Sin City Vows (Sin City Secrets Book 1)

by Zuri Day

  Lauren was glad to not have to engage in conversation. The plane had landed but parts of her still floated above the clouds. Remembering Christian’s naughty plans for the night ahead, her core quivered and her nether lips pulsed. Just thinking of his tongue once again inside her made every part of her body react. Nipples pebbled. Nub engorged. She was shaky and dewy and out of control, and even though bouts of drowsiness and jet lag accompanied the time change, all she wanted was Christian, demanding and hard.

  A half hour later, the driver pulled up to the Sanderson Hotel in Berkenshire. Ace and London had invited them to stay at their home, but considering that they’d been on a plane for ten-plus hours and her namesake city was ninety miles away, Christian declined the invite. Lauren believed there may have been another reason, that he wanted what she wanted.

  She was right.

  Within minutes of the driver bringing in their luggage before tipping his hat and wishing them good-night, Christian and Lauren tumbled into bed. She wore nothing but her sexy bionic brace, which was covered by London’s thoughtful gift, on the ankle Christian thoughtfully propped up with pillows before sheathing himself, sliding behind her and thrusting himself into her waiting warmth. He moved slowly and rhythmically, branding her soul, his fingers keeping the same pace sliding over her nub. Her orgasm was deep and delicious, intensely satisfying, and just as her eyelids fluttered shut she decided soothing sex with a master beat melatonin any night of the week.

  Fourteen

  A text Christian received when he and Lauren awakened Saturday morning necessitated a change in plans. He’d been invited to meet the following day with members of the president of Djibouti’s administration and a small group of businessmen. Knowing the importance of establishing and maintaining excellent relations with the country’s political structure, he cancelled their plans for joining Ace and London for dinner at Restaurant Gordon Ramsey, and had their pilot make flight plans that would put them in Djibouti in time for a good night’s sleep before the business meeting.

  It would be his first return to the country since purchasing his own island, one of the smaller, more pristine in the Indian Ocean, his first time seeing the home he’d designed, with a mini golf course as the backyard and a pool on the roof.

  Their flight arrived in Djibouti around one a.m. and instead of nonstop lovemaking as had happened in England, Christian and Lauren got a good night’s sleep. After his business meeting later that morning, the couple toured the capital, Djibouti City. Christian loved introducing Lauren to the local cuisine and sharing what he’d learned of the country through extensive research and his many visits there.

  The Republic of Djibouti, located in the Horn of Africa, bordered by Eritrea, Ethiopia and Somalia, was not the type of country most would consider as a possibility for a vacation paradise. But it fit Christian’s vision perfectly, especially the islands off the coast of Djibouti in the Gulf of Tadjoura. The paradisiacal enclave of the Indian Ocean boasted an abundance of pearl oysters, extensive coral reefs and privacy. Before, he could only imagine the love nests that could be created for the rich and famous craving discretion. Now, with Lauren beside him, what he’d envisioned had come to life.

  He looked at her now, golden body shimmering against the water, bathed in the light of a waning sun. Curly wet hair splayed across her shoulders and down her back. The rounded ass he loved so much bobbing out of the water like an apple ripe for biting. But he resisted and instead took in her pensive expression, and broached the subject that had bugged him since Wednesday night.

  “Who is he?”

  “Hmm?” she asked without glancing his way.

  “The guy who had you frowning when I came by on Wednesday, and now.”

  Her hazel eyes pierced him and narrowed. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  “Because you have that look of a woman irritated by a man. Trust me, I know that look. I’ve seen it many times.”

  This made her laugh. She became less defensive, turned her body and reached for a float. “Tell me about that.”

  “No way, Ms. Avoider,” he replied. “We’re talking about you right now.”

  He watched her nibble her plush lower lip and formulate an answer. “It’s complicated,” she said at last, her lips moist and swollen and looking so tasty that he wanted to nibble them himself. He ignored his twitching member.

  Down, boy.

  “Do you love him?” He refused to admit how much her answer mattered. She shook her head. “Then what’s hard about it?”

  “He’s an ex who wants another chance. Our families are close. My dad likes him, and is the CFO of his father’s company.”

  “Ah. That’s complicated. Though I can understand the guy is probably kicking himself, trying to figure out how you got away.”

  “He’d be better served learning how not to be a jerk.”

  “Ha! Ready to get out of the water?”

  “And do what?” She looked at him with suggestive eyes.

  “Definitely that,” he said with a knowing smile as he hoisted himself from the pool. “But later, after I run something past you.”

  Lauren floated over to the steps and climbed out, or tried to, as she tested putting weight on her ankle. He watched for a while just to drink in all that beauty as she slowly rose up from the pool like a nymph, water cascading off her hair, down her back and the long legs that had gripped him in the heat of passion. He saw her wince and went into action, closing the distance between them in two strides and lifting her out of the water as though she were made of glass.

  “Hey, I can walk!”

  “You can hop. There’s a difference.”

