Page 57 of Wicked Design
Chapter Fifteen
Clover slipped her arm around Van Gogh’s waist, grateful he’d indulged in sex and booze. With him limp from screwing and relaxed from his beer, he couldn’t possibly bolt back to the limo.
She guided him toward the front steps.
“We there yet?” He rested his head against hers and yawned. “Should I open my eyes?”
“Definitely. You have to see this place. Way better than what the Google Earth map showed.”
Towering palms rustled in the sticky breeze. Plump bushes and flowers in every color flanked the blindingly white structure. It stretched forever horizontally and vertically, the windows reaching from floor to ceiling, lights blazing everywhere. Thunderous music pounded inside.
Van Gogh lifted his face and teetered.
She tightened her arm, bracing him. “Easy. Don’t want you to fall and break anything. You’d probably get only a couple of billion from the lawsuit.”
“More like million.” He smacked his lips and glanced around. “This place is nice but I’ve seen better.”
“Where? In near-death experiences?”
He touched his nose to hers. “Gatherings my parents forced me to attend and those we had at our place.”
“Your home, that is, their home is bigger than this?”
“One is, if they haven’t sold it since I last spoke to them.”
A piercing squeal rang out, interrupted by laughter. A naked young woman streaked across the lawn, pursued by a bare-chested guy who lowered his cargo shorts and boxer briefs while running. Bad move. He tripped over his clothes and rolled across the thick grass.
“Oh no.” Bouncing in place, the young woman flapped her hands. “Are you all right?”
“Yep.” After ditching his cargos and underwear he chased her, stiffened cock swinging, legs pumping.
Clover bumped her hip against Van Gogh’s. “Told you we’d be wearing more than anyone else.”
He craned his neck and pushed to his toes, watching the fleeing couple. They rounded an area taken up by sleek sports cars then disappeared into heavy foliage. “If my parents’ or their friends’ bashes had been like this, I might have enjoyed them.”
“With your wife, Mrs. Gekko, on your arm?”
He cupped Clover’s chin and kissed her tenderly. “More like several Hollywood actresses in varying stages of undress. This looks like their kind of party.”
“Let’s make it ours.”
“I’m not chasing you around naked or screwing in front of an audience.”
She pushed out her bottom lip. “Bastard. Now what will we do for fun?”
He suckled her neck then pressed his mouth to her ear. “Sell your stuff. Make Clover the biggest name in jewelry. Put the other designers out of business.”
“World domination.” She turned her face to his. Their cheeks touched, his freshly shaved skin smooth and hot. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”
They passed through humongous rooms, the furniture scant. Partygoers streamed in and out, drinks, cigars, cigs, and possibly joints in their hands. No one glanced at her and Van Gogh, too drunk or in their own worlds to notice anyone else.
That alone should have helped him relax.
However, the deeper they journeyed into the mansion and the thicker the crowd grew, the more his arm tensed around Clover’s waist. He kept his eyes front, his expression a mask. She’d done the same in school when running the gauntlet between classes, cool kids filling the halls, their barbs sharpened, nasty comments poised on their perfectly sculpted lips.
If anyone said anything bad to him tonight, she’d slug them then ram her spike heel into their throats.
They reached the performance. The band rocked on a makeshift stage at the far end of a banquet room longer than a football field. Five gargantuan chandeliers flashed on and off like strobes. The zillion crystals on them trembled from the deafening bass. Spotlights swept the darkened areas. Women in glittery tops and microscopic short-shorts danced wildly, their hair flying. Guys bobbed with apelike grace and flailed their arms.
