Beautiful Bombshell by Christina Lauren Read Online (FREE)
Will sighed, watching the numbers climb on the digital display. “You know, for being a couple of neutered assholes, you guys actually managed to make a pretty entertaining night out of it.”
“Nudie club, fake medical emergencies, fan-fucking-tastic dinner, grand theft auto, transvestite escort, Chloe wins a few grand, and we nearly get maimed by some goons,” Max said, standing up straighter. “Not so bad, eh?”
Will turned to stare at him. “Grand theft auto?”
Max rubbed his face, shaking his head. “A story for another—”
Will held up a hand, eyes wide as if he’d already moved on from his first question. “And how could you forget Mike Hawk? I think, especially for the two of you, Mike Hawk figured quite prominently in this evening’s activities.” Will hiccupped, weaving slightly as the doors to our floor opened. “I’d say you’re pussy-whipped, but I think it’s even worse than that.”
I watched as Max’s smile went from self-satisfied to mocking. “Will. Darling.” He put a heavy hand on Will’s cheek and clucked his tongue. “I can’t wait for that one girl to come in and kick your feet out from under you. You think you have things organized, sorted. You think you’re content with your low-key bachelor apartment, with your triathlons and your work and your scheduled pussy. When that one girl comes along, I’m going to say I told you so, and give you no bloody sympathy when you’ve turned into a lovesick strop.” With a light slap to Will’s cheek, he stepped away, laughing as he walked down the hall. “Can’t fucking wait for it, mate.”
Will watched Max’s heavy limbs and dragging feet, and then turned to me expectantly as if I would add to the lecture. I shrugged. “Pretty much what he said. When you find that girl, we’ll be happy for you, but mostly we’ll be happy to give you endless shit.”
“This is why you’re my people,” he mumbled, punching me weakly in the chest before turning the opposite way down the hall.
Bidding Will good night, I walked to my room, wishing I knew where Chloe was staying. Even as exhausted and half drunk as I was, I still would have gone downstairs and climbed in a cab to go anywhere to her.
Just inside my door, I stopped at my closet to hang up my blazer, and froze. Dangling from a wooden hanger was Chloe’s lingerie from the club, the jewel stones of the tiny bra and underwear winking green and white in the dim light coming in the bedroom window.
I moved farther into the room, wanting to confirm what my racing pulse had concluded: she was here, in my bed, waiting for me. Sure enough, a Chloe-shaped lump was sound asleep amid a mountain of blankets and pillows in the middle of the king mattress.
Stripping my clothes off and leaving them in a discarded pile on the floor, I climbed over her, braced on my arms and legs. Not touching her, not yet, just taking her in: a tangle of brown curls against the stark white bed linens, eyes closed but lids fluttering in her dreams, lips wet and red and begging to be kissed. Everything below her neck was covered by her cocoon of blankets, and when I stared down at the steady rhythm of her pulse beneath the delicate skin of her neck, I felt a little predatory. The thrill of being able to do this—kiss her, wake her up, fuck her—was still as fresh tonight as it was nearly two years ago when, for the first time, we finally had time alone in a hotel.