Owned: An Alpha Anthology Part 24

I wasn't very good at forgetting. h.e.l.l, even now I still held onto the blind belief that my parents had made it out of the fire somehow. Their remains hadn't been found-I had no closure. Hope was a never dying enemy sitting painfully on my heart.

"I'm not leaving," I whispered.

You're not? But you just...

I shut my internal voice up. I'd come here with one goal. I wouldn't back down. I'm not a coward. I wanted him. I wanted to live with no regrets.

"I won't ask any more questions, and I'll leave when we're done. We'll both walk away from this as we began."

"What does that mean?" Cas asked, his voice dark.

"It means we'll stay strangers. We'll f.u.c.k as strangers. We'll part as strangers. That's what you want, isn't it?"

My heart poised mid-beat, hanging onto a small thread of hope. It smashed to dust as he nodded. "Yes. That's what I want."

"Good." Breaking eye contact, I turned for the phone on the desk.

Running my hands through my blonde hair, I cursed the appearance that'd landed me into this mess. The lingerie was one culprit, but I'd also lavished attention on my other attributes. I'd splashed out a small fortune to have golden low-lights and ash highlights put in my hair before the audition. I'd learned how to tame the thickness into soft curls-so much nicer than my mousey blonde straightness from before.

I should've thought of the consequences of looking confident when in reality I still nursed the orphaned sixteen-year-old.

Picking up the phone, I dialled one for reception.

Cas smiled, leaning back and spreading his legs on the bed again. His confident pose could be taken either as a lewd gesture or overtly s.e.xual. I tried to ignore him but that was as impossible as ignoring an asteroid plummeting to earth.

"Reception. How may I help you?"

Cas's eyes took full advantage, latching onto my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The way he ogled made the expensive underwear between my legs grow shamefully damp.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Smith. Are you there?" the chirpy female voice prompted in my ear.

Mr. Smith?

Ah, yes. The stranger I'd agreed to sleep with.

Tearing my eyes off him, I said, "Yes, hi. I seem to have locked myself out of my room during the fire alarm. I need another key."

"Oh, I'm sorry, this isn't Mr. Smith?"

"Do I sound like I'm a man?" My heart fluttered. "Sorry, that came out a bit rude."

The receptionist giggled. "No, ma'am, you don't. Sorry for the mix-up. Do you mind advising me of your room number, so I can confirm the necessary details?"

I hooked my hand over the mouthpiece. For some reason I didn't like the thought of spilling my privacy-now that we'd established the 'rules', it seemed like an invasion-not to me but for him to listen.

"Ma'am? Who is the room registered to?"

There was no way around it. "The room is under Lucy Larson."

The gentle sound of sheets rustling behind me made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Was he wondering why I'd given him one name but used another? Too bad. He'd lost the right to ask questions when he decided he wanted to remain clueless.

The tap-tap-tapping of computer keys came down the phone. "I'm sorry, ma'am, there is no room under that name. Is there another name perhaps?"

I slouched in the chair. They must've amended the guest name after the problem with my inability to provide identification.

I looked over my shoulder at Cas. He sat upright, curiosity blazing in his eyes. He didn't hide that he was listening.

"Ma'am? Perhaps you can come down to the lobby to confirm the correct details?"

"No, that's not possible."

There was a pause. "Um, well, we really need to confirm your ident.i.ty before we can approve a new key. Are you sure you can't come-"

"The room might be under Saffron Duncan."

A soft shuffle from the bed as Cas shifted to the edge. His jaw clenched, eyes dark.

Every thought shot from my head. d.a.m.n him for being so distracting.

"And the room number?"

"1346.".

I couldn't concentrate-completely obsessed by the seething sensuality of the man behind me.

I glared at Cas, who was now perched on the end of the bed, his fingers steepled in front of his lips, blue eyes narrowed and sharp.

What was his issue?

"Look, can you just send housekeeping or something with a spare?"

Silence for a moment before the woman said, "I'm afraid our housekeepers are dealing with another issue. We'll have another key coded the minute the problems have been fixed."

"Problems?"

My heart skipped, thinking my credit card had declined or something dreadful had happened. What if she saw through my facade and was about to say I would be kicked out on the street in ten minutes?

Cas inched closer, invading my personal s.p.a.ce with his intensity.

"Our computers are down due to the electricity short that set off the fire alarm. I won't be able to use the software to key your card until it's up and running again."

I sighed heavily, looking over at Cas. His eyes were hooded, never rising from my scantily dressed hips.

"How long?" I whispered.

"I'll call you the moment it's complete. In the meantime, I'll send up some complimentary champagne and some desserts, to apologise for the inconvenience. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do."

She hung up before I could tell her exactly what I thought of the inconvenience.

Cas frowned as I put the phone back on its cradle. "What's going on?"

"Apparently you've scored some champagne and desserts, while I have to intrude on your hospitality for an indefinite period of time due to the hotel's technology being non-operational."

He chuckled. "It seems you wouldn't be able to leave even if you had second thoughts. I call that fate."

"It's not fate," I hissed.

He tilted his head. "Ah, yes. You don't like that word. Call it divine intervention, then. The universe planted you in my path and kept you at my mercy because it wants us to f.u.c.k. It's meant to be."

