LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2) (5 page)

I never did find Becky.

I WOKE UP
, confused. Sunlight flooded through huge picture windows opposite the bed I was laying in. Way, way below, the Thames shimmered in the morning sun, a silver ribbon snaking its way across the city.

My head pounded and I massaged my temples, sitting up slowly.

The sheets were soft as I rubbed them between my fingers—Egyptian cotton—very high thread count. But this wasn’t a hotel, or Sarah’s apartment, and it wasn’t the house where I’d started my evening.

Then I remembered the hook-up. Cute. I think. I scrunched my eyes, wishing I could remember more. I had a vague image of light brown hair, and the sex had been hot.

I was surprised that I hadn’t been woken and had a cab ordered for me. I didn’t like staying over with a hook-up and was usually gone before daylight, but two nights of non-stop partying coming at the end of a long tour had taken a toll.

I looked around the room for my clothes, but I couldn’t see them.
Sranje!
Where the fuck was my phone and wallet?

But then the sound of a radio somewhere in the apartment reassured me. I heard the distinctive sounds of Coltrane—the hook-up liked jazz.

The first door I tried turned out to be a massive walk-in closet filled with designer clothes, but the second led to an attached bathroom the size of Sarah’s apartment. I badly needed to take a piss, but it was love at first sight when I saw the enormous shower.

I’d feel a hell of a lot better facing the morning awkwardness if I’d showered. Right now, my skin reeked of sex and sweat and chlorine.

It took a minute to work out the complicated row of faucets, but stepping into jets of hot water that massaged my body felt like a little slice of heaven. God, I’d definitely do the hookup again, just for the shower. And whoever it was, they had expensive taste in bodywash:
Roger et Gallet
.

I could have stayed in that shower all morning, the hot water never running out. But my stomach was demanding food. I stepped out reluctantly and wrapped myself in a huge bath towel that nearly reached my ankles.

I hoped that my clothes might have been put in the bedroom while I showered, but no such luck.

When I walked out into a living room the size of a cathedral, I stared like a yokel. The place was huge with double height ceilings and one wall that was made entirely of glass. Somebody very rich owned this place. It was reassuring to know that I had good taste even while I was drunk off my face.

I heard the sound of a voice behind another door, so I followed it, still hoping I’d stumble across my clothes at the same time.

“Hey, handsome. How are you this morning? I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you last night, Michael. I know, I know—first night back home and I leave you all alone. I’m really sorry, but I’ll make it up to you. I promise. We can do something tonight. How about movie night—you, me and a box of popcorn? Maybe some carrot sticks?”

That kind of sucked, hearing my hook-up apologizing to someone. I guessed the phone call was to the boyfriend. I’d leave right away, if I could just find my damn clothes.

Suddenly a door opened and a guy stepped out. He was dressed in baggy sweats and a loose t-shirt. I was right about the light brown hair, but I didn’t remember the glasses.

I smirked when I saw him checking me out as I stood there in my towel. He licked his lips, then reached up to cup the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. The movement shifted the neckline of his t-shirt and I could see a hickey on his lightly tanned skin.

Yeah, dude. Explain that to your boyfriend.

His cheeks flushed as he continued to look at me.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“If you tell me where my clothes are, I’ll be out of your hair,” I replied coolly.

His flush deepened and his gaze dropped to the floor as he shuffled his feet.

“Of course. Sorry.”

He pointed to a pile of neatly folded clothes, and I gave him a show as I dropped the towel to the floor and pulled on my jeans and t-shirt.

“You have an amazing body,” he said quietly, admiration in his voice.

“Thanks.”

I checked my wallet and keys.

“You don’t have to go,” he said quickly. “I made breakfast.”

I turned to look at him and raised one eyebrow.

“Breakfast?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know what you liked,” he said with a shy smile, “so I made a fruit salad, but I’ve got fresh croissants, too. Or I could fry bacon and eggs?”

His voice rose in a question as I pursed my lips. He wanted to
cook
for me?

I shook my head and watched his shoulders dip with disappointment.

“No, gotta run. And I wouldn’t want to bump into your boyfriend.” The quick flash of jealousy surprised me.

“I . . . what? What boyfriend?”

“I heard you talking to him,” I said, pushing my feet into my shoes. “Michael.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Michael isn’t my boyfriend,” he said with a huge grin.

“Whatever,” I muttered, picking up my jacket, getting more annoyed.

Probably the fact that I was slightly hungover didn’t help my short temper.

“Please wait,” he said, his long fingers wrapping around my wrist.

I glared at his hand and he released me quickly, stepping back.

“Michael isn’t my boyfriend,” he said firmly. “Let me show you. He’s through here.”

He beckoned for me to follow and I wondered what the hell was going on. Was this some weird kind of ménage? I wasn’t averse to threesomes, but not when I was tired and my head throbbed relentlessly.

The guy pushed the door wide open. Inside was a child’s playpen. He pointed down to a clump of white fur sitting in the middle.

I blinked.

“Michael is a rabbit?” My voice was flat, convinced that I was having a hallucination.

“Yes, isn’t he gorgeous?”

Lovingly, he bent down to stroke the fur ball, and the rabbit’s long ears twitched and he rubbed his head against the guy’s hand.

“You named your rabbit ‘Michael’?”

The guy turned, throwing a surprisingly sweet smile over his shoulder.

“I know, I know. I named him after an ex-boyfriend, but he’s much cuter. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know anything about rabbits. Except that they taste good in a stewpot.”

The guy was horrified, holding his hands over the rabbit’s ears.

“Don’t listen to him, Michael! I’d never do that to you.” He frowned at me. “You’ve upset him now.”

I shook my head, a reluctant smile creeping over my face.

