King's Passion (13 page)

“Will you just forget about it? There is no Eamon and me. We're not a couple and we will never be a couple. So forget about it and let's move on.” She reached for her glass of water.

“Does moving on mean that you're also going to drop that silly lawsuit?”

Victoria choked and then put her glass back down. “Now it's a silly lawsuit, too?”

Grace removed her elbows from the table just as the waitress arrived with their lunch. “C'mon, Victoria. It was
always a silly lawsuit. Do you know how bottlenecked the courts would be if every woman started hurling lawsuits at strip clubs across America?”

“The judicial system would shut down. We could never get around to prosecuting murderers and rapists.”

“Now you're just being silly. There's a difference between civil court and criminal court, you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I watch
Law & Order.
Let's not get off the message. You just filed that lawsuit because you were angry. I get it.”

“And I'm still angry and I'm pushing forward. End of story!”

“You're going to sue the man that you just had a fling with?”

“One thing doesn't have anything to do with the other.”

“Wow,” Grace said. “You really are a hardass.”

Iris shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know. Maybe she has a point not wanting to settle down with strip-club owner. That's an awful lot of temptation to have around you.”

Grace turned toward her sister. “It doesn't have to be a serious relationship.”

Are they really going to have this conversation like I'm not still sitting at the table?

“I thought that we were just talking booty calls?” Grace said. “I'm not saying that she should introduce someone that's just a step above being a pimp into New York society. That would be a nightmare. Can you imagine the headline? The Heiress and The Pimp.”

Yep. They're going to just keep talking.
“Eamon is not a pimp.”

“Yes. Yes. We know. He also runs a restaurant.”

Victoria's head started to hurt. “You know what? I have to cut this short.”

Grace and Iris turned. “Aww. C'mon.”

“Don't be mad,” Iris said. “We're just trying to help.”

“I'm not mad,” Victoria lied. “I just really have to go. I forgot I had this…other thing I have to do.”

It was a bad lie and they all knew it.

Slowly the girls rose from their seats. The twins regretted that they may have hurt Victoria's feelings.

“All right,” Iris conceded. “We're going to meet here next Monday, right?”

“That depends on whether we've moved onto a new subject,” she tried to joke, but with a veiled warning. They kissed each other's cheeks again after which Victoria high-tailed it out of the restaurant as fast as her legs would allow.

Outside, she hopped into a cab and gave the driver her address. Alone in the backseat, her mind rehashed the ridiculous scene at the restaurant. She couldn't believe how her cousins had ganged up on her like that. Her personal sex life was none of their business.

“A booty call.” She rolled her eyes.

“Ma'am?” the driver asked.

“Oh. Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

The driver nodded but gave her a strange look.
Great. Now people think I'm going crazy.

For the next ten minutes, she just stared out of the window at the traffic while her cab inched along bumper-to-bumper.

Booty call.
This time, she didn't roll her eyes. It would be kind of funny…and cool, if she just periodically picked up the phone and told Eamon that she wanted or needed to be serviced. Then again, who's to say that he wasn't already on someone else's short list?

She shook her head, but the term
booty call
was rooted in her mind like a California redwood.

“Ma'am?”

Victoria jerked out of reverie. “Huh?”

“We're here.”

Victoria glanced out of the window of the cab to see that they had indeed arrived at The Centurion. “Thanks.” She handed the driver his fare and climbed out. She flashed the doorman a smile and entered the softly lit, cream-colored lobby. As she headed toward the elevator, she saw the concierge point his white-gloved hand in her direction a second before a young man raced over to her.

“Uh, Ms. Gregory?”

She turned. “Yes?”

“I have something for you,” he said, thrusting a thick envelope toward her.

“What's this?”

“You've been served.”

“I'm what?”

“Have a nice day.” He saluted her and then ran off.

