Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series

by Brooke Kinsley

  “What?”

  Any last fragments of light in his face disappeared along with the last sliver of sunlight.

  “You’ve lost your mind,” I said. “I never looked at him like anything.”

  “You looked at him like you wanted his cock deep inside you.”

  “Lincoln!”

  He took one last step toward me and with nowhere to move, I teetered above the water. On impulse, I flinched and took a step back. My body was overcome with the sensation of weightlessness. My back foot touched nothing but the warmth of the water. Somewhere behind me, the glass pitcher bounced against the poolside.

  Lincoln’s face began to move away as I was gripped by panic. Then his hand reached out, quick as a flash and grabbed me by the front of my dress.

  For a moment, he left me hanging there with nothing but my straining dress buttons stopping me from falling into the water.

  “I saw the way you looked at him. You used to look at me that way.”

  “Lincoln… I never looked at him in any way.”

  He leaned forward, his face so close I could smell his smoky breath.

  “Liar,” he whispered.

  Then he leaned in closer and kissed me.

  Pulling me back up to safety, he walked away, leaving me shivering beneath the stars, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

  “I saw it,” he said as he reached the veranda door. “You licked your lips when you looked at his crotch.”

  He slid the door open and stepped back into the house.

  “Don’t think you can hide that shit from me.”

  And he was gone, disappearing into the darkness of the house.

  I slumped onto a lounger and hung my head in my hands. How could he think these things? Since I met him I’d never thought of anyone else. I couldn’t! He was all I needed.

  Berger was a friend, or rather, an ally in the midst of madness. I never wanted him, not like that. I wanted Lincoln and no one else.

  From outside, I could hear him slamming doors and stomping up the stairs. I felt crushed. After everything, I at least thought he could trust me and somehow, after everything, this insane accusation of his was what hurt the most.

  Chapter Two

  LINCOLN

  I don’t know why I said it. I knew it couldn’t be true. But I’d seen it, hadn’t I? There was a moment last week when we’d been dining in that cozy candlelit restaurant and she’d been laughing at yet another one of his corny jokes. She’d thrown her head back and slapped her hands on the table and all I could think was:Etta you’ve heard this crap a dozen times already and it wasn’t funny the first time.

  Yet she’d laughed, hadn’t she? She’d giggled and fawned over him then held his gaze across the candlelight as dessert was served. She licked the ice cream off the end of her spoon, her tongue flicking out like a serpent’s as she teased him.

  Then when he’d relaxed back into his seat, his legs spread open and his arms crossed behind his head, she’d lay her eyes on the sweet spot beneath his belt. I’d seen her. She’d licked her lips and he’d winked at her.

  Berger, the bastard.

  What the fuck was my mind doing?

  I stood in the darkness of the bedroom looking out the window. Etta was still down there, her head in her hands sobbing quietly to herself. I’d made her do that. It was my fault she was out there alone crying her heart out but somehow, I couldn’t quite make myself go down there and make it better.

  Something made me stay up here and just… watch her.

  Inside my pocket, the ring box was still clutched firmly in my hand. I’d held it every day since we got here. I’d been waiting for the perfect moment to show it to her and drop down on one knee but for some reason, that moment never came.

  And so I’d spent each day just holding it, hoping that tomorrow would be the right day when everything would just fall into place and I’d know that at that very second, I’d propose to her, and everything would work out fine.

  But nothing would ever be fine again. I knew what happened to her in that house with that bastard. Her mother had whispered things to me late at night when neither of us could sleep. She’d told me what she’d witnessed him do to her and it sucked at my soul until I felt nothing but increasing rage and emptiness.

  I should have saved her.

  Maybe that’s why she’d not touched me since we’d arrived here. I mean really touched me. Maybe that’s why she was looking at Berger. Was she imagining that he was more of a man than me?

  I felt the box in my pocket and ran my fingers over its velvet covering that was now starting to come loose from weeks of being fondled. Down the hall, a door creaked open. A second later, the sound of slippers slapping on the wood floor approached.

