CHAPTER SIX CECI
Chapter Six
Ceci
Ceci blinked when the impeccably groomed and perfectly coiffed Roxanne Windsor, Clarke’s PR agent, stormed into the men’s room.
“I held out the slightest hope, Ceci, that this was some kind of ridiculous joke on your part when you phoned me because it was too outrageous to be true.”
Leo Clarke, seven-time champion Formula 1 driver, coined the consummate gentleman by the press, was out cold and slumped on the floor of the men’s room at the Royal Horseguards Hotel.
Ceci wished she’d had the foresight to snap a photo.
Too late now.
Roxanne turned to her. “I can’t imagine what he could have said or done that could justify you doing this.”
“I didn’t do this.” Ceci paused. “Not on purpose.”
He might not have gotten knocked unconscious if he hadn’t hit the edge of the sink when he fell back from her punch.
Even his collapse had been graceful. Instead of going down in one heap like a sack of potatoes, he swooped and swayed like a swallow descending to earth.
He didn’t even land with a thud. One might almost think the bathroom tile was made of goose down feathers.
“This will not go outside these walls, Ceci.”
“I won’t say a thing.”
Much as I’m tempted to.
Clarke was Roxanne’s number one client. Ceci still held out hope she might convince the PR woman to take on Anker as a client and help restore a bad boy image that was beginning to lose its charm.
Sponsors were getting wary. And that made the owners nervous.
But if Blue Jet Lightning wanted to win races and have a shot at the championship, they needed Anker.
Besides, she had a soft spot for the asshole.
She knew things about his past that others didn’t.
He was twenty-four years old, and sometimes it felt like he was her kid brother and she had to look out for him.
Ceci ran her fingers over the birthmark on her wrist.
Maybe the kid brother I never had but should have had.
She would have to accommodate Roxanne. If the woman didn’t want this going public, Ceci would keep her mouth shut.
Although, Ceci wondered, would it really be so bad if it went public?
The elegant, all-too-perfect gentleman was too vanilla. A little controversy might do him some good. If Anker had become highly flammable, Clarke had become a wet blanket.
Roxanne bent down and tapped his cheeks. “Wake up!”
Nothing.
Ceci suddenly recalled what Aunt Delilah had said. She could practically see that Scarlet Shame–colored lip curl, hear her aunt purring, Here’s your opportunity. Take it! Prove once and for all he was the Man in the Iron Mask. Or not.
“I’ve got an idea.”
She knelt on the floor and grinned as she leaned forward.
It worked for Snow White and Sleeping Beauty.
“Ceci,” Roxanne cried. “What are you doing?!”
Her breath met his before the flesh of their lips touched.
She trembled, surprised by their softness and warmth. She had expected them to be cold and rigid.
Cinnamon. He smells like cinnamon!
But cloves? She couldn’t tell.
Definitely no scotch.
He smells like cinnamon and coffee.
Stop. Pull away.
She was about to when his lips parted and his tongue, plump and plummy, wet and warm entered her mouth. And a flurry of electric sparks shot straight to her clit.
Shit. No.
Pull away. This is not—
She made no real attempt to do so, but afterward she would convince herself that his hands, which suddenly gripped her shoulders, held her there.
His breath, sprinkled with cinnamon, made the blood flowing south hot like rain in the tropics.
Oh my God, it’s him.
His hands tightened. His eyes popped open. He pushed her away.
Struggling to catch her breath, she shrugged off his hands and stood up. “See? It worked.”
Bringing his fingers to his lips, he stared at her, looking stunned and confused.
“You can thank your charming prince later, Sleeping Beauty,” Ceci said. “We had to figure out some way to wake you up.”
He blinked and quickly removed his fingers, looking from her to Roxanne. “We?” He hastily stood up. “What the—Where?” he muttered, barely even looking at Roxanne before his eyes landed on her.
“Don’t you remember?” she asked.
He looked around, gingerly touching his eye.
“It was a sucker punch,” he said, glaring at her.
“It wasn’t meant for you,” she spat. “Maybe if you’d stepped in and done something, I wouldn’t have had to.”
“As I recall, you didn’t want me to step in.”
“Well, not as a morally self-righteous Saint Paul condemning the sinner—which of course would be … me.”
“I didn’t do that.”
“You did, but that’s beside the point. It’s still your fault.”
“My fault?”
“That’s right. You practically threw your face at my fist.”
“I was trying to get you to stop.”
“Stop what? Hitting the cretin? Well, you succeeded.”
He bit his lip, and she almost wondered if he did that to keep from laughing. It was hard to tell with one eye swelling up and the other blinking like a strobe light.