Holy G.o.d, every word lashed me with delectable torture. "What if they still haven't given me a key by the morning? Won't that mean I'm intruding on your life? Crossing boundaries you don't want crossed?"

He shook his head, plucking me from the chair with possessive hands. "No, Lace. It just means I get to f.u.c.k you tomorrow as well." Pressing his forehead against mine, he growled, "Now get on the bed. I'm hungry to find out just what those useless pieces of lace are hiding."

I tottered on my tiptoes as he guided me the short distance to the mattress. Every inch I travelled, nerves thickened my blood. "Wait-um, don't you have something important tomorrow? Are you working?"

Working?

He fights for a living.

His lips twisted into a coy grin. "Yes, I am working tomorrow." He shrugged. "I've fought on worse circ.u.mstances. Besides, nothing a can of Red Bull won't fix."

His head lowered, his teeth nipping at my throat. "f.u.c.k, I've been hard since I saw that a.s.shole talking to you. I'm in serious pain, Lace. I'm looking to you to save me."

Save him?

Why did I get the feeling he hid so much behind his bottomless blue eyes? So much unsaid-to anyone?

His tongue licked where his teeth had bit, sending a wash of sensitivity to my core. I swallowed, hating the power his voice had over me, but loving it, too. My insides turned into a billowing volcano, erupting with steam and washes of hot lava.

"What do you want me to do?"

He shuddered, pulling me close. "Whatever you want to do to me."

The innuendoes in that one sentence sent the room rippling with s.e.xual tension. I wasn't equipped to play these games.

He pulled back, lips parting. The d.a.m.n robe spread even further, not just between his legs but his torso, too-showing a very well defined chest with splatterings of dark hair and muscles etched in shadow.

My heart stuttered. I should run. I should stay. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to jump him.

His fingers whispered across my cheek, drugging me better than any other substance. "I want to own every inch of you."

His mouth crashed against mine.

My G.o.d, what's happening to me?

My lips swelled beneath his, aching to be devoured. His tongue pressed hard and fast, ma.s.saging with slippery heat. Gone was the taste of watermelon, replaced with pure l.u.s.t.

I melted in his arms, giving in completely. I wanted him naked. I wanted to be naked. I wanted to revel in being naughty just once.

Grabbing his gaping dressing gown, I panted, "f.u.c.k me, Cas Smith. Throw me on the bed and-"

The door knocked, dispersing the magic weaving between us, slamming me back to reality.

FORBIDDEN FLAWS BY PEPPER WINTERS.

4.

I LOCKED MYSELF in the bathroom.

A mirror image of my hotel room, the s.p.a.ce was completely untouched save for the body wash bottle left on the rim of the over bath shower.

Cas chuckled through the door. "If you're running from me, you know you can't hide-especially after saying 'f.u.c.k me, Cas'."

Why do I let him speak to me like that?

And why do I secretly love it?

I panted, grateful for some s.p.a.ce before I combusted. Every inch of me burned. "I'm not afraid of you," I whispered under my breath, staring at myself in the mirror. Oh, G.o.d. I looked like I'd been kissed within an inch of sanity-my expression was completely glazed with l.u.s.t.

Saff, you look demented.

And wild.

Rubbing my hands over my face, I wished I still wore the makeup the movie producers had put on me. The fine micro minerals that made my cheekbones look like sculptured blades, the soft as silk foundation that made my skin glow like honey, and the pouty pink lipstick that made me look as if I'd been adored by some s.e.xy prince.

I must've scrubbed up pretty well because the director couldn't take his eyes off me. In his mid-thirties, Felix Carlton was said to be the next Spielberg, and the fact they'd been able to secure him for a romantic suspense was the best thing that could've happened for the production.

"You're Saffron?" he'd asked, letting himself in, unannounced, to the changing room I shared with three other prospective actresses. We'd been shortlisted from the hundred or so interviews that morning.

I stood, dressed in the aquamarine ball gown my character wore in the final scene when her lover catches her cheating on him with one of her yoga client's husbands.

Felix Carlton was one word...dashing. Straight from a Jane Austen period drama, he wore pleated grey trousers, a white shirt with no tie, and a shiny grey waistcoat. He even had a handkerchief peeking from his shirt pocket.

His dark hair was cut into a modern style with short back and sides with the strands longer on top to flop gallantly over his forehead. His face was kind, fierce, dominating, and understanding, all at once. And those eyes-the calculating brown that hadn't missed a thing in every shot, that directed with effortless skill and intelligence.

"You were really good," he'd said, coasting to my side and looking me up and down. He'd completely ignored the other actresses. "I think you'd play a murderous Lucy Larson."

I'd kept my head straight, and heart full of business. "Thank you very much, Mr. Carlton. That means a lot."

He'd smiled, showing white perfect teeth and a dimple in his strong chin. "Please, I have a feeling we'll be working a lot together. Call me Felix."

I jumped as Cas slammed a fist against the door. "Lace? You can't hide in there all night. We now have a room full of sugar and alcohol, but I personally guarantee I'm not going to enjoy them nearly as much as I'm going to enjoy you."