Page 27 of The Ruin
He shrugs. “Monica had a slight tumble during the shoot today. That was the insurance company making sure we don’t need to file an injury claim.”
Too bad she didn’t fall on her head. “She looked fine to me,” I offer.
“She is fine,” he says.
He trails one finger down my chest, drawing a line between my breasts and then down to my navel. My skin lights up at his touch. I watch him, aching for more. But before he can dip down between my legs, he brushes a quick kiss against my lips and heads to the bedroom. Was that an invitation or a dismissal?
I follow him because I need to get dressed. On my way in, I let the robe slip down my shoulders, so my breasts are bared for him. He turns, his eyes going dark as he takes me in.
“I would love nothing more,” he says, “than to ravish you on that king size bed right now, order up room service, and feed you strawberries and Chantilly cream while I eat you out.”
I step closer. “Oh really…” Me likey.
“However.” He sighs. “Guy arranged this dinner for everyone involved with the Maxilene shoot, and it won’t look good if I don’t make an appearance. Why don’t we show up on time so we can leave early and take the rest of the night off? Just you and me.”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll get dressed.”
My voice is light and easygoing, but I’m still a little disappointed. It’s not like Luka has ever had any trouble fucking more than once in a night—and I’d be perfectly happy with a quickie. But if he wants to wait until later, we’ll wait. It’s just hard not to wonder if the waiting has something to do with Monica.
Leaving Luka to change in the room, I head back into the bathroom to check my makeup one more time before we head out. I went for a glossy pink lip, smokey eyes, false lashes, the works. It’s full face, contour, and highlight heaven up in here, and I look ready for a photo shoot.
Unzipping my garment bag, I take out the pale pink bandage dress I brought and slide into it. The fabric is shimmery and hugs every curve and dip of my body. The sweetheart neckline dips low, showing off my cleavage, and the tight, knee-length skirt keeps the dress more classy than clubby. Combined with gold hoop earrings and the strappy metallic gold heels I brought, my outfit screams Vegas. Luka won’t be able to keep his hands off me.
I stride back into the room and find Luka lying on the bed, eyes closed, now in darker pants and a fresh shirt with the top buttons undone. I catch the familiar scent of his cologne.
“Looks like somebody had a long day,” I tease.
“Long few days,” he murmurs. “And you have no idea.”
He sits up and his gaze sweeps over me with intense appreciation. I wasn’t sure about this dress at first but the hunger on his face makes me glad I brought it along.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you pass out like that before,” I tell him.
“I was just resting up for later tonight.”
With a smile he slips off the bed and lightly runs his hands over my curves, down and then up again while looking at the dress like he wants to lick it off.
“This is a very nice dress,” he says, his voice a low growl.
Take that, Monica Shore. “Thank you,” I purr in response.
We take the elevator down to the lobby and the concierge points us in the direction of the elaborate dining room that they’ve set up for our private event.
Stepping through the door, I see the warm glow of chandelier light reflecting off of decorative chrome columns with Corinthian capitals and crystal water goblets, dark wood tables set with gold silverware and gold-edged plates, tall potted palms. There’s some kind of huge Roman statue in the center of the room, and one wall is floor-to-ceiling windows, offering views of the darkening sky and the flashing lights of the Strip.
The room is all ours, and between the statue and the windows is an extra-long table occupied by what I assume is the whole Maxilene crew. We’re the last ones to arrive, so of course the only two chairs left are next to Monica. I’ll just bet she planned that.
“Luka!” she calls out, as if I’m invisible. “I saved you a seat.”
She pats the chair next to her, and I force a fake smile through clenched teeth as Luka and I stride over to the group. Monica’s changed into a classic little black dress with a leopard shrug, her newly dark tresses pulled into a tight ponytail on the top of her head. The overall effect is a bit twee, but I tell her she looks great as Luka takes the chair between Monica and me.
“Mm. Thanks,” Monica says, but I see her eyes narrow as she gives me a once-over.
Once we’re seated, the waiter appears and asks for our drink orders, informing us that dinner is set up buffet-style along the edges of the room. Now that Luka and I are here, some of the others take their cue to get up and begin filling their plates. I don’t blame them. I’m starving, too. I can see a side bar and a few different food stations, one that’s exclusively seafood and sushi, one a rotisserie, and another that’s all salad greens and exotic fruit sculptures.
As I take it all in, Luka leans in and kisses my cheek, whispering in my ear, “All this for dinner. And you for dessert. This turned out to be a very good day.”
We go make the rounds and fill our plates, returning to find Monica ignoring the conversation around the table in favor of waiting for Luka to get back. I let him pull out my chair for me and slide it back in place as I lower myself down, shaking my napkin out across my lap.
