Twice Tempted
Page 4He bolted straight up in bed, his body covered in sweat and aching for relief. Cursing, he flopped back down. There was no way he’d be able to sleep. Gripping his cock, he stroked it, bringing back his dream. He focused on her face, her eyes and lips. The way she smelled as he pressed his nose against her neck. She moaned his name and he came, endlessly.
After cleaning himself up, he fell back to sleep. In what seemed like seconds later, a shrill ringtone had him blindly smacking around for his phone. He found it under the pillow beside him. “Yes?”
“Where the hell are you?” his agent shouted.
He winced. “I’m in Vegas at The Oasis in my room and alone in bed, honey.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me. I haven’t heard from you since yesterday,” she said, her voice a bit softer. “Where are you headed tonight?”
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get the fog to clear his mind. Was it already morning? “Shift with Wade and Brennen.” First, however, he would find Zoe.
“Change of plans. You’re going to RARE for dinner with some suits from Peak Pictures and my favorite romance author.”
“We’ve been over this a dozen times: I don’t want to meet with some dried up old biddy who writes for younger dried up biddies in training,” he grumbled.
“I read those books, Ian. So watch your mouth,” Martha warned. What a surprise. Next, he'd find out that she liked to make money and yell over the phone at him. “The author is one of my clients, you know, and—”
“Why should I know that? Is it in the fine print of my contract?”
“Does it matter? Be at the damn restaurant at 8:30 pm and look sharp. No red eyes or glassy stares. Understand, Romanov?” Her voice cracked like a whip as she continued, “Don’t. Be. Late.”
“No red eyes, no glassy stares and don’t be late,” he repeated. Martha would make his life more of a living hell if he didn’t show up. And those pictures lurked in her inbox, ready at a double-click’s notice to be spread to all major news outlets and gossip columnists.
“One more thing. The author, old biddy that she is, expressed a preference for you to play the villain, after viewing the readings. Seemed she thought something of your work. Chloe informed her of the dinner yesterday, although Zoe declined.”
It couldn’t be that simple. He couldn’t be that lucky. “Zoe Ambrose?”
“Yes. Did you finally read one of the books I sent you?”
“No.” He glanced over at the floor to ceiling windows. They were covered with a heavy fabric that blocked the morning sun, in order to provide the best sleep experience possible. However, The Oasis hadn’t counted on Martha Alfred’s phone calls.
“Why she chose you over Wade, who has read her books, clearly boggles the mind.”
Looked like he had some reading to do. “Clearly.” Pressing the remote beside the bed, the heavy drapes parted. “I happened to have run into Ms. Ambrose at the airport yesterday.”
Martha continued as if she hadn’t heard him and said, “Only in public. Where people can see you and take pictures. No backroom shenanigans.”
Backroom shenanigans? He blinked. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
“You really don’t want me to answer that, do you?” Martha asked.
“Has that ever stopped you before?”
“I think she would be wonderful for your image.”
“Spare me your theatrics.”
“Yes, your highness. Whatever you say, your highness.”
“God above give me strength.” Christian thought he heard a smile in her voice before she launched into another lecture. “One more thing.” Just how many one more things did the woman have? He popped his neck on each side. “Don’t scare her to death with your scandalous behavior while you’re showing her around Vegas,” Martha said before hanging up.
Christian smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m back.” Lady Luck was with him in Vegas.
***
Zoe rolled over in bed and stretched, feeling refreshed from a good night’s sleep and an afternoon nap. She had checked into a well-appointed suite at The Oasis, her view of the strip framed by thick drapes.
It looked like a sinner’s playground, beckoning for visitors to come. To lose themselves in the nightlife. “Ooh, that was a good one.” She reached for a small notebook and pen, scribbling her thought into it so she wouldn’t forget it later.
Her cell rang and she struggled to answer it, falling off the bed in the process as she hit one of the buttons.
“Oh, crap! Hello? Hello?”
“No need to yell,” Martha Alfred gently chastised.
Zoe blew hair out of her eyes as she righted herself. “Sorry, I dropped my phone.”
“Feeling more yourself today?”
“Yeah. Oh, remember how I told you that the airline lost my luggage before I went shopping? After the managers of the boutiques told me that they would deliver my stuff to The Oasis, I got someone else’s clothes, but at least I took my most important bag with me. Have you seen the lingerie stores here?”
“Glad you took your sweet time getting to your point. I can’t believe you got used clothing? Girlie, that will never do.”
“The clothes are new, but I didn’t pick them out.”
“Are they the right size?”
“Well, yes, but they’re so...” Zoe searched for the right word.
“So what?”
Zoe gave up her mental thesaurus search and finally settled for saying, “I can’t dress like that.”
“Just because you usually dress like a bohemian rhapsody gone wrong doesn’t mean you can’t shake things up a little. I can only imagine what you had picked out for your meeting and book signing.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Retro Dayz,” Zoe protested. She loved the funky clothing store and all its one-of-a-kind pieces. It was also located directly across from her favorite apothecary shop in her hometown of Holland Springs.
“Only if you want to convey the I’m-channeling-the-musical-Hair look, not the I’m-a-best-selling-author-attire. Your mother dresses younger and better than you,” Martha pointed out. “Even if she can’t tell the difference between the softer side of Sears and Prada.”
“You said you preferred Romanov out of the three.”
Zoe gasped. “I most certainly did not.” Actually, she most certainly had. However, she hadn’t thought her aunt had been listening at the time.
“You most certainly did. Besides, his schedule matched yours. When I talked with him earlier, he mentioned running into you at the airport.”