Openmouthed, Victoria stood there like an idiot for a second and then quickly tore open the envelope. When her eyes raced over the documents, a lump of incredulity clogged her throat. “You've got to be kidding me. That jerk is counter-suing me?”

“I
really appreciate you bailing me out of jail,” Quentin said, patting Eamon on the back as they exited the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. “I want you to know that I intend to fight these bogus charges. You should've seen how this creep was all over Crystal. I'm sure that you would've decked him, too.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Eamon groaned as he squeezed the bridge of his nose, but it was too late. He could already feel the slow, throbbing sinus pain of a migraine coming on. Once he reached his Porsche, he scooped out his cell phone from his pocket and hit up Xavier on speed dial before climbing inside. He vowed if his brother didn't pick up this time that he would be on a flight to Los Angeles to wring his neck for putting him in this babysitting mess before the sun set.

He was in the middle of tourist season and he had his hands full with everything from horny college students
to diva dancers and finicky liquor distributors. He didn't have the time to keep tabs on an overindulged, spoiled little rich boy. Quentin didn't actively go out and look for trouble, but it found him all the same.

“One party,” Eamon muttered as he started up the car. “I let you host one party and next thing I know I'm posting bond and refunding ten grand to a customer who has to show up to his wedding with a black eye and fat lip.”

Quentin waved off Eamon's complaint. “Refund? We don't do refunds,” Q said.

“No. What we don't do is send paying clients to the emergency room.” Eamon reached Xavier's voice mail. “Damn it.” He hung up and tried his cell phone.

“I'm telling you. He was an asshole. Talk to the girls. They will back me up.”

Eamon simmered while he waited for the line to connect. There was no use in talking to Q. He had his own way of seeing and doing things. Like screwing up the liquor orders, arguing with the health inspectors or firing half the limousine drivers, because he thought they should be replaced with some of the ladies he met at the Bunny Ranch.

“All right. All right.” Quentin rolled his hand. “It won't happen again. I said it. Are you happy now?”

Hardly.

“I'm sure that once the judge hears my side of the story, he'll just toss the case right out.”

More simmering. “Xavier, answer this damn phone.”

“Hello.”

Shocked to finally hear his brother, Eamon's voice stalled.

“Hello?” Xavier said again.

“I'm glad to hear that you're still alive,” Eamon spat
out. “That means I can still take great pleasure in killing you myself.”

Xavier chuckled. “It's good to hear from you, too. What's up?”

“Are you kidding me? Haven't you been getting my messages? You know what's up. It's your turn to start taking care of that little project you signed me up for.”

Suddenly there was a loud blast of music over the line. “I'm sorry. What was that?” Xavier shouted over the music. “I can't hear you.”

Eamon's simmering morphed into a boil. “Don't play,” he warned. “I'm not in the mood today.”

There was some loud chiming thing happening. “What are you doing? Clanging wineglasses together?”

“Shhhhhheeeeehhhhe. I'm sorry, but you're breaking up,” Xavier lied.

“I don't believe this.” Eamon punched the steering wheel.

“I'm going to have to call you back,” Xavier continued.

“Don't do it. Don't you dare hang up this phone.”

“Bye, bro.”

Click.

“Xavier?”

Silence.

“Xavier!” Eamon pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the small screen just to make sure that his brother had indeed disconnected the phone. “Son of a bitch.” He tossed the phone onto the console and then punched the steering wheel again.

Quentin calmly folded his arms. “You know, that
little project
has ears. And even I can understand that weak-ass code you're transmitting.”

“You don't say?” Eamon pressed his foot down on the
gas pedal. Twenty minutes, several car honks and few birds tossed at some very bad drivers later, they arrived at The Dollhouse. However, Eamon's anger was far from cooling.

Realizing that he had finally crossed some invisible line in the sand, Q tried to make some concession. “Tell you what. I'll reimburse the asshole personally.”

“And the pending lawsuit that will undoubtedly be headed our way?”

“What? We don't just collect those?”

