Game On (4 page)

“Nice everything, actually. He’s sporty by the breadth of his shoulders, and I didn’t say angry, I said surly. There’s a difference.”

“Not much,” Clara argued. “What about the other?”

“Oh la! He’s mine. That’s all you need to know.”

“Lyds, please. I cannot do this tonight, especially with a churlish Man In Black. I’m positively knackered and all I want to do is go back to the hotel and curl up in bed for the next ten hours. My current emotional state is so tender, Bartel will have a bawling baby on his hands when he fires me tomorrow, and I truly want to stomp out of his office with some decorum.”

It only took one look, one glance into the eyes of her friend, to see that she was barely hanging on. The world witnessed the loss of Lydia’s dignity a decade ago, and she’d spent the interim years building her self-esteem and credibility back up, just to have it poked at again by Bartel and the pageant winner who most likely earned her position via the bedroom. Clara couldn’t abandon her now.

“All right, then,” Clara conceded. She would, at the very least, ensure that Lydia was in good company before making her own excuses to flee to her hotel room. “What’s the plan?”

“Foursome?” Lydia smirked.

“I should think not. Our last go at group sex didn’t really work out, did it?”

“That’s because you’re a prude, Miss Bean.”

“Well we
all
can’t be tramps, Miss Truelove.”

“All’s the pity. But you could have at least tried—”

“Never mind,” Clara said, putting her hand up. She certainly didn’t want to rehash that awkward night. “What else can we do? They would already know we’re British journalists, so we can’t play Swedish-air-hostesses-on-layover or German rocket scientists. Guess we shall just be ourselves.”

Lydia shrugged. “No bloody fun in that.”

“Too right.”

“Trollops and virgins?”

“Don’t be droll,” Clara said. “Might as well be ourselves.”

“Then let’s both be trollops.”

Clara, realizing she’d just been played, considered the options for a moment before narrowing her eyes. “Well, as you’ve already been fired and me and my dead dog will be out of a job by approximately eight-oh-five tomorrow morning, we may as well let loose and enjoy our last night in America.”

“Trollops it is!” Lydia beamed and clinked the rim of her glass against Clara’s.

“So we just saunter over and slip them our hotel keys?”

“Good heavens, darling. Have I taught you nothing?” Lydia reprimanded. “Just because we’ve agreed to
be
desperate whores, doesn’t mean we’ll
act
like desperate whores.”

“Honestly, what was I thinking?”

“They’ll come to us,” Lydia said with confidence.

“Can I at least look? What if I decide they’re not my cuppa?” Not that it made a difference. Clara would play along to appease Lydia, but she was quite determined to escape at the first opportunity. The plush duvet on the massive king bed in her room was calling, pleading for her return.

Lydia elbowed her. “Quick, look now while they’re distracted, no doubt by some silly plan to get into our knickers.”

On the pretence of looking for a waiter to top up her glass, Clara turned ever so slightly and scanned the bar area for their prey. She meant to steal a glance, do a quick top to bottom look-see, but the moment her eyes landed on the funeral director, the world stopped turning.

“How to get them alone,” Sutter said, staring into his scotch as if it were a magic eight ball. “Are you sure we can’t just walk over and introduce ourselves?”

“Not unless you want to meet the parents.”

“Parents?”

“Look at the way the Head Weeble is hovering around them. He’s been sending the waiters over with food, making sure their drinks are topped up. If we make an approach, you can be damn sure he’ll butt in.”

“His name is Charlie Holmes. I was introduced to him when I came in.”

“You’ve already met the father? And you didn’t think to mention?”

Sutter shrugged. “Didn’t think it was mentionable.”

“You know, Sutter, I often wonder why you aren’t married. Now I’m wondering if you’ve ever even dated.”

“Fuck off, frogman. I’m single because I’m not the marrying kind. And I get enough dates to keep my Roman Catholic cleaning lady in a perpetual state of Rosary clutch.”

“Sure. Sure. Now introduce me to daddy. He’ll do the rest.”

“Earth to Clara. Are you still there, Miss Bean?”

Clara could hear Lydia’s voice somewhere far off in the distance but was too busy trying to catch her breath to respond. Describing him as sporty was a bit like saying a fish was wet. He was very tall, probably six foot three or four, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. And Lydia’s “Not Bad” was probably the understatement of the decade. His dark, tousled hair had just enough wave to make it run-your-fingers-through sexy without crossing the line to cute-curly. His jaw hadn’t seen a razor today, but even through the shadow of stubble, Clara could see it was hard and angled enough to keep him from looking too pretty. She wished she could read lips, if only to eavesdrop on what that beautifully formed mouth was saying to his friend.

As for the funeral wear, she could definitely overlook black duds when they were draped across a powerful physique. His limbs appeared long and lean, and from the look of his bare forearms and neck, his muscles were well defined. His body was well taken care of, honed like a fine machine. Never in her twenty-seven years had she ever so badly wanted a man to turn around so she could catch sight of his ass. If every rational brain cell in her head weren’t distractingly consumed with lust, she’d be positively ashamed of herself.

