Текст книги "Step by Step"

Автор книги: Natalie E. Wrye

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 4 страниц)

Playing the Odds

 

The greatest risk is not taking any. – Tim Fargo

 

ELENA

 

When I wake up Sunday morning, I open my eyes to discover a foggy day… and an even foggier conscience.

I just had phone sex with Lukas Griffin last night—or Skype sex, text sex—whatever.

Whatever it was… it wasn’t right; it wasn’t appropriate. He’s my future brother-in-law’s best friend… and a regular man-whore—or so I’ve heard.

Kat has given me enough details about Foxx’s friends. She loves them all fiercely, but she did give me the full run-down—the good, the bad and everything in-between.

After all, with me moving to Tampa, I’m going to have to get to know them—at least on a basic level.

But what I’ve done with Lukas far surpasses “basic.” We’ve overstepped a boundary, and now I’m not so sure how to double back.

He called me early this morning, and he never calls. I’m usually the one that reaches out, but now he’s switched things up and I’m nervous—nervous that he’s eager for round two.

And basically… I just don’t need this shit.

This morning, I booked a one-way ticket out of Memphis as soon as I could get dressed and hopped on the most expensive flight of my life to get to Tampa ahead of time to get away from it all—to take a mini-vacation before the party even starts—just for myself.

I’ve got too much on my plate already with moving and planning this party. My closest friend Linda has been calling me for the past few days, and I don’t even have time for her.

I don’t need another complication, and Lukas Griffin—well, he’s a complication.

I always do this. I always let my hormones get me into trouble. That’s how I ended up with my ex, Teddy.  I think I was in an ovulation phase, and he happened to be standing by or something.

Ugh.

That’s my problem. I go these long periods without sex, and then at some point, I just crack; I break down and try to hump the closest swinging penis.

And that’s all it was with Lukas—a tiny breaking point. He just caught me at a bad time, is all.

And so what if Kat implied that he was sexy? I’ve never seen his face. He could be the Elephant Man reincarnate, and I could’ve masturbated with the long missing twin of John Merrick—God rest his soul.

One week—less than one week—until I have to meet this man, this stranger who made me climax over Internet message like an over-eager pre-teen.

Shit. This is going to be so embarrassing, but it’s going to be even more embarrassing if I try to chicken out—which I’ve thought about doing approximately three times today already.

But I can’t not attend the party that I planned, so I guess I’m just going to have to tough it out for the next week—grow some balls.

I’m pretty good at that, actually…

***

LUKAS

 

I walk out of the elevator and onto the top floor of the Grand Hyatt with the gait of a man on the hunt.

I am well-dressed. I am poised. I am absolutely, fucking livid.

Tonight is the night of the party, and I haven’t heard one goddamned word from Elena since our Skype night.

I’ve called her ten thousand times since that night, wondering about the final party arrangements.

Ok… I’m lying.

I called to make sure that we both had an understanding—a common acceptance—that what we did was just a fluke, a one-time thing, and that we should never mention it to either Kat or Foxx.

I’d hope she would agree… but then she never picked up. She didn’t return my phone calls. She never replied to my texts.

All that was left to do was to ponder—to contemplate just how the hell we could make it through this party without creating any more disasters—Justin Beiber music aside.

I waltz right into Armani’s, the rooftop restaurant turned engagement party ballroom, bypassing the decorators, the waiters—the staff.

I’m here an hour early, and it’s not so that I can attend to the music or the food or even the booze; I’m here in search of her—Elena.

And for the most part, I’ve done my fucking job.

I’ve convinced Foxx and Kat to attend what they believe is an upscale dinner with a potential client. I’ve managed to drag them out from the depths of their private bubble of sex on a Friday night—and it wasn’t easy.

Now, it’s Elena’s turn.

We’re in this shit together, and I’m just hoping and praying that she’s come through in my involuntary absence.

In my single-minded pursuit, I blaze towards the center of the floor, but I have to stop in my stampede when a cart full of cupcakes comes barreling past my shoulder.

I glare at the staffer who barely missed me when the bustle of the room around me finally registers.

Everyone is scrambling, setting up the equipment, the decorations and food. Contrary to my instinct to rush, I pause in the middle of the floor, taking it all in—marveling at what the transformed restaurant has become.

