Neck & Neck (14 page)

Don’t answer that, Guthrie. Don’t even go there
.
It’s the very thing you’re saving her from where Waterman is concerned, remember?

One of the elevators dinged, so Finn turned toward it. Before he could enter, though, a trio of people came out, all of them old enough to be his parents, and all dressed for some kind of major party. They looked curiously at Finn’s face, then even more curiously at Natalie’s ass, right next to his face. Then they looked at Finn’s face again. Then Natalie’s ass. Finn’s face. Natalie’s ass. Then back to Finn’s face again, but this time, in place of the curiosity, there was clear hostility.

He forced a smile and cupped his hand possessively over her ass, trying not to feel too proprietary . . . and failing. With as broad a smile as he could manage for the other people, he said, “I
told
her that seventh mai tai wasn’t a good idea, but did she listen to me? Of course not. And don’t even get me started on what she said to the bride. My
sister
, the bride.” He gave Natalie’s bottom an affectionate pat. “Good thing I love her so much, huh?”

Then, without awaiting a reply, and before the elevator door had a chance to close—and before the partygoers had a chance to whip out their phones and call 911—he moved swiftly into the elevator and pushed the Close Door button. And he sent a silent plea up to every deity he could think of—including Bombay, the goddess of gin—that he didn’t see anyone else on the way to his room.

He must have done something good in his previous life, because he made it the rest of the way without encountering a single soul. He shifted Natalie from his left shoulder to his right so he could fish his card key out of his back pocket, then let himself into the suite with a soft ding and clack of the lock. He carried her into the bedroom and dumped her unceremoniously onto the big, king-sized bed, trying not to notice how she landed with her little green dress hiked up a good bit higher than she probably would have been comfortable with on a first date. Not that this was a first date, he reminded himself again, but realizing that, too, probably would have made her
really
uncomfortable.

As carefully as he could, Finn tugged the hem of her dress down as far as it would go. Then he brushed her hair carefully out of her face and patted her lightly on the cheek.

“Natalie,” he murmured, trying one last time to rouse her.

No response.

“Natalie,” he repeated, a little more forcefully this time.

She did respond to his second summons, but the response was just a deep sigh, punctuated by a dreamy little smile and a quiet little . . . Well, there was no other way to describe it. A quiet little . . . yummy sound.

Then she rolled over onto her side, tucked her hands up under her cheek, and began to softly snore.

Great. For the first time in a long time, too long a time, Finn had a beautiful woman in his bed—making yummy sounds, no less—and she was out cold.

This night wasn’t turning out at all the way he had originally envisioned it. He’d figured he and Russell could go down and grab some dinner, then head to some sports bar up the street to watch the Seahawks game. Russell had said something about making an early night of it—which was another weird development, since Russell never made an early night of it, but that had been fine with Finn. He’d figured he could watch whatever was left of the game in his room. But now—

Oh, crap. Right about now, Russell was probably wondering what the hell had happened to Finn and where the hell he’d gone.

As if cued by the thought, the cell phone in his back pocket began to vibrate. He snatched it out, looked at it long enough to recognize Russell’s number as the incoming call, then shoved the Talk button with more force than was necessary as he lifted it to his ear.

“I’m up in my room,” he said before Russell could say a word.

There was a moment of silence from the other end, then, “Why?” Russell asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be down here guarding my body? Keeping away people like Dean Waterman? Thank God he had to go answer the call of Nature, who I hope keeps him on the line for a while, because if I have to spend five more minutes with the guy, I’m going to shove his baked potato down his throat.”

“I, uh, got a little sidetracked,” Finn said.

“With what?” Then, before Finn had a chance to explain, Russell started to chuckle. “Or should I ask, with
who
?”

“With Natalie,” Finn confirmed. “But it’s not what you think.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Because when it comes to women, Russell, whatever you think has its basis in sex.”

“And that makes me different from other men . . . how?”

“Look, she’s out cold,” Finn said, ignoring the question, since it was obviously rhetorical. “She came out of the women’s room and pretty much passed out in my arms. I didn’t know what else to do with her, so I brought her up to my room. She can sleep it off up here.”

