“You don’t have to do this.” Luna raked her fingers through her hair.
“I want to do this. This is the ugly ending before we can start new and beautiful. Somewhere else. Maybe New York, if you agree. I kinda wanted to show them some of my pieces.” Kika injected the hope in her voice she didn’t feel.
“You meant what you said? We’re going to New York? Together?” Luna thinned her lips.
“Yes.” Kika flashed a smile. What other choice did she have? She couldn’t let Luna on her own again. Not after all that went down. “Together,” she repeated, although that single word made her heart race.
***
“Here’s half of it.” She pulled the long, white envelope with the hotel’s logo monogrammed on the top. Twenty-five-thousand dollars didn’t weight as much as she thought it would, perhaps because they were all crisp one hundred-dollar bills. Ryan had given it to her at the end of the previous night.
Omar gave the envelope a quick glance, then slid it into his jacket. “Where did you get all this dough?”
“Does it matter? Since when do you have work ethics?”
“Don’t get smart with me, Martinez. We have security cameras everywhere. I know you’ve been coming and going, when your sister, or you, is supposed to be on paid time off. Something is up.”
She leaned against the kitchen wall and sucked in a breath, impatient. A couple employees rolled out carts, and one of them waved at her no doubt mistaking her for Luna. “I have only been taking the elevator, and use the employee entrance now. Besides, I don’t think human resources gives a rat’s ass what I do on my time off.”
“Are you banging the guest on the penthouse? How much is he paying you?”
She crossed her arms. “Fifty-thousand bucks. Half of it you have it. The other half, in a few days.”
He gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money for a few fucks. You better be telling me the truth. What have you told him about our operation?”
Our operation? She stuck both hands in her jeans. Ryan had told her yesterday to wear something comfortable and sporty. What the heck did he have in mind? “Nothing. Because I know nothing.”
“Let’s hope it continues this way. You are walking on thin ice, Martinez. If word gets out—
She lifted her hand, and had to fight the instinct to slam it against his ugly face. “Trust me, it won’t. Turns out I know how to keep him quiet. Good bye.”
Word wouldn’t, couldn’t, get out she realized as she headed to the top floor. Yet the fear of jeopardizing her sister was like heavy drapes, darkening her mood.
“We’re heading out,” Ryan said, when he opened her door.
“Where are we going?” She drew back, following him out to the elevator again. Strange. If all he wanted was sex, why do all this? For the next hour, she didn’t get the answer she wanted. Ryan acted cordial, but very economical on details. And that bothered her.
“Where are we going?” she demanded. Sure, she had been distracted by the stretch limo and the private jet waiting for them at McCarran International, but that was all. From here on, she had to know.
She slid her fingers over the buttery leather seat. Ryan sat across from her in the posh jet. Legs apart, and a tablet resting on his lap, the man was all hotness.
“I told you, a day trip.” He winked at her, and she shook her head to send him the message that didn’t fly.
“Do you want me to ask you every five minutes?”
“Grand Canyon.”
Grand Canyon? She crossed her legs, and shifted in her oversized seat. “Why?” What could he possibly want to do at a national park that he couldn’t in Vegas? She slapped her forehead. “You’re not thinking about killing me and dumping the body, are you? Or screwing me on a lookout or something. In broad daylight.” The idea buzzed in her head, more so than the champagne she had been given by the flight attendant.
He licked his lips and tossed his iPad on the empty chair next to his. Goodness. A moist heat pumped in between her legs, and she uncrossed them. Maybe she would die from a different kind of death. Slowly. “No murder plot, I promise. Relax. I have never been. I thought you could be my companion.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t help but wonder what woman wouldn’t give a relatively unnecessary body organ to be in her place. Maybe even a major orgasm. God. What was happening to her? “What was her name?”
He frowned. “Whose?”
“The woman you were involved with before you came to terms with seeking treatment.” The woman he was supposed to take on this type of trip.
“Lynn.”
“Lynn.” She repeated. “What happened to her?”
He ran his fingers down his face and suppressed a yawn. “She is married and newly pregnant. Happy.” A ghost of a smile formed on his lips.
“Did you ever try to patch things with her?” How much did you love her? The real question she wanted to ask echoed in her ears, but she willed it away. Why should she care?
He looked straight into her eyes with that gleaming cobalt pair that had her weak at her knees. Good thing she was sitting. “I thought about it once. Then realized it was too late. Sometimes you need to know when to drop the towel. My turn. Who is the person you go home to at night?”
She ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s my sister. I have been away for too long, and whenever I’m in town I like to sleep at her place.” She peered at the oval window. The clouds blended with one another so fluidly it was hard to make out shapes. When she was a child, she and her siblings loved to guess what animals or objects the clouds looked like.
“Fair enough. Where do you live? I don’t remember you mentioning.”
She darted her gaze from the window to him, and realized he had been watching her. His eyes held her stare, his shoulders locked into place. Licking her lips, she shifted in the seat. What could she tell him? “A few places. I never stop too long. I like to travel.”
