  We finish our drinks in silence. The second round goes down a little less bitter, I find. By the time Will orders our third, I’m feeling loose limbed and pleasantly numb. So when he grabs my hand and insists we dance, after drink number I’ve-lost-count, I don’t put up much of a fight.

  ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ he asks, pressing my hand to his shoulder, the other he rests on the curve of my hip. A slow number is playing, and though there isn’t really a designated dance floor, it doesn’t seem to occur to Will that this perhaps isn’t that kind of party. Despite this, people sitting at tables nearby smile as we begin to sway.

  ‘Blue. I like blue. Hey.’ I reach around me as his hand slides to my ass, lifting it to a more PG height.

  He sighs heavily. ‘So the blokes at the table behind you can stare at your arse, but I’m not allowed to touch.’

  ‘That’s right. Looky but no touchy.’ At least, until I say so.

  ‘I tell you, plum, I’m finding that pretty hard to do.’ His hand drifts again, this time his palm pressing against my bare back. I feel the spread of his fingers against my skin and struggle to suppress how the sensation affects me. It’s been so long since a man has touched me. So long since another’s touch has roused my body.

  ‘Plum?’ Pressed to his chest, it’s hard not to inhale the scent of him, and he smells divine. A heady, spice cologne cut with something clean. Underlying notes of cedar, maybe?

  ‘Plum is officially my favourite colour. And somehow, I know you’ll taste tart and sweet, just like the first summer plums.’

  ‘It’s just lipstick,’ I murmur. ‘Lipstick doesn’t taste much of anything.’

  ‘How do you know that’s what I was referring to?’

  My gaze rises, his meeting mine head-on. Electricity dances between us, the force almost tangible. The look, his words—it’s all a little shocking. A little exciting. And a lot sexy. He’s thinking about . . . does he want to go there—literally.

  All the throbs and tingles.

  The skin of my throat starts to heat and prickle, and I know the flush will be visible, but as I stare up into his face, I can’t find it in me to care. All I can think is that he wants me, but not as a client—it’s not about the money. He made that clear at the bar.

  But he dates women for cash, my mind whispers. Wines, dines, and—you know the rest.

  But, God, imagine the experience. Imagine the wealth of his experience.

  I expect he gets a tonne of repeat business.

  A man who knows his way around a woman’s body. A fantastic fuck.

  And don’t I at least deserve one fantastic night in my twenty-six years?

  ‘You’ve gone awfully quiet,’ he purrs, twirling me around the room.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You can start with yes, please, Will. Then maybe add harder, and then’—he bends his head to whisper the rest in my ear, and I physically convulse a
t the hard utterance of—‘fuck.’ The tendrils of anticipation are too hard to resist, and every inch of my body is ready to give in. ‘Fuck me, Will.’

  ‘I-I haven’t had sex in months.’ I’m not sure where the confession comes from. Or the untruth because it’s been more, ‘Like thirty-six months.’

  Dammit.

  My heart pounds in my chest, the room suddenly too hot. I try to pull away, pull from his arms, except he’s wrapped both around me, and they’re as tight as a vice. My body stiffens, terrified again—of rejection, of further hurt—as thoughts swim through my head, half formed and fully noxious.

  I can’t face rejection twice in one night. I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be dancing with him, and I certainly shouldn’t be spilling my guts to the man who may or may not have been paid to fuck me.

  And then I realise his lips are on my neck, and his hands are on my ass again . . .

  ‘Do you feel that?’ He pulls me against him, his long fingers holding it belongs to him. And let me tell you, it’s impossible not to feel. Not to imagine. ‘Your dry spell is about to come to an end. I’m going to fuck you so long and so hard you won’t be able to stand.’

  Pulling back, he meets my gaze with a question. My answer isn’t from my head or my heart. It’s from someplace else entirely.

  ‘Yes.’ God, yes. ‘I like the sound of that.’

  Chapter Seven

  WILL

  Taking her hand in mine, I pull her from the room.

  ‘What’s your hurry?’ she asks breathlessly as my long strides eat up the floor between the bar and the elevators. ‘Wait, I can’t run in these shoes.’

  ‘I’ll carry you if I have to, and shush, woman. I’m concentrating on a plan.’ A plan to devour her as soon as I can. Thirty-six months. How does that even work?

  I push the call button and turn to her, a little too fast given how she jumps.

  ‘A room,’ I begin, but she’s already shaking her head.

  ‘Sir Lancelot—God knows what trouble he’ll cause if left alone.’

  ‘Arse.’ Her hand still in mine, I pull her to me. We’re both a little drunk, though barely beyond the first buzz. ‘I’d say we could book a room and stay just an hour or two, but I don’t think that’d be enough.’