Irresistible Lines (2 page)

Chapter 3

Cruze

I’m so pissed at
myself, it’s difficult to think. I even forget to give the bellhop, Steve, a tip. He clears his throat.

I want to take my anger out on him.

Swallowing a growl, I pull out my wallet and hand him a hundred. “That ought to hold you for a while.” I grin, but the shape on my face feels more like a glare. For possibly the thousandth time I run through the scene with Cadence and me.

“Thank you, Mr.
Cruze,” Steve says, folding the hundred like he gets one every day.

I
raise a hand in response and head for the door to my room. My mind is already lost in Cadence, remembering the way she responded, the way she made me forget we were being filmed by a crew and watched by a set filled with people. Even though I’m humiliated—what we did was unprofessional—I’m also so fucking turned on. There’s no question I want Cadence. From the moment I saw her standing in the doorway to my hotel room all those weeks ago, I knew.

The
girl is different.

She’s the one.

Grab hold of her and don’t let go.

But I didn’t trus
t my instincts. I let her walk out. Watched her get on the elevator. As soon as the doors closed I knew I’d fucked up, and I’ve been trying to fix it ever since.

The one thing standing in my way is
John Zane. Fucking John Zane. I’ve never despised anyone more than I despise him. If he wasn’t the owner of the production company, the one signing my paycheck, if he weren’t so well respected in the industry, I’d do everything in my power to take him down. Sadly, I need the motherfucker.

H
e’s already threatened me once. I have no idea what he’ll do. It’s wishful thinking on my part to believe he won’t do anything. I’ve heard too many stories. He isn’t a man anyone should fuck with and, under different circumstances I’d respect his power.

But it’s Cadence.

He has her. I want her.

And I think she wants me too. She acts like it.

It doesn’t matter that she’s a prostitute. It’s what she does, not who she is. I get that, probably more than most. Acting is what I do, not who I am. Even though most people treat me like an “it,” a commodity. There’s so much more I have to offer. But I get it. Cadence fucking men for money doesn’t bother me. Well, it doesn’t bother me, except that she’s fucking John Zane.

That does bother me
, more than anything else has ever bothered me. I can’t stand it. I want to destroy him. Make him go away. Not kill him. I’m not that kind of man, but if I could get some dirt on him, if I could find out a secret, maybe I could convince him to let Cadence go, free her so that I can have the chance to be with her.  

As I ponder the situation I pull off my clothes and climb in the shower. The hot water steams the glass. I can’t be in here without thinking about Cadence
: the way she washed my hair, the sweet mewling sounds she made when I kissed her pussy, made her come.

My cock hardens
, and I wrap a hand around it. Push my dick forward, imagine my hand is her pussy, and I thrust my hips harder and faster, slamming against my hand. The tension builds and builds. I think of the way her pussy tasted on my tongue, the way it felt with my dick inside.

“Ah. Fuck. Fuck.” My release comes and some of the tension leaves my shoulders. It isn’t the same as actually fucking her
, though. Looking into her eyes and watching her face glow with ecstasy. I want that. I want her.

I quickly clean up and
, as I’m stepping out of the shower, I know who to call to dig up dirt on John Zane.

Chapter 4

Zane

After another glass of bourbon
I’m relaxed and horny, but I tell myself I’m just going to check on Cadence. Make sure she’s okay. Nothing more.

I push the door open and
I can’t help but stare. Cadence is exquisite. She’s lying on her stomach, her hands resting by her face. Her dark hair is fanned out on one side. Thick lashes ring her eyelids. Her creamy complexion seems to radiate innocence, which at first I find funny. But really, she is innocent in a lot of the ways of the world.

“Are you going to stand there
, or are you going to come over here and fuck me?”

I suck in my breath, surprised
, and quickly let out a laugh. “Innocent my ass,” I growl, sitting on the bed next to her.

She opens her eyes. Rolls over. There’s a crease from the pillow on her left cheek. I reach out and run my finger along it.

“Who’s innocent?” she asks, taking my finger and putting it in her mouth. I watch her run her tongue around the tip, grab it lightly in her teeth, and suck it deep into her mouth.

“You’re amazing,” I whisper, leaning over and kissing one side of her mouth.
A smile forms on her lips. I pull my finger from her mouth and replace it with my tongue. An urgent desire to taste all of her overwhelms me. She responds hungrily, and I’m again surprised and grateful Fileze suggested I get with this hooker.

I
t’s strange, but I don’t see her as a hooker anymore. She’s just an amazing person, unable to do anything half assed. Whether it’s fucking men for money, being my PFA, or anything else. She gives it her all. I love that about her.

I pull the blanket off
and tug the spaghetti straps of her dress off her shoulders. She moves her arms and hands and then I push the pink fabric down her body. She pushes up and I pull the dress off. The fabric is sinfully soft, like a second skin.

“Get naked, Zane,” she whispers, and my already hardened cock gets harder.
I unbutton my shirt. Cadence rises on her knees and helps me push it off. She kisses my collarbones and then trails kisses down my chest to my stomach and lower. I quickly unbutton my pants. Cadence pushes them off my hips, freeing my cock. She looks up, her eyes sparkling.

