Mallory

by Michelle Love

  Bo screeched with laughter, rolling on the floor. ‘You never said that to Auntie Rose?’

  ‘I did too. And I’m saying it to you – you’ve made your success, my girl, and you’ve got that little angel upstairs.’

  Bo waved her hands. ‘I know, Mum. Just sometimes, you know?’

  ‘I know. That’s why I’ve got a dog.’

  ‘Eww, Mum!’

  ‘To cuddle, you idiot,' her mom grinned wickedly. ‘Look, if you're okay, I'd like to get home.'

  Bo checked her watch. ‘Oh right…what is it tonight?’

  ‘Supernatural,’ her mum said excitedly, ‘Carry on my wayward son…especially if it’s Dean Winchester.’

  ‘Dirty. Old. Woman.’ Bo said but laughed. ‘I hope that vibrator runs on batteries, I don’t want the National Grid going out on me.’

  ‘Cheeky cow,’ Daphne kissed her daughter. ‘Bye Tiggy-Tiger,’ she called as Tiger came back in the room, dragging a massive bag of candy with him.

  After her mother had left, Bo sat with Tiger, trying to persuade him not to eat the whole bag of candy at once – she checked the sugar count and wondered why someone at school would think it was a good idea to give sugar as a gift. Maybe it was a rogue teacher hell-bent on revenge on the parents who sent the kids to school all hopped up on sugary cereal.

  Later, when Tiger was asleep, she lay in her bed and allowed herself to think about Kit Mallory. Yeah, the guy was a dickhead but…jesus…when he kissed her, she’d felt it right between her legs. Never shy, she’d decided on impulse to check out his goods…and he wasn’t lacking. At all. Good thing the director had come up to them – if Mallory had fucked her right there, right there, she wouldn't have been complaining.

  She flicked her phone round and round in her hand. She knew where he was staying in London…she could call him….no. Don’t do it. You left him wanting more. Don’t offer it on a plate.

  ‘Just don’t too fucking long, Kit Mallory,’ she groaned into her pillow. Sighing she sat up and flicked the t.v. on. Then on a whim, switched to Netflix…search Kit Mallory films…

  There was one, about twenty years old, right at the start of his career. Bo put it on and settled back to watch it. After half an hour of watching his blonde haired perfection, she nodded to herself.

  ‘Yeah, Kit Mallory…don’t you take too long…'

  In Seattle, Randall was having dinner with his eldest and youngest sons. Jakob and Grady – Gray to his family - had always gotten along best of all his sons and he delighted in their company.

  ‘I haven’t met Quilla yet,’ Grady said to Jakob, ‘I’ve heard she rivals Helen of Troy.’ Grady’s amused grin made Jakob grin.

  ‘You heard correct. She’s with her friend Marley. Marley’s been away on a research trip, so they want to catch up.’

  ‘She fully okay now? Quilla?’

  Jakob nodded, but Ran exchanged a glance with Grady. ‘We still have nothing on Gregor Fisk. He keeps sending threats, vicious, evil things he says to both of them.’

  ‘I never knew,’ Jakob said, the desolation in his voice making it scratchy. ‘I never even imagined he would be this twisted, this full of hate.’

  Grady put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Bro, we got this. If he thinks he can hide anywhere in the world, if he thinks he’ll hurt any of us again…’

  Jakob winced, obviously recalling the terrible night his beautiful girl was stabbed by his ex-partner. Ran changed the subject. ‘So, Gray, where’s the next adventure to?’

  ‘Local…well, somewhat. New Orleans. A huge estate sale is coming up with some pretty serious pieces. A couple of minor Rothkos, some Georgia O’Keefe sketches.’

  Ran’s eyes lit up. Even now, art was his first love – the same as his youngest son. Grady had spent his life as a nomad, going to all corners of the globe to first learn his craft then to help his father build up their portfolio. Rarely did they keep what he found – except for the Hoppers that hung both in Jakob’s and Ran’s home and some Kahlo’s in Grady’s. Their business was to buy and sell, and they had both made billions doing it. ‘Rothko,' Ran said now, ‘Always a favorite.'

  Grady grinned. His dad was like a kid in a candy shop when it came to art. ‘Say, Dad, have they lifted your restraining order?’

