CHAPTER 17
Lux, her eyes still heavy with sleep and her body languid from the remnants of last night’s lessons in filthy sex that had gone on for hours, stretched cautiously in the plush bed, noting the areas of her body that were not their normal perky selves.
Outside of the obvious area which hadn’t seen any action in a very long time, her butt hurt, her leg muscles were sore, and her skin tingled from so much nipping, and nibbling, and the scraping of five o’clock shadow burn.
All-in-all, it was a night that could only be described as pivotal. Just as Scott had predicted. Pivotal in that it shredded the judgy love curtains she’d been hiding behind for years, leaving her with glimpses of other, viable ways to look at relationships.
Case in point, while she didn’t fully buy into love at first sight, she was now facing the definite plausibility of love at first orgasm. A thought that both terrified her and… Well, no, that was it. Terrified for the win.
Reminding herself she was in charge of her thoughts and had the power to switch them to a new channel, she inhaled a deep breath of bravery. Exhaling her fear, she rolled over and reached for Scott. He’d get a kick out of her musings. After all, wanting to talk about last night would be a natural progression from their uninhibited exploration. A way to bring them back to some semblance of balance.
Her breath whooshed out. The other side of the bed was deserted. She patted the spot where Scott should be and found the sheets cool to the touch. Disappointment hit her in the stomach. “I hope you’ve gone to fetch me some coffee,” she said, putting an optimistic spin on his desertion. Scott, the consummate charmer, could very well do something like that.
Then again, last night—perfect as it was—had been about fulfilling a fantasy. Her fantasy. A dirty-filthy-one-night-stand fantasy.
What would a rake do after delivering such a night? She threw her arm over her eyes to block out the harsh light of day as the answer came to her.
He’d slip away while she slept, avoiding any sentimental goodbyes or confessions. Being the heartbreaker he was, he would have learned that lesson over the years.
Knowing what she’d find before she ever searched for it, she leaned up on her elbows and made herself look.
There it was. The dreaded note left behind on the bedside table.
Maybe he really did go out for coffee, said the part of her brain still clinging to a sliver of hope that morning orgasms were in her vagina’s future. She grabbed the note and flopped backward on his pillow to read it.
Mysterious Beauty,
Our shared night was a thrilling escape from the ordinary. A memory I will cherish.
Dawn calls me away. May fate smile upon us again.
The Man from the Bar
She twitched her nose to hold back tears and stared up at the ceiling. This was for the best. His being gone was a good thing. It allowed her to better process the hot mess of emotions currently clogging her throat without his witnessing any tears that might escape in the process. Bonus of all bonuses, his being gone prevented her from making a premature announcement of I think I’m falling in love with you.
Hell’s fudging bells.That wasn’t just some hysterical thought. As sure as she was a cognitive-based psychologist, Dr. Luxury Stone truly was on the precipice of falling head over heels for a rake. How was it possible she’d gotten to this point?
The answer was simple. She’d let her walls down and allowed herself to become vulnerable. She knew better. Her loins had been girded, and she’d permitted them to be ungirded by a makeover and a smooth-talking rake.
The question was had he left to neatly wrap up their fantasy, or had he left because that was his go-to move? In no part of her brain did she wonder if he’d left because he needed to work out his own thoughts of love for her. The guy was conveniently cursed not to have that emotion.
Where could she find herself a witch to curse her own heart? Because a heart cursed to never know love surely had the better deal in this scenario.
Seeking a distraction, she turned on the TV, manically flipping channels as her eyes filled with tears and her lungs filled with sobs.
That was until an image of the country of Shiretopia popped up on the screen and then panned to a news reporter who was live at an airport.
“In an unexpected turn of events at JFK this morning,” the news reporter said, “The King and Queen of Shiretopia, who were rumored to be arriving on a private jet this morning, were notably absent. Instead, witnesses report that an unidentified woman exited the aircraft and made a concerted effort to hide her face.”
The camera panned to a brunette, posed at the top of the stairs, scanning the crowd before waving at someone out of frame. Then it zoomed in, revealing a man standing outside the hanger, beaming back at her.
Not just any man. The Prince of Shiretopia. Lux’s dirty, filthy lover of last night.
The woman ran straight into Scott’s open arms, causing Lux to flinch. When he lifted the beauty and twirled her in a joyous embrace, Lux bit down on her tongue to keep from whimpering.