And my heart shatters.

If I was a stronger man, I’d walk away. Right now. Just walk out the door and never look back, because in her eyes I see a future where there is love. God damned love. For her. From her. It makes no sense. Not for someone like me. But I see it there, so close, and my heart and soul want it.

At
those thoughts, I almost leave.

But her delicious mouth covers the tip of my dick and I’m lost. I should be worried that Cadence has such power
over me, but how can I worry when she makes me feel so fucking good?

I grab her hair and pull it away from her face so I can watch. Like a
siren, her lips sing praises. All I hear, all I feel is that she is mine, that she wants to be mine, and that she’ll never leave.

In the deep recesses of my mind I know that’s a lie. I know she has feelings for John
Cruze, but I don’t fucking care.

In this moment, while her lips are working their magic on my body, I’m going to pretend it’s just her and I, she and me, and no one else in the world.

“Fuck, Cadence. I want you.” She sucks my cock all the way into her mouth so the tip presses against the back of her throat. Shit. I could come now and be a happy man, but I won’t.

I lift her under the arms until her feet are off the floor. Our faces are close
and I study her features. She looks hot. Horny, like me. And I wonder if she’s forgotten about her brother, about her breakdown. She seems altogether unconcerned with where she is. It’s as though her collapse in the limo never happened.

Except it did.

And then I see it.

The hurt, the fear.
It’s there. She hasn’t forgotten, but she’s using me, this moment to try and forget. To pretend there isn’t a big, fucking awful life outside the four walls of this bedroom.

I get that. I get her, probably more than she even realizes. And I determine at that moment that I’m going to do everything in my power to make her forget.

I stick one knee between her legs and kneel on the bed, carefully laying her back. She spreads her legs, opening her most personal part up to me. She’s wet and so, so beautiful.

And for the first time in years, I want to fuck without inflicting pain.
I’m not interested in getting off or getting her off while hurting her or myself. The knowledge shakes me to my core.

She seems to sense the change in me. “Are you alright?”

I’m surprised she notices. I have an excellent poker face. It also fills my cold, hard veins with warmth.

In response to her question, I lean over and kiss the tender skin just above her pussy.

She breathes in. Her hands find their way into my hair. I sigh internally. Her hands grabbing my hair when we fuck is the reason I’ve left it long. I lick each side of her pussy lips and am about to make my way into her blissful center when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Mr. Zane,” Lincoln says
, his voice muffled by the closed door between us.

I growl. “What the fuck, Lincoln
?”

Cadence ruffles my hair, playfully. The gesture throws me off even more. There’s still so much I don’t know about her.

“I need to speak with you. It’s urgent, sir,” Lincoln says.

I
let my forehead rest on her pelvis, kiss her clit. “We’ll pick this up later?” I ask, pulling on my pants.

“Sure,” she says. The disappointment is etched across her face.

“Are you hungry? Rita is an excellent cook. She’ll whip you up whatever you like.”

A smile curls her lips. “I’m fucking starving.”

I chuckle. “Get dressed, sweet Cadence.”

She stands and picks up her dress, but I pull it from her grasp. “Wear these. You’ll be more comfortable.” I walk over to the dresser, open it, and pull out a pair of sweatpants and a t
ee shirt.

“Awesome.”

Chapter 5

Cadence

I have so many questions for Zane. They’re so loud in my head I wonder if he can here them. Obviously not. That doesn’t stop the questions from continually running through my mind. Questions like: Where the fuck am I? Why did you bring me here? Where exactly is here? Where’s my brother? Can I see him? Why stay at a hotel if you have a house? Why are rich people so fucking extravagant? Why are there guys in suits outside every window? Am I a prisoner? Is my brother a prisoner? What the fuck do you want? Besides twisted fucking pleasure-and-pain sex.

And on and on.

I don’t put a voice to my questions, but hold them inside. Instead I smile.
Pull on the sweatpants and t-shirt that smells like Zane and force myself to play it cool, because I am hungry but, more than that, I’m anxious to get some answers. One thing I’ve learned is the best way to find shit out is to keep quiet. Listen.

Okay, that’s bullshit
, but I’m going to try it since no other option seems to be presenting itself.

Zane waits, only slightly impatient.

“Ready,” I say and swallow.

Lincoln is back to stoic.

Zane glances at Lincoln. “Meet me in my office.”

“Yes, sir.” Lincoln rushes away.

Zane places his hand on the small on my back and we walk down a hall, down a set of adobe steps that curve with the wall, through the front entryway, and into the kitchen.

An older woman pulls something delicious smelling from the oven. She sets the pan on a cooling rack and glances up. Sharp, dark eyes take
in both Zane and me at once.

“You must be Cadence,” she says. Her words are clipped, her voice low.

Zane answers for me. “Rita, this is Cadence, the woman I’ve been telling you about.”

She sniffs and pulls a frying pan from
the copper rack above an island. “I figured,” she says. She places the pan on the stove and turns a black knob. The stove clicks a second and a blue flame appears under the pan.

