Page 62 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“I’m not sure Jake’s going to see it that way,” Rachel says, quickly hitting his speed dial number. “She’s threatening to go to the press with a story about him. She’s on her way back to the hotel right now.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Thirty minutes later, I’m polishing off my third mojito. I’ve never drunk so fast in my life, but it’s not having the desired effect. Not even close. The toxic unease that’s been poisoning the pit of my stomach ever since Rachel received that text is growing and growing.
What story does Cassie want to feed to the press?
Has she found out about Jake and me?
I’m standing at the bar next to Max, who is oblivious of my panic and is busy admiring Lucy’s dress from every conceivable angle.
“Are you sure you’re into monogamy, Charlie? Because that dress is seriously complicating matters for me.”
I clench my fingers around my fourth mojito and take a swig. “Jake thinks I should keep making movies.”
“Is that a euphemism? Have I not given my brother enough credit for his sexual ingenuity?”
“Shush. I’m being serious. Where is he, anyway?”
Has Cassie arrived back at the hotel already?
“Held up on a conference call with the board. The Global Studios prison bars are beckoning.”
“Does he hate it that much?”
Max shrugs. “It’s not just a case of walking away from the place. It’s more about who’ll inherit it if he does.” He finishes his drink and checks his phone. “Gotta go. No point laboring under false pretenses. You’re never going to put out for me, so I’m off to find someone who will.”
“Hey!”
“Kidding!” He laughs and holds up his cell. “Jake just messaged. He’s on his way down, so I’m making myself scarce before he goes all Sly Stallone on my ass again.”
I’m desperate to find out if he’s spoken to Cassie yet, so I exit the bar with every intention of intercepting him. As I do, I find myself stepping into a battlefield of heat and perspiration. The hotel courtyard has been swallowed up by a fresh wave of arrivals, and every square inch is crammed with heels and handbags. Doubling back, I find myself threaded into a conversation with a couple of floor runners, but it’s not long before my skin starts tingling in that oh so familiar way.
Jake.
Looking around, I feel my head slipping underwater. He’s wearing those Levi’s, the ones I love so much, and the same black shirt from our night in Marrakech. I know he’s chosen it deliberately. It’s his way of keeping a part of me close to him in such a public arena.
I watch him scan the crowds with a slight frown on his face. I know he’s looking for me. When we lock eyes, I watch his gaze rake downward. He likes what he sees. It’s there in the way he makes a beeline straight for me, never deviating, no matter how many offers of free beers are thrust his way by the circling waiters. And then he’s here, drinking in me instead. “That dress is obscene,” he murmurs by way of a greeting.
Is his voice thick with disapproval or desire?Both have the ability to soak my panties. “I thought you liked me naked, or nearabouts?” I say innocently.
He opens his mouth to deliver his verdict when there’s a shout of recognition, and a blur of faces start elbowing me out of the way. Everybody wants to buy him a drink and say good-bye. Everybody except me. All I want from Jake Dalton are multiple orgasms and his assurance that his ex isn’t about to break my world in two.
Right before he disappears into the bar, he leans over and whispers into my ear, “I love your dress, Books. It deserves its own twenty-eight-line soliloquy. But I’ll like it even better when I flip it up, bend you over, and fuck your ass into tomorrow.”
Holy. Shit.
My equilibrium goes nuts, and sends me staggering backward into a surprised but delighted Max. He catches me with a grin. “Am I sweeping you off your feet again, Charlie?”
“You Daltons should be illegal,” I gasp, swatting him away.
“I think I am in four countries already.”
“Charlie, there you are!” Rachel comes rushing up to me looking gorgeous with her blue eyes sparkling and her immaculate blond bob framing her face like liquid gold. She stops abruptly when she sees Max. “Oh. Hi.”
“Gotta go,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “Phone call. Can’t wait.”
She shakes her head as he sidles away. “Phantom phone call, more like. He can’t even be bothered to talk to me anymore. God, those cameramen should be banned from wrap parties. I’m fed up with having my ass pinched. Surely, this level of sexual harassment qualifies for a superhero rescue?”