  “Lincoln? Are you awake?”

  “Of course I am, Norma.”

  Etta’s mom walked in, her pink dressing gown pulled tight around her frail body. Her skin was burned from hours in the sun, her hair dried out and brittle from the chlorine of the pool.

  “What’s that noise?” she asked and barged past me.

  She moved over to the window and looked out to see Etta crying.

  “I don’t know why I even asked,” she said. “I should have guessed it was her.”

  “You want me to bring her inside?”

  “No,” she said and raised a hand. “Just let her work things out on her own. We all need our own space.”

  We both stood in the darkness, listening to the distant cries of Etta. Somewhere far, far in the distance, beyond the villa walls where the village lay, a car honked its horn. Not long after, there was the screech of tires and the sound of a car revving its engine before speeding off into the night.

  Still, Etta would not stop crying.

  “I’m going for a drive,” I blurted out.

  “A drive? Where?”

  “Just a drive.”

  Norma watched me for a moment before stepping aside to let me exit the room.

  “You’ll be safe, won’t you?” she asked as I walked down the stairs.

  I didn’t reply but just kept walking on and on until I was out the front door and climbing into my car. As I twisted the key in the ignition, the engine made an ungodly sound like I was awakening a great mechanical beast.

  As it spluttered into life, I cursed myself for deciding to be sensible for a change. Berger had suggested that if I ever wanted to drive around locally, I should buy a small heap of crap car so I didn’t stand out but I thought it was a dumb idea. The locals weren’t stupid. They’d noticed the jet, the new inhabitants of the villa and how we barely left the place.

  No doubt the small group of staff we hired couldn’t wait to gossip about who was staying in the big white house on the edge of town. This piece of shit car, then, was nothing more than a lousy attempt at being ordinary and as I drove into the center of the village, people turned their heads.

  There was no denying who I was. Like I said, the locals weren’t stupid.

  As I passed the rusty sign for San Lucrezia, I gave a mock salute to the old dude at the side of the road who, like always, was making small change from selling overripe oranges stolen from nearby farms. He smiled as I approached, a grin that was more gum than tooth.

  “Hola!” I called out as I wound the window down.

  “Hola!”

  He raised an orange at me but its dried up peel looked less than appetizing. I handed him over a fifty dollar bill anyway and pressed a finger to my lips.

  “Silencio,” I said.

  “Silencio,” he smiled, one single tooth at the front of his mouth revealing itself.

  I drove on, making my way past the restaurant that only a few nights ago the four of us had sat in drinking bottle after bottle of wine until I could no longer stand Etta’s lustful gazes. Parking up out front, I thought for a moment about leaving the keys in the ignition. Maybe someone would want the heap of junk more than me. I changed my mind at the last minute and thrust them into my pocket beside the ring b
ox.

  As I stepped out the car, I could hear the dull thud of watered down hip hop drifting out through the wooden doors. Walking in, I was surprised to see the place was almost empty apart from a young couple at the back of the room. As I walked past them, I realized just how young they were, barely out of high school.

  The girl, with puppy fat still filling out her cheeks, was thrusting a forkful of food at her boyfriend. He giggled and gobbled it up before leaning in to kiss her. All the while, they chattered and bounced, still intoxicated with the thrill of young love.

  It wasn’t that long ago since Etta and I were like that. We should still be in the honeymoon phase, still spending more time in bed than out. We should be buried between each other’s legs night after night wearing nothing but sweat.

  How did it all get so complicated?

  “Hola, Mr Bosworth.”

  I froze. It had been a long time since someone said my name. Looking up, I saw a young girl behind the bar. She smiled and tucked her long hair behind her ear. It reached her waist like a black waterfall.

  “Let me guess,” she said and cocked her head to the side with a pout. “You look like a whiskey man.”

  “I am. How did you guess?”

