Читать книгу Pleasure Under the Sun - Lindsay Evans - Страница 12

Chapter 3

“If I’d known you were going to make a play for her, I would have warned you.” Marcus braced his elbows against the bar, sipping from his Hennessy and Coke. “Unless you’re corporate, you’re wasting your time.”

“Why? Is she just about money?” Seven asked.

He hadn’t gotten that vibe from her at all, and she had seemed to warm to him over the course of the hour they’d spent together on her office floor. But that warmth had disappeared once Marcus opened his big mouth and told her what Seven did for a living.

Seven tilted the last of his beer to his lips and leaned back in the chair at the bar of Marcus’s favorite spot, Gillespie’s Jazz and Martini Bar. The sound of the piano wove through the lazy Monday night, while soft laughter, the clink of glasses, the flash of jewels imbued the air with a subdued urban magic.

“Nah,” Marcus said dismissively. “She doesn’t care about things like that. Her last man was a teacher, some professor over at UM. She just doesn’t do artists.”

Seven looked at him. “If you knew that, why did you tell her that?”

“Like I said, man. I didn’t know you were feeling her like that. Most guys, once they realize she’s such a hard-ass, they back off. She’s hot, but damn!” Marcus shook his head.

Seven breathed in the memory of Bailey. Everything about her was hot. Her body. The way she had thawed for him like an ice sculpture under the rising sun. And her smile—absolutely incredible.

“Just give it up, man.” Marcus raised his drink to his lips. “You’re better off.”

Seven made a noncommittal sound. After what had happened in Bailey’s office, he’d been in a hurry to distance himself from Marcus, convinced that the other man was bad luck for his new life in America. He had left Braithwaite and Fernandez to view a condominium with vacancies. Luckily, they allowed him to move in immediately. When Marcus called to invite him to Gillespie’s, Seven had reluctantly accepted, plugging the address into the GPS and making his way to the club.

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” Marcus asked, his tone of voice saying that Seven should give up.

“Why should I?”

“I already gave you a good reason. Bailey is a genius with money, but she’s a bitch. Plain and simple.”

“Every strong woman isn’t a bitch, Marcus.”

“Spoken like a man who’s already whipped. And she didn’t even give you any.”

Seven gestured to the bartender for another beer. “Spoken like a man who’s never had a special woman in his life.”

“I’ve had plenty of special women.” Marcus laughed.

Seven nodded his thanks as the bartender slid him another bottle of Corona with lime.

“And speaking of which...” Marcus swiveled around in his chair as two women walked up to them, parting the crowd with their video-girl good looks. It was two of the girls from earlier that day. “Felice and Masiel are here for our pleasure,” he said, pulling Felice against him. The girl settled into his chest with a satisfied purr while her friend looked at Seven expectantly.

Seven squeezed the lime into his beer then slid the crinkled remnants of the citrus into the full bottle. “I don’t need any company tonight, thanks.” He sipped his beer, mouth puckering at the tartness of lime and beer.

Marcus stared at him in amazement. “You’re refusing this?” He gestured to Felice’s lush frame while she posed seductively, hand on hip, breasts thrust out.

“You’re hot like fire, baby,” Seven reassured the woman. “But I’m not in the mood.”

“Damn. You are whipped.” He started to sing Babyface’s “Whip Appeal” in a surprisingly good voice.

Seven laughed despite his irritation. “Forget you, man. I’m heading out. See you later.” He put the beer to his head, drinking as much as he could, then thudded the mostly full bottle against the bar with a sound of finality. He stood.

“You’re going to regret giving this up,” Marcus said. “But that’s cool. I’ll handle the girls for you.”

Masiel claimed the seat Seven had vacated, giving him her sexiest hurt look.

“Enjoy.” Seven tipped his imaginary hat at Marcus in a mocking salute, then turned and left the bar.

He didn’t have a particular destination in mind. His only goal was to get away from Marcus and his poison so he could have some time to himself. To think. To just be. But as Seven climbed into the rental Lexus and drove away from the bar, he suddenly realized that what he wanted more than anything was to go for a swim. Although he’d been in Miami for four long days, he had yet to get in the water. It had been months since he’d been in the water, not since his trip to Jamaica last winter to visit his parents.

Even then, he’d spent most of his time helping his parents around the house—fixing, climbing, painting, all good and honest work that left a pleasant ache in his body and sharpened his hunger for the good food his mother always had in the kitchen. A pang of homesickness took him, and Seven stepped harder on the gas, pushing the car up Collins Avenue toward his new condo. Once there, he quickly parked, went upstairs to change into his swim trunks and a white jogging suit, then walked the two blocks to the beach.

It was dark. The beach was deserted except for the occasional passerby. Waves tumbled up on the sand, pale waves painting the sand dark as they capered up on the beach before retreating back into the ocean. Seven kicked off his sandals and pulled off his jogging suit. The water called him.