by Geneva Lee
“Please tell me you have a really, really good lawyer.” We can’t keep avoiding this, or avoiding the practical discussions that need to happen. “Speaking of which, do I need a really, really good lawyer?”
“Believe me, Detective Mackey is not interested in you,” he says. “She had a few words with me for dragging you into this. I think she’s convinced I paid you to say we were together that night.”
Despite the conflicting emotions swirling inside of me I take offense at this. Maneuvering myself in the seat, I straddle him and wrap my arms behind his neck. “Did she honestly suggest my boyfriend needs to pay someone off to spend the night with him?”
He smirks, allowing a glimpse of the arrogant boy I’d met that night in his father’s study. His hands circle my waist and press flat against the small of my back, drawing me closer to him.
My heart begins to pound along with a few other parts of me as our bodies press together, and without thinking I begin to rock against his groin seeking relief. “Maybe we should go inside, Duchess,” he suggests, sweeping his lips lightly over my own.
“Too far,” I whimper as I push the ache at my center against the rock hard bulge between my legs. His hands slide under my tank top to trail down my bare back.
“Tell me what you want,” he groans, as I continue to rub myself against him.
“You.”
“What about your checklist?”
“Fuck my checklist,” I whisper into his ear, nipping it with my teeth.
“You’re making it very hard to think clearly, Duchess.”
“Then don’t think,” I urge him. “I just want to be someone else tonight,” I say, recalling the words I spoke to him when we met.
“Carefree?” he offers, and I nod. “Believe me,” he mutters with a frustrated groan, “I want nothing more than to strip you down and give you exactly what you’re asking for, but I think that plan benefits from adding a bed to it.”
“But the bed is so far,” I moan, “and it’s raining.”
“And we’re parked outside one of the busiest resorts in Las Vegas,” he reminds me. But even as he speaks his hands tangle in my hair, drawing my lips to his once more. His body begins to move in unison with mine, meeting each push and grind of my hips with a thrust of his own. The denim of my jeans rasps against the sensitive spot begging for attention, and I begin to whimper.
“That’s it, Duchess,” he coaxes, his hands guiding my hips to move faster. “This is only a taste.”
My muscles tense and I dig my fingernails into the back of his neck just as a rap at the window startles us apart.
“Um, Mister West?” The valet looks politely away as he calls through the window. “Can we park your car for you?”
I look around and I’m embarrassed to see a number of hotel guests clustered around the entrance, phones in hand.
“Yes,” Jameson calls back. The valet opens the driver door and offers me a hand to help me extricate myself from my precarious situation. As soon as I’m around the car I take a bow, careful to make sure my middle finger is hidden in plain sight. Enjoy the photos.
“That’s enough, Duchess.” Jameson puts a hand on the small of my back. He keeps it there as we make a dash for the entrance, and under its comforting warmth, I don’t even notice the rain.
Chapter Nineteen
No one’s prepared for rain in the desert. We’re half-drowned by the time we’re inside the lobby. Jameson catches me around the waist, and spins me behind a column.
“Let’s finish the game we started the night we met,” he suggests, nuzzling along my jawline. He trails upward, until his lips find my earlobe, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he catches the tender shell between his teeth. The nip is playful, but the ache that elicits inside me is very serious.
“Truth or dare,” I moan, not caring that half of Vegas could be Snapchatting us right now.
“Truth,” he murmurs. The heat of his breath whispers unspoken promises, but it can’t distract me from the question I need answered.
“Why did you come looking for me that day in the graveyard?” I ask.
“That’s what you want to know?” He seems surprised, but he doesn’t pull away from me. Instead, he moves his mouth back up to my ear. “There are three reasons, Duchess. Two I will share, but the other, I’m keeping in my pocket.”
Does he feel the need to keep me guessing, too? It’s a twisted game we’re caught in, neither of us sure what the other’s intentions are, and it’s made all the more dangerous, because we’ve put our hearts at stake. “I’ll settle for two,” I breathe.
“Because I wanted to see you,” he admits. It’s not the answer I expect. That day, of all days, he should have had more important things on his mind, but as his hands grip my hips, I push the troubling thought down where it can’t distract me.
“You want a better explanation,” he guesses. He pulls away, only far enough so that our eyes can meet. “I didn’t plan to leave you there that night. I didn’t plan any of this, and I suppose I wanted you to know that.”
“And the other reason?”
“I wanted to convince myself you did it, but instead I think I fell for you."
“How did you know I was there? Did you follow me?”
“I went to your house,” he says, “And then I saw you running. So yes, Emma, I did follow you. Does that upset you?”
I swallow and nod. I can’t admit that his explanation is reasonable, because if whatever’s happening between us is going to work, there has to be some boundaries. “I need to know I’m still my own person and that you respect that.”
Given how it hurts when he steps away from me, I need to remind myself of that, too.
“I’m sorry.” Sincerity shines in his silver-blue eyes. “I suppose now isn’t the time to bring up the security detail I’d like to place on you.”
I raise one eyebrow, sliding my palms up his chest, and then I push him away. “I’m starting to think everyone’s right, and you are crazy.”