  Ran looked confused. ‘Who?’

  ‘Every major art gallery in the known universe,' Grady intoned, and Jakob laughed loudly.

  ‘'Excuse me sir, but you seem to have picked something up by mistake.''

  ‘’No, no, officer, my jacket has always been this boxy’.’ Grady replied in an uncanny impression of his dad’s voice.

  ‘’Sir, that’s the Mona Lisa’,’ replied Jakob and they both howled with laughter as Ran chuckled.

  ‘Remind me to write both of you out of my will,’ he mock-scowled then he smiled, sighing, God, it’s good to have you back, Gray. You’ll stay for a while?’

  ‘Couple of days then I gotta get to NOLA,’ Grady said. ‘But I promise, afterward, I’ll be back for a good long time.’

  Quilla Chen pushed the pizza box away. ‘No more, there’s no space left in my belly.’ Marley Griffin, her oldest and best friend, grinned at her. They sat in Marley’s apartment, the scene of many of their fun times together over the years. Now, though, it had been months since they’d gotten together. Marley had left town as soon as she knew Quilla was going to be okay, for a three-month long research trip to the Brazilian jungle and now she was regaling Quilla of tales of the Amazon jungle, her research fellows and the many, many bugs she saw.

  ‘Size of my fist,’ she told a cringing Quilla, ‘and its legs were another five or six inches as well.’

  ‘Gah, stop, I do not want to know about the tarantulas,' Quilla clamped her hands over her ears. ‘I won't be able to sleep.'

  Marley grinned wickedly. ‘Don’t forget the jumping spiders…’

  Quilla threw a pillow at her. ‘The words ‘jumping’ and ‘spider’ should never be in the same sentence, ever.’

  Marley sat back, satisfied she’d scared her friend enough. Apart from the face, she was pulling now; Quilla looked good if a little tired. Marley fiddled with a slice of leftover pizza.

  ‘How’s the love life?’

  Quilla beamed. ‘Truly, truly fantastic. Jakob is…God, I wish I could tell you how he makes me feel.'

  ‘Stabbed?’ Marley couldn’t help the sarcastic comment that fell out of her mouth. Quilla blanched, and she immediately regretted her words.

  ‘It wasn't Jakob's fault,' Quilla murmured, 'Please, Marls, don't hate him.'

  ‘I don't hate him; I just think he was careless, and you paid the price.'

  ‘How was he careless? Should he have not fired Gregor? Wouldn’t you have done the same thing?’

  Marley was annoyed now. ‘He knew that asshole for years, and he didn't see that side of him until that day?'

  Quilla squirmed in her seat, not wanting to get caught between her best friend and her lover. ‘Marls…’

  ‘And he’s still out there.’

  ‘The police, the Mallorys, they’re throwing everything they can at the search.’

  Marley got up and went to her window. Outside she could see the black sedan in which sat the two huge, silent bodyguards that had delivered Quilla to her door. Marley shook her head.

  ‘How can you live like this? I know you; you hate being watched or supervised or…'

  Quilla sighed. ‘Make up your mind, Marls – do you want me protected or dead?’

  It was Marley’s turn to flinch. ‘God, Quilla…’

  ‘He calls me, Fisk, he calls me and says the most disgusting things, most vile, barbaric things. He describes exactly how he intends to kill me and I listen to it because I can’t stop listening because in between the threats he might give something away and if he thinks I'm not the only one on the call then he'll hang up and we'll lose the only chance to catch him. He's a psychopath, Marls. If someone else were Jakob's girlfriend, she'd be the one with the scars an
d the threats.'

  Marley went to her friend, seeing she was getting upset, and hugged her. ‘I just worry.’

  Quilla struggled not to cry for a moment. ‘Please, Marl, now you're back, come meet the rest of the family, get to know them. I promise you'll change your mind.'

  Marley sighed but smiled at her friend. ‘For you, anything. For you, I'll make friends with the billionaires.'

  Quilla laughed. ‘Thank you. I promise you'll love them as much as I do.'

  It had been two days, and Bo Kennedy still hadn't called. Kit, stalking around his hotel room – he had found himself deliberately extending his stay – couldn't believe that he, Kit Mallory was waiting for a woman to call. Him!