It isn’t a restaurant anymore; it’s a showroom.

The customary muted lighting of Armani’s isn’t just muted; it’s glowing… in a subdued gold color that makes the air almost shimmer. Huge copper-colored ribbons line the ceiling of the room, twisting and hanging so low that they give the appearance of being touchable.

Curvy gold vases sit at the center of burgundy-covered round tables. The roses that lay within the vases are identical in color to the table lining, as if they’ve bled right into the fabric beneath them.

Trays of food and drink—in hues of amber and cream, beige and light pink—are passed around in a synchronized dance around the perimeter.

So, this is what two and a half months of bitching, haranguing and negotiating with Elena over the phone got us?

Hm. I like it.

In fact, I more than like it. It’s fucking perfect.

But the more I think about what it took to get here, the more my singular focus returns, tuning everything else out. Now my thoughts are off of the décor and right back onto Elena.

My eyes skim the entire floor, probing… searching.

Where…? Where is she?

I don’t know where to look…or even how to look. She could be anyone.

I examine the women closely, eyeing them carefully. I jump from face to face.

Waitress.

Hotel staff.

Waitress.

Waitress—Oh, wait, she’s kinda cute…

There. I hear a loud voice booming near the bar. A woman’s. I don’t think; I just move.

Finally gonna get to meet the woman behind the voice, the screen. My heart starts pumping—fast, beating with a toxic mixture of excitement and dread.

But when I make it to the woman’s side, it slams, giving a final dull thud before quieting completely.

She’s a large, redheaded woman in a button-down white top. Her face is round. Her scowl is fierce. She’s grabbing people left and right, stopping trays, touching platters.

I close my eyes, bemoaning every single sexual thought I had about her.  I didn’t know anything about Elena, and still, I had fantasized about fucking her six different ways from Sunday.

I’m sick. I’m a sick man. And now look at what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

I stop right in front of her, sighing heavily.

She notices me out of the corner of her eye before turning to me, giving me her full attention. She assesses me carefully, from the top of my tux to the soles of my shoes.

She raises an eyebrow. “May I help you with something?”

Her voice is gravelly—rough.

“Uh, yeah, actually. It’s me—Lukas.”

She shrugs a hefty shoulder. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

I balk—confused. Wait…

“Elena?”

The redhead laughs heartily.

“You’ve got the wrong woman, sweet-face. I’m the head caterer. You looking for the organizer of the party?” I nod once.

“That’s Elena over there.” She points unabashedly over my shoulder… and in the direction of one of the sexiest women I have ever seen.

This new woman is facing towards me, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks. Unlike the caterer, she is neither loud nor boisterous but she is commanding the attention of everyone around her.

Her blonde hair is full, reaching to her naked collarbone. Her shoulders and back are bare and seemingly silky smooth.

Her clothes are red—a dress? I’m not sure. All I see is her face… and skin… and legs…

Fuck—this is Elena?

I have the sudden urge for a cigarette… and I don’t even smoke anymore.

I start walking.

I pay no attention to the audience at her helm; I don’t even see them. I cut through the crowd like the parting of the Red Sea, stopping right in front of her. Right in front of her.

I am close. Too close. I could reach out and touch her. The thought is tempting.

The man talking to her notices me before she does and when he sees the look in my eyes, he backs away. Smart man.

Finally, she sees me.

She turns on me, regarding me curiously.

“Yes?”

I rock back on my heels, placing my hands in my pockets.

“Mm. An answer before prompting… That’s funny. I couldn’t seem to get an answer for the last six days.”

Her expression drops. “Lukas,” she says simply.

My sardonic smile is my reply.

For several seconds after, we stand still, staring at one another, piercing each other with hot-tempered gazes that blaze a line of fire.

Her blue eyes are a liquid flame, and the heat behind them is indescribable. They glow with some sort of subtle passion—a form of anger or desire… maybe both…

I’m almost sure what I see in her eyes is reflected in my own, but suddenly, a voice cuts in.

“Elena,” a staffer says, close-by. “Where should I put the roses?”

Elena breaks the stare, shifting her attention to the waiting woman.

“Over there,” she points. “On the dining tables. I need a bouquet in each centerpiece.”