“Does that make you insane by association?” he asks.
“Maybe.” I close my eyes and let out an annoyed huff of air.
“You have a terrible habit of ruining perfectly good dates.”
“So this is finally a date.” His mouth twists into a haughty grin that screams I told you so.
“Don’t look so self-congratulatory,” I warn him, “Not when I just told you that you’re a first-class date wrecker.”
He reaches out and fiddles with the hem of my t-shirt. “But you have to understand, I was told those weren’t dates.”
“So you weren’t trying?”
“Oh, I’ve been trying since the minute I met you, Duchess. It’s just nice to know that I might be succeeding.” His knuckles graze against my stomach as he continues to play with my shirt. Even the hint of his touch blazes a trail of fire in its wake. I know two things, then. Jameson West can take me when he wants me, and two, I’m totally screwed.
“Come on.” He urges me away from the pillar. It’s strange to think about going back upstairs. The place where our relationship began is almost where it ended. There’s no security guard waiting at the private elevator, and I flash a concerned look at him.
“So you want to put a security detail on me, but no one’s watching the gates to the kingdom?”
“Don’t worry, Duchess,” he says as he presses the elevator button. “I’ve had four times as many security cameras installed in the last week. You can’t blink here without security knowing about it.”
“But why not have the extra muscle?”
He laughs at this. “For someone who looked very resistant to the idea of having a body guard, you seem awfully concerned about my safety.”
“I can’t stand the idea of someone doing you bodily harm.” I run my fingers across the flat plane of his abdomen. Of the two of us, he’s in much more danger than I am. At least that’s what I want to tell myself, even as I ignore the real danger I face. How I feel about Jameson is morphi
ng and evolving so rapidly that it’s hard to wrap my head around, but the very fact that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before tells me all I need to know. Yes, I am in danger of losing my heart to him.
“Then you understand how I feel,” he says huskily.
At least if I do lose my heart to him, I’ll be getting one in return.
“Your turn,” he prompts, as the elevator light signals its imminent arrival.
I look him squarely in the eyes as the doors slide open behind us. “Dare.”
“God, I was hoping you’d say that, Duchess.” His hand fists in my shirt, dragging me inside the compartment. “This elevator only goes up,” he reminds me. “So the only button I need to worry about pushing is yours. But,” he backs me into the mirrored wall, his hips pressing roughly against mine. “If I hit this button, we’ll have two minutes alone in here before security responds.”
I follow his gaze to the panel, where a stop button is located next to one marked panic. “So what’s your dare, then?” I ask him.
“If I hit that button, you have to accept it.” He shifts his groin harder against mine, so that I can feel the long, hard outline of his dick.
I want more than two minutes with that, but I’ll take what I can get. “I said dare, didn’t I? Wait, are there cameras in here?”
The wicked grin that splits his face is answer enough. “But doesn’t that make it better?”
“Dare,” I repeat.
He presses the button. The elevator screeches to a halt as his lips cover mine.
“I dare you to hold out” he breathes against them. I lose that dare on the spot.
“You only have two minutes,” I taunt.
“With two minutes, I could get you there twice, but I think I’ll take my time.” I get the sense that isn’t a boast, but my heart sinks a little at the thought of having to wait. I have absolutely no intention of holding out on this one. Our mouths crush together as he slants his head, deepening the kiss, allowing his tongue to capture my own. When we break apart a few seconds later, we’re breathless, but I shake my head.
“You’re a good kisser, but you’re not that good, West.”
“I think you want to lose, Duchess. Now I’m going to make you wait even longer.” He bends his head, denying me his kiss, but only so that he can start the slow progress from my collarbone to the valley between my breasts. My eyes clamp shut, as my head falls back, knocking against the mirror. When I feel the heat of his mouth settling over the peaks, I open one eye, and watch as he slowly begins to suck it through the fabric of my tank and bra.
Seeing it is almost as amazing as actually feeling it. It might not be enough to get me there, but I’m not going to complain. After a few seconds, he switches to the other side, repeating the move until I’ve begun to whimper. Then he releases me, and it takes all my willpower not to grab his hair and shove him back where he belongs.
Jameson straightens up, and traces a finger along the bow of my upper lip. “I could get you off that way,” he promises, “but I’m feeling very selfish tonight.” His finger runs along my lower lip, down my chin, and neck, forging a line down, down, down, until his hand reaches the waistband of my jeans. With one practiced move, he unbuttons them.
“Pink panties,” he says with approval. “God, you’re going to kill me, Duchess.”
In fact, I am going to kill him, if he doesn’t finish what he started soon. I buck against the hand still gripping my jeans. He takes the hint, and his hand flattens against my lower belly. He slides it past the thin satin of my panties, stopping just before he reaches the promised land.
“Look at me,” he commands. “Show me your green eyes, Duchess.”
I bite my lip as I open my eyes, trying to stay still.
“Still determined to win?” His finger slips to the precise point of my desire and begins to rub slow circles around it.
I nod, but my breath hitches in my throat.
“Don’t pass out,” he warns me quickening the pace. He crushes his body against mine, trapping his hand in place. His hips begin to imitate the rhythm, adding an insurmountable amount of pressure. “Show me how pretty you look when I’m giving you what you need, Duchess.”
