Czech Mate

Czech Mate
by Sloane Taylor
Copyright © Sloane Taylor, 2013

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster,
OH
43130
www.MusaPublishing.com

Issued by Musa Publishing, December 2013

This e-book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

ISBN
: 978-1-61937-694-6

Editor: Helen Hardt
Artist: Kelly Shorten
Line Editor: Damien Walters Grintalis
Interior Book Design: Cera Smith

Acknowledgments

There are always people behind the scenes that improve an author’s work no matter who the author. I’m blessed with many, but there are three people who have extended themselves for me book after book. And I pray they do so in the future for without them I’m lost.

To Helen Hardt my editor extraordinaire, thank you for your staunch support and gentle guidance. You are very much appreciated.

To Kelly Shorten the cover artist who always amazes, thank you for your phenomenal work that nails my stories.

To Cera Smith the outstanding book designer, thank you for your creativity and making my books beautiful to read.

Chapter One

“Y
ou
rotten
bastard.”

“Please, miss. I simply require your credit card.” The bony desk clerk eyed her as his lips curled. With a sniff he tugged on his undertaker-suit sleeve. “It is the standard practice when guests check into any hotel.”

Just because she looked like a hooker who’d had an extremely profitable night didn’t mean he had to treat her like one. Lacey didn’t give a damn what he thought as she smoothed out the scrunched yellow paper he’d handed her a few moments earlier. Tension mounted and banged in her left temple. She re-read the typed message, then wadded it up and slammed it onto the cold marble counter. A moment later the damned paper drifted over the edge.

“Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t referring to you.” She squared her shoulders and drew in a deep, calming breath. “I have a small problem. That note is from the friend I was supposed to meet here.”

The waste of sperm eyed her over his horn-rimmed glasses, then stretched across the uncluttered black countertop and glared at the bronze-and-gold-tiled floor. She stooped to retrieve the ball of paper and the room spun. With a push against the massive teak base, she eased herself upright while focusing on the gilded wall sconce. Jet lag had always been her enemy. Add that to the mess she found herself in and the combination was enough to make anyone faint.

“Brad, er…I mean, Mr. Claymore, booked our hotel stay and offered to pay for it, but he’s stiffed me and now I don’t think there’s enough money available on my credit card for your hotel. I know there sure isn’t enough in my wallet, but I can’t go home for a week because the cheap ass bought me a non-refundable, non-changeable airline ticket. I don’t know what to do, but I know I won’t be checking in after all.” She swallowed hard as she closed her eyes and wished the temperature was several degrees cooler in the dim lobby.

Damn you to hell, Brad
.

What was she supposed to do now that the creep had stranded her in Prague? This wasn’t the first time he’d done her dirty. But the fucking idiot had messed her over for the last time. She wouldn’t look like Betty the Bonker if he hadn’t insisted on yet another of his stupid dress-up games. Lacey shook her head. Why couldn’t she ever meet someone who enjoyed normal sex? She was far from a prude, but crap, all the money she’d spent to buy his favorite open-cup bras and crotchless panties had just about maxed out her credit card. And the damned pricey thong she was currently wearing bit into her rear, aggravating her all the more.

She’d give anything to dig the effing thing out of her ass and be more comfortable. That would have shocked the hell out of the clerk who sneered as if he hated her. She did a little butt wiggle to no avail. A man had to have invented thongs. No sane woman would have designed an intimate garment with coarse lace spanning her asshole.

The desk snob stared across the reception area with glazed eyes. Somehow she had that effect on people. Her panicked ramblings always put them into a stupor.

She glanced over her shoulder to the tune of her cheap rhinestone hairclip tinkling across the polished marble floor, then bent at the waist to retrieve it before Butt Boy called the cops. A hank of hair fell over her eyes, and she looped it around an ear as the most amazing physical specimen of manhood she’d ever had the wet dream to witness turned toward her.

Dragan looked past the people milling in his lobby to the front desk. Conventions brought out all the whores. Why was his hotel so blessed? At one time, a woman alone could not survive any other way in Prague, but life had improved with the so-called democratic government. He shook his head. Apparently, some of the old ways would never die.