I pull her eyes back to mine, ignoring the interrupting staffer.

“We need to talk.”

Her eyes flash. “Maybe we do… but definitely not right now.” She starts to turn on her heel.

My hand shoots out, grabbing her securely by the wrist. Touching her skin gives me a jolt, electrifying me down to my toes.

I know she feels it, too. She shudders.

My voice lowers. “You know damned well we do. Right now.”

“Or what?” she challenges. Her head swivels, her eyes roaming the restaurant’s span. “You going to make a scene? You wouldn’t dare.”

My stare hardens. I pull her closer. “Try me.”

She snatches her wrist back, shrugging noncommittally with her next step.

“I think I just did.”

She takes another step and then she doesn’t stop. Before I can blink, she is halfway across the floor, sashaying her way back to the fully stocked bar.

I almost call after her until a hand lands on my shoulder.

“Chris. Jesus, man. What the hell are you are doing here this early?”

Chris’s face is red as usual, his breathing short—his expression pained. He looks as if he’s just finished sprinting. I suspect that he has.

“I wanted to get a good look at things before the festivities began. Plus, I needed to talk to you. I need you to look at this Voyager article before it goes to print.”

I glance at Elena’s retreating back. The skin there is bare, and I’m doing all I can to not follow it.

“Can’t it wait?”

“No,” he exhales. “This article’s rolling out soon. Just take a look for me, ok?” He unloads a briefcase at the nearest table, sitting down beside it.

I take a deep breath. Typical Chris.

All he can think about is work—and all I can think about right now is play. It’s a game, really, and I’ve been sucked into it against my will.

A round of “Catch the beautiful blonde,” and I’m already losing by a mile. I’m two seconds from bailing on Chris.

I can tell that he sees the urgency written all over my face. He pulls out another chair, looking up at me.

“It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

Boy, if he only knew. If he only really knew.

In Times of Stalemate

A draw can be obtained not only by repeating moves, but also by one weak move.  –  Savielly Tartakower

 

ELENA

The surprise entrance of Foxx and Kat goes off without a hitch, thanks to Lukas. Kat hadn’t the slightest clue that I was coming, and when she sees me, she nearly squeezes me to death with a hug.

The band kicks in. The streamers go flying. Even our little sister, Ana, is here for the night.

But I can’t stop looking at Lukas. I can’t stop remembering what we did.

For the few times that we’ve been forced to interact with each other at this party, all we’ve done is throw barbs at each other—slyly insulting, stealthily jabbing.

Foxx and Kat have already given up the fight—the will to force us to “play nice,” and as soon as we are relieved of our conjoined duties, we spring apart like magnets, making our way to opposite ends of the room to avoid further contact.

But it is useless. Like the magnet that I’ve suddenly become, I still feel his field—still feel the effects of the invisible energy that emanates off of his beautiful body in palpable waves.

Good God, he looks great in that tux.

He’s in and out of the room, moving here, talking there. A flock of women are surreptitiously following him around the restaurant, but he doesn’t seem to notice… or care.

In fact, I think his mind is fully focused on something else entirely—me.

Now, either my mind has been playing tricks on me, or Lukas Griffin is casually stalking me around the entire expanse.

If I grab a drink, he’s at the bar. If I stop by a table, he strolls by.

My arm has permanently attached itself to my younger sibling, Anastasia, and I am unashamedly using her as my protection—a sort of secretive shield against a green-eyed glare.

It’s his eyes—they’re everywhere to me. Around each corner. Next to each window. Beside me. Behind me. Blazing right into my face and then away again.

I watch his eyes skim the room several times and then land on me. Always on me.

I can’t avoid them. And frankly? I’m fucking terrified.

There’s something wicked in his glance, something sinister in his stare. And it’s because he knows…

I know he knows… that I want him. I’ve wanted him from the second he touched me.

And at the same time, I can’t stand him. I can’t stand his cocky attitude, his overblown arrogance.

He’s chauvinistic.

He’s whorish.

He’s a prick.

But why the fuck does he have to look so damn good?

Whatever you decide to do, Elena, just do not fuck him tonight.

***

LUKAS

 

I take another sip of my scotch, scanning the crowd for tonight’s lucky lady: my next lay.