“Bloody hell, Clara. They’re supposed to be ogling us, not the other way around.”

“But Lyds, he’s beautiful.”

Clara felt a sharp elbow graze her ribs. “Were your optic nerves severed in that accident or is that the drink talking? Fiendishly sexy, perhaps. Beautiful, definitely not.”

“Just because he isn’t one of your runway model, androgynistic man-boys doesn’t mean he can’t be beautiful.”

“But
beautiful
has gentler connotations, Miss Bean. Feminine, if you will. I’m sure
he’d
find it bloody insulting.”

“Nonsense. By definition, the word
beautiful
simply means that he’s pleasing to the senses. I think he’d be flattered.” Clara sighed and brought the flute up to her lips once more. She felt as light and tingly as the bubbles in her drink. Sneaking another glance toward the bar, she sighed. “Yes, he truly is a beautiful man and… Oh! Oh my, they appear to coming over!” Clara felt a rush of panic. “Quick! Do I smell?”

“You smell fine, but never mind that,” Lydia said, slipping her arm through Clara’s. “We’re leaving.”

“Going? We can’t… I thought we were…what about the oglers? What about your orgasm?”
What about
my
orgasm?

“Come. And don’t make a scene. Just follow along.”

Lydia turned to Charlie, made excuses about dawn flights and early morning meetings, waved to their colleagues, and headed toward the elevator faster than decorum dictated.

“Nice play, frogman. They’re leaving.”

“Relax,” Luc nodded, watching the sexiest thing on sticks get dragged to the elevator by her blonde friend. “Keep your head in the game and introduce me to your future father-in-law.”

Sutter was so busy giving him a dirty side-eye, he missed when the blonde gave the signal—a simple glass raise with a wink. She was a player all right, probably just as much as he’d been in his day. Riley was too nice a guy for this, but what the hell. The boy had to learn.

Luc tried to be as gracious and charming to the foreign guests during the introductions, but after a few minutes of collegial banter, his mind wandered back to
her
. The way her petite waist flared to a deliciously curvy ass, the way her fingers moved when she tucked the strand of hair behind her ear, and the way it bounced right back to rest against her cheek again, like even
it
wanted to caress her skin.

Merde
! It had been too long since he was with a woman. No doubt that was the reason for his uncharacteristic behavior. When a man went too long without sex or sports, his testosterone levels got all out of whack, and it had been weeks—or was it months?—since his breakup with Valentina. So grateful for the blissful silence in his condo after her hysterical departure, Luc had avoided dating, women, and anything that spoke in decibels higher than a basset hound. Which explained why he was totally blindsided by the way
she
affected him, like he was recovering from a concussion—a bit dizzy, a tad nauseous, and with an overwhelming desire to smile.

Finally given an opening, he casually asked Charlie if their accommodations were comfortable. Thankfully, the obliging man mentioned the hotel by name as he gushed about the large
en suite
rooms. Before Charlie could describe the contents of the minibar, Luc whisked Sutter away.

“Where we going?”

“You really don’t know?” he asked, stopping to swipe a few editions of EuroNow from a display table.

“No. And I was just getting friendly with the tech gal. Did you hear how she called me
Mista Suttah
?” Riley looked over his shoulder wistfully. “Man, I could listen to her proper little mouth discuss VOIP technology all day.”

Luc put his hand between Riley’s shoulder blades and pushed him into the elevator. “Tic-toc,
Mistah Suttah
. There’s only forty-five minutes left in the game.”

“But I was in the middle of a play!”

“I thought you liked the blonde?” Luc asked as they descended into the parking garage under BMG’s headquarters.

“I
did,
but
you
blew it!”

“Do you have a pen and paper handy?”

“No, why?”

“You’ve obviously learned nothing,
mon ami
. You need to be taking notes.”

Chapter 4

“I
think you overestimated the
hunkis
Americanii
.” Clara rested her head against the low back of the white leather banquette and stared at the deco lamp hanging above. Considering her determination to get a hot bath and decent sleep, her disappointment in not meeting the man she didn’t know existed an hour ago was completely irrational. She stirred the ice cubes in the bottom of her empty glass, wishing Pato were here instead of the snooty, orange-tanned barmaid.

Lydia’s eyebrow rose. “You doubt me?”

“Not normally, but bloody hell, Lyds, a wink?” Clara straightened and arched her stiff spine. “You winked and they’re supposed to have followed us? They have no idea where we’re staying, who we are, or that we’d be sitting in the bar. A bit of a long shot, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed,” Lydia replied with a half-smile. She canted her head toward the lounge entrance. “But it seems to have paid off.”

Clara, gobsmacked to see their lures walking in, humbly nodded toward Lydia. “You could have a career in this, Ms. Truelove. You really know your XYs.”

“Are you suggesting I become a professional escort?”