He grinned. “You should add Australia to your next destination.”
“I have been. Cairns, remember? Had a great time.” She picked a magazine from the side pocket of her incredibly large chair, and pretended to skim it even though her eyes didn’t register anything in particular. Still, feeling the texture of paper in her hands gave her something to do. Before she wondered if—
No. No, no, no. Visiting him in Australia wasn’t an option anymore. She had to be there for her sister, and start thinking like an adult. Try to sell her jewelry to retail stores, whip up a website, and maybe even get a part-time job just so she could save money and invest in more marketing. How could she be there for her sister, if she didn’t set an example? Besides, it wasn’t just the financial aspect. Luna was fragile. She couldn’t just leave her now to go walk into the sunset with a man she had just met. Nope. Didn’t make any sense at all.
Chapter Seven
“Not bad.” Ryan squinted his eyes against the sun, and a nice breeze stroked his face. Even though they had been walking along the trail on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon for over an hour, every lookout showed a different part of the glorious, endless vastness. An abundant variety of brown and reddish rocks, from various sizes and shapes, fought for attention against the flowing Colorado River beneath, and the flocks of tourists crowding the valley.
He stepped near the steep edge, hands in his pockets. A strange sensation of complete fulfillment arrowed through him. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, long breath. Not bad at all.
“It’s been a while since I was last here,” she said, and he turned to face her.
With a sheen of sweat slicking her forehead, and donning a baseball hat she had bought at the souvenir shop, Kika looked gorgeous. Real. She wasn’t though. She was good at what she did—entertaining men. Why would she act any different with him? As a sex worker, she sold a fantasy, a dream. An escape from reality. That’s all that it was, even though just being around her reminded him of his reality. His little sister, getting hitched to a guy who most likely was a bastard. No.
He had emailed Blake and asked for authorization to talk to the human resources director of the hotel. Ryan had claimed he was interested in hiring a new software developer for his business in Australia, and wanted to study a different type of database. Although their relationship was strained, he just knew Blake would say yes. Ryan hoped direct access to the employees’ files and reports would give him some insight. Maybe he could get the contact information of a fired kitchen worker, possibly disgruntled, who would be interested in spilling the beans in exchange for some cold hard cash.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
She ate up the distance between them with a couple steps, but instead of facing him, she contemplated the scenery unveiling in front of them. He had to yank his gaze from her profile and do the same. “I was eight. Maybe nine. My mother had heard news my father was marrying someone back in Mexico. She was devastated for a while, then decided to bring us here for a weekend trip.” She cleared her throat, and he followed the rise of her chest.
“How did that go?”
“My aunt Rosa came with us. I was scared of the height, it was so intimidating.” She let out a small smile. “She held my hand, and said in Spanish, ‘Francisca, don’t be scared. That big hole won’t swallow you unless you jump.’”
He smiled a little. “Did it work?”
“I wasn’t sure what she meant, but she held my hand and promised a cupcake afterward. How can you say no to a cupcake?” she said, her voice strained.
The previous sensation of fulfillment began to vacate him, little by little. “What happened to your mother?”
“Never remarried. Died in a car accident several years ago.”
He held her hand and gave it a light squeeze. How could he ignore the coldness of her palm? “I’m sorry. Are you and your sister close?”
“No,” she said, and he noticed her body tensing up. She withdrew her hand from his, and straightened her shoulders. He could feel the stiffness of her muscles, her shoulder blades stretching the cotton material of the white tank top she had on. “How about you? I guess you are close, if you are coming all the way to her wedding?”
He ran a hand over his face. What option did he have? “Yes. My sister Charlotte was the one who helped me deal with my disease and who gave me support.”
Kika tilted her head to the side. “Your father didn’t?”
The image of Charles Winters the Third, drinking his whisky and smoking his cigar in a spotless library room formed in front of him. And he had to fight the smile trying to break in his lips. “My father is a good man. But he swept problems he didn’t know how to deal with under a rug.”
She nodded. “Did he divorce your mother?”
“Strangely, no.” He shrugged. “Dad is a good man, but he blamed himself for all her mistakes.”
“I can see that. I haven’t had much luck in relationships myself,” she said, then lifted her hand to her lips, as if she had shared something she wasn’t supposed to. He was about to question her, when she continued, “Prior to the double life of course.”
Double life. The two words burnt a hole in his chest. “I reckon you use the double life not to get close to someone. Not to get hurt,” he said, and hated the pang of accusation in his voice. Let her live her life and work however she wants to. What she did or didn’t do wasn’t any of his bloody business. None.
“Do you moonlight as a shrink or is that a hidden talent?” She winked at him.
“I have all sorts of talents, love. Just need to show them to the right person,” he said, his tone too damn genuine. Shit. Instantly, the air around them shifted and he had to swallow a couple of times to push past the nagging pulse in his throat. She had one too, he realized, lifting his finger to hover over her delicate flesh. What the hell was he talking about?
