Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (43 page)

“Just who the fuck do you think you are? Are you really trying to avoid my calls? I'm on 10 different magazine covers every month. Women would kill to be me! Do you have any idea how lucky you –”

My eyebrows arching like I'd just seen a ghost, I deleted all the messages and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

“Wow...this place is Downton-Abbey fancy. You know I'd be perfectly happy if the company just booked me a room in one of those backpacker hostels for 30 bucks a night. Not that I didn't appreciate flying first-class. That was an...experience.”

I looked up from my menu at Jolene across the table. She sat on the edge of her seat with her rigid body spaced a good foot-and-a-half from the back of her chair. As she browsed through her menu, she tapped her chin, mouthing each item silently to herself. Her blue eyes looked almost eerily transparent against the dim candlelight between us. I slanted my head to the side, noting the lack of black around her eyes and her faintly spotty complexion, much paler than she'd been at the office. Her nude lips seemed to be smiling even when she wasn't.

“Don't worry about it. Order anything you want and we'll head back to our rooms later to unwind for the night. I need to run through a couple of things on our proposal for the meeting tomorrow. JinHai Production Company stands to be one of our biggest clients – we're gonna have to reel them in before any of our competitors can.”

“I've already booked us an Uber-English ride to the meeting tomorrow at 10AM. I looked up the route to JinHai Headquarters, and it looks like ShenJiang South Road's a sucker for early-morning traffic, so I've scheduled the pick-up at 8:30.”

“Sounds good. You sure you haven't done this before?”

“Well, I –”

“Good evening Sir, Madam. Are we ready to order?”

“Ah, yes. I'll just have the seafood platter and a glass of whatever white wine you have available,” I said to the server as I pushed back my seat. I removed a flattened box of Lucky Strikes from inside my coat and and hung it on the back of my chair, excusing myself. “I'll be right back.”

Edging past the tables, I made my way towards the back of the restaurant. I pushed the doors open to the open-aired balcony, my face greeted with the dark, toxic fogs of nicotine. I walked to an empty spot next to a stone ashtray. I pushed a lit cigarette into my mouth and let it dangle over my lip, placing my hands over the railing overlooking the gorgeous skyline. Mechanically tapping my cigarette over the basin littered with butts, my wandering eyes settled on the twisting glass structure of the Shanghai Tower, dwarfing the rest of its companions. I cracked a smile. Henry would've loved that.

Ever since he was 4, he took a liking to my old Lego blocks. 10 at the time, I gladly parted with my baby toys and moved onto biking down steep hills with my buddies and raising hell with my Talkboy. Playing with my Legos, however, Henry developed an obsession with buildings and unconventional architecture. Mom and Dad would find the walls to our shared bedroom covered with crayon drawings of full cities, which were in all honesty, pretty damn skilled for a 4-year-old. As Henry got older, he'd start branching out his interests to science fiction and coding. Still, if you ventured into his room today, you'd find an immaculate shrine of his favorite structures made out of meticulously glued Lego pieces.

I always knew he was different from my buddies' younger brothers. Don't get me wrong, Henry used to frustrate the shit out of me. He still does, occasionally. But ask every single asshole who tried to push him around when we were kids – these were the same dickweeds I spent a good time of my childhood relentlessly pounding. As downright bizarre his behavior was sometimes, he was always gonna be my little brother. Mom and Dad were hopelessly in denial, and never had him properly diagnosed. I chalked it up to some sort of anti-personality disorder, but then again, I'm no doctor. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. I had more than enough resources to ensure that he'd be taken care of for the rest of his life. And though he mostly kept to himself, Henry was doing great at work. I even caught him browsing a Dungeons & Dragons forums on his laptop one time. The steps were infantile, but it was progress all the same. He was gonna be alright.

I flicked off the dying ember on the end of my cigarette and tossed the roach into the ashtray. Popping a mint between my lips, I pulled open the door and headed back into the restaurant. As I closed into our table, my brows knitted at the tormented look on Jolene's face.