  “Ha! Put me down, smart-ass.”

  He did, but ran his hands down her back and squeezed her butt, enjoying a juicy kiss before letting her go. She reached for the sarong made of bold animal print fabric that lay across a lounge chair and tied it around her hips. He took a towel from a nearby table, ran it over his hair and draped it across his shoulders. They entered the two-story great room that framed the pool. The tile floor was cool beneath their bare feet. Lauren hobbled over to one of a matching set of bamboo chairs covered in a lavish, water-resistant silk and sank into the plush cushion. She placed her legs on the ottoman nearby. Christian sat across from her on the couch and eyed her thoughtfully.

  “So...what’s up? What do you want to talk about?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “How would you like to work for CANN?”

  “I already do.”

  “Not the foundation, the corporation.”

  “With you as my boss? No, thanks.”

  Said with such mock seriousness, Christian laughed out loud. “There could be benefits to sleeping with the boss, you know.”

  “Yes, and even bigger disadvantages.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?” he asked.

  Her brow rose. “Are you?”

  “I learned early on that the old cliché was true. Business and pleasure do not mix well. I also believe that there can be exceptions to every rule.”

  Lauren nodded, her eyes intent as she waited.

  “When Dad named the corporation after us boys using the CANN acronym, he purposely stayed away from campaigns using the word. Too obvious, he felt, and a bit corny. But not long ago a guy you may have heard about used it fairly successfully in a presidential campaign—” he paused as Lauren smiled “—and there was something about how you used it in the social media campaign that made common phrases sound oddly refreshing. I think that approach might work for this launch.”

  Christian thought this revelation might shock Lauren. Her surprised expression proved that he’d been correct.

  “You want me to work on the marketing for your trillion-dollar baby? A campaign to bring the rich, famous and infamous running to these shores?”

  “Yes.”

 
She pursed her lips. “Why?”

  “Because of what I’ve seen, on your website and the internet, and even more by what I feel. It takes time for me to build trust with people, and while I generally don’t trust women, I trust you.”

  “Why don’t you trust women?” she queried.

  “I’ve been lied to.”

  Lauren gave him a look. “Join the world of relationships.”

  Christian’s smile was bittersweet.

  Her tone turned serious. “That bad, huh?”

  “In the eyes of my then-eighteen-year-old self it was worse.”

  “Care to share details?” she asked.

  Christian looked away from her then, and out toward the pool. “Someone tried to trap me into marriage by saying she was pregnant.”

  “And she wasn’t?”

  He shrugged. “If she was, she didn’t have it. I guess I’ll never know.”

  “Did you ever see her again after that?” He nodded. “When was the last time?”

  “Wednesday night. It was Chloe, right after breaking up with her once and for all.”

  “Judging by her reaction to me, she has yet to get over it.” She shot him a look. “Are you over her?”

  “Totally.” He stood and walked over to where she sat in the chair. “I’m also done with this conversation, and have a much better idea for how we can spend the rest of the day.”

  “Great! What’s that?”

  Christian held out his hands to help her up. “Remember the promises I made on the airplane, the ones that involved your getting wet?”

  Lauren nodded, the sweet blush on her skin proof that clearly she remembered.

  “Well...it’s time to be a man of my word.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Monday, Christian was awakened by a shard of sunlight piercing his left eyelid. He squinted and ran his arm across the sheets in search of soft skin. Instead his fingers encountered a pillow and a part of the bunched-up sheet on the empty side of the bed. He reached for his phone, opened one eye fully to read the time. It was early, just eight o’clock. Considering the horizontal cardio they’d engaged in for hours the previous night, it was much too early to get up. But the custom king-size was lonely without her, so he rolled out of bed, slipped on a pair of shorts and went in search of Lauren.

  She was in the kitchen, barefoot except for the ankle brace, wearing the skimpy negligee he’d removed last night. He slid up behind her, squeezed her luscious booty before pulling her back against him and nuzzling her neck.

  “Hey,” she cooed, moving out of his grasp.

  A subtle move, but Christian noticed. Last night she only moved toward him, not away.

  “Was it something I said?” he asked lightly. “Morning breath?” He cupped his hand and blew into it.

  “No, silly.”

  The teapot sounded. He watched Lauren pour the scalding water over a tea bag.

  “Want some?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  He walked over to a bar chair and eased into it, content for the moment to watch Lauren looking all kinds of sexy in the domestic scene.

  “Black or green?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Definitely black.”

  She smiled, licked her lips. “You’re talking about the tea, right?”

  “I’m so not talking about the tea, but I’ll have that black, too.”

  She fixed the tea and brought the mugs over to where he sat, along with lemons and agave she’d found in the fridge. For several seconds they sat side by side, the only sound that of silverware clanking against china, soft blows and tiny sips.

  Whether a personal or professional matter, Christian believed in the direct approach. So he turned to Lauren, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and allowed his fingers to linger in her gorgeous curls. “What’s going on in there?”