The breath I’ve been holding releases in a throaty cry as I crack apart at the seams. My muscles spasm and I crumble into him. His mouth finds mine and he sucks his own pleasure from my lips. I have to press my thighs tightly together when he doesn’t stop. Jameson takes the hint and withdraws his hand. He grabs my hip and kneads it as I come down from the amazing high of his touch.
“What happens when you lose a dare?” he asks.
I stare dreamily at him and smile. “I think you win the game.”
Chapter Twenty
My legs shake as Jameson hits the button to restart the elevator. Best two minutes of my life. Judging from the pleased smirk on his face, he’s happy about it, too. But when the elevator deposits us onto his private floor, we’re greeted by the loud beat of bass. Jameson grabs my hand and drags me out, cursing under his breath. Given the shattering experience I just had, it takes more than a little effort to keep up with him, especially in heels.
“I cannot fucking believe this,” he mutters as he leads me into the entertainment suite. It looks like a scene from last weekend: classmates passed out on the furniture, girls doing body shots on the bar, even Hugo waves from the couch.
Jameson turns to me. “I’m so sorry about this. Can you give me a minute?”
I nod but he’s already abandoned me. I stand awkwardly in the midst of my drunk schoolmates. So much for the romantic evening of bliss I’ve been promised. This is like a bad Vietnam flashback.
“Pawn star!” Hugo calls to me. “Did you miss me?”
“Like I missed the stomach flu,” I respond with a grimace.
Hugo ditches the girl hanging off of him and wanders closer. “I see you traded up but I suppose damaged goods can be bought at a reduced price.”
“I’d advise you to shut the fuck up before Jameson hears you.” I’m through with his insults.
His mocking attitude evaporates and he takes a menacing step closer. “You have to do more than screw yourself into this crowd. I thought you figured that out when I left you there after that night, but since you didn’t let me make it clear. You don’t get to speak to us like that.”
“Why, because the Housers always win?” I ask.
“Because you’re trash.”
“Sticks and stones Hugo,” I say with a sigh. “If you’ll excuse me I feel the need to throw up now.” I turn on my heel and walk away my hands balling into fists at my side. If today has taught me anything is that’s violence isn’t the answer, even if it would be very satisfying.
“He’s going to see through you,” Hugo calls after me. “Just like Jonas. Just like the rest of us.”
I refuse to turn around and acknowledge the last comment even as it sticks in my back. Knowing something isn’t true on a rational level doesn’t always make it hurt less. I escort myself back to the entrance. The last time I walked around here unchaperoned bad things happened, but I’m not about to stand there and let Hugo hurl abuse at me. Crossing my arms over my chest I lean against the marble wall and wait for Jameson to return. After a few minutes I send him a text but I get no response.
I’m just about to head back into the chaos when the elevator slides open. Detective Mackey strides out, zeroing in on me. “Ms. Southerly.”
I force a smile that’s not fooling anyone.
“Are you here with Jameson West?” she asks.
I’m not sure how to answer that but it’s not like I can hide the truth. “Yes.”
“It sounds like there are quite a few people here with Jameson West.” She cocks her head as if she’s listening to the music. “We just got here,” I rush to explain. It can’t look good to be having a party on the one week anniversary of murder but I can tell from the calculated look on her face that she’s not interested in my excuses.
“Wh
ere can we find him?” she asks me.
“What do you want with him?” I make a mental note to get the name of Jameson’s lawyer and put it on my speed dial.
She pulls an envelope from her bag. “It’s private business.”
“I think he’s with his sister,” I say finally “or at least he’s looking for her.”
“So then this is Monroe’s idea of grieving?” Mackey guesses.
For no explicable reason I find myself growing defensive. “She’s had a bit of a rough week.”
“Emma.” Mackey leans forward and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t try to excuse their behavior. Stay above it.”
Is that what she thinks of me that I’m above all of this? Jameson must have been right when he said she didn’t suspect me but the fact does nothing to soothe me. The only way I can stay above this is with Jameson by my side doing the same, but he’s not here.
“Excuse us,” she waves on the officer waiting behind her. “We need to find your boyfriend.”
I guess news travels fast. Then again with any luck the beginnings of our first sex tape have already made it onto YouTube.” I slam my fist against the wall, remembering too late that it’s marble. Clutching it, I groan. Then I hurry after her. Whatever Jameson has to face tonight, he won’t do it alone. I catch up with her just as she finds him arguing with Monroe.
“Excuse me Mr. West perhaps we can speak somewhere privately,” Detective Mackey interrupts. Both Wests fall silent immediately and stare at her.
Jameson’s eyes dart to mine over her shoulder. “Take care of her?” he asks me, glancing toward Monroe.
“You did not just ask her to do that!” Monroe stomps into the other room either oblivious to the fact that her brother is probably going to be arrested or indifferent to it. Despite his request I follow behind them as he leads them into a hall away from the crowd.
“Jameson West, I’m here to arrest you for assault.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” he asks in confusion. “That’s a majorly reduced charge.”