“He did?” If Martha knew about their meeting, then everyone did. She grabbed a pillow and smacked herself on the side of the head.
“I don’t have to worry about you doing something stupid like getting married by an Elvis impersonator, do I?”
“Why in the world would I do that?” she snapped, then sighed and tossed the pillow away. “No, I don’t plan to do more than meet, greet and sign. Then it’s pool and spa time for Zoe.”
“About tonight. Dinner at RARE, at 8:30. I want you to be seen and photographed with Romanov. Make sure you sit beside him.”
“Why in the world would I want to do that?” She sounded like a broken record. “I texted Chloe that I wasn’t interest in dinner. There’s no reason for me to be there. Peak’s making its decision.”
Martha let out a sigh. “I would consider it a big favor and I can trust you. You know you’re my favorite oldest niece, and an old woman like me needs all the help she can get. You will help me, won’t you? We are family.”
Family: the ultimate weak spot. Zoe capitulated with a sigh.“Fine.”
In her next sentence Martha was back to business. “My assistant won’t be there, but it’s only a schmooze-and-booze type thing.”
No booze for her. She needed a clear head to get through this dinner. “I’m sticking with water.”
“Drink whatever you like. I’m more concerned with your wardrobe.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Pick out something pretty and purple. The color brings the green out in your eyes. Go get your hair and makeup done. I’ve seen the way you try to fix that horse’s tail.” Her aunt paused. “On second thought, I’ll send someone up to you.”
Zoe searched through the white bags hanging in her closet, finding a suspiciously purple wrap-dress in the first one. “Aunt M, did you have anything to do with my wardrobe swap?”
“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.”
“Thank you for my birthday presents.” Zoe let the bags fall back in place.
“You’re welcome,” Martha said before ending their call.
Zoe roamed the room for a few minutes. Finally, she sat down at the desk and powered up her laptop. Quickly, she read the latest gossip website and frowned at the description of Ian Romanov’s latest fling gone wrong. “Vivian Cross might be missing you, but I’m not.”
After x-ing out the internet browser and checking the time, she opened the last file she’d been working on. Five hours until dinner. Five hours until him.
Maybe she should write a scene where Dimitri can’t get it up and have Katrina laugh at him, then run off with Joshua. Oh yeah, that would go over really well with her fans.
Why in the world had she agreed to come out here? To have dinner with a man like Ian Romanov? No, not a man like him.
Christian.
He was a dangerous temptation. The type of man that had no problem loving a woman then leaving her. She knew his type all too well.
If she weren’t careful, she’d be just as heartbroken as she had been over four years ago. She eyed the closet again and stood up. Steel crept up her spine and made her stand straighter. This time things would be different. She was different. Older and wiser, too. Without the need for a disguise that rendered her unrecognizable.
All she would have to do is be pleasant. Be polite. Pose for pictures. Be calm, cool and collected. As if she did this all the time. She nodded at her reflection in the mirrored closet door and smiled. Christian Romanov wouldn’t know what hit him.
Chapter Four
It would have been a perfectly nice dinner if Zoe hadn’t stabbed Christian before the dessert course had come.
A medic poured antiseptic over the shallow (thank God) wound on Christian’s hand.
Christian alternately hissed and cursed under his breath. “Sorry, not your fault, mate.” He sliced his gaze to Zoe.
“I’m so sorry,” she said for the fourth time, mortified at the scene she had caused.
No less than five waiters, two personal assistants and three managers jumped to their feet to gather ice, vodka for Christian’s empty glass, and a first-aid kit.
“It won’t stop bleeding.” One of the personal assistants narrowed his eyes at her, then let his gaze rove over Christian’s body. Christian winked at him and the man beamed.
It was all she could do to not roll her eyes. The poor guy didn’t realize that the movie star was nothing but an equal opportunity flirt. Unless…it didn’t matter. She wasn’t interested in Christian’s past, present or future preferences.
Catching sight of the line of blood dried on his hand, she blanched. It didn’t matter what he was, because she would be going to jail for assault. “Oh God, I didn’t mean to, but you grabbed me and I…” She knew her face was flame red. Tears pricked at her eyes and her throat threatened to close. She turned away, searching for a comforting face, or at least one that wasn’t ready to do her bodily harm.
One of the representatives from Peak Pictures peered at her over his glasses, a thin smile on his face.
“Ms. Ambrose, I think we’ve gotten all the input we needed tonight. My assistant will send Martha the details of our decision in the next couple of days.”
Zoe nodded, then looked down in her lap, pleating the cloth napkin. “Sounds great.” She needed to get a grip on herself. She was twenty-eight years old not some teenager, with her first crush who’d just made a complete fool of herself. Intellectually, she knew this.
But the minute Christian had touched the inside of her thigh, she’d gone soft and melted into a big puddle of Zoe goo. Her entire body had shivered and he’d firmed his grip. Then she’d happened to sneak a peek at him. His face was perfectly calm, betraying nothing as he’d amused everyone at the dinner table with an anecdote that she’d never remember. He had been perfectly unaffected by her response, like he did this type of thing all the time. So, she’d grabbed her spoon to smack him with it.
As luck would have it, the spoon turned out to be her steak knife.
“A ‘no’ would have sufficed,” Christian said, then turned to the medic. “Thanks for responding so quickly.”
The medic nodded, cleaned up and left.
“I thought it was my spoon. I meant to smack you, not draw blood,” she said, ducking her head again. Would it be weird if she banged it against the table? She’d bet ten to one no one would come running to her aid. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">