The scene unfolded between the outrageously dressed woman and his desk clerk. Her nervous actions and never-ending prattle proved she was new at her profession, but she would not kick off her career in his five-star property. He pressed his lips tight. The clerk was unashamedly rude. Again, Dragan faced another employee training exercise he had to handle himself. Right after he removed the prostitute from his lobby.

His face muscles tightened when the elderly couple in line to register tipped their heads together. The old lady clamped a hand over her mouth and all but ran for the front door while her husband gathered up their suitcases.

Souložit
. Fuck. He refused to lose guests over some streetwalker. Even if she did have an ass a man could ride all night.

In a few long strides, he stood to the left of the lady in question and squelched the unreasonable impulse to wrap his arms around her. He shook his head as a sudden urge to protect her swept over him. The snickers from a few people around them infuriated him, while her musky scent made him damned horny.

He looked Tomas in the eye, making an effort to keep his voice calm. “We have a problem?”

“Not
we
, sir, just her.” He winked and hooked a thumb at the woman who tugged her jacket tight around her body.

“Respect is a beautiful attribute in one’s life, Tomas.” Dragan pursed his lips. “You would do well to remember that.”

At least the insolent boy had the sense to blush.

The lady of the night glanced at Dragan as she tucked a thick swatch of auburn hair behind her ear. Her glossy lips formed a perfect O. His cock jumped to attention, ready for whatever action that succulent mouth offered.

No time for that
. He had to get her out of the lobby and…
What? Fuck her senseless?

Dragan was not a man to use the services of a prostitute—he had never had the need. He took in every detail of the woman and shook his head. She could not be a streetwalker. No harsh lines flared around her soft lips, and her hazel eyes were clear with just a few smudges of mascara underneath. Perhaps she needed help? He scanned her ugly jacket. What she needed was better taste.

The thought returned his gaze to her full mouth and the lips he would like to have wrapped around his cock right after he… He fisted his hands and willed his over exuberant member to relax
.

On second glance, the sex god in the expensive black suit was far from handsome, but he conveyed the kind of brute force that always turned her on. He walked to the desk as he worked his cufflinks to just below the hem of his coat sleeve.
Must be a Czech thing
. He took one look at her, and his black eyes widened as they skimmed down her body. Her face burned. He obviously thought she was the local tail out to contaminate his precious hotel’s reputation.

Yet she couldn’t help but wipe the drool from her chin as he rattled off something in a deep baritone that would make a nun come. The clerk nodded and pasted an almost pleasant look on his sour puss.

She teetered back on her come-fuck-me heels that her about to be ex-boyfriend insisted she wear, amazed the thong no longer bothered her. Apparently the lace was now too well lubricated to chafe her swollen clit.

The hunk in the suit laid a hand the size of a ham hock under her elbow to steady her.

“You seem to have a problem, miss. What may I do to help you?”

Eat me.

She choked when she thought she’d blurted out the words. One look at the face she’d love to shove between her thighs and she wished she had spoken. Another quick glance and she stifled the laugh that threatened to erupt as he adjusted himself. Nice to see she hadn’t lost all of her charm.

“Mr. Petrovič, the lady has a reservation, but the gentleman paying for that room is unable to partake of their week as seems to have been pre-arranged.” There was that damned sniff again. Maybe he should invest in a menthol inhaler.

“The
lady
has a name. It’s Blake, Lacey Blake.” Jesus, she sounded like something out of Ian Fleming, but she’d had enough of the little smartass and his attitude. She was a professional, and not the kind that rectum-face imagined. She turned to the god with longer-than-vogue blue-black hair. A smile tugged his full lips before his hand covered his fake cough.

“Thank you, sir, but I’ll just be on my merry way to the local homeless shelter.” She lived by her motto: keep the humor in life. Right now she needed comedy more than ever.

Again Hunkarama quietly spoke to the desk fool, but this time his craggy face could have melted the sun. The clerk’s face blazed, and he laid a plastic keycard on the counter.

This hotel knows how to hire upper management
. The desire to grip onto his wider-than-Canada shoulders rocked her.

“This is all you have?” Every woman’s wet dream fantasy cocked a thick eyebrow and nodded to her poor excuse for luggage.

A delicious shiver scampered through her. His voice did things to her body no other man’s ever had. She squeezed her thighs together, a weak attempt to control the throbbing low in her abdomen as his accented words caressed her.

“For now.” Her voice sounded breathless. She hoped he blamed the time change and her long flight. “The airline lost my other bag.”

With one hand, the giant scooped up her crushed suitcase. “Follow me.”

To the end of the earth or at least the nearest bedroom.

She had to get a grip on herself. And her hard as rocks nipples. Her history should have taught her life held more than lust.
But who the hell cares? Lust is so damn hot it’s worth the few snags.
That damned evil side of her was tempting her with multiple orgasms.

“That’s not really a good idea. I’ll just…” Then that damned sane side popped up ready to take control and ruin all her fun.

He stopped short and she plowed into his backside, a beautifully firm, rounded, mouthwatering backside. Lacey clenched her hands, fighting the temptation to grab a fistful.

“We do not let guests of the Hotel Monaco go to homeless shelters, Ms. Blake.” He smiled. A dimple crinkled high on his cheek and wiped away the harsh lines.

The only place she wanted to go was a candlelit room, then strip him naked and tongue bathe him from top to bottom. That effing good side could go jump off the Charles Bridge.

He turned back to the polished black elevator doors and punched a button. A muted
ding
worked its way into the sexual fog circling her brain as the panel slid open. He stepped aside and indicated she enter first. Even though she looked like she should push a shopping cart stacked high with all her worldly possessions, he treated her with respect. A welcome change from the idiot who stood her up.

Soft lighting reflected off the mirrored walls and she gasped at the image staring back. She was no
Pretty Woman
by any stretch of anything. With a sharp tug she adjusted the fake leopard jacket that had popped a button somewhere during her travels.
Like that would make a difference
.

His twinkling eyes found hers between the gold swirls on the glass. Heat crawled up her neck as his tentative smile grew.

“A worldwide convention of scientists is meeting in our city this week, which equates to no available hotel rooms. Also they tend to over-enjoy themselves when they are away from their laboratories.” He jabbed a thick finger onto a gold disk, and the doors slithered closed.

The elevator was either a vacuum or being in it with the prince of wet dreams had sucked out all the air, because her temperature climbed with each floor the small box crawled past. She undid the three remaining oversized buttons on her crappy jacket and tugged the feather boa from her neck.

His eyes darkened with her every move. She had the perverse desire to dip a finger in her mouth and run it along her throat and down into her cleavage. Maybe even do the old lip swipe thing just in case Europeans were more into oral.
Too tired to give her best shot, she turned, parted her legs for balance, and bent at the waist to hoist her carry-on back to her shoulder. All the while praying her thigh-highs didn’t fall to her ankles.

He cleared his throat. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dragan Petrovič.”

“Dragon? As in the fire-breathing kind?” He sure had a broad enough nose, but he had to be joking. Who named their baby Dragon? What kind of cuddly nickname had his mom called him?

His forehead furrowed as if he were translating into his own language. Lord, how she wanted to reach out and ease his tortured brow.

“No.” He shook his head and all that thick hair feathered against his earlobes. “D-R-A-G-A-N. The name is Serbian and means… Well, that is not important. In your language you say Charles or Chuck.”

Chuck, Chuck, you wanna fuck?

She shook her head. No way did the name Chuck or any stupid limerick fit the distinguished hunk of manhood who had her hormones soaring. Yet his unfinished comment sparked her interest. The doors glided open before she questioned him.

“Please.” He placed his hand across the magnetic eye and waited for her to exit. For some inane reason she stood straighter with her breasts thrust forward as she stepped into the hallway. She definitely had to work on the lust thing.

“Look, I still don’t feel right about this.” She didn’t want her tombstone to read,
We buried her standing up because she spent the majority of her life on her back
. Another few steps down the thick pile navy carpet, she glanced at the walls covered in maroon fabric. For once Brad had popped for a quality place instead of his usual rent-by-the-hour dive. “I’m also thinking I can’t afford this hotel.”

“Do not concern yourself, Lacey.”

His eyes smoldered. Her vagina clenched and she almost came in her thong.

“May I call you Lacey? It is a beautiful name.”