  Fuck it, he was sick of waiting around like a lovesick teenager. He grabbed his cellphone.

  It rang eight times before she answered. ‘Ello.’

  ‘Bo?’

  Silence. ‘Christopher Mallory, I presume,' she drawled and laughed. It was thick, throaty, sensual sound. Kit closed his eyes and imagined how the vibration from that laugh would feel with his cock inside her. God, he had to fuck this woman and soon or his balls would explode.

  ‘That’s me,’ he said lightly. ‘Listen…I figured I should maybe call, thank you for inviting to be in the video, maybe take you to lunch.’

  Lunch followed by an afternoon of fucking. That's what he was offering, and he was pretty sure she knew it too. There was a silence on the other of the phone.

  ‘What hotel are you in?' she said shortly, and he grinned and told her, knowing she already knew.

  ‘Good. Order room service. I like steak. An hour.’ The line went dead.

  Kit grinned. ‘Victory is mine; victory is mine.' He did a little dance and then pulled himself up. Don't be an idiot – this, after all, is what you do best. The Art of Seduction.

  It was his turn to win.

  Bo Kennedy sat in the cab to the hotel, still not sure she was doing the right thing. Maybe, just screw him and then leave, you both get what you want. Finito. Over. Itch scratched.

  She hoped.

  Kit opened the door to his suite and smiled. Not a smug smile. A friendly, conciliatory smile. Okay…Bo went in, confused, and saw he had indeed arranged room service. Two covered plates sat on a table in front of the massive wide screen t.v.

  Kit nodded towards it. ‘I thought we might eat in front of the t.v., watch some trashy program.’

  What was this, a move? Bo narrowed her eyes at him, but his gaze was steady. ‘Hey, you wanted steak, we have steak and fr...I mean, chips.'

  She grinned at his attempt to Anglicize french fries. 'You had me at steak.'

  Kit's mouth hitched up in a grin. 'Promising.'

  The meal was heavenly, Bo had to admit a half hour later, and Kit was surprisingly easy to talk to. True to his word, they watched some trashy t.v. – some of which Bo had to translate for him as the regional British accents stumped him.

  'What is a 'gobshite'?'

  Bo couldn't help but giggle. 'It's English for a jerk.'

  'Got it.'

  Finally, he turned to her, leaning back on the couch, his arm along the back of it. His fingers were almost touching her hair.

  ‘So, like I said on the phone…thanks for inviting me to be part of your video. The song’s great, by the way.’

  He was touching her hair now, twisting the ends in his fingers. Bo was slightly discombobulated, this was clearly a move, practiced maybe, but give her a good meal and a handsome man….that was her kryptonite. No. No way. She wasn't falling for this.

  She gave him a half-smile. ‘This has been fun, but I should go.’

  Kit just grinned. ‘Okay.’

  Okay? Okay? ‘Fine.’ She got up and in a flash, he had taken her in his arms.

  ‘Bo, let’s stop this game playing. We both know what we want.’

  Asshole. But he was right, she had to admit. ‘I don't do commitment,' she said, ‘I don't do flowers and hearts and love. I don't need a white knight.'

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Then what do you want, Kit Mallory?’ As if she didn’t know.

  Kit bent his head to kiss her and it was so soft, so sweet, it sent her senses reeling. ‘You. Now.’

  His fingers were at the nape of her neck, on the fastening of her halter-neck dress and when she didn’t pull away, he released the tie. The dress slithered down her curves and fell to the floor.

  ‘Wow, oh wow,’ he said and dropped to his knees, burying his face in her belly. Bo shivered as his lips trailed across her skin, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of her hips.

  ‘You should be naked all of the time, Bo Kennedy, or on the bow of a ship.' She giggled. He stood and kissed her mouth again. Unfreezing, Bo started to unbutton his shirt, flattening her hand against his hard pecs, her fingertips seeking out the puckered nipples, tweaking them before she placed her mouth on them.

