Читать книгу Becoming The Boss - Maya Blake, Zuri Day - Страница 15

FINN DIDN’T WASTE any time calling in a favour and landing a suite at the most exclusive Casino in town—where all the glitz and glamour that made the city famous came together in a fairy-tale fantasyland of opulence and high-flyers—and ordering a tuxedo from one of the exclusive concessions in the marble and bronze foyer.

Strict dress code aside, at times he luxuriated in his debonair façade. Playing Casanova was generally more interesting than being himself. Also, as it turned out, his penthouse here had evolved into a necessity. Not only did he need somewhere to sleep with no lingering residue of the demons haunting him in the dead of night, but a gratifyingly quick sale had gone through that very afternoon. One of the members of a minor royal family reviving his Swiss bank account very nicely.

The fact he was Seraphina-free for the evening was also an added boon.

The plan was, he’d grab a couple of girls, lavish money on a few gaming tables, dance until the wee hours and then sleep. Great plan. The fact that he lacked enthusiasm…? Not so great.

Her fault. It’s all her fault.

Had he actually stormed into the garage to check on her? According to his memory banks, yes, he had.

Since when had he left the hullabaloo of the roaring crowd for a woman? Never before in his life!

Do not panic—it’s the guilt.

Knowing she missed her brother and veiled the ache with her beautiful bravado was killing him. The pain that lurked behind those incredible grey eyes was a fist to his gut. Her strength was formidable, but he couldn’t help wondering what it cost her. Of late, holding his own façade in place came at an extortionate price, but the alternative fall out would be catastrophic. As soon as he opened the door to his emotional vault the contents of Pandora’s box would be unleashed and all hell would break loose.

Now, sitting in the prestigious lounge known as the throbbing heart of the Casino, he palmed a tall glass of tequila and raised it to his lips, hopeful that the sharp kick and bite would burn the dull edges off his dark mood. For some reason the suave, elegant cut of his suit wasn’t working tonight. He felt dangerous enough to burst out of his skin.

The sensation of black eyes staring into his soul reminded him of dark, agonising days and he downed the liquor—his first drink in a week—and it slid down his throat, trailing a blaze of fire to his gut.

Gradually the muted whoosh of spinning roulette wheels, the mumble of inane chatter and the evocative beat from a small band filtered through his mind.

The singer was a stunning blend of French beauty and passionate sultry vocals, and when he felt her eyes slither over him in blatant invitation the crystal in his fist cracked with a soft clink. What was he doing here? He’d sell his soul to be someone else for one day, one night—

Between one heartbeat and the next the hair on his nape tingled, shifting his pulse into gear.

Easing his totalled glass onto the low-slung mahogany table, he glanced covertly around the room—from the impressive plaster of Paris inlays and priceless art to each and every table in between. By the time he reached the archway leading to the main gambling hall every cell in his body was on red alert and his heart had roared to life.

It was the kind of stupefying feeling he’d used to get on the starting grid. The very one he’d lost what felt like aeons ago, leaving a dull imitation in its place.

Now the cause of that incredible sensation shoved heat through his veins as he caught a flash of ruby-red hair flowing across the foyer.

Within seconds he was on his feet. What was Miss Spitfire doing in here? Looking for him? She was a determined little thing.

In the main lobby he glanced left, towards the wide entryway—seeing the line of supercars curling around the fountain beyond—and then right, to fall beneath her spell as she disappeared around a darkened corner.

By the time he caught up she was facing a door, her hand in mid-air—

‘You’ve come to the Casino to use the bathroom, Seraphina? Do you have a problem with the plumbing on your father’s yacht?’

She froze, palm flat against the hardwood panel, and Finn watched her decadent long lashes flutter downwards to whisper over her satiny cheeks. No make-up, he mused, and her natural beauty was really quite breathtaking.

With a swift inhale she spun on her feet and then crossed her arms over her knee-length black coat. She arched one delicate brow. ‘When a girl needs to go, a girl needs to go.’

‘How right you are.’ He needed to be rid of her just as badly. Because she was angry—no, she was furious—and he wanted to kiss that mulish line right off her lips.

‘You could have told me you’d sold your bordello before I stormed the place looking for you.’

Ah.

‘I would have if I’d known you were coming to visit, baby. You know how much I look forward to our little…assignations.’ He felt a smile tug at his lips. Stretching wider as her gaze loitered over his attire and a shiver racked her svelte frame.

‘Am I doing it for you tonight, Miss Scott?’ he asked, his voice a decadent purr.

