Minute by Minute (Games & Diversions #3)

by Natalie E. Wrye

  “Thank you so much, gentlemen. You are a God-send at a time like this.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am,” the older man chimes in. “Please don’t hesitate to let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.”

  Elena nods, bowing her head gently towards them.

  “Certainly… It would be my pleasure.”

  She smiles softly, the corners of her rouge lips turning upwards slightly.

  She moves away from the counter and walks to the elevators without so much as a glance at me.

  I follow closely, hiding an immense smirk, as I give a half-assed salute in the direction of the front desk.

  “Gentlemen,” I bid adieu to the smitten employees.

  I wait beside Elena as the elevator dings for our floor.

  We step inside, and it is all I can do not to throw her up against the wall and kiss her.

  I hit the button for the fifth floor, and we stand silently, side-by-side, as the elevator ascends, grinning quietly as we rejoice restrainedly in our triumph.

  Elena murmurs in a subdued hush before we hit the fifth level.

  “See, I told you that you’d need me.”

  I say nothing, glancing in her direction.

  Her returning smile is smug—confident, and I’m actually proud to have been proven wrong.

  “After you, Madame Superspy,” I say.

  The elevator stops, the doors open, and Elena exits first, following the signs that point us in the direction of room 512.

  We hesitate at the door for a few seconds.

  A question forms on Elena’s face as she pulls the key card out, and I nod at her silent inquiry, letting her place the small card in the slot, while the light at the lock turns green, allowing us entry.

  She turns the door handle, and we step inside.

  The room—or shall I say, suite—is large in space and breadth, its décor complete with furniture and amenities in hues of gold, apple red, and warm, sandcastle beige.

  The walls are cream-colored, and the tables are wooden.

  And as large and seemingly nice as the suite may be, it is not nearly as luxurious as I expected, not even close to being as grand a room as would be anticipated from the son of a profitable magazine’s CEO.

  Greg’s father, Martin Sears, wouldn’t dare be caught in this “subpar,” understated show of wealth.

  I sneer at the entire scene before me, feeling disgusted by the owner and executive boss of TravelTalk and his sneaky, weaseling excuse for a son.

  I approach Gregory’s nightstand.

  “What are we looking for?” Elena asks from the center of the room.

  “Anything—receipts, letters… Anything that might connect Sears to whatever the hell’s been going on.”

  Elena starts moving, but before she can get too far, I stop her with my voice, issuing a quick warning before opening Gregory’s wooden drawers.

  “Don’t move anything too much. And if you do, put it right back where you found it. We don’t want to kick up any suspicion that anyone’s been in here… Especially us.”

  I can practically hear Elena’s nod.

  We rifle through drawers, searching between furniture.

  There isn’t much of anything here… besides a couple of awful suits, cologne, razors and some magazines with porn—the questionable, nearly pre-pubescent kind.

  Elena groans in frustration as she checks another couch cushion.

  “When will Greg be back?”

  “Probably soon. Let’s start moving so that we can get the hell out of here.”

  “Does Henry know we’re inside the hotel?”

  I hesitate, not wanting to answer her question.

  “No,” I reply reluctantly. “He’d fucking quit if he knew I was doing this. He’s very strict about not overstepping boundaries… and doing whatever we’re doing here is practically obliterating the bounds.”

  I hear Elena’s footsteps grow closer behind me.

  “What?” she whispers harshly. “He doesn’t know you… we’re in here?! How’s he supposed to warn us when Greg is coming back?”

  I turn around, looking into Elena’s eyes.

  “He’s not. We’re on our own for right now. That’s why I wanted to come alone. So, we’d better make it fast.”

  Elena reaches both hands towards her hairline, panic settling into her worried face.

  “What’ll we do if he comes back?” she nearly screams.

  “I’ll knock him out—cold-cock him before he can identify us.”

  “Griff!” she hisses.

  I close the drawer I just examined, nearly chuckling.

  “All kidding aside… Let’s get the hell outta here. It’s only a matter of time before Greg comes back from his little trip. I don’t want to go to jail before Henry tells me where the lanky prick went in the first place.”

  I hustle Elena towards the door, keeping my hand on the small of her back.

  We reach for the door handle, exiting, and as soon as I slowly click the door shut behind me in the hallway, the elevator just around the corner dings, and a pair of solid footsteps head closer to our direction.

  Elena gasps softly.

  But before the heavy footfalls can make it around the corner, I push her into the opposite room’s doorway, pinning her body into the little square nook as I kiss her violently.

  That little square nook is the only thing that can hide our faces. With our kiss, I keep Elena’s mouth adjoined to mine, angling my lips over hers so that whoever is coming our way can’t pick us out of a lineup if they had to.

  Any passerby will only be able to make out a horny couple in the throes of passion.

  As long as they keep walking, they won’t be able to look any further—won’t be able to tell that the sweat at our necks and the loudly beating hearts are from two people that are trying to avoid detection, and not too lusty guests that are too goddamned randy to even make it inside the door.

  I keep kissing Elena with everything I have… and I continue to listen.