Whatever he meant to do by biting his lip, she wished he would stop. It was distracting.
“Let’s take this outside.” Roxanne opened the door, but held out her arm and looked up and down the hallway. “No one here. Good. Come on.”
They’d been standing in the hallway less than thirty seconds when Ian Anker came sauntering around the corner.
“Nice accessory, Clarke.” He laughed. “Does it come in other colors? What happened? Someone finally get tired of that superior, righteous attitude of yours and try to smack it off your face? At least this time you can’t blame it on me.”
Roxanne stepped out from behind Clarke, glaring at the man.
Anker blinked and swallowed. He actually swallowed, thought Ceci, watching the man’s Adam’s apple rise and fall.
Another moment and he smiled. Ceci might have called it a sweet smile, if she thought Anker capable of one.
“Hello, Miss Windsor.”
She saw Clarke roll his eyes, or at least the one eye that could manage it.
“Are you bidding on anyone today?” Anker asked.
The look on Roxanne’s face told him that if she were, it wouldn’t be him.
But he was undeterred. “If you were the one to win a date with me, I can promise, I would make it extra, extra special.”
Ceci stepped forward. “Ian, what are you doing here? What do you want?”
Chuckling, he hung his head, staring at the floor.
Is he blushing? Can’t be. Ian Anker never blushed.
“You know,” he said. “I’ve actually forgotten.”
“Just go,” Ceci said. “You have to get up on that stage soon.”
When Anker lifted his head, he looked over Ceci’s shoulder at Roxanne, who stood with her arms crossed and an expression that basically said, get the fuck out of here.
Anker hesitated until Ceci waved her hand like she was shooing away a fly.
He shot a swift look at Clarke before turning on his heels. “See you out there, punching bag.”
“Maybe we should get someone to look at that eye,” Roxanne suggested once he was gone. “It’s getting worse.”
“I’m fine,” Clarke hissed, leaning against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.
Ceci eyed the way his elegant jacket tugged against the lean, hard muscle of his arms. The crossing of those arms emphasized the breadth of his chest and sculpted shoulders, not to mention the slimness of his waist and that svelte slope to the nether regions.
Definite man-V. Probably a really fine man-V. Much as I hate to admit it.
Is he doing that on purpose?
She couldn’t tell which was straighter, his spine or his gaze, which he shot like an arrow at the blank wall in front of him. Point made—look at anything but her.
“Well, you can’t go out there like that,” Roxanne said. “I’ll go make some kind of excuse.”
“No,” he growled, turning his back to them and strolling down the hallway. “I said I’d do it.”
Damn, Ceci thought. What are they going to think when they see him with that swollen, purple eye? She was lost in thought, gazing at that straight-spine walk of his, when she heard a loud cough.
“Ahem!”
She turned to see Roxanne, a royally pissed-off look on her face.
“It’s not enough that you rattle my client in just about any room you find him in.”
“I told you it was an accident.”
“That’s beside the point. Because of you, he’s going to have to go out there with that eye. Any idea what kind of fun the auctioneer is going to have with this? Not to mention the press and social media.”
Ceci couldn’t afford to piss off Roxanne.
“How can I make it up to you?”
“Bid on him.”
If it was possible for one’s jaw to drop to the floor, Ceci would have managed it.
“Before you say no,” Roxanne said, “I’m not asking you to win. I’ll arrange for someone to outbid you. Start at ten thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“I need the bid to be high to get some good press out of this. When someone outbids your bid, you outbid them. Go as high as fifty thousand.”
Ceci gaped. “Rox—”
“I promise you. Your bid will not be the winning bid. Once you get to fifty thousand, someone will outbid you and your obligation to me will be fulfilled.”
“You guarantee it?”
“I do.”
Fuck that and a bag of chips.
“O-kay,” Ceci groaned.
Roxanne sighed. “Good. I better go see how he’s doing.”
When Ceci returned to the table, the auction had already begun, and Aunt Delilah was in rare form. She slammed the table so hard the bourbon she’d slipped into her teacup sloshed over the brim.
“Your aunt’s upset. That was the third one she’s bid on. And lost.”
“What in the name of all that is indecent happened to him?” Aunt Delilah boomed as Clarke walked out.
That eye looked worse. Why didn’t he just bow out? If he felt bad about the money, he could have just donated a sizable chunk himself. He could afford it.
The auctioneer showed him no mercy.
“Didn’t realize it was that rough out there. You and Anker get into a scuffle? I thought that only happened on the track, usually with you getting only a brief glimpse of his backside.”
Laughter circulated around the room.