Russell had started laughing right around the part where Finn said “out cold,” and he kept laughing, even when Finn tried to explain more about how it had all gone down. “Don’t,” he interrupted before Finn could get halfway through his first sentence. “I’m finding too much satisfaction in the knowledge that you have Waterman’s fiancée up there in your bed.”

The word
fiancée
brought Finn up short. “How do you know he’s engaged to her?”

“He told me,” Russell said. Then he hastily clarified, “Well, not in so many words. What he said was that he’s making it his life’s work to . . . How did he put it? Let me think. It was just so charming . . . Ah. I remember now. He said he was making it his life’s work to ‘tame the little vixen and show her who’s boss’ and said that he couldn’t wait for the day when she finally accepted the fact that he was her . . . Oh, what were the words he used . . . ? Oh, yeah. ‘Lord and master.’ ”

“I know. He is
the
most delightful person to talk to.”

Man. In a matter of seconds, Waterman had just upped his standing from big jerk to gargantuan asshole.

“So don’t tell me Natalie is unconscious,” Russell instructed him. “Just tell me she’s in your bed . . . She is in your bed, isn’t she, Finn?”

“Yep.”>

“Good. Just tell me she’s in your bed, and that you’re in there with her—we can be hazy about what exactly
there
means—and let me enjoy the cuckolding of Dean Waterman for a little while.”

“Cuckolding?” Finn repeated. “Where did you hear that? My God, have you been reading
books
?”

Russell ignored the dig. “I gotta cut this short. Waterman’s headed back to the table.”

“Look, let me just write a quick note to Natalie, explaining what happened and where she is and what my cell number is, and I’ll come right back down.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Russell told him decisively. “You need to stay up there with Natalie.”

Wow. Russell was being chivalrous? This was a new development. Finn was about to congratulate his friend on the birth of his new conscience when the other man continued, “This way, when I tell Waterman you and Natalie decided to go upstairs to your room, and that I just talked to you and you told me not to bother you again—”

“I never said that.”

“Didn’t you? I could have sworn you did. Anyway,” he hurried on, “when I tell Waterman all those things, then, technically, I won’t be lying. This is gonna be good . . .”

And then Russell was hanging up before Finn had a chance to argue with him.

But then, Russell had probably just been joking about telling Waterman all that stuff, Finn immediately reassured himself. That was Russell. Always joking around. Even he wouldn’t be so crass as to screw up a perfectly nice woman’s engagement to someone.

Even if the someone in question was a gargantuan asshole.

 

 

RUSSELL WAS CLOSING HIS PHONE, THINKING ABOUT how Fate wasn’t always such a vindictive harpy and how sometimes she actually did smile down on people, when Dim Witterman pulled out the chair beside his and sat down, yammering just as incessantly and moronically as he’d been when he left. Okay, so maybe Fate was still being a vindictive harpy when it came to Russell. When it came to Finn, she was definitely feeling the love. It had been way too long since he’d had a woman horizontal in his hotel room. Just because the woman in question this time was passed out cold, that didn’t mean anything. Eventually, she would have to regain consciousness. And surely Finn would be smart enough to keep her horizontal when she did.

“So, where were we?” Dud Wretchedman asked.

Russell sighed to himself. So much for hoping a couple of thugs in the men’s room would take the guy for an extended swirly ride. “Well, you were telling me about that dazzling creature you’re engaged to marry,” he said, having realized by now that Natalie doubtless was dazzling when she wasn’t drinking and had only been driven to excessive drink tonight because Damn Waterman just had that effect on people, “and I was about to tell you that I have to leave.”

“Leave?” Dumb Waiterman echoed incredulously. “But we haven’t even had coffee yet.”

The objection bothered Russell on so many levels. As if the mere thought of spending another excruciating second in the man’s presence wasn’t enough to make him want to drive a fork into his eye so he’d feel better, Dweeb Water-moron was presuming Russell didn’t mind adding to the already ridiculous amount he’d spent on his dinner companion tonight. Ever since Russell had told their server to add the newcomers’ meals to his tab, Dull Waterhose had added enough courses to his that the PGA could host the next Ryder Cup at this very table. And it wasn’t like the man couldn’t afford his own dinner. He’d made clear—over and over again—that he had money to burn. Drip Weary-man just wanted coffee so he’d have a chance to waste more of Russell’s time.

