Wreckless (8 page)

First thing next Friday, when they met up again, she’d set him straight. Never again would she allow control to be wrested from her, the way it had a year ago. She’d agreed to their tryst because she knew what it entailed - punishment on his part for what she’d done to his sister and an inexplicable need to stay connected with the man she still craved on hers. She wasn’t sure what name to hang on it, but she didn’t think it was love. Hell, why would she love a man who would dump her without so much as a word?

He’d paid her a visit the day after the accident; he’d kept his anger at bay as he demanded to know why she’d drank that night. Sure, at first she’d tried to bullshit her way out of it, but in the end she’d come clean. The disappointment in his eyes had scared her a little, but never in her wildest dreams had she thought it would spell the end of their relationship.

She’d taken his request to push back their wedding simply as a chance to give Cara time to recover from the accident. And why would he tell her he’d see her the next day, even kiss her, when he knew he was leaving London?

Her own desperate heartache still had the power to deliver gut-wrenching pain when she recalled just how she’d found out her engagement had ended.

After days locked in a fog of pain, the realization that Enzo hadn’t come back to see her had finally penetrated her stunned senses. Endless calls with no reply had driven her to seek him out at his house.

The realtor’s pitying look and insouciant tones as she informed her that Enzo’s rented house was back on the market because he’d returned to the States still made her skin tighten with humiliation. She’d crawled back into bed and stayed there for a solid week, until her grandmother’s anxious entreaties had forced her to pull herself together.

But that was then. She was much stronger now.

Any more caveman tactics from Enzo and she walked. Plain and simple.

Fendi sunglasses firmly in place, she walked into the bright Vegas sunlight, ignoring the avid gazes that her voluptuous figure gloved in a mint green skirt suit attracted. She tried to shift her mind into work mode as the car service town car drew up beside her.

Nine viewings in the next two days was definitely pushing it. After which, she’d need to make a shortlist of four or five properties and present the portfolio to her clients. Then on Monday, she’d take them around, arrange second viewings where necessary on Tuesday, and then leave them to decide which property they wanted.

As an international relocation consultant, Lexi had found homes for hundreds of clients all over the world. She’d started as a small-time relocator with a firm in South London, and then moved to Kingfisher Realtors, after being recognized for her innate ability to fit the right people to the right homes.

She knew she had a natural talent, but it wasn’t until her short stint on a TV property show that she’d gained international acclaim. Overnight, she’d become the go-to person, topping the list as the property hunter for celebrities and
Fortune 500
clients.

Initially, the success had gone to her head, until she realized she’d be dealing with monumental egos and self-important minions who thought she should be paying them for the privilege of her services.

More and more, she missed the fulfillment of finding the right house for young couples and first-time buyers, seeing the sheer joy on their faces as they secured the humble homes they’d most likely live in, bring up their children in, and grow old in.

Instead, she had to contend with locating and negotiating the best price for the next “in” place for egotistical CEOs, aging rockers and their starlet wives, or even worse, their drug-stoked offspring who wanted to live in the same neighborhood as Kim K or Britney. Of course, the minute Kim moved, Lexi had to be on the next flight, hunting down a penthouse, chalet, or villa.

Before the accident last year, when she’d looked forward to living her own happily-ever-after as Mrs. Enzo Saldana, Lexi had toyed with the idea of going back to her roots, starting her own company in LA, and catering to couples and families looking for their first homes. Then all her dreams had crashed and burned. At first, she’d thought she could remain in London after Enzo left, but even that option had been cruelly torn from her.

Ian Pulbrook had seen to that.

Kingfisher’s offer of a position in LA had been a godsend and she’d taken it, allowing her gratefully numbed senses to retreat further from the horror that had become her life.

She wrenched her thoughts from the dark vacuum of remembrance and pushed her shades up her nose when the Strip came into view. The spectacular sights and themed hotels flashed past and, even in daylight, the world-famous Las Vegas strip was a sight to behold. She’d only visited twice before, the first time when Ocean’s Eleven had propelled every A- and B-listed star to acquire a suite at the
Bellagio
.