  I climbed onto a barstool and tried to not look into her dazzling eyes. They were as black as her hair, large and endlessly deep. I had the strongest feeling that if I looked into them I’d never be able to escape.

  “You and that American policeman were enjoying your Johnny Walker last weekend,” she said and poured three fingers’ worth into a crystal tumbler.

  She slid it across the table as she bit her lower lip.

  “You know too much,” I said and knocked it back.

  “And now you’ll have to kill me?” she smirked.

  She poured me another before reaching for a silver, compact case tucked into her apron. She flipped it open with her sharp red nails and pulled out a long, skinny cigarette. The type I’d seen European models smoke in my younger years living in Paris.

  “You want one?” she asked as she noticed me watching her hands.

  I shook my head.

  “Those things are nothing but coffin nails,” I said and she let out a cute giggle. “Anyway, what’s a girl like you doing working here? Your English is perfect.”

  “Thank you,” she smiled and sparked the flint on her Zippo.

  As she set it down, I noticed a pink Playboy bunny was etched onto its surface.

  “I have cousins in America.”

  “You never want to go yourself?”

  “Maybe… When I’m older.”

  I looked her body up and down once again. How old was she exactly? It was almost impossible to tell. Her figure was slender but womanly with wide hips, a tiny waist and large breasts that threatened to burst out of her white blouse.

  “And how old are you?” I asked.

  She feigned anger and tutted.

  “Mr Bosworth. You should know better than to ask a woman about her age.”

  She leaned forward resting her breasts on the bar top as she flicked her cigarette against the ashtray. I couldn’t help but notice a hint of red ink poking out from the top of her blouse. She looked down and smiled.

  “El Diablo,” she said and pulled her top down to reveal a tattoo of a devil.

  “Now why would a nice young girl like you have something like that?”

  She licked her lips and leaned ever further forward.

  “Because I’m not so nice.”

  I took another look at her tattoo. The devil’s face was smiling at me, mocking me, tempting me to reach over the bar top and caress her soft body. She saw me looking and licked her lips again, the smell of smoke drifting over to me along with the scent of something sweet. It smelled like cherry wine, the tonic of the perpetually young at heart.

  “So… Am I going to have to guess?” I asked.

  I didn’t know why I was being drawn to her so strongly. She was beautiful for sure, alluring in a way that most girls could only dream of. There was a hint of mystery to her. A coquettish attitude that showed how attractive she knew she was.

  “Guess all you want, Mr Bosworth,” she said and pressed her smoked out cigarette into the ashtray.

  “Hmmm… Let me think.”

  What the fuck’s wrong with you? I thought. Don’t look at her like that.

  “Twenty one?” I asked.

  “Warm.”

  “Twenty two?”

  “Cold.”

  “Twenty three?”

  “Freezing!”

  She scrunched her face up and reached for a bottle beneath the counter. Just like I thought, it was a bottle of cherry wine. She filled up a miniature glass and sipped on it delicately.

  “Okay. Sorry. I’ve never been good with ages. Are you… let me guess… Twenty?”

  “Oooh! Red hot,” she whispered.

  At the back of the room, the young couple laughed. I looked over my shoulder and saw the boy saunter up to the bar. He was tipsy already and all loved up. His cheeks were flushed red and his eyes sparkling with lust. He looked back over at his girl every few seconds as though he was worried she might disappear.

  “Yo… Lol, how about you put something more romantic on the stereo, ey?”

  His English was almost as good as hers and I got the impression he was displaying this just for me.

  “Romantic eh?” laughed the girl. “You getting lucky tonight?”

  The boy looked over at his girl and waved.

  “Sure am,” he said and flicked up his shirt collar with a wink.

  Lol rolled her eyes and moved over to the stereo where her phone was docked.

  “Pick the tune,” she said. “Judging by your sweet lady you’ve got good taste.”