“– Ma'am, if you could just please calm down. Who? No, my name's Jolene Knight, I'm his new assistant – excuse me? I don't think I heard you right. You're gonna what now?”

“Jolene. Give me my phone – now.”

“Hold on a second, Ma'am. I have Mr. Hastings right here for you,” Jolene sputtered, handing the phone over to me.

I ended the call without another word and pulled back my seat, tearing my eyes off the screen of my phone to look her square in the eye.

“Sir? I think that was Ms. Fairchild –”

“I know who that was,” I snapped, slamming my phone face-down on the table. “I've been avoiding her calls for a reason.”

“Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking,” said Jolene quietly, shifting uneasily in her chair. “It's just – your phone's been ringing off the hook. I heard it buzzing in your pocket and I thought it was an emergency – it won't happen again.”

Her eyes fell to her plate, twirling the Schezuan chicken noodles around her chopsticks and stuffing it into her mouth. I cleared my throat. Reaching for my knife and fork, I began cutting into the grilled, juicy lobster tail smothered in butter. For the rest of the meal, not another word was spoken.

Chapter Six: Jolene

My lips stretched out to a wide yawn as I reached behind my back to unhook my bra. Feeling the sweet release of my breasts, I yanked out my straps from the tank top and flung it over the stuffed armchair next to my queen-sized bed. I fluffed my pillows behind me and sunk into the cool, supple cushion stuffed with down feathers. It felt like dozens of baby angel hands caressing my back. But seriously, knowing me, if I had these bad boys at home, I would most likely never get anything done ever again.

As I rolled my head around in circles, I started up my sleeping laptop. The flickering screen stabilized, displaying the half-finished last chapter of The Bookkeeper. Cracking my knuckles, I positioned my fingers over my keyboard. I stared at the blinking cursor on my fresh paragraph, sighing as my mind drew a complete blank.

Frowning, I looked up from my screen at the abrupt, sharp knocking on my door.

“Hello?” I called out. Swinging my legs off the bed, I picked up the checkered boyshorts on top of my open luggage and stumbled into them. Kicking the top of my luggage close to conceal the frightening mound of overflowing clothes, I jogged over to the door.

“Can I help – oh, hey, Mr. Hastings.”

My fingers tightened around the doorknob as I held the door open, gazing back at Bradley in surprise. I don't think even the media's ever caught him in anything other than his sleek collection of suits, let alone little old me. Wearing only a plain black shirt, his toned arms bulked out of his sleeves, and his muscled chest was visible through the fitted fabric. I took the thick binder from his hands, quickly turning away from the unfairly alluring eye-candy.

“Sorry, I know it's a little late, but I wanted to give you the files for my meeting next week at Syracuse before I forget.”

“Of course,” I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. “It's okay, I wasn't asleep yet or anything. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“I – uh, yes, I mean, no,” said Bradley slowly, scratching the side of the dark, manicured beard on his angular jawline. “Listen, I needed to apologize about earlier. As you probably know by now, I'm in the middle of a divorce, and let's just say it's getting real ugly. My lawyer's advised me not to speak to her without him present. You had no way of knowing that, and I could've tackled that with a little more professionalism.”

“Not at a problem at all,” I brushed it off nervously, the tittering pitch of my laughter much higher than I'd intended. “There was this boutique I used to work in, and every time an unsuspecting customer bearing even the slightest bit of resemblance to the woman my employer's husband left her for, my boss would throw this huge, screaming tantrum in the middle of the shop. Now that's unprofessional.”

“Right...” said Bradley slowly, his lips faintly smirking. “Oh, and do you have the meeting minutes for tomorrow ready?”

“Yup, would you like to come in? I've got it printed and it's in here somewhere...” I said, pulling the door open.

The door to my room clicked shut behind him. He trailed in after me, stopping by the table sitting next to the 50-inch flatscreen. I unzipped the separate work trolley I kept free of my messy crap, rifling through a marked folder for the sheet of paper.

“What are these?”

“Huh?”

