CHAPTER79
I grimace as I catch sight of myself in the mirror; once again Donna has excelled herself, and I chastise myself for not trying this dress on before this trip. It’s tight and short and revealing. My stilettos do wonders for my legs, but I feel a little naked. It’s sleeveless with just thin straps and a fitted bust leading down to a tight, figure-hugging, knee-length skirt. It’s mainly made of lace, with an under-layer retaining my modesty, and the result is slinky but in a non-slutty way. Well, maybe a little slutty. I’m all boobs.
I brush my hair and leave it down in a bid to try to cover some of my exposed shoulders and cleavage. It waves naturally, coming down to my elbow. My make-up is darkened and smoky. I’m ready unusually fast, still with a deep knot of anxiety in my lower stomach, and fidget impatiently.
Jake strolls back in wearing his favorite black shirt, open at the neck, and black trousers. Effortlessly suave, he always looks amazing in black, and his eyes practically glow with green coolness. He seems to falter as he catches sight of me, frowns, adjusts his cuffs, and averts his eyes. He says nothing at first, then sets a normal smile on his face before looking me over once again.
This is a bad idea; I can feel it already. I want my suit, my hair tied up, and my ‘cool and in control’ mask back in place.
“You look stunning, Emma. I may have to beat off a few men tonight on your behalf, or pee on you to mark my territory.” He grins at me as I blanch in disgust.
“Ewww, hell no!”
He checks his hair in the mirror over the mantle one more time, before reaching his hand out to me, his eyes still skimming me with a look that he never throws my way … appreciation. Not flirty Jake eyefuls, like he normally does, but a serious, eye-skimming, checking-me-out look. I swallow down the nerves and accept his hand, with no idea why I’m this uneasy. He takes my hand and pulls me toward the door before I can argue, always so overbearing when his mind is made up.
The casino is everything I imagined it would be. I’ve watched enough episodes of CSI to not be awed at the splendor of the vast red-carpeted room filled with machines and tables and noise. Jake tries his luck at a few tables and soon looks bored. He’s never been much of a gambler; he prefers to have situations laid out in a way where he controls the players and always wins. It’s why he’s his father’s second-in-command, with his inherited skills. Although after the Hunter merger, I’m beginning to think his skills surpass those of Senior, seeing he knew how to play him well.
“You want to hit a club instead of this?” He is close to me and I can tell he’s already fed up with the casino. I glance at a couple of women appraising him up and down and am mildly irritated. Maybe I should point him in the direction of the two leggy blondes, go back to my room and have my quiet night after all. Seeing them look him over like fresh meat, I pout; I’m irritated by it again, and I’m aware it’s unattractive. I glare and turn my attention back to him.
“Sure,” I declare defiantly as, from the corner of my eye, I catch blonde girl licking her lips and thrusting her boobs forward, readying herself to approach him.
No doubt the slutty pair don’t mind group sex.
He grins happily, unaware of the female attention he’s receiving. Impulsively, I slide my arm through his possessively, throwing back my hair and sending the ‘hoes’ a signal.
Back off, he’s not interested.
The nightclub is dark and booming and we get in easily; they know who he is, even though we’re far away from home, a common Carrero perk. I spot some well-known faces and gush when I realize there are some celebrities here, and even more so when a couple of them wave his way. He’s holding my hand and pulling me through the crowds; Jake is never wary of unfamiliar places and new crowds. He feels at ease wherever we go.
I’m trying to go easy on the alcohol, but Jake’s a seasoned-drinker and frequents the bar for top-ups faster than I can drink. He has me half-drunk already, and I don’t know how many times he’s pulled me onto the dance floor, everything bumping and thumping around me. He’s a good dancer and even though we have danced close at times, I get the impression he’s trying to keep a gentlemanly distance. He’s still flirty and having the usual banter with me, but there is a definite coolness in him now that we’re here. He is also staying fairly sober compared to the way I have seen him fall into hotel rooms after a night out.
We’re dancing to a high-tempo song and people he knows are around us. He seems to find acquaintances everywhere we go, the upside to having a famous face and traveler’s blood, I guess. We sit with some of the people he knows and share a few drinks before we get up to dance with a girl named Lolly, who can’t keep her eyes off Jake; it’s irritating as hell. It only makes me snarky, and I find I have no warmth for the girl at all. I cut in a few times to dance in front of her with an invasive shimmy, in the name of saving him from her wandering hands anytime she gets too close to him. Jake seems amused and just pulls me close to let me dance against him, oblivious.
He came out to have fun, not get mauled by some overbearing redhead in a Wonderbra.
Jake doesn’t even seem to acknowledge it at all. Maybe this is why I avoid going out with him? My need to have women leave him be and let him enjoy his night. I suppose it’s the opposite of what he wants, but right now I don’t care. I’m not playing third wheel.
He leaves to go to the bar with one of the men that we have started to party with. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him on the big screen but I’m too shy to ask, and his posse all look a bit familiar. I’m wildly outside my comfort zone.
Hands move around me as a shady, sleazy, familiar face slides in behind me and tries some groin-to-butt hump-dancing. I remove his fingers icily, aware of that rise of bile in my stomach at a male touch, and stumble to the bar cringing and feeling thoroughly disgusted, looking for the one guy I feel safe with. I don’t want this creep’s hands on me, his breath on my neck; I want Jake’s presence and the security it offers from overly handsy men.
Jake’s being served and hands me a colorful cocktail as soon as I appear beside him. It has a sparkly straw and umbrella, and he grins as he places it in my hands. I’m sure there’s some sort of joke in it, but I’m thirsty and it tastes amazing. It reminds me of the drink he gave me in his office the first time I ever met him. He regards me oddly and shakes his head in amusement, looking at the drink in my hand. I guess it’s the fact I’m holding a pink, sparkly drink festooned with decorations without argument and obviously liking it that’s amusing him; it’s not like me. I kind of like it though, and I like that it amuses him. That smile always makes me smile, I muse while looking down at my pretty drink.
Again, a hand slides slowly over my ass, copping a feel with a firm suggestive squeeze, and I jerk my head up in shock.
What the hell is Jake doing?
Except Jake is standing in front of me with a beer in one hand and his cell in the other, staring down at the illuminated screen; he notices my reaction and looks past me, scowling.
“Hey, buddy, hands off,” he growls with a glare, and the shady, familiar face lifts his palms in mock apology, still towering behind me a little too closely. I move nearer to Jake in a bid to put distance behind me.
“Jake, dude, you said she was just a friend.” He’s slurring almost in my ear, he’s so close.
“I know what I said.” Jake moves forward, pulling me aside with a strong hand and placing himself between me and Sleazy. I’m not sure how to react, so I sip my drink nervously, glad of his powerful body shielding me. In this state I may just curl up and cry.
Where is feisty Emma?"
