Page 2 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I collapse onto the bed next to her and start platting the silver tassels on her quilt.
“Seriously?” She picks up a magazine from the floor and hands it to me. “Turn to page ten.”
I drop the tassels and do as she says. Glancing down at the article and accompanying photograph I prepare to shoot my indifference back at her, and then I pause. Why? Because Jake Dalton is fuckinggorgeous. Messy black hair that’s been carelessly pushed off of his face, full contoured lips that promise a hot and heavy kind of sin. But there’s something unnerving about the way he’s staring down the camera lens like it’s the barrel of a gun.
Remote.
Unapproachable.
No surprises there, then. No one ever looks that hot without some kind of negative kickback.
“So?” I say, handing the magazine back to her, ignoring the funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. “He’s attractive. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Attractive?” Lucy stares at me in amazement. “That’s an understatement if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Here, give it back to me.” I study the picture in the magazine again. Jake’s expression is bleak, his heavy brows are fused together in a frown, but his dark eyes are seriously seductive. Okay, okay, so he’s got my attention. “What’s his story, anyway? Are he and Max close, or is it a Cain and Abel kinda deal?”
“Close.Veryclose. They always make movies together, but their father just passed away so Jake’s chucking it all in after this movie shoot.”
“To do what? Start a paper round?” I say, smirking at my own wit.
“To take over their father’s legacy, aspresidentof their Hollywood media empire, Global Studios. You know, the folks who just employed you?”
Ah.
She shakes her head at me pityingly. “Max is okay, but stay away from Jake, Charlie. He’s bad news. Locate the life preservers, lower the boats, every innocent twenty-two-year-old for herself.”
“Innocent?” I’m outraged.
“He’ll screw with your mind. These entitled alphas always do. He’s rich, ruthless…” She trails off and fixes me with troubled eyes. “Do you really want to be around someone like that after everything that happened with your father?”
“I’m working for Max, not Jake,” I point out. “And I don’t want to talk about my father.”Low blow, Lucy. Low blow.
“You’ve got that weird look on your face again,” she warns me.
“What look?”I have a look?
“You know the one—it’s the Charlie Winters special. It tells me you’re not going to listen to a single word of reason.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
But she’s not fooled. Not for a second. She knows I never shy away from a challenge, not even when they’re six-foot-something of gorgeous bastard Hollywood royalty.
Chapter Two
“Please don’t. I’m begging you!”
The tears are streaming down my face again but he doesn’t listen. He never listens. He’s picked up the gun from the table and he’s slowly passing it from one hand to the other, like some small part of him is still weighing up hope and reason against my bleak inevitability.
But it’s just an illusion. There is no logic left in him anymore. That died the minute he stole me away.
“Time for another game, Charlotte bird,” he says, grinning down at me. His expression makes a mockery of his endearment. His eyes are lifeless, his mouth a mournful line of dispassion.
The coldness of the gray stone floor is bleaching into my bones. My arms are aching. It’s nighttime again and I’m scared. So scared. My body twists away from him in terror as his hand reaches out for me…
Chapter Three
I wake with a start. My heart is racing and my cheeks are wet. It’s been a while since I had this nightmare, but I don’t have time to consider why it’s back haunting me again. It’s six a.m. It’s my first morning in Morocco, and there’s someone thumping loudly on my hotel room door.
