My Five Night Fling by Maci Dillon

 

 

KASSIDY

 

Cover model alert. At my door.

How is it possible he looks hotter than he did six hours ago?

I take my time as my eyes caress him from the feet up before locking with his.

“Wow, Kassidy,” he gasps, remaining in the hall. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

No words justify the relief rolling over me at hearing his words.

“Come here.” Jarett clutches my waist and pulls me toward him. “I hope you didn’t believe for one second I’d regard you as anything less than beautiful,” he whispers. He cups my chin ever so delicately, in complete contrast to the way he pulled me in. And I love it. Then he tilts my head, so my eyes remain invested in his, and he leans over me until his warm breath mingles with mine.

Our lips meet for a prolonged yet too-short moment.

It was a safe kiss.

I need more.

So much more.

My pulse quickens.

“Mesmerizing,” he purrs in my ear.

I pull away, grinning at his compliment. “You scrub up pretty decent yourself, Mr. Evans.”

Jarett captivates me in ways words can’t explain. As much as I want to show Jarett the true me, the one whose confidence never waivers, a giver of no fucks, all things I sense he appreciates in a woman, I stand in his presence like a stale puddle of sticky, gooey mess.

In the face of adversity and the eye candy before me, I hold my head high.

“You can drop Mr. Evans unless the occasion calls for it.”

My insides do a backflip when he winks at me.

Lord have mercy on my soul.

“It was lovely of your sister to invite me tonight. I hope it’s not an overstep on her part or mine for agreeing to go.”

Jarett chuckles. “Technically, you didn’t agree. I accepted for you and hoped you wouldn’t shoot me down in flames.”

I fetch my long fake-fur coat and clutch.

“You and Sophia have similar tastes in fashion,” he continues as he helps me into my coat.

“I’m sure she’ll love an excuse to take you shopping. I’ll arrange it for you tonight.”

I’m positive Sophia and I will have many things in common, and shopping will only be one way to fill our time.

Approaching the hotel entrance, Jarett pulls me closer to him as if he knows what’s coming. Nothing can prepare me for the small group of onlookers with their camera phones out, snapping photos of us as we step into the street.

“Fucking hell,” Jarett snaps. “Keep your head down,” he warns.

“Umm, what the fuck was that all about?” I question once the craziness is behind us, and we’re sure we aren’t being followed.

“Plonkers bored with their life,” he insists.

The snow has ceased, but the chill factor has increased ten-fold since lunch. With the darkness comes a depth of cold I’m not accustomed to. My body quivers at the intrusion of the frigid air against my face, and I welcome Jarett’s arm around my shoulder. I snuggle into his side, where I fit perfectly.

“Why were they taking photos of us?” I stop abruptly and look at him, waiting for an answer.

Jarett sighs and takes my hand, turning toward me.

“The quick version is this. When my parents died, they left a small fortune behind from their investments. As young, orphaned children, we became the youngest billionaires in Europe.”

As I register his words, my eyes bug, and my mouth falls open. “Billionaires?”

“That exasperated look is exactly what I was hoping to avoid.”

“Sorry, my bad. I’m shocked, is all.”

“Because you never would’ve picked me as a wealthy Brit?”

I shrug, indifferent. “No, never.”

“Now you know why I refuse to wear suits, don’t have an on-call driver or any other so-called billionaire luxuries. I’ve no desire to lessen my family name or memory of my parents by exuding a rich and pretentious lifestyle.”

“Makes sense. So, commoners take pictures of you to flaunt your personal life? For money or fame, or both?”

“Fortunately, I have no idea, nor do I give a fuck. When it affects other people, that’s when it pisses me off.”

“Got it. I have no fucks to give, so don’t worry about me. I only hope if any photos of me are published, I look fucking hot, and I’m not in any compromising situations.”

Satisfied with the conversation, we continue to our destination for dinner.

Jarett laughs. “I can see the headlines now, Billionaire Evans snags Aussie Bombshell.”

We walk hand in hand along the river and past the London Eye. What a glorious sight it is all lit up. A happy buzz is all around us, people enjoying their evening, spilling out of the restaurants and lining up for the popular central tourist attractions.

When we make it to the subway, Jarett tells me about the quaint little restaurant he found not too long ago in Soho and promises I’ll enjoy it.

 

 

I haven’t laughed this hard in years. Jarett is playful and full of life. At least on the outside. There are fleeting moments I recognize hidden layers of emotional vulnerability. I guess being orphaned at a young age will have that effect.

Even in the twelve hours I’ve known him, the value he has brought to my life is immeasurable.

Through dinner or tea, as Jarett likes to correct me, he charms me effortlessly, touching me with flirty gestures at every opportunity. When we arrive, Jarett orders a handful of sample plates, promising to give me a solid taste of what, in his words, ‘all tourists should try when they visit London.’