“Oh, you’re smiling! Thank God! I thought I was going to have a
Fatal Attraction
moment and I’d have to defend Michael’s honor. And frankly, you look like you could crush my windpipe with one hand.”

I laughed and bent down to stroke Michael. His fur was so soft. I glanced up and saw the guy checking out my ass.

He shrugged sheepishly as I stood up.

“Sorry,” he grinned crookedly. “You have a great arse. I’m Seth, by the way.”

He held his hand out and we shook briefly.

“Luka.”

“I remember.”

I didn’t.

We stared at each other for a moment, before he looked away.

“Well, Luka, can I tempt you with some breakfast?”

I hesitated, then decided that this didn’t feel awkward.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”

Seth led me into yet another enormous room, this one lined with stainless steel appliances that looked as if they belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

“I know,” he said, catching the direction of my gaze. “Totally OTT. I hardly ever use it. It’s nice to have an excuse to though.”

He waved his hand at a spread of food that would have fed six adults with healthy appetites.

“Are you expecting friends?” I asked.

He blushed.

“No, just you. Too much?”

“Can I get some to go?”

His face fell. “Sure, I’ll wrap it up for you. Take anything you want.”

I touched his shoulder gently. “I meant after breakfast. Can I take some back after?”

“Oh,” he said happily. “Of course!”

He pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar for me, and I sat down, almost drooling at the sensational spread.

Seth puttered around the kitchen making coffee while I filled my plate with fruit and pastries, then breathed in the aroma of his Colombian Roast blend.

My ass felt a little tender when I moved on the hard stool, so I must have let him top, which was unusual for me, especially with someone I didn’t know.

He’d just taken a sip when I spoke.

“So, I guess we fucked last night?”

He choked, spitting coffee over the breakfast bar, mopping it up hurriedly with a paper napkin.

“You . . . you don’t remember?”

“Not so much,” I admitted. “But I’m assuming we had sex. My ass definitely thinks so.”

His whole face flushed with embarrassment. The way he was acting, I wondered if I was his first gay hook-up. But no, he’d mentioned an ex-boyfriend. Maybe he was just shy.

“It . . . you were . . . uh, it was good,” he stammered.

“Just good?”

“Actually, it was fucking amazing,” he grinned. “At least I thought so. And as you don’t remember, I suppose you’ll have to take my word for it.”

And he laughed.

“Yeah, I guess I will,” I said, leaning toward him and resting my hand on his thigh. “Or you could show me what I’ve been missing.”

His eyes dilated, and I saw lust and desire on his face.

“God, I’d love to say yes,” he murmured, rubbing his hand over mine, licking his lips again as his gazed dropped to my hardening dick.

“Then say yes,” I suggested, taking his mouth in a bruising kiss.

He wasn’t the usual kind of guy I went for. He was tall, but on the skinny side, and nerdy rather than cool. But he was sweet and funny. And he’d made me breakfast.

His mouth tasted of coffee, and as I pulled him closer, I caught the scent of expensive cologne. He’d shaved and I could feel only a faint scratch of stubble under my fingertips where he’d missed a spot.

I let my hands travel over his body, enjoying the hard planes and angles, so different from being with a woman. Flashes of memory from last night came back to me.

Suddenly, Seth pulled away, his lips swollen and his neatly-combed hair mussed from my hands.

“I’ll probably regret this for the rest of my life,” he whispered, “but I have somewhere else to be and I can’t cancel.”

Disappointed, I straightened up and shrugged.

“No problem.”

He sighed with frustration. “I really, really want to stay,” he said. “But I promised my mother I’d go to church with her.”

I stared at him.

“It’s a thing we do when I’m in London. Look, can I see you tonight, Luka? Buy you dinner? Please?”

“Like . . . a date?”

He smiled. “Yes, let’s go on a date. Dinner, drinks, dancing, whatever you want.”

“Dancing?”

He didn’t look like a dancer.

“Oh, I’ve got some moves! My sister made sure I had the basics,” and he smiled again.

“Sure, okay. I’ve got nothing else planned.”

He shot me a hurt look.

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“Okay. So . . . can I have your number?”

We swapped numbers and agreed to meet at the Ivy at 8PM. Either the guy was seriously loaded or he was seriously trying to impress me. Probably both. I knew that you had to reserve a table weeks ahead and expect to spend a hundred pounds per person without wine. My eyes scanned Seth’s apartment: he could afford it.

“Do they have rabbit on the menu?” I asked innocently.

Seth scowled.

“If they do, you’d better not order it!”

I winked at him, and a reluctant smile appeared.

After we finished breakfast, Seth called a cab for me.

He’d put in contact lenses, which explained why I couldn’t remember him wearing glasses, although I thought they were kind of sexy.

And more of last night was coming back to me. I had an impression of dancing with a group of people and seeing him watching me from the corner. But I couldn’t remember how I’d gone from that to going home with him. It didn’t matter, but I hoped he’d fill me in later.

I wondered briefly what had happened to the woman who jumped in the pool. I’d smelled chlorine on my skin.

Seth changed into a suit and tie before we left. It made him look broader in the shoulders, but he was still on the skinny side. Not quite a racehorse, but still, an equine nine.

As we stood in the lobby of his apartment building, he looked as though he wanted to kiss me again, if the way he stared at my lips was anything to go by. I grinned at him, then ran my tongue across my teeth and watched his cheeks go pink.

“You’re so bad,” he muttered. “I’m taking my mother to church and I have all these very un-churchlike thoughts in my mind.”

My cab arrived, interrupting whatever I might have said. Or done. Probably just as well.

“See ya,” I said, jumping into the cab.

He held the door, stopping me from closing it.

“Will I? See you later?”

I nodded. “I’ll be there.”

He grinned and slammed the door shut.

“Where to, mate?” asked the driver.