“I told Cadence you’d make her whatever she wanted.” I mentally make note of the hesitation in Zane’s voice. This woman intimidates him. That surprises me. I didn’t think anyone could intimidate the forceful John Zane.

“Well, as you can see, I’m already cooking.” She turns away from the pan and scrutinizes Zane. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

I feel his body tense next to mine.

“Take good care of her, Rita,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

She waves him away. “She’ll be fine. Right, Cadence dear?”

“Right,” I agree, though the knot in the pit of my stomach tells me that, of the two, I should fear Rita more than Zane.

Zane walks out of the kitchen and I sit on one of the leather stools
with an iron rod back. Rita opens the refrigerator and busies herself pulling out ingredients. I can’t help but study her. She’s slightly overweight. Her white hair is in a bun at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a tan skirt, smart, functional shoes that match, nylons, and a lavender button up shirt. Three sets of pearls circle her neck at different lengths. Her earrings are pearl and clip on. Over the top of her clothes is a chocolate brown apron. It’s crisp, like she seems to be.

The kitchen is warm and earthy
, totally not what I expected. From the HGTV shows I occasionally watch with Jessica, I know the style of this house would be considered Traditional while I thought Zane’s tastes were more Contemporary. The hotel we stayed at was Contemporary in style, anyway.

I wonder if Rita is Zane’s mother. Is that why he stays in a hotel?
This house isn’t his, but his mother’s. She can’t be, right?

“Do you know how to use a knife, Cadence?”

I’m startled by the sound of her voice.

“Yes… well, kind of.” Cooking meals isn’t something I’m great at, but I can get by. Jessica
is totally into that stuff. She occasionally talks about getting married and taking care of a family, cooking for them.
I want to make my house a home, turn it into a sanctuary where my husband and kids feel safe and loved
, she would say.

I always thought that sounded nice—like an unattainable fantasy, sure.
But nice.

Thinking of Jessica makes me sad. I haven’t talked to her in a while. I need to change that, and
I make an immediate internal promise to call her as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

Rita pulls a knife from a drawer and points the sharp end at me. Fear slices through my belly, but only for a second.

“Here. Would you cut up the onion and mushrooms?” She sets the knife on the marbled countertop and pulls out a cutting board.

“Of course.” I get off the stool and wash my hands in the large stainless steel sink. Then I step in front of the waiting vegetables.

Rita watches me make the first cut, nods silently, and goes back over to the stove.

The smell of garlic fills the air and my mouth waters. I chop faster.

The onion is already peeled and cuts up easily. “Would you like these in the pan?” I ask when I’m finished.

“Yes, please.”

Rita steps out of the way and I scoop most of the onion onto the flat part of the knife and toss them in. She already has red and yellow peppers mixed with oil and garlic sautéing.

I step back over to my cutting board and cut up the mushrooms.

“Throw those in when you’re finished, dear.”

“Okay,” I say, but don’t stop working.

I hear her whipping something up behind me and wonder what it is. When I’m done I toss in the mushrooms. “Anything else?”

“Grab some wine, would you? A nice red.”

I’m about to ask her where the bottles are when she points to the other end of the island. I walk over and, sure enough, there’s a wine rack. Bending down, I look through them, but I’m a little overwhelmed. I don’t really drink wine. The cheap stuff isn’t great. Still I pretend like I know what I’m doing. I pull out bottle after bottle, reading the labels, hoping a sign will appear on one that says, “this is the one.”

After several minutes I still haven’t decided and I hear Rita walk over. “The one in the center will be perfect,” she says.

“Okay.” I slide the bottle I’d been looking at back in its hole and wish I could climb in there with it. I grab the center bottle and stand.

“The glasses are over there.” She points in the direction of
a set of cupboards near the dining table. After placing the wine on the counter I open the cupboard and pull out two wine glasses. They’re simple and elegant, like this house. Like Rita. Not like me.

And for the first time in my life I feel like a whore, and the feeling doesn’t settle right. It churns and bubbles. In
fact it fucking pisses me off.

How dare she
, I think, even though she hasn’t said or done anything that should make me feel insecure.
Gah
. I push down those feelings and walk over to the island. Rita has pulled two white plates from somewhere and food is piled on each. There are thick chunks of ham, rice, scrambled egg, and all the vegetables mixed together. It looks delicious and smells even better.

Rita moves one plate over to the stool I’d been sitting on
, opens the wine, and pours two glasses. She sets one in front of my plate and the other in front of what I’m guessing is hers, grabs two linen napkins from a drawer along with two forks.

“Eat up.”

I do as she says and revel in the delicious flavors. There’s soy sauce and red pepper flakes melded within the other flavors. I chew, swallow and take a second bite.

We eat in silence a few minutes. Then Rita sets down her fork and says, “Let’s talk, Cadence dear.”

“Um, sure.” I don’t want to stop eating, but I follow her lead and set down my fork too.

She shakes her head. “We can eat and talk.”

So I pick back up my fork and shovel another bite of ham-fried rice in my mouth.