Eamon's jaw clenched tighter as he stormed into his office.

“That was supposed to be a joke, man. Lighten up.”

Eamon dropped into his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. “We need to talk.”

“Oh.” Quentin frowned. “To think at one time I only hated hearing those words from women. Now I'm pretty sure I just don't like hearing them at all. It's never followed by good news.”

“I think it's time for you to go home.”

“What are you talking about? Las Vegas is like my second home. I love it here.”

“I'm not too sure that it loves you back. Plus, I appreciate your wanting to help. I really do, but it's just not working out. Every time you do anything it means more work for me—and my plate was pretty full before you showed up. In case you haven't noticed it takes a lot of work keeping a place like this going. And believe it or not, it has nothing to do with drinking on the clock and making sure the dancers have plenty of baby oil in their stations. This isn't a game or an adult toy store. You are either going to have to start taking this place seriously or you just need to leave, cuz.”

Quentin frowned. “I'm not going anywhere. I'm part owner, too.”

Eamon tossed up his hands. “Then maybe it's just time for us to buy you out.”

“Sorry. My share isn't for sale.” Q folded his arms.

“Who are we kidding? You're always for sale.” Eamon regretted the words the minute they came out of his mouth.

The blood seemed to drain from Quentin's face. The reference to Q's accepting money to marry the daughter of one of his father's business partners in order to reclaim his inheritance wasn't one of his finest moments and it likely cost him the love of his life. Had he not agreed to marry, then he would've won Alyssa's hand years before she'd fallen for his brother Sterling.

Eamon pulled in a deep breath. “I'm sorry. That was out of line.”

“I don't know. It wasn't so much out of line as it reeked from the horrible stench of truth.” He tried to flash a smile, but it fell flat. “But since we're mucking around in the truth, let me toss out some more of it. I'm not perfect. I've made mistakes. And here's a doozy. I don't need a babysitter. So you can stop paying valets, housekeepers and limousine drivers to keep an eye on me. I find it offensive.”

Surprised and even impressed, Eamon leaned back in his chair. “All right. That sounds fair. But if you're going to stick around, I prefer that you really try to pull your weight around here…and I do take checks for that bail money I posted this morning.” He smiled with a burgeoning new respect for his cousin.

“The check is in the mail.” Q winked. “In the meantime, I suggest you get used to seeing me around,
cuz.
” He marched toward the door and nearly ran into someone.
“Well, excuse me,
Ms. Gregory.
It's a pleasure to see you again.”

Eamon's gaze shot up.

“I assure you that the pleasure is all yours,” she sniped and then sidestepped him in order to enter Eamon's office.

Behind her, Quentin mouthed,
“Trouble”
and then got the hell out of there before she erupted. Judging by the smoke streaming out of her ears that looked like it would be any second now.

Like a light switch, Eamon's mood flipped. “Well, well, well. If it's not my favorite
pussycat.
It even looks like you've been sharpening your claws.” He quirked his mouth into a wicked smile as his gaze caressed her curves.
Perfection.

“Only so that I can scratch your eyes out.”

“Aww. Now, do you really want to hurt me?”

Victoria planted her hands down on the desk and leaned forward. “More than you'll ever know.”

Eamon followed her lead and eased forward until their faces were just inches apart. “You really shouldn't joke about something like that. I might take you up on it.”

She literally growled.

“Tease.”

Victoria jerked herself up and then pulled out a thick envelope from her monster-size handbag. “What is this? You're suing
me
now?”

“Looks like I'm not the only one who knows how to read. Not only would we have made beautiful babies, but they just might've made it to the thirteenth grade.”

“You're trying to be funny?”

“Trying—but you're a tough audience.”

She slammed the papers down onto the desk. “Defamation of character and
sexual
harassment? Sounds
like our imaginary children would be extremely mentally disabled.”

“Possibly. But we would have had fun making them,” he said, refusing to be ruffled.