She grimaced as if she were in pain. ‘If by “it” you mean making me regret the moment I ever laid eyes on you, then, yes, strangely enough you are.’

Aw, man, she was delicious. ‘How do you feel about dinner?’ It was a horrendous idea, but he suddenly had the urge to feed her. Fill out those over-slight curves.

‘You mean together?’

‘That’s a bit forward, don’t you think? But, yes, okay. I accept.’

Mouth agape, she slowly shook her head, clearly questioning his sanity. Oddly enough, that made two of them. ‘Did you attend some school specialising in becoming the most annoying and arrogant person ever?’

‘As a matter of fact—’

A tall blonde, dressed to the nines in a slinky red number, appeared from nowhere and motioned to the bathroom door. Finn stifled his irritation at her giving him the once-over and zeroed in on Serena as she clammed up, took a step back, and dipped her head until that glorious fall of hair veiled her face.

Unsure why it could be, but loathing the way she threw out distress signals, he curled his fingers around her upper arm and tugged her further along the hall to where the dim light imparted privacy.

Except every muscle in her arm tensed beneath his fingers and her gaze bounced off every surface until even he half expected someone to pounce.

‘Hey, are you okay?’

‘Peachy.’

She wrenched free and wrapped both arms across her chest. It was like watching someone erect guard rails.

Okay, so she didn’t want to be alone with him. Yet she’d been fine last night in his bedroom. What had she asked him for? Lights.

‘You don’t like the dark?’ For some reason it made him think back to that odd ramble of Tom’s—‘Protect her for me…she’s been through enough…’—and his fists tightened into hard balls of menace.

She bristled with an adorable blend of embarrassment and pique.

‘Hey, so you don’t like the dark? So what? Neither do I. When I was a kid I used to crawl into bed with my mum during power cuts, for Pete’s sake. Some hard-ass Spider-Man I was.’

She blinked over and over, until the fine lines creasing her brow smoothed. ‘Spider-Man, huh? Did you have the blue and red outfit too?’

‘Sure I did. And the cool web-maker.’

Her small smile lit the corners of the hall. Finn wanted it stronger, brighter.

‘Did you have a tutu or a Snow White dress? My baby sister had all that crap.’

She snorted. ‘I doubt Snow White wielded a wrench, and I don’t expect engine oil would wash out of a tutu very well.’

His every thought slammed to a halt.

Reared by men in a man’s world. No mother—he knew from Michael Scott that Serena’s mum had died giving birth to her. No sisters.

‘Have there been any women in your life?’

She gave a blithe shrug but he didn’t miss the scowl that pinched her mouth. ‘Only my dad’s playthings.’

‘Ah. I get it.’ The narcissistic variety. Or maybe weak, fawning versions Serena would have recoiled from. So naturally she’d kept with the boys, until, ‘You feel uncomfortable around women.’

‘No!’ She kicked her chin up defensively.

Finn cocked one brow and a long sigh poured from her lips.

‘I don’t know what to say to them, that’s all, okay? We have nothing in common.’

‘You’ve never had any girlfriends at all?’ The notion was so bizarre he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

‘Not really, no. Tom and I had long-distance schooling, and it was pretty rare to see girls hanging around the circuit.’

Finn kept his expression neutral, conscious that empathy wouldn’t sit well with her. Yet all he could think of was his sister, surrounded by girlfriends, and she’d had their mother through her formative years. He dreaded to think what Serena’s adolescence had been like. No shopping trips or coming-of-age chats, nor any of that female pampering stuff he’d used to roll his eyes at but which had made Eva fizz with excitement.

He was astonished that Serena had managed without a woman in her life. Had she been allowed to be a girl at all? And why exactly did that make anger contort his guts? They were nothing to one another; only hate coloured her world when she looked at him.

‘So you have a sister?’ she asked quietly, almost longingly, and his chest cramped with guilt. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, that he still had Eva and Serena had no one.

‘Yes, I do. Eva.’

Eva—who had suffered greatly from the demise of Libby St George. And what had he done? Turned his back on her, on both of them, and walked away to chase his dreams, his big break. Knowing what they’d go through because he’d seen it all before. He’d left Eva to cope, to watch their beautiful mother slowly fade away.

Finn had let them down. Badly. And, what was worse, he hadn’t been the only one. His father, the great Nicky St George, eighties pop-star legend, had left to find solace in many a warm bed. Looking back, Finn still found it hard to believe he’d watched a good man—his childhood hero—break so irrevocably under the weight of heartache. And, while he felt bitterly angry towards his father to this day, he could hardly hate the man when he’d felt the same pain. When he’d let them down too.