The second had been when the
Wynn Hotel
had opened; its sheer opulence and decadence had prompted another frenzied bid for space within its hallowed walls.

This time, she was in search of a condo for a non-celebrity couple, a
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson
, the brief said. Although she had her suspicions that there might be another, more legitimate Mrs. Johnson tucked away in the background. For one thing,
Mr. Johnson
, a filthy rich wine merchant originally from Napa, was old enough to be the grandfather of the
Mrs. Johnson
she’d met, and everything about her screamed high-class hooker. Lexi had a feeling she was hunting for a dirty weekend get-away pad, not the alleged retirement home for the couple.

But hers wasn’t to reason why, she mused cynically, as the car pulled up in front of her hotel.

First a light lunch, followed by a read through of her papers and phone calls to the local realtors confirming her appointments. Then a massage and a relaxed evening to ready herself for the hectic pace of the next few days.

Saturdays were busy days for realtors, especially in a fast-moving market like Vegas. In a city where fortunes were made and lost in the blink of an eye, one always had to be ready to move quickly. The condo or suite, which you’d been warned would never be sold, could suddenly come on the market and be gone within a matter of hours.

She thanked her driver and followed the bellhop to the front desk.

“Hello, Ms. Mayfield. Good to have you with us again. We gave you your usual suite, here’s your keycard, and your massage has been booked for four as requested.”

Lexi smiled inwardly at the very American efficiency. If there was one thing she loved about Americans, it was their skills in the hospitality business.

“Thank you. Would it be possible to move the massage to three, instead?” she asked, thinking of the aches she had in unmentionable places.

“Of course.” The attractive blonde behind the desk replied smoothly. “We’ve also arranged for the same masseuse for you. I believe you used Hans the last time?”

“I don’t remember his name.” Oh, but she did. She recalled Hans and his amazing assets as clear as day. “I’m sure whoever you send will be fine.”

Perfect teeth gleamed in her perfect face. “Thank you, Ms. Mayfield. Here’s your wi-fi card. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you.” She took the card and followed the bellhop to the elevator.

Riding up to her floor, Lexi hid her smile as the spectacular image of Hans rose in her mind. She hadn’t experienced his personal brand of massage in well over six months. If he’d lasted this long on the job, then he must be very discreet indeed.

Handing over a twenty-dollar tip to the bellhop, she shut the door behind him and surveyed her room. A junior suite with clear views of the Strip, it was decorated in honeyed tones of cream and gold, with a whirlpool bath and separate shower adjoining the bedroom on one side. On the other, a small sitting room held the music and drinks console and a desk where she could plug in her laptop. This she did, removing her clothes as it booted up.

Crossing the room to the phone, she ordered a club sandwich and fries, forgoing the salad she’d originally contemplated. She was starving, especially after that sexathon last night and only a coffee and half a bagel for breakfast this morning.

Her gaze moved to her bag. Should she call and tell Enzo she’d arrived safely?

Hell, no. He’d think she was keeping tabs on him or something. The last thing she wanted was to appear needy.

It was about the sex for them. Nothing else.

Remember that, Lexi.

After a quick shower, she slipped on the hotel robe. Aside from her bra and panties there was no need to dress; she’d only have to undress again for her massage. Her breasts tingled against the soft cotton and she experienced a sense of disquiet at her body’s behavior. When had she become so sex mad? For fuck’s sake, her body still throbbed from last night’s exploits, yet here she was, barely able to breathe as she recalled Enzo’s hands on her body.

Already she could feel the slick moisture between her swelling labia, and even the brush of loosened hair across her nape caused desire to shoot to her groin.

Focus Lexi
, she berated herself. Grabbing her case, she spread the papers on the bed, sorting them by address and grouping them by area. Halfway through assessing each viewing, her lunch arrived. By the time she’d placed the calls to the respective realtors and inputted the details into her smart phone, she’d polished off her meal. She’d have to work that off later in the hotel gym, but for now she padded to her small balcony, coffee in hand, and looked out over the Strip.

The knock on the door came a few minutes later.