Blondes, redheads, brunettes.

All decked out in sultry cocktail dresses. All good-looking… and pleasantly drunk.

But my eyes keep straying back to one person.

You can’t miss her in that dark red get-up: that deep, plunging dress with the skin-tight wrap.

Her legs are unusually long, especially considering her height. She’s only got a few inches on Kat, and every extra inch seems to have fallen from the waist down.

Miles of slim calves and toned thighs, shooting up from these sky-high heels, cross my line of sight from fifty feet away.

Elena.

Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.

I hate to say it, but it’s true. Kat’s sister is a certified bombshell… and has been plucking my last fucking nerve all night.

She’s mouthy.

She’s uptight.

And she’s so goddamned arrogant…

I am definitely going to fuck her tonight.

***

ELENA

 

“Do it,” Ana says in my ear. “You do it, or I will.”

“Do what?”

“Lukas.”

“Ana!” I nearly drop my drink.

Anastasia is so close to me that she nearly dunks her caramel-colored hair in my sweet-tasting whisky. Five minutes ago, she let her hair down… in more ways than one, it seems.

I, on the other, am becoming as stiff as a board.

Ana pokes me for the seventh time.

“Look at you,” she says. “You’re as rigid as a corpse. It’s all this sexual tension. It’s holding you as tight as a string.”

I grip my glass tighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, so you haven’t been eye-fucking Lukas all night?” Suddenly, I feel poke number eight. “Don’t lie, Elle. It’s unbecoming.”

She circles me, gripping my elbow from the other side.

“You can’t keep your eyes off of him. And he clearly can’t keep his eyes off of you… so why don’t you do all of us watching a big favor and go over there and talk to him?”

“I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t have anything to say to him.”

Ana shrugs. “Fine, then don’t. Don’t talk to him. Just fuck him.”

Down goes my drink. I catch it last minute.

“Jesus Christ, Ana…!” I whisper fiercely. “Where the hell did you learn to talk like that?”

Poke number nine.

“You,” she says, taking a sip out of my whiskey glass.

“Well, stop it,” I say, swatting her hands away. “I don’t like it.  You’re too young.”

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “For God’s sake, Elle. I’m graduating college soon. And I can drink and curse and do lots of things.” She smirks.

“Including piss me off. You’re doing a helluva job at that.” I laugh, giving Ana a nudge.

She smiles back at me because she knows I’m trying to deflect. I smile at her because I know she’s right… about two things.

Firstly: she’s a grown woman; I can’t tell her what to do anymore… but dammit, I’d wish she’d stop growing up. I miss my sweet little Ana.

Guess I have to accept… that that sweet little Ana is gone, and in her place is a nearly twenty-two year old titan with brains and beauty and ambition.

As for her second assertion? Well, that’s even more true.

I’m wound tighter than a drum… and you could probably play a beat on my ass, it’s so clenched.

Everyone at this party is letting their hair down, cutting loose, but me?

I’m only becoming even more rigid—even more firm. In an effort to be more austere, I’ve pinned my hair up instead, and I’m walking around like a stick figure with an inflated head.

And it’s all because of my control.

Like my drink, it’s slipping intermittently from my fingers, threatening to crash like glass against the floor.

I can’t do as much as cross my legs properly at this party without squeezing them too tightly.

Linda’s called my cell three times already while I’ve been here, and I can’t even work up the composure to open my little wristlet and answer.

Flashbacks of me fiddling with my keyboard rock my consciousness at random times.

I see myself leaning back in my computer chair as Lukas fucks me on the screen. I feel my fingers drift as they reach towards my clit and start rubbing upon his command.

I was a slave to the page, letting him sex me via Skype text, and I’d never felt so turned on.

I didn’t even know his face…

And now that I do, the ache that he started is only made worse—heightened, by his presence, his swagger—his style.

There’s something so despicable—and delectable—in it all. I can’t make up my mind.

Ana pulls me back into reality.

“Elle?” She pulls at me.

“Hm?”

“Make up your mind. Either, you’re going to go over there and say something to Mr. Melts-My-Panties, or you are going to be on your own. I’m done playing bodyguard. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

I tighten my hold on her. “What? Are you saying you’re going to abandon me?”