Yet still his baby sister loved him. She was all goodness while he was inherently selfish.

Eva. His mind raced around its mental track. Eva would be perfect for Serena. A great introduction to the best kind of women…

Finn stomped on the brakes of his runaway thoughts.

It would be dangerous to take Serena to Eva. Eva might get the wrong idea. Serena might get the wrong idea. He might get the wrong idea. He was supposed to be getting rid of her, not fixing her and finding ways to keep her around! What was wrong with him?

‘Through here.’ He beckoned her towards another door. One he pushed wide and held as she warily followed him into one of the small lounges where the private games of the high-flyers were often held.

‘Why do I half expect the Monte Carlo Symphony Orchestra to strike up any second?’

‘It’s the grandeur of the place. It’s pretty spectacular.’ Oppressive at times, but spectacular nonetheless.

‘If you like that kind of thing,’ she muttered, with a slick manoeuvre that brought her back flush against another wall.

Musing on why she’d cornered herself again, Finn lounged against the arm of an emerald antique sofa a few feet away and faced her. ‘So, what do you fancy for dinner?’

She sniffed, the action wrinkling her little nose. ‘I’d rather starve.’

‘You’ve changed your tune pretty quick. Is it a habit of yours? It was only this afternoon you said, “I wouldn’t be seen dead” in reference to this very establishment. What changed your mind?’

Pouting those luscious lips, she weighed him up from top to toe, her gaze burning holes in his ten-thousand-pound tux. He felt all but cauterised.

‘First off, why don’t you tell me why you’re avoiding me?’

Because I can’t tell you what you want to hear.

‘Because every time I look at you I want to make love to that beautiful mouth of yours. It’s addictive.’ She was like a drug—the prime source of some very intense highs. ‘But you don’t want that, do you, Seraphina?’ he asked, rich and smooth, with a sinful tone he couldn’t quell even if he tried.

Up came her stubborn chin. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Then I would advise you to stay away. Because sooner or later we’ll have another repeat of last night.’

It was only a matter of time. Whether she wanted to believe it or not.

From the way her pulse throbbed wildly at the base of her throat and a soft flush feathered her skin he knew she was thinking about their kiss. Was she still tasting him as he could her?

‘I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice. I know a car crash when I see one,’ she said tartly. Then gave herself away by licking her raspberry pout.

She could taste him, all right. He’d also bet she wanted more and loathed herself for it.

Cursing inwardly, he allowed himself the luxury of drinking her in before he made his excuses and left.

Covered in a thin black trench coat, with a high, stiff collar and a straight no-nonsense hem just above the knee, she reminded him of a prissy professor. Though her perfectly sexy knees and her shapely bare calves smothered in luscious ivory skin ruined the imagery. As for her feet…

Finn clenched his jaw and breathed past the grin begging to be let loose.

Oh, man, did he want to see under that coat. More than his next breath.

‘Do you like to gamble, Miss Scott? Try your chances with Lady Luck?’

‘Not particularly. I’m not so sure I believe in luck.’

Her admission was a prelude to a charge in the air as secrets and lies swirled around them in an electrical storm.

‘I’ll make a deal with you,’ he drawled. Risky, Finn—and didn’t that just rouse his desire? He chose his next words very, very carefully. ‘If you do something for me I may grant you one wish. As long as it’s in my power to give.’

Up came her chin once more, her grey gaze narrow with scepticism as her need fought hand in hand with obvious discomfort. ‘Deal.’

‘Show me what you’re wearing beneath that coat.’

‘Wh…what?’

‘You heard. Untie that sash, undo those buttons, pull that coat wide and show me.’

Chaotic emotion and energy writhed around inside him.

What he was doing he had no idea. All he knew was that common sense and control took a back seat when he was within five feet of her.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, and the sultry swell of her breasts made heat, fast and furious, speed through his body.

Ah, hell, he should stop her.

Right now.

‘A deal is a deal, Miss Scott. You don’t strike me as the type to renege.’

She tapped her hands against the ruffle of material at her thigh and slowly, provocatively, tiptoed her fingers up to the knot of her sash.

Finn gritted his teeth as the ribbon-like belt sank to each side of her hips.

Every pop of every button was magnified, the sound echoing off the silk-covered walls, until she gripped the sides of the soft black fabric.

Then she heaved a bashful sigh, rolled her eyes, and pulled the lapels wide, giving him exactly what he was looking for.

‘Happy now?’ she snapped.