Turning, she took a deep breath and went to open it.

“Miss Mayfield, it’s good to see you again.”

“Hello, Hans. Come on in,” she invited, striving to sound cool and collected, even though her senses tweaked at the sight of the man in front of her. Although dressed in the loose short white tunic and matching trousers used by the staff at the health spa, the uniform didn’t detract from the amazing physique beneath. His packed muscles moved fluidly as he wheeled his folded massage table inside the room. As he went back to the door to fetch his bag, Lexi’s eyes dropped to his tight ass. She swallowed at the bunching muscles. God, he was hot! Almost as hot as—

“Would you like to take the robe off?”

He’d returned and proceeded to set up the massage bed. When he finished, he stood back with a towel over his arm, gazing at her. “Lie face down for me, please.” His Scandinavian accent was still pronounced, and the way he spoke carefully somehow made her want to smile. She gave in and smiled; God knows, she had nothing to smile about these days.

But the recollection of Hans’s not so precise pronunciation the last time she’d been with him resurrected the imp inside her.

Keeping her eyes on his, she dropped the robe and walked in her bra and panties  toward the massage bed. With slow movements, she climbed up and did as he instructed, her gaze on his face as he took in her body. Beneath his trousers, she saw his cock thicken and her smile widened.

Darling Hans. How she’d missed him. He’d been so good to her the last time. For a short while, he’d banished her nightmares and made her feel that the world wasn’t such a cold, dark place.

Turning to face the towel he held up, she undressed completely, then she watched him ready the oils. He chose and poured a healthy amount of eucalyptus oil into his palm and move toward her. Their gazes locked as he stood next to the bed, his hands poised.

“Is there anywhere you’d like me to concentrate on, Miss Mayfield?”

“I’m tense all over,” she replied softly, her gaze dropping to his erection. “A bit like you,” she finished cheekily.

When she looked at him, his grey eyes were ablaze with desire. Without a word, he inclined his head.

“If you would rest your hands on either side of you, I shall get to work.”

Again his precise tone, coupled with his mounting erection, brought a smile to her face in recollection of the previous time. How many women had he done that with? Countless, most likely.

His firm hands set to work, kneading the knots out of her tense flesh. Sighing, she closed her eyes, totally relaxed as his expert hands eased her stress. She was almost drifting into sleep when she sensed his presence at her shoulder.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed in her ear, his hands sliding between her shoulder blades and up her neck.

She smiled, but kept her eyes closed. “I’ve missed you too, Hans.”

His hands slid smoothly into her hair, performing the stress-relieving Indian head massage he knew she loved. A helpless moan escaped her and she gave herself up to it.

Several minutes later, he moved back down to her shoulders, soothing his hands down her spine, before instructing, “Turn over for me, please.”

She opened her eyes and found him looking down at her, the desire unabated in his eyes. Slowly she turned, conscious of his gaze on her body. Her nipples puckered and his attention zeroed in on her reaction. He swallowed, his cock nudging against the soft material of his trousers. Silently, he stepped forward and began his ministrations. By now she felt boneless, although a lazy curl of heat continued winding its way through her. Then he slid his palms between her breasts and brought his face close to hers.

“Would you like total relaxation, Miss Mayfield?” he whispered, his gaze on her lips.

Lexi looked back at him. Would she? The last time he’d asked her that, she’d been in turmoil, seeking oblivion. Her answer had been yes, and he’d shown her an amazing two hours. But now? Her body was ready; she could feel the slickness between her legs; she could let him fuck her, as he was dying to. After all, she didn’t have an exclusivity clause with Enzo. He didn’t own her body or her mind. She could fuck whomever she chose.

Her gaze dropped to his erection, recalling its velvety thickness.

She inhaled deeply and stepped away from temptation.

It was wrong. She didn’t have Enzo, or any exclusivity rights to speak of, but she didn’t need Hans as she had the last time. Having sex with him now would just be taking advantage of a situation she was trying to move past. She also got the feeling her masseuse carried a soft spot for her, one which with the slightest encouragement could grow into something else. She wasn’t ready for that. Would probably never be.