Struggling with a mouthful of black pudding, I focus on his devilishly handsome grin as he explains what I’m eating. He laughs hysterically when I curse him around the undesirable texture and force myself to swallow. I taste eel for the first and last time, devour a spoonful of spotted dick, enjoy a small serving of toad in a hole with gravy and mash, a scotch egg, and Haggis. Another dish I could have lived without. I’m stuffed and well-acquainted with British cuisine.

“Where to now?” I ask as we walk through the streets of downtown Soho.

“A ten-minute subway ride across to Shoreditch,” Jarett answers, taking my hand in his. “We’re going to dance off all the fabulous food and enjoy some of the best cocktails in London.” He unleashes his cunning grin. “You down?”

“I should tell you now, this girl…” I emphasize, pointing at my chest, “… she’s got no rhythm, but I still plan on dancing circles around you, though.” We both laugh and continue to chat until our next stop.

Oops.

Except for one moment where I lose myself in him.

Unashamedly.

It starts with an innocent kiss, the thank-you-for-a-beautiful-dinner kind of kiss. But my body insists on getting closer to Jarett and shows no signs of patience. When he pulls away after the friendly kiss, I capture his face in my hands, the stubble on his cheeks itching my palms. My mind instantly detours to his face between my thighs. I’m sure my cheeks flush at the visual—maybe he worries I’m hesitating, I don’t know—but he leans in and devours my lips with his.

His strong arms wrap around me. Our lips hungry for each other’s, I hold his face to mine, our tongues exploring, tasting, and pleasuring. He murmurs into my mouth as his hand wanders to the nape of my neck, and fingers glide through my hair. When he fists my hair, pulling tightly at the roots, it’s my turn to purr into our kiss.

My hands drop from his face and duck inside his jacket. Our kiss continues, more intense until I’m ready to swing my legs over his thighs and ride him to Shoreditch. Sadly, our ride stops, and I plummet back to earth.

Sheepishly, I retreat from his hold, feeling like a horny teenager on the school bus. I run my fingers through my hair to bring it to order as he pulls his coat closed to cover the bulge in his jeans. He growls at me. “I’ve been walking around hard all fucking night.”

The kicker?

He has no idea how fucking wet I am right now.

And I can’t wait to show him.

Is it unfair to hope we can meet up with his sister and friends for a couple of quick drinks, a dance or two, and sneak out the back?

We enter through a heavy wooden door, leave our coats in the closet area, and descend the narrow staircase into the speakeasy.

Damn these heels. I cling to Jarett as we spiral to the bottom. Modern jazz wafts from the room, and the ambiance created by the dull lighting over the lounge area is invigorating. The scene is both romantic and inviting. Couples and groups dine off to the side while others mingle at the low-seated lounges and royal chaises.

It’s like stepping back in time. The rich red furnishings and vintage décor are enhanced by the suspended lighting and extravagant chandeliers hanging from the copper ceilings. The place is exquisite.

I spot Sophia seated at the bar talking to a woman mixing drinks and pouring them into large pineapple mugs, garnishing them with large chunks of fruit and sparkling dust to serve. My eyes widen at the idea of drinking something so decadent.

Jarett takes my hand and guides me toward Sophia. “Hey, Max.” Jarett waves at the woman behind the bar, and her face lights up when she spots him.

“About time, Jarett.” She beams. The pleasant surprise quickly turns to one of shock as her eyes follow his hand to where it’s wrapped softly around mine. Instinctively, I try to pull away, but Jarett doesn’t release his hold on me until Sophia jumps off her stool to offer me a hug.

“Kassidy, hi.” She kisses both cheeks alternatively and pulls out a stool next to hers, inviting me to sit. Jarett takes a seat on the other side of me as Sophia takes care of the introductions.

“Maxine, this is Kassidy. We met today at Zest,” she explains, looking quickly at Jarett before continuing. “Kassidy is visiting from Australia for a few days.”

“Nice to meet you, Kassidy. Welcome to my speakeasy,” she offers with a grin, extending her hand over the bar. I peruse my surroundings briefly as I reciprocate.

“As in your speakeasy?” Sophia did mention a friend owned it, but Maxine looks so young. Badass, but definitely on the younger side.

Her grin grows into a full-blown smile as Sophia and Jarett both nod in agreement.

Jarett pipes in, “Hence, the name Maximum. It’s one of the most popular cocktail bars in the world. Max built this baby from the ground up going on ten years ago. It wins numerous awards every year.” He picks up the glass of whiskey Max pushes across the bar to him and raises it to her with a nod.

A proud and supportive friend.

Another green tick in my book.

“World-class cocktails known for their extensive garnishes and a strange mix of flavors, they are weirdly unique and unapologetically delightful,” she boasts and slides two pineapple jugs to Sophia and me.

I don’t care what’s in it, the drink is served fit for an advertising campaign. Not a drink one would order to demolish, especially on a school night. I accept gratefully and relish my first sip. I open my eyes to all three sets peering at me in suspense.

“The best damn cocktail I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting,” I assure her. “Hands down.” All three laugh at my wide-eyed declaration.