Throwing double innuendos like this wasn’t his thing—they were whenever he meant a sexual joke, sure. But to hint there could be more to them…
Someone bumped against his back, and he turned around immediately. The middle-aged woman began to gesticulate, and she had a gray haired gentleman next to her who flashed him a close-lipped smile. “I’m sorry. We were trying to get a good shot.”
“No worries. If you’d like, I can take a picture of the two of you.”
“Why yes, that would be lovely,” the lady said, and she positioned against the breath-taking backdrop and held her husband’s arm. “Look at the camera, dear,” she coached her husband, and the man followed her instructions like it was no big deal.
Ryan snapped a couple shots, and realized they were against the sun so he ushered them to the opposite side. The woman apparently didn’t mind the attention a single bit, but the husband just went along with it. The old man sighed with the serenity of a long-term spouse, no doubt.
When he handed her the tiny digital camera, she offered, “I would be happy to have a picture of you and your wife.”
He realized she was talking about Kika who stood in the same place as before, except her eyes trailed over him. When his gaze met hers, she looked away as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “She’s not my wife.”
The woman’s face flushed. “Of course. I’m sorry, dear. Girlfriend. You never know these days.”
“No, you never do,” he said more to himself than to her. He managed a smile and waved at Kika, who joined them with furrowed brows. “Darling, let’s take a picture.”
***
Kika inhaled. How come, even though she hiked in front of him, it felt like she dragged six feet behind him? Because she knew he could outrun her with a couple of strides. Because she didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know he had his eyes on her, on her every move—which stripped her from the misleading idea she could be ahead.
During the next two hours, they had lunch at a casual restaurant near the visitor center and talked about movies, music, and current events. She was impressed by how much they had in common, and how much they didn’t, in some ways. Spending time with him without focus on sex should had been strange, yet it oddly wasn’t. Maybe because they were always surrounded by people—guided tours, visitors, the staff.
Chica. You’re asking to have your heart broken. Her mother hadn’t been strong where men were concerned. She had been a strong woman, mother, and sister. Not smart in the sausage department. Chose the wrong one to knock her up, then even though she fled to the US for a better life, he was always on her mind. He had even visited her a couple of times, but never stayed. Her father had been a gypsy, and Kika wondered if she had decided to follow his misguided footsteps after Freddy’s death.
Right now though, she couldn’t afford weakness. That could be the end of her and her sister. Ryan was a man for whom money was no object, hence the crazy amount he was paying her for a few days of passion.
Maybe paying for sex was his way to avoid emotional attachment, but she decided to keep that nugget of amateur therapy to herself. What was the use of discussing things as if they had a shot at a real relationship? Theirs had begun with lies, starting with her pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
“You’re quiet,” he said behind her. His sexy drawl pulled her from her musings faster than she could blink. “Should I get you a cupcake?”
“They are hard to resist. Although I doubt we’ll find one handy.” She reached for the bottle of water in her bag and took a swig. They had hiked almost all the way to the bottom, and when she lifted her gaze to the rocks, she had the impression they were slightly moving. Must be exhaustion. She’d think all the sex with him would have given her a crash course in fitness, but nah.
“You’re a chocolate kind of girl? Vanilla?”
&n
bsp; She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Red velvet.”
***
“How about a shower?” he asked, and she couldn’t refuse. There was a layer of dust clinging to her body she couldn’t wait to get rid of. Shamelessly, he started to remove his clothes and toss them on the floor as he made the way to the bathroom. After flying back to Vegas, his suite seemed too familiar. Wanting to like, or to stay places she slept in, was always a liability. In this case, more than ever.
A red velvet cupcake sat on the bedspread with a note that read, For those moments you’re afraid. She outlined the strokes of the masculine handwriting. When had he bought it? How had he placed it on the bed? Her shoulders sagged, and her stomach dropped all the way to the floor. A flood of pure joy went through her, one she didn’t want to understand or analyze.
Wriggling out of her jeans, she tossed it to the side, and pulled off her shirt. Another look at the cupcake and her heart raced like a foolish teenager after being asked to the prom.
A cloud of steam swirled around the walk-in shower box, and she found him with eyes closed, head back as the hot water glided over his body. He must have heard the click from the glass as she joined him, yet said nothing.
“Thanks for the cupcake.”
He winked at her. “Anytime.”
“When did you get it? I was with you the entire time.”
He reached for the high-end liquid soap and squeezed it out. Without fanfare, he spread the soapy liquid on his chest and shoulders. Her throat dried, and her gaze slid down his body, so deliciously wet and foamy. “I had the concierge buy it, but I wrote the note when you went to the restroom in the plane. And had the driver hand it to the concierge.”
Wow. She twisted her hands together, eyes locked in his. “You went through a lot of trouble. Why didn’t you just email the concierge and have him write the note?”
He looked away. “Can’t you just accept it?”
“I’ll try,” she said, and a deep part of her doubted she was talking about pastry.
Accidentally Hooked (The Naked Truth Series Book 1) Page 7