Claiming Magique: 1 (6 page)

Please don’t die. Please, you have
to get well.

As though Ronnie had heard
Alexa’s
plea, she stirred, then stretched, trying to get
into a more comfortable position.
Alexa
backed up,
wanting to leave her undisturbed.

Too late.
Ronnie woke.

Her gray eyes were bleary from
either exhaustion or returning pain. “Hi.” Warmth filled her husky greeting.
“Come, sit by me.” She patted the space beside her, her perfectly manicured
nails making her hand look old and frail.

Alexa
wanted to run to her friend, bur remained where she was.
“You should sleep. Let me get you a fresh glass of water and one of your
pills.”

“I’d prefer a cheeseburger, a
martini and a man.
In that order.”

Alexa
smiled. “The man can wait?”

“There’ll always be plenty of them.”
She inhaled cautiously, as though testing to see if it would hurt, then sighed
out her words. “I haven’t had a really good cheeseburger in years. Not like the
ones at that dump where I worked as a teen. Even the best chefs don’t seem to
get it right like that cook did. Maybe it was all that decades-old grease he
had on his grill.”

Alexa
made a face.
“Oh yuck.”

“Come,” Ronnie urged again. “Tell me
about your night. Was it what you wanted?”

Heat rose to
Alexa’s
cheeks just as it had hours earlier when she’d glanced at Hunt to see why he’d
stopped licking her pussy. Her body weakened as she recalled his easy
confidence, his pleasure at having aroused her, the mischievous way he’d
winked.
Adorable and thrilling.
What a freaking
combination.

That gesture had touched her in a
way even the greatest sex or effusive praise never could. He’d acted as a
friend might—not a client intent on nothing more than sex—teasing her, breaking
down part of her barriers, reaching beneath the surface, making her desire
more.
Something rich and intimate that enhanced their carnal
play.

She’d resisted as best she could,
which was basically not at all.

“It was,” Ronnie said. “I see it on
your face. You’ve actually met someone.”

Alexa’s
stomach started to hurt. She dismissed Ronnie’s comment
with a wave of her hand. Never again would she see Hunter Prescott. She
wouldn’t allow herself that. Her reaction to him, his impact on her, was too
dangerous and could only lead to heartache. No way would she let that happen.
She wasn’t a little girl any longer, hoping her father would notice her or
begging her mother for scraps of love.

She padded to the sofa and curled up
next to Ronnie, wanting to cradle the woman close. Ronnie shook her head,
causing her scarf to slip back, exposing her bare temples.
“My
turn to take care of you.”

She held out her arms, inviting
Alexa
to move inside them.

Resting her head on Ronnie’s thin
shoulder, she smiled at the woman’s baby powder scent, so homey and comforting.

“Tell me about him,” Ronnie said.

Alexa
played dumb.
“Him who?”

“The man who’s making you
blush
like a virgin.”

She plucked a stray thread from
Ronnie’s robe. “You’re hallucinating. Have you been smoking weed again?”

“Helps my
pain.
Makes me smile.
What’s your excuse?” She leaned down, regarding
Alexa’s
face. “Why are you grinning suddenly?”

She tried to stop, but failed. Her
shoulders trembled with her giggles. “He said he was fluent in Pig Latin.”

“What? Who said that?”

“One of the
guys tonight.
It was a joke.” She rubbed her
cheek against Ronnie’s shoulder and stroked the woman’s gaunt hand. “I was
trying to impress him and his friends with the languages I speak.”

“All twelve?
Did you also tell them about your European boarding
schools, your Oxford degree,
who
your father is?”

“Of course
not.
Once I had my dress off, they
wouldn’t have heard a thing I said.”

“True.” Ronnie tucked a stray lock
behind
Alexa’s
ear.

It reminded her of Hunt doing the
same before she took him in her mouth. The memory of his scent returned, musky,
male. She recalled his fleshy crown and cock slipping down her throat,
enthralling her in a way she couldn’t deny.

“So what’s wrong with Mr. Pig
Latin?” Ronnie asked. “Is he stupid? Didn’t he go to school?”

Alexa’s
wanton recollections continued to surface. With a sigh, she
pushed them away.
“Princeton on a scholarship, then Harvard
Law, at least according to his inches- thick dossier.
You
know,
the one you gave me before I left tonight.”

“Ah, you’re speaking of Hunter
Prescott.
Good-looking man.
I made one of his
headshots a screen saver on my computer.”

Alexa
laughed.

“So you like him,” Ronnie added.
A statement not a question.

Alexa’s
laughter wound down. She could still feel the heat of his
body against hers, his big hands sliding over her skin, their lips brushing,
tongues probing,
the
bite of his coming beard, his
thick cock filling her cunt and mouth, his creamy seed sliding down her throat.

She’d savored its faint saltiness, though
it would never compare to the bliss she saw on his face as his climax ebbed.
He’d reminded her of a little boy then, content and safe, no longer poor, the
product of a single mother living in a bad section of Baltimore. A childhood so
unlike what his friend Tim had experienced. According to his dossier, on Tim’s
twelfth birthday his parents had rented out Disneyland for the day, just for
him and his friends.

When Hunt was twelve, he’d been
arrested for assaulting one of his mother’s many boyfriends with a baseball
bat. Once the
juvey
cops realized Hunt was only
trying to protect his mom from being battered again, they’d urged the
prosecutor not to file charges.

After that, there were no arrests,
just some parking and speeding tickets. He’d been a good boy.

Though not
that good.