“So, you’re here through the weekend only, Kassidy?” Maxine asks, cleaning up her workstation. “Unfortunately, yes. On the first flight out Monday morning.”

“Great, I expect we’ll have a chance to get to know each other if Jarett is willing to share, that is.”

I follow her eyes to where his hand rests on my upper thigh. It’s so natural being with him I’m not aware of his touch. I start to respond, but Sophia jumps in, beating me to it.

“We’ll see you at the end of shift like usual. I’ll make sure she doesn’t take off in the meantime.” She jabs me playfully with her elbow.

“I’ll be here.”

Although I have no idea what I’m agreeing to.

The music from the live band behind us, mixed with the lush sweet-and-sour concoction of the cocktail before me, makes my body want to move.

It’s invading my soul as if I were floating on a cloud.

“The late crowd is starting to flow in now, so I best get a move on. Enjoy yourselves and see you back here in a bit.” She points off to the side of the bar, opposite where the diners were steadily finishing up their meals. “Your booth is free and ready to go.”

Moments later, the others arrive. Damon, the gobby wingman I met earlier at Café Zest, along with Leon, another friend of theirs who obviously has a thing for Sophia. Lust oozes from his skin with every secret glance in her direction. And, of course, Roman, who is looking dapper in his denim and button-down with an upturned collar.

If Jarett looks anything like Roman in ten years, my God.

My heart.

Once the introductions and greetings cease, the newcomers order their favorite drinks, and we move to the booth. Royal red velvet, high-back bench seats slope around a large curved wooden table with battery-operated candles in the center.

Seated between Jarett and Sophia, I’m comfortably intrigued. I engage in conversation as much as possible, but with their accents together with the music, I admit I am often unsure whether I’m laughing or responding at the right times. Nobody seems to mind, so I continue soaking up the ambiance.

“Are you okay?” Jarett whispers after my eyes have been roaming for a beat too long.

“Yes.” I smile as I bring my drink to my lips and sink further into the lounge. “I’m taking everything in. It’s quite the place.”

“I can’t argue with you there, but the view from where I’m sitting is the best.” His eyes roam from my face to my thighs and up again. I want so badly to kiss him, hell, rip his clothes off, but instead, we gaze silently at each other until we’re interrupted with another round of drinks.

“Now, this is a drink,” Sophia oohs and aahs, passing the fishbowl to me. It’s more of a fucking meal than a drink. This place is insane. I’m speechless. Probably for the best as I don’t fancy offending anyone unintentionally.

Sophia shares the mix with me. Coconut, cacao, Havana Club, beer-roasted feijoas, and wait for it—banana bread, topped with a huge peanut butter ice cube. My mouth plunges in awe.

My reaction is comical to the rest of the table, but I’m beginning to question how one should walk home after all this food and drink.

“Trust me…” Jarett warns, “… you need the bread to soak up the alcohol. Those things are potent. Sure to get you plastered.”

“Oh, I understand what’s happening here,” I tease, taking another sip. “You’re purposely trying to get me drunk and seduce me.” I fake horror at the scandal of it all.

He laughs and pulls me in for a kiss. And I let him.

Fuck yes. He owns these lips tonight.

I want him with every fiber of my womanly self.

Chatter around the table lulls as we share the moment, or they simply fade into the background as I bask in the presence of this gorgeous man.

It’s an odd feeling to be so comfortable with a man I’ve barely known for a day. I promise myself not to dwell on this fact. I’m here to enjoy every single moment to the best of my God-given ability.

And I will.

I dared to taste-test the shit out of every single cocktail brought to the table, and each one laid in front of me is taken away empty. I should be full to my toes, but instead, I’m bouncing with energy and slightly intoxicated.

Jarett and I share a dance or two on the makeshift dance floor and immerse ourselves in the band. Not once do I trip, and never does he mention my love-hate relationship with rhythm. We sway in each other’s arms and jive to the upbeat songs like teenagers at the prom.

When we return to the group after the set finishes for the night, our last drinks are ready and waiting. When I don’t believe these things can get any more decadent, I’m amazed.

Truly. Each one outshines the last.

A cocktail glass with a blue crystal pyramid with smoke billowing from it has my name written all over it. And holy fuck, I need a few glasses of water after this baby if I’m expected to climb those stairs in the next few hours.

The mood settles as Maximum closes for business, and Max joins us with a few sample liqueurs. The complimentary plate of Mexican-style tapas prepared by the chefs help to sober my ass nicely.

When we make it out of here, my focus is seducing Jarett. I’m not about to fail on the libido front.

An hour later, my anticipation heightens as we near the apartment block on foot. Jarett suggests we stay at his home away from home as it was late. I don’t want to inconvenience him by escorting me to my room and having to return home to prepare for work a few hours later, so I agree.

Against my better judgment.

If he doesn’t live up to my expectations, I may want to pee and flee in the wee hours of the morning.