“You’re a big girl, Elle, so yes. I am leaving you to your own devices.”

I grit my teeth. “Dammit, Ana. If you do, then this old creepy guy that’s been ogling me all night is going to try to sweep in!”

“Just crush his dreams like you do every other guy’s.” She flashes a mocking smile.

I scoff. “I would… except I’m not in the business of geriatric abuse.”

“Just take out one little hip. That never killed anybody.” Ana winks and then takes off.

I grasp for her arm, but she’s already out of reach.

“Ana!” I hiss at her. “Psst! Ana!”

She blows a kiss at me from thirty feet away and disappears among the partygoers.

Shit, Ana. I growl out of frustration, nearly stomping my foot. Where the hell is Kat? This is her party, anyway.

Where the hell are my sisters when I need them? Who the hell is going to be my buffer for Lukas now?

A shadow descends upon my back. I turn around.

Or him, for that matter…

A set of falsies is gleaming right at me the second that Anastasia leaves my side, the geriatric Casanova making his way over to me in record time.

I don’t have the patience for this shit.

“Hello,” he says suddenly.

He flashes a mouthful of dentures that are as gray as his hair, and I nearly choke on my drink as I attempt a swallow. I sit my glass on a nearby tray.

“Hi.”

“Would you like to dance?”

I start fumbling for words. “Oh, no. No, I’m, uh…”

“Here with someone?”

Ha! Inspiration. “Yes,” I smile with fake enthusiasm. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, where is he?” the past-his-prime pimp begins to ask.

“Excuse me?”

“Where is he? I’ve seen you alone all night… or with some other woman. I don’t think you’re here with anyone… except for me right now.” He smiles wickedly.

My blood boils.

“Well, you’re clearly mistaken,” I respond. “So if you don’t mind…”

He steps in front of me, blocking my path as I try to escape. Now, I’m starting to see red.

I’ve underestimated the old timer. He’s faster than he looks. And though I may have been a pansy-ass about Lukas all night, I certainly won’t cower to this “cant-take-a-hint” geezer.

“I do mind, actually,” he continues. “I’ve been watching you all night, and I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than a dance with you.”

He pauses, extending a hand. “You might enjoy it, too.”

I’m done being polite. “Doubtful, Mister…Whoever-You-Are… but I will tell you this: You’re pushing your luck… and any second my…”

“Boyfriend is going to be here.”

I stop and turn to face the solid wall that now sits at my back. It’s Lukas.

All six feet of him. Standing directly behind me.

“Sorry it took so long, baby.” He hands me a drink. “The bar got really crowded.”

I nearly stammer. “Don’t worry. I was just telling this… fine gentleman about you.”

“Ah, I see. Well, that was very thoughtful of you.”

Lukas circles around me, standing between the other man and me. He clasps a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Beat it, Pops.”

He gives a slight head nod to the persistent prick who’s still standing there dumbfounded, and then he turns to me, effectually dismissing the embarrassed man and his advances.

I stifle a chuckle. Lukas smiles at me.

A real smile. No dentures.

His dark hair is slightly tousled, and the shadowy stubble on his face frames perfectly white teeth.

His silent charm is rubbing off on me, and I’m doing everything I can to not give in.

“I saw you needed help,” he declares. “I came to save you.”

I give an incredulous laugh. “Save me? I didn’t need saving.”

“I overheard,” he says. “You started to say that any second…”

“’My knee would be in his balls.’ That’s how I was going to end that sentence.”

I lean into my glass, trying to hide the gratitude that’s on my face. As thankful as I am for his small interference, I know better than to lose my wits.

Owing Lukas Griffin will undoubtedly come with a hefty payment, and it’s the type of debt that I can’t afford to have him collect.

I keep my face stoic while he watches me.

“Touché, Miss Lexington. Tou-fucking-ché.” He takes a sip of his drink, grinning casually.

“Well, since you seem to have everything over here handled, I think I’ll go rescue some real damsels in distress.”

My heart stops at his implication… but I shrug.

“Be my guest.”

His stare turns smoldering. “I will.” He steps away.

I watch him go.

I let go of a shaky breath when he’s far enough way. I don’t see him again for what seems like the rest of the night.