  “A lot of thinking.”

  “About?”

  She glanced at him. “You. This. Everything between us—the attraction, the hot sex, the family dynamic with our mothers being friends, me working for Victoria...potentially working with you.”

  “So you’re considering my offer.”

  “You made an offer?” she murmured. “I don’t recall.”

  “I asked the question of whether you’d consider working with me, or more specifically, working on the CANN Island campaign.” He caught her gaze. “Are you?”

  “I’d be interested in working under contract. I’d rather do that than become an employee right now.”

  “That could happen.”

  She nodded. “Which is why I woke up thinking that while the fireworks we create in bed could probably be declared illegal in a few countries and several states...”

  He ran his fingers up her arm and watched goose bumps pop up in their wake.

  “Like that,” she breathed, and moved her arm. “I think it’s probably best for now that we go back to just being friends.”

  “No benefits?”

  “Well, maybe every now and then,” she murmured with a face that made him laugh. “Seriously, though. There’s a lot happening stateside that I need to sort out, and that’s what I need to focus on right now.”

  “The complicated ex?”

  “The series of major events by the foundation over the next few months,” she clarified. “It’s a short contract, but I want to do my best. Hopefully the situation with...my personal issues...will require very little of my attention.”

  “Good. Because I’d like for us to work out the details of your proposed contract with CANN as soon as possible, and put you and that brilliant mind of yours right to work.”

  “Have you forgotten that I’m under contract with CANN Foundation?”

  “Yes, but without the continued success of CANN International, there is no foundation. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Mom. We’ll work something out.”

  One of the hosts called and a short time later Christian and Lauren were picked up and whisked away to have lunch at the president’s palace. He was led into another meeting and as was often the case in Muslim countries, only the men were invited. He not only felt bad but, considering the intricate role Lauren might play in the Island brand, was a bit miffed that she’d been excluded. Later he learned that one of the wives had taken her “shopping,” a limited proposition, and to enjoy local cuisine—oven-baked fish, chapati, mukbassa—at Mukbassa Central Chez Youssouf.

  On Tuesday, once business was done for the day, he and Lauren joined a French businessman and his wife for a turn in the canal in a glass-bottom boat. They were taken to where the magic of the coral reefs below the water was clear and brilliant to the naked eye without having to go underwater. They went farther out and watched dolphins play.

  The following afternoon they left Djibouti and, remembering Lauren’s suggestion to be “just friends” once stateside, took full advantage of their remaining time together. They’d barely reached cruising altitude before he pulled her into the jet’s swanky bedroom and initiated a different kind of high, one where he thrusted, plunged and branded her insides. Lauren matched his enthusiasm and gave as good as she got. He rewarded her efforts with a final push that took her over the edge and into the status as a climax-carrying member of the mile-high club.

  An hour before landing in Italy, an impromptu side trip before heading home, they showered and dressed and returned to the main cabin. Lauren read a magazine, leaving Christian to pick at his dinner and be alone with his thoughts. He replayed what Lauren had said in Djibouti about why their sexual escapades needed to end and found irony in how closely her reasoning actually matched his own. At least it had when it came to other women. But with Lauren, all of that logic seemed to fly out the window. He didn’t want what started last week to be over, and the fact that she worked with his mother? Well, at the moment, he just didn’t give a damn.

&nbs
p; Fifteen

  Lauren felt like a jet-setter. On Wednesday, she and Christian had left Djibouti for Rome. When asked why they were going there, Christian had answered, his tone sincere, “I’m hungry and in the mood for Italian.” They’d eaten at the only restaurant in the eternal city with three Michelin stars, enjoying delicacies Lauren had never imagined, like rabbit tortellini with carrot and chamomile, white asparagus with seaweed pesto, and fillet of John Dory with almond cream and lemon shrimp. The view was glorious and afterward they’d toured the famous ruins, thrown coins in the Trevi Fountain, and walked off dessert by testing out the strength of both the bionic brace and her ankle by climbing a few of the Spanish Steps.

  Since Italy was one of the world’s most romantic countries, she was glad her “no sex with Christian” rule was not yet in effect, and that she’d agreed that there could be occasional benefits to their friendship. She couldn’t picture herself being here, especially with a hunk like the eldest Breedlove boy, and not making love.

  Earlier today they’d left for Las Vegas. The whirlwind trip had left her exhausted, and she awoke to find her head on Christian’s shoulder, his arm comfortably around her. She jerked upright and looked around. The plane was about to land.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to use your shoulder for a pillow.”

  “Baby, you can use any part of me anytime you want to.”

  “Come on now. We talked about that already. What happened in Djibouti is going to stay in Djibouti, right?”

  “What about what happened over the Atlantic Ocean and in Rome?” Lauren made a face. “Is that really what you want?”

  “No, but I think it’s best.”

  Christian exhaled roughly. “Being that you work for my mother, you’re probably right.”

  “So you agree with me?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied.