12. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
So much for the hotel room sex I was hinting at.
Luka gets a work call as soon as we step into the hotel suite, and he flashes me an apologetic look before stepping out onto the balcony to take it.
Even though our accommodations are luxurious, I have no time to appreciate them.
I need every available minute to get myself ready for the showdown with Monica. The time for playing nice is over.
Peeling off my dress, I step into the shower and start scrubbing sweat and recycled airplane air from my skin, letting the conditioner soak into my frazzled hair while I shave.
I can’t get over the look on Luka’s face when I showed up.
He was clearly shocked, but it didn’t escape me the way his eyes lit up, how his huge smile had been one-hundred percent genuine.
And oh, was it satisfying to watch Monica’s little sex kitten act drop like a bomb when she saw me.
Luckily, I was just in time to overhear her asking him to take her out tonight, giving me the perfect opportunity to cut in.
It wasn’t until Luka mentioned the restaurant that I even realized what the plans I’d just crashed actually were. I’m glad it didn’t turn out to be a strip club. I wouldn’t put it past Monica.
Taking my time to rinse off, I hold out hope that Luka might notice I left the door cracked and jump in with me for a little pre-dinner hanky-panky, but he doesn’t. Well, no matter. There’ll be plenty of chances for that later.
The vanity lights around the mirror are exactly what I need to get glammed up properly, so I wrap myself in a fluffy hotel robe, blow-dry my hair with my pricy Rossano Ferretti volumizer and a round brush to make it extra vavoom, and then lay out my cosmetics.
I hadn’t been totally sure it was a good idea to fly out here.
At the same time, with all the social media speculation, I felt like I had to come to Vegas and see what was going on for myself.
Feel him out, try to glean whether or not he’s actually sleeping with Monica (or intending to).
His behavior toward her should tell me everything I need to know about our marriage, and whether he’s truly invested in working things out between us.
Of course, it doesn’t help matters that Monica is such a shameless flirt, and makes no secret of the fact that she wants to get him into bed.
Which is exactly why I’m going to show her just who Luka belongs to tonight.
Hair done, face freshly made up, I go to the sliding door and stand there with my robe strategically falling open.
Luka’s still out on the balcony, facing the distant view of the brown-gold desert.
I tap on the glass and when he turns around he does a double take and ends the call, his eyes glued to the exposed column of skin between the lapels of my robe.
Ah. Now that’s better.
“That was quite the phone call,” I tell him as he steps inside.
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.
Monica leans in as he sits. “You’re very chivalrous. It’s nice to see a gentleman at work.”
Luka just smiles as he dips a chunk of lobster tail in clarified butter and shoves it into his mouth. I know him well enough to gather that he’s trying to avoid further conversation with Monica. But she’s still watching him like a hawk, basically eye-fucking him right in front of me.
Grabbing my champagne, I take a nice long gulp, needing to lubricate my vocal cords for the sass I intend to throw Monica’s way. She side-eyes me as she pokes at her salad greens.
“That’s an interesting dress. So few people can actually pull off something like that.”
If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I look banging tonight. I don’t take her bait.
Instead I smile at Luka. “I’m sure Luka will do a fine job pulling it off later. Won’t you, honey?”
He takes a sip of champagne. Monica laughs like I’m hilarious and puts her hand on Luka’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“We had a great shoot today, didn’t we? You have a really good eye for what lingerie looks best on me. That thong was definitely the right choice.” Then she giggles again. I fight back my nausea.
“Wardrobe’s a talent of mine,” he says. “I’ve had a lot of practice at Brooklyn’s shoots.”
“So true,” I say sweetly.
Undeterred, Monica’s hand disappears under the table. Judging by the way he jumps a little, I’m certain she put it on Luka’s thigh. He clears his throat and drops his hand under the tablecloth, and I see her take her hand back with a pout.
Luka and I make small talk while we eat, and I share a story about Mr. Kibbles getting into a twenty-four pack of toilet paper and ripping up the whole thing all over the living room.
“And the second I walk in, he sits down and starts wagging his tail,” I go on, “with this one shred of paper still hanging out of his mouth.”
The shoot’s crew members around us are laughing along with me, and Luka most of all—probably because he’s visualizing that look of innocent confusion that Kibby gives us whenever he’s in trouble.
Monica laughs as if we’ve included her, her hand going back to Luka’s shoulder. Then she fiddles with his lapel.
“You know,” she tells him, cutting in, “I was thinking you should arrange a nude shoot for me next. I’d really like your creative oversight on something like that.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he says noncommittally.
She cocks her head playfully and toys with his hair, smoothing down a lock of it as if it were out of place. My anger is starting to bubble over, ruining my appetite.
It’s so natural the way Monica touches him, like she’s totally comfortable doing so.
And his brush-offs have been nothing but gentle, almost as if he’s reluctant to reject her advances.
Instinctively I want to claw her eyes out for acting this way with my husband, but I can’t help wondering what all that casual touching means about the two of them.
Are my jealousies founded? Is it proof they’re sleeping together?
Finishing my drink, I signal the waiter for another one. By the time he brings it over, Monica has sashayed off to the dessert bar. It’s no wonder she’s still hungry—I’ve seen her eat about two whole lettuce leaves and a cherry tomato this whole time.
I turn to Luka and say, “Monica certainly seems affectionate tonight.”
He finishes chewing a bite of steak, then looks me in the eye and says, “You know Monica. She’s always like that, with everyone. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me.”
Reaching for my hand, he raises it to his lips and brushes them softly against my knuckles, giving me the shivers. Then he pulls me in close, kissing my cheek, my jaw, the soft spot behind my ear.
“I want to take you to bed,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I murmur, feeling my core go hot and tight.
“Should we skip the cake and get out of here?”
“You read my mind,” I tell him.
Luka pulls me up out of my chair and spins me so fast, my hair goes flying out behind me.
As we practically bolt for the door, I don’t bother looking over my shoulder to see if Monica’s watching us, if she realizes she lost, that I’m about to go fuck the man she’s lusting after.
To my satisfaction, Luka seems to have completely forgotten about her, too.
Was I seriously worried about the two of them? It’s obvious by the way he’s been looking at me all night that he only has eyes for me. He’s hardly spared Monica a second glance.
We hurry to the room, Luka pushing me against the wall of the foyer the second we’re inside so he can capture my lips. It’s a soul-deep kiss that I feel all the way down to my toes. I’m panting by the time he pulls away, exhilarated by how much I want him.
Luka kisses me again, and we stumble our way to the bedroom.
But when we get there and start kicking off our shoes, he says, “Just give me five minutes to shower. I didn’t have a chance earlier since you monopolized the bathroom.
” He shrugs out of his jacket, kisses me some more, and then tosses it on the bed. “Five minutes,” he repeats.
I let out a groan. “Fine,” I say.
He grins and playfully pushes me onto the bed. “Relax. I’ll be out soon.”
As he disappears into the bathroom, I roll onto my side with a huff. I’m horny. Maybe I should just join him in there. Hopping up, I grab his jacket to hang it up. But as I’m shaking it out on the hanger, something silky falls out of one of the pockets. A pocket square, maybe.
I bend down to grab it and freeze, my entire body going cold. In my hand is a pair of very small thong panties. And they aren’t mine.
The dinner conversation starts replaying in my mind, and suddenly my chest goes so tight, it’s hard to breathe. Lingerie. Thong. Monica.
A few minutes later Luka gets out of the shower, his torso glistening as he comes toward me with a towel hanging low around his hips. I don’t give him a chance to say anything.
“You’re sleeping on the couch.”
Before he can respond, I push him out of the bedroom along with his suitcase and slam the door.