Lux’s mind raced as she tried to piece together the unfolding narrative that had her reacting so irrationally. Scott wasn’t the love of her life. Hell, he wasn’t even the flavor of the month. He was just a man she’d had sex with in the midst of a winner-take-all challenge.
She refocused on the couple and tried to analyze the situation dispassionately.
The way they were looking at each other made it obvious—the two had a deep connection. One that stood in stark contrast to whatever moment in time Lux had shared with him.
“Speculation is swirling that she’s the woman rumored to be betrothed to Prince Landshire,” the reporter said. “Has Lady Rose come to once and for all tame the rake of Shiretopia?”
Lux stilled. Rumored to be betrothed? Since when?
Her phone buzzed, and she snatched it up, hoping it was Scott even while knowing it wouldn’t be. He was still onscreen, intimately conversing with the woman. But maybe it was a text someone had sent on his behalf telling her not to believe what she was seeing. Telling her it was another publicity stunt.
It was a text from Ms. Birdie, inviting her for coffee.
“Coffee!” Lux snorted. She couldn’t think about that at a time like this. Right now, she had a mystery to unravel. She glanced back at the television. Scott had his arm around the woman, and they were walking away from the camera.
“This just in,” the reporter said, coming back on screen. “The Queen of Shiretopia has confirmed that the mystery woman is indeed Scott’s betrothed. She was sent to America by orders of the king to tell the runaway prince the wedding date has been set, and it is time for him to come home.”
Lux tossed the phone and again flopped back on the bed. “Mystery solved. Scott was engaged and never bothered to mention it.” She closed her eyes, told her heart to stop belly aching like a damn teenage drama queen, her mind to stop spinning like a yoyo, and her body to hop off the damn merry-go-round she’d been riding on with her hands in the air like some type of damn daredevil ever since meeting Scott in person.
It was time to focus on what was important. Her career. She picked up her phone and reread the message from Ms. Birdie. There were two possible reasons for her to want to see Lux. One would be to discover if Lux had lined up a date with John—or, as Scott liked to call him, Corduroy. Last night’s speed date who believed in insta-love and read to his grammy.
Two would be because she had news about the interview. That reason made more sense than the first. Had the committee made an early decision? Had there been something on social media last night that had swayed them before the challenge between Lux and Scott had ended? Before they knew if Naked Runway would go through with their threat to sue?
She opened up Instagram and searched #TeamRakeVSTeamDoc. Then she scrolled through the long, long, long list of posts.
One post, on Secrets of the City’s account, caught Lux’s attention. Secrets of the City posted on a variety of topics, anything from crimes not being reported, to secret marriages, to scandals within relationships. It was an image of Scott slipping into an elevator with twins.
She zoomed in on the image to get a better view of the ladies and saw far more than she wanted to see. The picture had been snapped in the lobby of this building. She recognized the door attendant. Which meant Scott had not only left the bar with them the night before last, but he’d also brought them home with him.
Scott had lied to her.
“I can’t believe I fell for the whole publicity stunt story he spun.” How many other women had he given that excuse to when he’d been caught red-handed cheating on them? Not that he’d lied to Lux because he was cheating on her. It’s not like they were an item. They’d been a one-night stand in the making.
Which left her with only one logical explanation for the lie.
He had lied for no other reason than to further his chances of getting lucky…with her…all while being freaking engaged. Had the last nine months been his semester abroad? His time to sow his last wild seed before settling into his duties back home? Had his bride-to-be been given the same privilege? Lux damn well hope she had been hopping from bed to bed the way Scott had since coming to America.
Would last night be Scott’s last hurrah before becoming a one-woman man? Was Lux his last sordid hookup? Had he known she would be? Had he chosen her to be his last? He must have, because he’d known to go to the airport this morning.
She didn’t know if she should be flattered or pissed.
On the one hand, she was the woman 3,214 men had swiped past without a second glance, and here she’d gotten the Prince of Shiretopia so hot and bothered he’d chosen her vagina for his last supper…so to speak. That definitely suggested she should be flattered.
On the other hand, thanks to him, her catalog of sexual positions tried and achieved had greatly expanded. Wait…no, that would also go in the flattered column.
On the other, other hand, she knew—as sure as she knew life wasn’t fair to plain Janes—she’d given Scott a piece of her heart. Hell’s fudging bells.
She sat with that truth, letting it churn and bubble until sadness fermented deep within her belly, leaving a bitter aftertaste to her and Scott’s heated encounter.