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He clicked to enlarge it, until the image filled the entire screen. The garden apartment downstairs, where Rebecca Cattrell’s lusty young brother Joshua was fornicating enthusiastically, dog style, with the beautiful prostitute, Nadia. It had been so easy, reeling him in. Though not, perhaps, for Nadia. The boy’s stamina was incredible. Well into day number two, and they had barely stopped to sleep. Ah, youth.
The men in the room all watched with rapt attention. Nadia swayed back to meet the boy’s vigorous thrusts, hair and breasts swinging, mouth open with gasping wails of simulated pleasure.
“You are recording this, are you not?” he asked Mikhail.
“Certainly, Vor,” Mikhail assured him.
Nadia looked over her shoulder, said something to the boy. He pulled out, and sprawled on the bed with an obliging grin. Nadia gripped his stiff penis, swung her leg over him, and inserted him into her perfectly shaven, delicate pink genitalia with practiced skill.
She flung her head back, tossed her hair and smiled for the camera as her hips pulsed rhythmically over the boy’s long, lanky body.
Watching the girl perform soothed Zhoglo’s ruffled temper. Perhaps he would sample her charms himself. The subtleties of her art were wasted on that gangling boy. But Joshua would serve his purpose, before he was broken down for parts.
Bait. When Zhoglo wished, Rebecca would come running.
And her lover would follow her.
Nick was a good dancer. Becca wasn’t sure why she found that so surprising. Ballroom dancing seemed so lighthearted a skill for a basically grim guy, but sheesh, he was smiling today and that affected her even more than the admittedly excellent champagne. It was dizzy, madcap fun, being swirled and dipped, spun and yanked smoothly back into the confident grip of his hands. He led with such graceful self-confidence, she’d even managed to relax and follow him without stumbling too often. Which said a great deal for his ability, since she’d certainly never had the leisure to acquire a nonessential skill like dancing. She just faked it and hoped for the best.
And Nick, coincidentally, was the best.
“Where did you learn to dance?” she asked him, when a slow dance had them swaying in a breathlessly tight clinch.
He grinned. “The military. Lost a bet once. Had to take a ballroom dancing course as a penalty. Found out I liked it. Or maybe it was the teacher I liked. She was this cute little blonde who explained to me that dancing was just like sex. That made a big impression on me.”
“I can well imagine,” she said sourly. “And did she do a demonstration, for comparison purposes?”
His grin widened. “Do you really want an honest answer to that question?”
She opened her mouth to reply, and he cut her off with a slow kiss that turned her knees to pudding, right out in front of that crowd.
Weddings were dangerous. Becca had realized that as soon as she saw the look on the groom’s face as his bride came up the aisle on her father’s arm. Sean McCloud’s face literally shone with happiness.
It made her eyes fog up and her throat turn hot and tight, and her chest ache with longing she was afraid to define. All the stuff that seemed so far beyond her reach. Love. Rootedness. A real home. Babies. Weddings brought all those sad, silly dreams up to the surface.
The service had been brief and beautiful. While the bride and groom exchanged rings, Nick’s hand slid beneath her own, and his fingers threaded through hers. It made her heart thud, and her face flame hot with emotion. How did she dare interpret that gesture?
No. Don’t even. She couldn’t afford to make silly assumptions. Life was too uncertain. He probably just didn’t like to hear her crying.
She’d sniffed the tears back, gritted her teeth and clutched Nick’s strong hand, hard, so he couldn’t change his mind and pull it back.
The bride and groom’s passionate kiss released the tension. The room exploded in a storm of hoots, whistles and wild applause. Nick turned to her and gave her a hungry, possessive kiss, like he was staking his claim, in front of everyone.
God, it was enough to make a girl dizzy. Confused. Dangerously hopeful. The handholding, the jealous grip around her waist, the way he introduced her to everybody as his girlfriend…wow. To think that she, Busy Becca with the glasses and the To-Do lists, was this hot, sexy, mysterious guy’s girlfriend. It seemed so wonderfully improbable.
The party had been great, just as Nick had said. The food was great, the wine was wonderful, the music was blazing hot, and his friends were all so nice to her. Everybody had made such a big fuss.
The band ended their set, and the DJ put on some interim music as the catering staff began distributing the plates of wedding cake. Nick escorted her back to their table and pulled out her chair.
“Gotta go check the surveillance set-up,” he murmured into her ear. “Save me a piece of cake, babe.” And off he went. Becca ran her eye hastily over the other occupants of the table, trying to remember their names. The black-haired guy with the wicked grin was Seth, the willowy silver blond with him was his wife Raine. Margot was collapsed in her chair looking exhausted, and no wonder, with that enormous pregnant belly of hers. The hunky blond guy hovering anxiously over her was Davy, one of the brothers of the equally hunky blond groom.
In fact, she’d never seen such a high concentration of good-looking people in one room in her entire life. Eye candy everywhere.
Then there was the pretty brunette, Erin, who had an adorable baby she was discreetly preparing to nurse under her midnight blue shawl, while her husband Connor looked on adoringly.
She met Margot’s eyes. The woman was smiling at her, like a soft-eyed madonna. “You’re really good for him,” she said quietly. “I’ve never seen Nick smile like that. He was even laughing. It’s incredible.”
Becca blushed. “Oh, yeah. If there’s one thing I’m good for, it’s comic relief.”
