Home > The Contract(7)

The Contract(7)
Author: Stella Gray

I angle my body toward her. “So, what brings you to Paris?”

She tilts her head with a sassy flounce. “Why don’t you buy me my next drink and I’ll tell you all about it?”

Done and done.

A few minutes later, she’s moved her chair close enough to mine that our knees touch when we sit. The notes of her heavy floral perfume give me the tingle of a headache—or maybe that’s from the third drink I’m tossing back—but I ignore it. I can ignore a lot of things if it means I get laid. What a skill to have honed over the years.

“My sister is getting married.” She says this as if she’s telling me a secret. “Her fiancé is twenty years older than she is. Can you believe that?”

“Shocking,” I say, though of course it isn’t.

“I know, right? But she seems happy. He paid for my trip here and put me up in this posh hotel, so I say live and let live.” She giggles again, tonguing the straw of her drink suggestively. Then she pulls out her phone to show me the scores of photos she took of the Eiffel Tower.

I’m already bored. The sound of her voice grates on me and all I can think about is Brooklyn’s face, the citrus scent of her shampoo, the heat of her breath in my ear, and what it felt like to come inside her on our wedding night, over and over again.

Fuck, I want the old Luka back. The one who only cared about a woman’s bra size, and how quickly I could get her into bed.

“You said you have a room here?” I murmur, and lean a little closer.

“I do,” she says, eyes sparking with interest. “Are you interested in a private tour?”

“Nothing would make me happier right now.”

As I down the last of my whiskey, her eyebrows flick up. She’s noticed my wedding ring. I don’t mention it, and neither does she.

I stand up and take her hand, pulling her to her feet. Her breasts are beautifully pushed together, creating a deep line of cleavage that I could bury my face in while pulling the straps of her dress all the way down to expose her tits and wrap my mouth around her nipples.

The image flashes through my mind…yet nothing happens. There’s no spark. My cock seems oblivious to the dirty thoughts in my head. What the fuck? This woman is full and ripe, dark and luscious. Ready to be spread out under me. Instead, my mind is straying to Brooklyn walking toward me in her wedding gown, her radiant beauty rendering everyone speechless.

Enough.

“Lead the way,” I tell her.

She winks and tugs me away from the table. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I’m in a daze as we stumble across the hotel lobby. I never rush into proposing sex this fast. I like the chase, the seduction. I love the moment I know I’ve won a woman over and she’s pliable and willing in my arms. But I don’t care about any of that right now.

As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, I have her against the wall, her hands pinned lightly in mine as I take her mouth.

She shimmies her hips against me as I swipe my tongue along hers. She tastes…different. Too sweet. Like daiquiri and lip gloss. Her lips are sloppy against mine, not moving perfectly in time with my rhythm. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

Frustrated, I cup her breast and squeeze, listening to her moan as I kiss her with everything I’ve got.

The car opens and we spill out into the hall. She pulls her keycard from her pocket and leads me to her room. With a wicked grin, she spins and presses against the doorframe, reaching for me with one hand while she slides the card into the door slot with the other.

I kiss her again.

And not a fucking thing happens to my cock. Nothing. No zing of anticipation, no pulsing need. No immediate hard-on.

With a sigh, I pull away and run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I just remembered something I need to do.”

She brushes my excuse off by grabbing my crotch and giving it a squeeze. “What could possibly be more interesting than this?”

Pushing away from her, I smooth my shirt and set my jaw. “My wife.”

Without looking back, I leave her standing at the door and walk back to the elevator. She doesn’t try to stop me. Or maybe she does, but I’m already so deft at ignoring her that I don’t notice. I feel lighter as I ride back down to the lobby.

Fucking that woman would have been the wrong thing to do. Apparently, my cock agreed. But I’m still not ready to go back to my room and face Brooklyn. In fact, I quite enjoyed the look of hurt jealousy on her face when I’d left earlier. Let her simmer a while longer.

The lobby is nearly empty when I find a plush sofa in a private nook and settle back into the brocade covered cushions. It’s comfortable, and I slouch down as fatigue takes hold of my brain. The alcohol is taking full effect now, making me content and warm, and before I know it, I’m drifting off.

When I wake up some time later, I’m disoriented—but a hell of a lot more sober. I’m also feeling hungover, and I’m pleased to find there’s red lipstick smeared on my collar. That’ll show Brooklyn. And I’ve got a hard-on with her name all over it.

A plan begins to form in my mind. I have no regrets.

I know exactly what I’m going to do.

 

 

Brooklyn

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

Luka never came back last night.

I stayed up so late pacing back and forth between the rooms, I actually started to get nervous that I might harm the fancy Aubusson rug. Sometime after three a.m., I finally turned off the TV and wrapped myself in a blanket in the corner chair, holding back tears. But I hardly slept. Every time I heard the slightest noise in the hall, I jumped up, anticipating his return—only to be disappointed every time.

When he left here last night, he’d looked like the devil ready to roll around in sin. I have no idea where he went or where he slept, but given my current standing with him, I can’t really interrogate him whenever he does come back. How did things go so wrong?

Every time I think back and retrace my steps, I don’t see how I could have done things any differently. Even if I’d rejected Elite’s offer sooner—tore up the contract they’d offered me on the same day I “auditioned” to be Luka’s wife—Monica Shore still would have found the original contract with my name on it and shown it to Luka later.

The sky is starting to lighten. The first rays of sun haven’t quite come in through the windows yet, but while I can imagine all sorts of plausible scenarios for why he hasn’t returned yet, my heart knows the truth. He wanted to hurt me, so he did it in the only way he knows how.

Partying, clubbing, picking up women. I’m hollow, the space inside my chest ready to collapse with anguish at any moment. He’s risking both our reputations, risking everything we said this marriage was for. But I can’t place all the blame on him. This is my fault.

The worst part is, I could swear I was finally starting to break down his walls.

The thought brings tears to my eyes again. I fight to keep them back.

Just then, the lock on the door clicks. I spin away from the window and watch the pale morning light spill over Luka as he stumbles in. My heart sinks to my feet. Is he drunk?

He tosses his wallet and keycard on the table beside the door, then pops a button on his shirt as he saunters into the room as if he doesn’t have a care in the world for the heartbreak and jealousy that’s ripping me apart right now.

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