Craning my neck in Bradley's direction, my face fell at the erotic sketches strewn across the table in front of him. I leaped to my feet, stuffing the folder back into the trolley as I raced towards him. My arms bunglingly swept across the table to gather my sketches like a thrashing child in over their head at the deep-end of the pool. I paid no mind to the papers sticking out at strange bits and ends. Grabbing them by the bunch, I yanked open the drawer and jammed them inside.

“Those are really good. What are they for?”

I softened at the gentle, but husky sincerity marked in his voice. Combing a loose strand of hair behind my ears, I approached the topic cautiously. “I write erotic fiction – I've got a small following online. The sketches are a recent addition to my blogs, and I've been testing out some book covers to a story I'm hoping to publish for sale sometime in the near future.”

“Interesting,” Bradley mused as he leaned against my nightstand, his arms locking over his chest. “I never would've guessed.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I probed, slightly vexed as I sat myself down on the edge of the bed.

“Nothing. I guess it's those nice, girl-next-door types you gotta watch out for, huh?”

Seeing his indisputable gaze lagging on my chest, my cheeks reddened. I could feel the tangible weight of his eyes on the light browns of my nipples through the see-through fabric of my top. The tips poked out my flimsy fabric, hardened from the chill of my air-conditioned room.

“Nice?” I repeated, my voice spiking in my agitation. “I'll have you know, I've written over 20 steamy short stories and I've got a whole lot more coming. I can be downright naughty if I wanna...Crap, I mean –”

“I didn't mean it that way. Not that it's a bad thing,” said Bradley, chortling as he lowered his lashes. “And what do you do for...inspiration to these 'naughty' stories of yours?”

I gulped, my dancing pulse on overdrive as a trickle of sweat dribbled down the small of my back. There was an undeniable fire in his sensually narrowed eyes as he glowered at me. That simple way he dragged those roving eyes deliberately down my body was enough to moisten the crotch of my panties. Gulping down the scratchy uncertainty wedged in my throat, I rose from the bed. The delicate fuzz of the carpet tickled under my feet as I crept towards him, consciously willing my shaking knees from buckling.

“I guess I could always show you,” I said, pulling away from his ear. The cartilage flushed pink from the breath of my whispers. “I'm feeling a little inspired right now...”

The tip of my nose brushed softly against his. I let my parted lips hover over his for one drawn-out moment. And as my fingers traced the delicious, masculine outlines of his firm chest, I latched onto his bottom lip and began nibbling. His hushed groan was stifled, our kiss intensifying. His tongue swirled around the roof of my mouth, tasting me hungrily before colliding with mine.

We tumbled backwards and collapsed on my bed. Fueled by nearly nonexistent inhibitions from my 6-month dry spell, I wriggled out from underneath him and mounted him. I pulled off his shirt and threw it over my shoulder, my nails leaving faint, pinkish imprints down his chest as I pawed at his tanned, rippling flesh.

“Whoa, slow down there –”

Whipping my hair over my shoulder and out of my face, a mischievous smile unfurled on my lips. I wrenched his belt buckle open and swiftly unbuttoned his jeans, spitting into my palm. My wiggling fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, my toes curling at the muscly thickness of his cock. I stroked up and down his swelling length steadily, my lubricated hands gliding easily against his growing pole.

“I'm sorry...did you still want me to slow down?”

He panted, breathing heavily through his mouth as he bit down on the side of his lip. Grabbing hold of my hand stroking up and down his warm, throbbing cock, he shook his head slowly.

“Didn't think so.”

I removed his pants and boxers and lay them across the ground as he kicked off his shoes and socks. Stripping off my tank top and boyshorts, I clambered onto the bed and crawled on top of him. His lips puckered over my nipple, sucking violently as he tweaked the other with his twisting fingers. Writhing under the fervent, almost painful massaging of my breasts, I pulled him close to me, seating him upright. I extended my left arm, pulling open the drawer of the nightstand and groped around for the complimentary condom. I ripped the wrapper off with my teeth, rolling the slimy skin over the length of his quivering, rock-hard dick, just waiting to feel inside me.