  The person from the elevator turns directly down our hallway. Their footsteps slow as they round the corner, adjusting from rushed and unsteady to slow and deliberate.

  The trek that brings the unwelcomed guest our way seems fucking interminable.

  My heart pounds, my brow sweats, as I try to focus on Elena’s lips.

  They’re soft, insistent—supple.

  They meld perfectly with my own, slanting completely in sync with mine.

  Elena moans a little bit as I press my tongue at her lower lip, and she bites softly at mine, apparently unable to prevent her real reaction from slipping into this feigned and fake play we’re giving to whatever audience is waiting just a few yards away.

  I grunt as our pelvics begin to press together, rubbing in rhythm, making me grow harder than steel encased in stone.

  I try to stifle another groan, but am unable to… because as much as Elena cannot seem to find the will to keep herself together during this little façade of ours, I have to admit to myself…

  Neither can I.

  We’re seconds away from getting caught by this uninvited spectator, and yet, I am distracted again—my thoughts wandering from the person with us in the hallway back to that first night that I had Elena’s body.

  That night when I squeezed her body into the Hyatt’s hallway walls—when I swallowed her screams with my hungry mouth.

  And now all I can think about is an encore—a second reenactment in this Hilton hotel where I can cup her ass with my hands, wrap her long legs around my waist and fuck her right here in this hallway until she can’t stand any longer.

  I snake a hand between us, squeezing my thumb and index finger at the apex between Elena’s wobbly legs.

  I’m tempted to lift her dress up and touch her skin-to-skin, not giving a damn if we’re giving anyone else a show or not.

  Her moans are spellbinding, her mouth tastes great, and I’m thinking about all of the other places on her body that I
already know taste great as well.

  And just when I start to lose myself… just when the surroundings around us start to fade into a hazy, erotic-obscured oblivion… the sound of Gregory Sears’s voice from behind us nearly makes me freeze.

  The onlooking bastard mutters “Damn” as he leers at our interaction.

  Not recognizing either of us, he continues to open the door to his room, taking a slow step inside of its threshold, before completely shutting the door on the hallway and us.

  I can barely breathe.

  My hands are slick with sweat by the time I let Elena go, and my heart is still beating hard even six minutes later when we exit the hotel, hand-in-hand.

  We couldn’t have dodged a bigger bullet.

  It still feels like it’s lodged in my throat.

  Laying the Burn Card

  A "real man" doesn't play safe unless he wants to win.

  –Unknown

  Day 3—9:23PM

  Tampa City Streets

  ELENA

  I can hear my own blood rushing through my ears.

  It is like a raging river, pumping through an overextended tunnel, pushed to its max with every surge.

  It sounds too loud to be normal; I’m sure my veins are close to exploding, and irrationally, I start to wonder if the people passing me throughout the Hilton lobby can hear it as well.

  I don’t know what is going on around me.

  My vision is too blurry to make out faces. And I think that I am on the verge of dying…

  I squeeze Lukas’s hand as he leads me to his parked car outside.

  “Lukas…” I start to call out.

  His voice is calm, composed.

  He talks to me almost as if I am a child, and I begin to fear the worst, worrying that it may be some sort of a diversion—a distraction from something awful.

  “What’s wrong with me?” I ask.

  “Hold on,” he replies assuredly. “Listen to my voice, and don’t let go.

  “You’re having a panic attack.

  “I’m getting you the hell out of here.”

  With that reassurance, Lukas tightens his hold on my hand, practically carrying me across the street as he wraps his arm underneath mine, supporting my weight until we make it to the car.

  He opens the passenger door, placing me inside.

  Not long after we pull off from the curbside outside the Hilton, I take my first deep breath, an inhalation that calms my shaky nerves—that soothes the fresh fear from a mind-boggling, heart-pounding near-miss.

  A semi-run-in with the man that may have tried to kill me.

  Just when I thought I was equipped to handle confronting him, I started to fall apart at the seams. The second that he closed the door on Griff and me, I thought I’d faint.

  But not from Lukas’s intense and sensual kisses.

  Not this time.

  Goddammit.

  I’m in over my fucking head.

  “It’s ok,” Lukas says, interrupting my thoughts, squeezing my thigh. “Relax. Breathe…”

  I place my hand over his.

  “I am,” I respond. “But barely. I thought I could take it… but the second I realized that it was him, I thought he’d kill me… or I’d kill him. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so much in my life.”

  “Believe me. I know the feeling.”

  Lukas glances at me, and his gaze is hot.

  A tingle that runs over my skin turns into a burn with his glare, and I look away from him, not wanting to be sucked back in.

  Not into this fading panic attack… nor into Griff’s enticing allure.

  “I’m ok,” I repeat. “Just get me home.”

  The reality that Lukas’s home is now “sort of” my home doesn’t seem to escape Lukas, and he smiles, throwing me a genuine look of appreciation that I’ve never seen before.

  With my heartbeat slowing, I start to smile, too—imagining what may come of tonight if we finish what we started in that Hilton hallway.

  Abruptly, a horn from behind us honks.

  Beeeeeeppppp!

  “What the hell…?” Lukas rasps, peering into his rearview mirror.