‘Ecstatic.’ Only Serena would storm into one of the most exclusive casinos in the world wearing a pair of frayed denims cut high on her toned thighs and another quirky T-shirt—this one ocean blue, with two scuba divers and the words ‘Keep Your Friends Close and Your Anemones Closer’ riding across her taut stomach.

With no effort whatsoever, she lit up his dark, dark soul.

‘What gave me away?’ she asked, a hint of petulance smoking her tone.

He pointed his index south. ‘Your feet.’

Her gaze followed the direction of his finger. ‘What’s wrong with my feet?’ Her brow furrowed, her head shot back up, eyes slamming into his. ‘And what’s with that wicked gleam and that grin?’

‘I’ve just never seen you in anything other than biker boots.’

‘So?’ she snarked. ‘One of my dad’s ex-lovers gave them to me, I think. This is the first time I’ve had them on.’

Light crept over marble-grey and Finn hurtled towards lucidity. The reason she wouldn’t be seen dead here. The reason she’d shied away from the glamour puss outside the bathroom. Not only did she feel uncomfortable around women, she felt horridly out of place—and yet she’d come here to find him.

Beautiful and brave. He’d never wanted her more. And didn’t that spell trouble?

‘So I’ll ask you again,’ she groused. ‘What’s wrong with my feet?’

‘Nothing, baby, they’re cute.’ The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel worse. She didn’t have a clue.

‘Cute?’ she spat. ‘Kittens are cute. I am not cute. And cut it out with the baby. It’s driving me nuts!’

‘Tell the truth—you love it. Every time I say it you careen into some kind of delightful fluster.’

The nuts part was that she was beginning to like it, and she didn’t want to like anything he said to her.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘Now it’s my turn. I want my wi…’

Her voice trailed off, eyes widening, as he pushed himself off the sofa-arm and sauntered towards her. While he had every intention of playing fair, it wouldn’t hurt to distract her, now, would it? If he tried to kiss her again she would either hit him or bolt. Either exit was fine with him.

When he was up close and personal she raised her head, and Finn caught sight of the wild flutter at the base of her throat.

‘I bet you don’t even realise you have the most beautiful, elegant décolletage.’ He trailed one fingertip down the side of her neck. ‘And this skin of yours is a perfectly gorgeous peach colour.’ Yeah, like peaches and cream, to go with that strawberries and cream voice.

‘St…stop saying stuff like that, Finn.’

No.

‘Love the T,’ he murmured as he brushed down between her breasts with the backs of his fingers, over the creased transfer of frothy waves in a blue ocean—‘Keep Your Anemones Closer’. Sorry, beautiful, not going to happen.

Down, down he stroked—with fire unfurling at the tops of his thighs—and when he reached her navel—

He growled. Snatched his fingers away and slammed both hands against the wall on either side of her head.

‘Wha…what’s wrong?’

Finn closed his eyes. ‘I need to look.’

‘A…at what?’

‘You know what. On your stomach.’

A tremble shook her voice. ‘Only if you tell me what’s wrong with my…my feet.’

Prising his eyes open, he focused on the perpetrators. ‘Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. They’re pretty little…ballerina pumps. I think that’s what they’re called.’

‘Do you know you pause when you lie?’

Great.

‘Okay, okay. They’re slippers.’

Her gorgeous face fell in horror and if she’d been any other woman he suspected she would have burst into tears. Not Serena.

‘They are?’

‘Cute ones,’ he said quickly. ‘With little leopard spots on.’

Dismay vaulted into pique and she visibly vibrated before him. ‘I refuse to feel stupid just because you know more about women’s stuff than I do, considering how many you’ve had.’

He divined that any figure she could engineer would be highly exaggerated, but still… ‘Agreed.’ If she felt stupid she wouldn’t let him take a peek at her belly button, now, would she?

‘Fine. Go on, then. Get it over with. Take a look. But know this: I couldn’t care less for your opinion.’

‘Liar.’ He brushed the pad of his thumb from the corner of his mouth across his bottom lip, eking out the suspense of the moment, then bent his knees and lowered himself into an elegant crouch.

Serena raised the fabric of her T-shirt with an innate feminine sensuality she wasn’t even aware she possessed and vicious need clawed at his gut.

One look and he cursed softly.

All the will in the world couldn’t have stopped him. Out sneaked his tongue and he licked the small loop and diamond-studded ball.

Cool was the silver against the tip of his tongue, and her soft flesh was a welcome splash of warmth as an aftertaste.

Holy…

She tasted of passion fruit and coconut and something else he couldn’t quite catch, so he knew it would torment him.