“I received an urgent phone call while you were, ah . . . while you were gone,” Russell said diplomatically. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to call it a night.” Which was better than what he really wanted to call it, that was for damned sure.

Dork Wasteofman looked genuinely crestfallen. “But I didn’t get a chance to tell you about some incredible investment opportunities you could take advantage of.”

Ah, Russell thought. Now they were getting to the crux of the matter. Dread Watermelon wanted to try to win him over as a client. Well, wasn’t that just annoying as hell?

He hoped he sounded sincerely contrite when he said, “I’m afraid that will have to wait for another time, Dan.” To himself, he added,
Like after a nuclear holocaust has left the entire planet in toxic flames.

“Dean,” Dildo corrected him.

“Right. Anyway, thanks, but I have to go.” To punctuate that, Russell lifted a hand to signal their server, who was table side faster than you could say,
Get me outta here
. Russell signed the check with a flourish, generously tipping thirty percent for the waiter’s having to put up with Water-can, and stood. “It’s been such an interesting evening,” he said as his companion stood, too. “I mean that sincerely.”

And he did, too. The last couple of hours had been interesting in exactly the same way that olive loaf was interesting. When Waterbland began to look panicky, Russell hastily added, “I wish you and Miss Beckett all the best in your life together,” and he turned to leave.

“Wait, Russell,” Dirty Waterway said, immediately putting Russell’s back up, because he hated it when people used his first name who had no business being so familiar.

“You don’t mind if I call you Russell, do you?” Dip Wadderman added belatedly.

“Of course I don’t mind, Don.”

“Dean.”

“Right.”

“Listen, Natalie and I are hosting a little dinner party at my place Wednesday night, and it would be so great if you could come. Please. Just a handful of our closest friends, nothing major. Please. But you’re more than welcome to join us. Please. And of course you should bring a date. Please,” he said a fourth time, his desperation by that point making Russell want to cringe. “Let us repay your generosity tonight. Please.”

“That’s not necessary, really.”

“I know, but it’s the least we could do.”

“Thank you, but—”

“My place is just minutes away from the hotel. It won’t inconvenience you at all.” He was starting to look as panicked as he sounded, but he managed to reach into his pocket and withdraw a business card case that Russell recognized as solid gold, not once pausing for breath. “Here, I’ll write down the directions. Wednesday evening. Cocktails at six, dinner at seven. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Russell was about to shove the word
no
down the other man’s throat when, suddenly, out of nowhere, he got an idea. A wonderful, awful idea. And like the Grinch, whenever Russell Mulholland got an idea, it took on a life of its own. So he smiled and said, “Thank you, Dale. That would be great. As it turns out, I’m totally free Wednesday night.”

It was a lie, of course. He couldn’t remember what he was doing Wednesday night, but he was sure he was doing something. And even if he had been free Wednesday, he would have made something up to assure Dismal Water-color that there was no way he could make it to his party, even if Natalie was going to be there drinking herself silly again which, Russell had to admit, had been a very pleasant pastime while it lasted.

“Six o’clock Wednesday,” Dunce Weaselman repeated, thrusting the card at Russell and giving it a little shake, lest he miss the way the other man practically stabbed him in the eye with it.

“I’ll be there,” Russell told him. He added to himself,
Or, as I do whenever I can’t make a function, I’ll send a reasonable facsimile in my place
.

 

 

GINNY WAS ON HER LAST HALF HOUR OF BEING AMBER Glenn when Russell Mulholland walked into Minxxx for a second time. Damn. So close. If he’d just come in thirty minutes later, she would have been headed for her locker and could have avoided him. But for some reason she couldn’t begin to explain, she’d had a feeling he would come back, and she hadn’t been able to keep herself from watching the door for his entrance, so she wouldn’t be caught with her pants . . . ah, she meant so she wouldn’t be caught off guard. And with each passing hour that he didn’t come in, she’d—