  He took the phone from her hand and began tapping away on her screen. A moment later, some of the sleaziest RnB I’d ever heard began to ooze out the speakers like liquid caramel.

  “Nice,” he said and handed the phone back before blowing Lol a kiss. “But quit looking so sexy,” he added. “You’re making my girl jealous.”

  We watched him return to his table where he was greeted with a passionate kiss and a giggle.

  “Friend?” I asked.

  “Since we were babies,” said Lol. “Grew up together.”

  “I bet all the boys round here must have counted their lucky stars having you in their class.”

  She pouted and flicked her head back.

  “They know they have a good thing.”

  Damn, she knows just how hot she is.

  I found that my eyes kept flicking back to her cleavage where the Devil’s smile was still taunting me. It could have been the booze or that I was so weak, in a state of easy influence, but I was finding myself wishing that I could get closer to her.

  My eyes lingered on the perfect curve of her Cupid’s bow. It glistened slightly, wet with wine. I imagined she tasted divine.

  No. Etta’s at home waiting for you, I reminded myself. She needs you.

  But I needed to feel loved and wanted. I needed to be happy for once! Still, I just couldn’t return to that dark house where nothing but the sound of crying permeated the walls and the three of us drifted from room to room with nothing to say.

  We were trapped ghosts in that house, miserable and dependent on each other but filled with a black feeling of loneliness that consumed you like a plague of guilt. Now that Berger was gone, it wasn’t going to get any better. He was always there with a story and a drink. He was the only sane one out of all of us.

  Inside my pocket, the ring box lay pressed against my thigh. I pulled it out and toyed with it in my hand.

  “So… You’re name’s Lol?” I asked.

  My eyes moved back to her lips. They were plump and red and I couldn’t stop thinking about what they’d feel like. I imagined them to be hot to the touch and soft like silk.

  “My friends call me Lol,” she said. “But you can call me Lolita.”

  “Fuck off,” I said on imp
ulse.

  “Excuse me?” she recoiled back offended.

  “There’s no way your name’s Lolita. You’re joking. You must be.”

  “My name is Lolita,” she said, defiant. “It’s a nice name, no?”

  “It’s a name that spells trouble,” I said. “And I think you know that.”

  “Trouble? Me?” she laughed. “You’ve got the wrong girl.”

  Lolita… I thought. No way… She could be a Maria or a Roberta, a Carmen or an Esmerelda but she just had to be Lolita. It’s the world’s most beautiful but dangerous name.

  “So…” she purred and pressed her breasts onto the bar.

  She was close I could smell her hot skin, like vanilla and roses.

  “What are you doing in Mexico, Mr Bosworth?” she asked.

  “How do you know my name?” I asked, ignoring her question.

  “I know your face too. It’s all over the news.”

  “It is?”

  “It is…”

  She squeezed her breasts together with her arms and inched closer. My hand was now perilously close to that devil. I reached out a single finger and held my breath, trying to stop myself from stroking her sweet, bronzed skin.

  Meanwhile, my other hand lay on my lap. The ring box clutched between my damp, sweaty fingers. As, at last, I looked into Lol’s eyes and let myself become lost in her gaze, a thought entered my mind.

  If you’d have proposed to Etta already you wouldn’t be here… You’d be at home watching her smile once again as she planned her big day. You’d be sitting back with a cocktail as she talked non-stop about color schemes and flower arrangements and it would be oh so perfect. But you didn’t propose to her. You could never find the right moment and now that moment has now gone. Now you’re here with this young nymphet who’s hell bent on pulling you into her spell. Just one more second lost in those eyes and you’re hers. Just an inch closer and…

  I stroked my finger down her tattoo and my finger tingled with the promise of more.

  “What time do you finish?” I found myself asking.

  What are you doing? I screamed inside my head. Stop this. Go home to Etta. She needs you. You need her!

  But I so badly needed to be held, to be kissed, to feel that little lurch of excitement that jolts through your stomach when someone kisses you for the first time.