Her body went weak with more
memories. While David and Tim had slept after their orgasms, Hunt had pulled
Alexa
from the bed, lifted her into his arms and carried
her into the master bath. The buff-colored marble floor shone dully beneath the
Victorian wall lamps shaped like tulips complete with metal leaves. Over the
three sinks was a mirrored wall, showing her and Hunt’s messy hair, their
bodies flushed with excitement.

He carried her into the
glass-enclosed shower.

“No,” she said, even as she clung to
him, her hand over his heart, her fingers stroking his
pec
.

He kissed her shoulder and throat.
As she whimpered in delight, Hunt lowered
Alexa
to
her feet and rested his forehead against hers. Without the added height from
her heels, he seemed enormous next to her.

“No, what?” he asked gently.

She was afraid to be alone with him,
fearful of getting too close. They had to go back to bed and wait for David and
Tim to wake up. “I…”

Hunt eased back, regarding her as he
waited for her to say more.

She couldn’t continue, unable to
find the words, suckling his throat instead.

He took that as license for them to
remain, wrapping his hands around her wrists, using his body to push hers against
the wall, this marble a shade lighter than the floor. Holding her arms to
either side of
Alexa’s
head, he trapped her.

She expected a kiss, surely a fuck.

Hunt did neither.

Her heart kept missing beats, making
her lightheaded, her body sluggish. When she sneaked a peek at him, he was
regarding her, his smile easy and welcoming. Not the kind that would judge and
hurt—or worse, be indifferent to who she was.

He kissed the tip of her nose and
each cheek, testing her reaction.

His tenderness undid her. “Yes,” she
whispered, surprised she would.

He fitted his mouth to hers, his
kiss slow, deep, wet and so enticing
Alexa
couldn’t
resist. She pressed her groin to his, rubbing his cock with her pussy, wanting
him inside her again.

Releasing her wrists, he pushed his
fingers through her hair, using it as an anchor to keep her to him.

Alexa
wasn’t going anywhere. She couldn’t. Somehow, this felt
needed and right. She pressed her palms to his back, drawing him closer. They
necked for minutes, making randy noises…a growl here, a sigh there, followed by
suckling sounds…not stopping until both of them needed a bit of air.

The moment their lips parted, Hunt
reached over and turned on the water.

Alexa
gasped at its cold bite.

“
Shhh
.”
He caressed her to him, stroking her back, protecting her from the flow. “It’ll
be warm in a sec.”

With his body against hers, it
didn’t take that long to heat things up. Plumes of steam filled the room.
Moisture rolled down their bodies. As he’d done in the bedroom earlier, Hunt
took her standing up, his arm protecting her back from the wall, her legs
wrapped around him. She gripped his shoulders, her nails raking his back as he
pounded into her, his balls tapping her body.
Alexa
wanted them in her mouth, her tongue sweeping each wrinkled sac and the dark
hairs dusting them.

She hadn’t gotten the chance. Tim
awoke and joined them in the shower, followed by David. Spent from his climax,
Hunt watched as his friends took their turns with her, Tim anally this time.
David vaginally.
Hunt’s expression grew increasingly dark
and possessive.

His desire for her thrilled
Alexa
and frightened her too. She didn’t want to belong to
any man. Love was too risky. Sex and having fun was all she trusted or craved.

Hours later, when the three friends
had finally fallen into a deep sleep, she’d dressed and told Ronnie’s assistant
to wake the men in a half-hour, telling them to leave.

With that, she’d departed and come
here.

“You do like him,” Ronnie said,
breaking into
Alexa’s
thoughts. “
Which
means he really likes you.
”

“No. It’s
Magique
he wants. Not me. And,” she interrupted Ronnie, “as far as I’m concerned, I
just wanted some fun tonight. I had it. It’s over. I’ll never see him again.”

This was taking forever.

Hunt should have been on his office
phone—given that he was in his office—working the aides of several senators and
reps. Instead, he had his cell practically glued to his ear as he waited on
hold for a guy Tim swore by.

“Trust me,” Tim had said. “Flannigan
can find out anything about anybody. My father uses him all the time to screw
his competitors.”

Screwing was the last thing Hunt had
on his mind, either physically or metaphorically. He wanted details.
Magique’s
real
name, age, where she lived, who she loved.

He wasn’t about to ask himself why.
He didn’t want to go there.

With the other women he’d known,
he’d had some great times, even dating a few of them for a while, and then he’d
moved on, going his way while they went theirs. No harm done.

Somehow, when he’d awakened next to
Tim and David with no
Magique
in sight, just her
lingering musk and provocative perfume, a rush of sadness had come over him.
He’d felt lonelier than he had as a child when his mother had left him alone to
meet up with her latest boyfriend.

It wasn’t a feeling Hunt relished.
So maybe that’s why he was going through all this shit. On the other end of the
line, Debussy’s
Afternoon of a Faun
played, the frothy instrumental
supposedly adding class to what the investigative service did.

Come on. I’ve got work to do.

Hunt sagged in his chair, its
top-of-the-line leather whooshing with his weight, the texture nearly as soft
as
Magique’s
skin.
Only the best
for one of Givens and Strobe’s most successful lobbyists.

Even after a few years at the top,
Hunt was still surprised at how far he’d
risen
, the
incredible opulence of his office. Mahogany bookcases stretched from floor to
ceiling, filled with legal volumes that weren’t necessary any longer.
Everything they contained was on the Internet. The physical books were all for
show and a reminder of the man who’d once claimed this space. Five years ago,
he’d died of a massive coronary from overwork, too much booze and maybe his
hunger for a call girl who’d turned his world inside out.