  Her mind was a whirlwind….she had expected a full-on fuck fest: hard, fast, dirty and done in twenty minutes. Not this slow seduction. She kept in the back of her mind that this was Kit Mallory, well-known swordsman, and player but…this was unexpectedly tender. He released the clasp on her bra and let her full, heavy breasts fall into his hands, kissing them, plumping them, taking her nipples into his mouth in turn. She felt the heat between her legs, the rush of arousal and by the time they reached the bedroom, she was so wet for him that when at last he drove his huge, diamond-hard cock into her, she was more than ready.

  ‘God, you feel so good,’ he murmured, kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth. ‘Not just your delicious cunt but your skin, your breasts, your soft belly, God, Bo Kennedy…’

  His words were turning her on as much as the strong rhythm of his thrusts, and she tilted her hips to take him in deeper. Their bodies fit together so well, she forgot any reservations and just went with it, enjoying every sensation, electric pulses of pleasure, her body was experiencing.

  ‘Not so bad, yourself, Kit Mallory…’ She grinned and he chuckled and then she saw who he was truly, a good man under all that bluster and arrogance. A kind, loving man.

  God, she hoped she was right as he drove her inexorably to a shattering orgasm, his own following quickly, crying her name out over and over again.

  She was prepared for the quick kiss off, the ‘I’ll call you sometime’, the ‘I’m going to the bathroom and when I get back you won’t be here’ thing. Instead, with his cock still semi-hard, still inside her, he stroked her face, his eyes soft, holding none of the arrogance she had come to expected, and said one simple word.

  ‘Stay.’

  Skandar, Hayley, Ran, Grady and Jakob listened to the recording of Gregor Fisk's latest threatening phone call to Quilla. Quilla wasn't present – she didn't need to go through this twice, but Jakob had told them he needed them to listen, to see if they could glean anything, anything, from it.

  ‘No theory is too small or too big,’ he said, wearily, ‘we just need a lead.’

  The threats were sickening in their violence and now Gregor had added a sexual element that made Hayley clamped her hand over her mouth and rushed out to throw up. Skandar went to find her. He found her sobbing in one of the guest bathrooms. She fell into his arms.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just, until that recording, I never knew for real what this guy’s deal was. He’s obsessed.’

  Skandar grimaced ‘I know. We got off easy but I’m still not taking any chances. When does your semester close out?’

  She told him and he nodded. ‘At the risk of sounding like I’m controlling you, I think we should go away, far away for a couple of weeks. We have a private island we can use. What do you say?’

  She smiled through her tears. ‘It sounds perfect but I still feel for Quilla and Jakob. They can’t escape this wherever they go.’

  Skandar sighed. ‘No. Look, come back down. Maybe we can come up with some ideas for Jakob.’

  Bo opened her eyes. Light seeped through under the curtains in Kit Mallory's hotel bedroom s
o she could tell it was morning. Kit was still asleep, the sheet pushed down to hips, his broad chest turned towards her, his hand resting on her waist. God, he was beautiful. She stroked a finger under his eyes, along the path of the dark shadow there and he opened his eyes, the blue eyes twinkling at her.

  ‘Good morning, beautiful.’

  She smiled. ‘Mr. Mallory, I presume.' He chuckled and kissed her.

  ‘Forgive my morning breath.’

  ‘Right back at ya. Good thing about hotel rooms, they always have spare toothbrushes.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said sitting up and pulling her up, ‘and it just so happens this one has an enormous shower too, so I can get you all soaped up and have my wicked way with you.’

  She giggled. ‘That sounds just about perfect.’

  ‘Get in that bathroom, woman.’

  He'd ordered breakfast by the time she was finished dressing, and she swooned over the fresh fruit compote and Greek yogurt. She saw him grinning at her obvious enjoyment.

  ‘I love my food,’ she said unapologetically. ‘When I was first signed to the label, they did everything to try and get me to lose weight. Real passive aggressive stuff – and when I told them to do one – sorry, that means ‘to fuck off’ in English,’ she grinned at him, ‘they just got aggressive. And then my debut album sold twenty-seven million copies. Haven’t mentioned my weight since.’

  ‘Nor should they,' he said, shaking his head, ‘the number of eating disorders in the showbiz industry is horrendous. As long as you're healthy, who cares? Don't change a thing; you're a goddess.' He meant it as a throwaway comment, but she suddenly beamed at him through tear-filled eyes.

  ‘That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, thank you.’

  He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Are you free today?'