That was it. He was a goner. He even felt his eyes roll into the back of his head. Wondered if hers were doing the same.

‘You got any more?’ he asked thickly, nuzzling her navel with the tip of his nose. All the while he was commanding his legs to stand up and back the hell away.

‘M…more?’ she said, or at least she tried to.

The way her midriff quivered he could tell her breathing was as bad as his.

‘Piercings.’

‘Piercings?’

What was she? A parrot?

‘Yes!’

‘No. No more…piercings.’

He moaned low in his throat. ‘But something else, right?’

Silence. Only the staccato wisp of a desperate moan from her lips.

‘Tell me,’ he demanded.

So of course she said, ‘No.’

‘Oh, man, you’re killing me, Serena.’ Up he came, standing tall to press closer. To crush those gorgeous breasts against his chest.

When was the last time he’d felt like this? Like his old self but astoundingly better because his ever-present guard was low. Risky. So risky.

But when was the last time he’d thought about anything but Singapore? In one way it physically hurt to be near her, aware that he caused her pain. But in the next second he was a man again and there was heat. So much heat. Scorching his blood in a rush of need and pure want. Never had he felt anything like it.

Selfish as always, he wanted—no, needed one more taste.

‘I warned you, baby. You should’ve left when you had the chance.’

Desperate to savour as much of her as he could, he dived into the heavy fall of her hair and closed the gap until they were nose-tip to nose-tip.

‘This is crazy, but—do you feel this?’ he asked, unable to hide the awe in his voice.

Fighting to keep her eyes open, she shook her head, rubbing his nose with her own. ‘No…’ she breathed on a hot little pant.

‘Good. Me neither.’

Softly, languidly, he brushed his lips over her velvety pink flesh and the pounding of his heart jacked out of rhythm. Then the need that continually clawed at him grew steel-tipped talons and slashed through his gut, demanding he mark her, take her, glut himself on her.

And she was melting. There was no other word for it.

‘I’m…’ Hard. So hard. For the first time in almost a year.

Thought obliterated, he crushed her body into the wall, then slanted his head and deepened his kiss. Like dynamite they ignited, and when she responded with a tentative stroke of her tongue his hands began to shake.

Her mouth was heaven—warm and wet, with the slip and slide of passionate lips—but, greedy as he was, he wanted more. A deeper connection. He longed for her to move, to touch him properly, covet his body with her small hands, be skin-to-skin. Claim him. Brand him as her own. Which was not only bizarre but hellishly scary.

Still the need went on. Because he wanted her to feel how hard he was for her, to know what she did to him, how sexy and desirable she was—

Whoosh! The door swung open with a bellow of male voices and they were flung apart as if electrocuted. It was comical in a way. Serena was visibly rattled and he doubted he looked much better. And since when had that ever happened?

She whipped the black fabric around her waist, veiling her body, and fumbled with the sash—her jerky movements made his heart thunder in a fiercely savage urge to protect.

‘We leave now,’ he commanded, livid that he’d placed her in this position.

They were halfway to the door when one of the men broke into laughter as he settled at a gaming table.

Serena crashed to a halt. Stared at the man’s back. Paled to a ghostly white. And Finn’s guts twisted, tying him into knots. ‘Hey, baby?’ he murmured. ‘What’s wrong?’

In response she bolted past one of the other guests like a mare from the starting gate, almost knocking that man off his feet as she virtually ran out the door.

What the…?

By the time he caught up she was galloping down the hallway.

‘Serena, stop. Stop!’

Edging his way to stand in front of her, before she trampled over half the Casino members, he slipped his finger under her chin and lifted it gently.

‘Look at me. Speak to me. Do you know that guy?’

‘No.’ Hands trembling, she gripped the lapels of his jacket and leaned into him.

Finn could feel her warm breath through his shirt as she burrowed as if starved of affection, and he instinctively pulled her into the tight circle of his arms.

Holding her was like a chorus of pleasure and pain that struck at his guilt but sang a sweet note of solace, and he luxuriated in the feel of her.

‘No!’ She twisted and rolled her shoulders to wrench free. ‘Get off me, Finn. Right now.’

Feet leaden, he took a step back, fists plunging to his sides.

Remorse and mortification darkened the grey hue of her eyes and he swallowed hard, knowing. It was Finn who was the issue here. She was ashamed of wanting him, crestfallen at her reaction to him, horrified she’d kissed him back at all.

Well, then… Considering the destruction he’d caused in his life, it was highly indicative and somewhat poignant that he’d never hated himself more.