She blinked and shook her head. “This is just a joke to you.”

“No. The bit about the children was a joke. I'm serious about the lawsuit,” he said casually and then leaned back and kicked his heels up on the corner of his desk.

“Fifty million dollars?”

He shrugged. “It sounded like a nice round number.”

“You're killing me.”

Eamon cocked his head and blinked his woeful brown eyes at her in a way that put Puss in Boots to shame. “Now, is this the face of a killer?”

Victoria was clearly at a loss for words.

“Besides, I'm looking forward to airing out our grievances in court.”

“This is not going to court. You're going to withdraw this stupid suit.”

“And why in the hell would I do something like that?”

“Because the charges are a pack of lies and you know it. Sexual harassment. Please.” Her eyes raked him up and down. “If anyone was harassed, it was me. The moment you brought me back here in this office, you had me pinned against the wall. No doubt it's a move that you've perfected in this sleazy strip joint.”

“Ah. Ah.” He waved a finger at her. “I run a classy establishment and I'm a pillar of my community. I doubt that you'll be able to find anyone in this beautiful city that will say anything less. You know, that comment just supports that character-defamation part of my claim. You
should watch those insults that you hurl around. Some of them actually hurt a bit.”

“And what if I dug up a few ex-girlfriends?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Now, that might be a little stickier,” Eamon conceded.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you have very little faith in people?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“It was just a guess.”

“I-did-not-harass-you.”

“That's not how I remember it,” Eamon said.

“And how do you remember it?”

“I don't know, but I'll have a nice little story put together by the time we're in court. I've been told that I have a very creative mind. I should've been a writer. I could've been a contender.”

“I think you're fulfilling your destiny as a major asshole pretty well.”

“Such language coming out of such a pretty mouth,” he marveled. “Are you as turned on as I am?”

Charging around the desk, Victoria slapped his feet off the desk before leaning in and jabbing a finger into his chest. “I'm
not
going to let you make a fool out of me. You need to get that out of your head. I just got my name
out
of those snarky gossip pages. I'm not interested in going another round again.”

He just smiled and stared. “Stunning. You really are just stunning when you're angry. All jokes aside, I'm really turned on.” He got a kick watching her incredulity deepen.

“Are you a moron?”

“No.” He shrugged. “Just horny. What do you say we close the door and do something about this sexual energy
that's charging between us? I might even let you scratch my back if you let me pull your hair.”

Slap!

Eamon smiled. “Help me out. Was that a yes or a no?”

Slap!

Before Victoria could register the stinging pain in her hand, Eamon's arm snaked out and jerked her into his lap. She gasped. Not because of his speed but because of his erection pressed against her firm bottom. Her body was overwhelmed with memories and everything started tingling and quivering. Her anger melted away and Eamon knew it.

“Ahh. You remember this position, don't you?”

She sucked in a breath, but didn't dare trust herself to speak just yet.

“Yes. You do.” He reached up and brushed a few tendrils from the side of her face. “I believe the last time you were on my lap you were calling me a god or calling on God. Forgive me. My memory is a little hazy because…well. I was admiring
and
enjoying your riding skills.”

Victoria started to say something but then his hands started sliding up her leg.

“You know, since I'm a betting man, I'm willing to bet that you're quite the equestrian, Princess.” He didn't have to wait long for that familiar blush to rush to her face. “That is what ladies do in your high-society world, right?” Eamon's hands floated higher and higher. “Long legs. Powerful thighs. I bet you have a whole display case full of trophies you've won.”

She pressed her lips together, but Eamon noted that she didn't deny his claim or try to climb out of his lap.

“So what do you say? Are you in the mood for a little afternoon ride?”

Victoria swallowed while her gaze followed his hand.

“It's okay, Princess. You can say yes. I won't hold it against you.” His fingers disappeared under her skirt and he leaned forward to nibble on her right earlobe.