  The blare of the horn sounds across the intersection, and two cars nearly collide at our bumper, practically glancing off of each other as they run a perpendicular route.

  I look backwards out of the rearview window.

  The sedan behind us clearly just ran a red light.

  And now it’s almost directly behind us, swerving past the other car to continue on a path that nearly places it in our backseat.

  “Jesus,” I comment softly. “Could they have cut it any closer?”

  “Any closer, and we’d be looking at a completely different scene,” Lukas declares. “They had to practically sit on our trunk to avoid missing that truck.”

  I scoff loudly, feeling nervous again.

  The tingles are back, and the heat from Lukas’s gaze just seconds ago becomes a chill—an irrational but undeniable chill.

  Calm down, I tell myself. Don’t get jumpy.

  You’re out of the woods, and you don’t need to start hiking your way back in.

  But I find that it’s easier said than done.

  Because the car behind us—the silver sedan that just avoided the awful potential accident—is stuck to us like glue, and I have to focus on Lukas’s hand still on my thigh to keep from sliding back into panic.

  I start to think that I’m the only one who notices… until Lukas does.

  He doesn’t say it, but I see the recognition in his eyes.

  He speeds up, and suddenly we are tearing through traffic.

  We move over into the left lane, passing a car. Without the Audi’s blinker on, we pass two more. We are closing in on bypassing our third car when I suddenly find the balls to check behind us.

  And it’s still there.

  The silver sedan.

  Two cars ago, it would have been a coincidence, but at this speed, with this movement between traffic, it’s become apparent.

  We’re being followed.

  And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say we may have been trailed since we left that God-forsaken hotel.

  Shit!

  I look over at my seemingly calm chauffeur.

  “Lukas,” I murmur.

  “I see him.”

  Lukas doesn’t look at me, but at the road. His eye movements are quick, his head unwavering as he examines all of his mirrors.

  All this time, he’s been fully aware of our situation, and I can’t tell if the cool exterior he keeps should assuage my rising horror… or heighten it.

  We switch into another lane.

  Fifty-five.

  Sixty.

  Sixty-five.

  Seventy.

  We’re not cruising down the residential roads anymore; we’re careening down them.

  And what were once passing cars are now fuzzy blurs—insignificant, almost stationary markers that are gone just as quickly as they appear.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, relishing in the feel of the lifeline that is Lukas’s hand.

  The next thing I hear is Lukas’s voice.

  “Henry, what the fuck?” he yells into his cell. “That bastard Sears is behind us. I don’t know how this happened, and I don’t know how the fuck he…”

  “What?” I hear from Henry’s end. “Whoa! Wait, slow down here a sec, Griff,” he practically exhales. “That’s impossible.”

  I clench my teeth.

  “Why?” Lukas demands.

  “Greg Sears is still at the Hilton. I followed him all the way to the Clearwater Post Office and back. Bastard has a P.O. Box.

  “By the way, I caught your little escape out of the Hilton lobby. I warned you about getting too close. You could compromise…!”

  “Hank, I’ll call you back!”

  Lukas ends the call.

  He reaches over, tightening my seatbelt.

  I open my eyes and watch him fasten his own.

  “We’re takin
g our company on a little ride, do you understand? When I say buckle down, you do. When I say head down, you obey. We’re going to lose this son-of-a-bitch, and I need your cooperation to do it.

  “Are you with me?” he finishes.

  I can barely grit out a response.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you stay calm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  It’s a hell of a loaded question… and surprisingly, for the first time since I’ve met Lukas, I don’t hesitate.

  “I do.”

  “Ok,” he says firmly, gripping the gearshift in his right hand.

  “Then, let’s play his little game.”

  Lukas kicks the Audi into another gear, and I am jerked back into my seat.

  We take the exit for the interstate, and soon we are flying.

  The traffic is surprisingly minimal, and we glide through the roads as if we own them—Griff at the wheel, his black Audi slicing through the city like a razor blade through silk.

  Time stood still just earlier on the crowded highways between Tampa and Clearwater, but now? It is a bullet… and Griff and I are catapulted across its space continuum.

  We twist and wind like the curves of an infinity symbol—in a vacuum of invincibility. The silver sedan barely has time to recover—but it does.

  A symphony of beeping horns is left in our wake as the following car tries to keep up. I peek backwards only to find that the shiny vehicle is scarcely staying upright, its foundation wobbling as it attempts to weave in and out of traffic, interlacing between interspersed cars.

  We’re close to losing him.

  We’re close to…

  “Look out!” I scream, turning to find a pair of red brake lights facing me through the windshield.

  Lukas swerves, and our car nearly goes airborne, the left two tires peeling off of the ground briefly only to land shortly after with a screeching thud.

  “Head down!” Lukas bellows.

  I obey, tucking my head into my lap, bracing for potential impact—knowing that it is only a matter of time before the silver car catches up to us… or that our Audi will flip, and it will all be over.

  But I am so wrong.

  It is not our car that spins out of control… but the silver one.

  It veers around the same stalled car that Lukas just missed—fishtailing, sliding into smoky figure eights that cause chaos around us.