“No, we don’t have to do any of that. You have to do your best not to cause any more international incidents, and I need to—”
“Go get laid. Yeah, I got it.” This time Kian’s laugh sounds much more genuine. “Then again, I should probably do the same thing. Get myself nice and loose before the big meeting tomorrow.”
“Oh, absolutely. I always found that a good shag was exactly what put me in the royal frame of mind.”
“Really?”
“No! But say hello to Savvy for me, will you?”
“I will. She’s worried about you, you know.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “And so am I.”
“Are you kidding? What’s there to worry about? I’m having the time of my life.” I break through the trees as the lie trips convincingly—I hope—off my tongue. And find out that my gut instincts were exactly right. Every trace of Lola, from her sparkly flip-flops to her hot-pink backpack, is gone.
Chapter 4
Two days later and I’m still thinking about her.
It’s five A.M. and I haven’t slept yet, but that isn’t unusual. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days and there’s a part of me that thinks it never will again. I guess there’s something to be said about the fact that tonight, as I lie awake, it’s images of Lola playing through my head instead of the PTSD flashbacks that normally haunt my middle-of-the-night hours.
Still, it’s fucking nuts that I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind since we met at the lake. Especially considering I haven’t let myself think about a woman—really think about one—since the abduction. Even Fliss, the woman it was at one time expected I would marry, hasn’t rated more than a passing thought or two. But Lola, with her bright eyes, smart mouth, and crazy curves? I can’t get her out of my mind, despite the fact that we spent less than an hour together.
Fuck it.
Sick of tossing and turning, damned sick of staring at the track lighting in the ceiling, I throw the covers back and storm toward the French doors that lead out to the patio—and Ethan’s Olympic-size pool.
I’m naked, so I don’t have to bother with shucking pajamas before I dive in and start to swim. Length after length, lap after lap, over and over again until my mind numbs and exhaustion dogs my every stroke. And still I swim. Still I try to outrun the demons that refuse to be outrun. Only when my breaths are coming in fits and spurts and I am unable to lift my arms above my head one more time do I pull myself up onto the edge of the pool and slump into an exhausted heap.
I don’t know why I fight it every night. Don’t know why I don’t just give in and do this as soon as the thoughts—or the nightmares—start plaguing me.
Stubbornness.
An unwillingness to bend even after my captors nearly shattered me.
A need to prove that—even after everything that’s happened to me—I’m still in control.
Whatever it is, I wish I could just turn it off for a little while. Wish I could just walk away from it and find peace, if even for a few minutes. Once again, an image of Lola pops into my mind, unbidden. She’s standing by the edge of the lake in that ridiculously tiny bikini, water dripping down her curves and sunlight glistening on her skin.
For the first time in what feels like forever, my body stirs of its own volition. For weeks, months now, I’ve been willing myself to arousal, willing myself to perform—more because I’m looking for something to anesthetize the pain than because I felt any real desire for the women who came on to me at party after endless party.
This is different, though, my dick going hard and aching at just the memory of Lola.
At just the thought of her lush body, sarcastic wit, and don’t-give-a-fuck attitude.
With a groan, I slide a hand down my stomach to my cock. Once there, I fist my palm around myself and use the warm slick of water to ease my way as I pump a few times. As I do, I call up an image of Lola stretched out on that rock, red curls tumbling over her shoulders and heart-shaped ass on full display.
It gets me harder, makes the ache sharper, and I let my head fall back and my free arm cover my eyes as I chase release—from the need clawing down my spine, from the incessant throbbing of my dick, from the hidden torment that slices through my every waking moment.
Flashes of Lola give it all to me.
Her blue, blue eyes watching me, all wicked and amused.
Her voice all smooth and dark and sexy as fuck.
Her full breasts straining against her bikini top as she takes deep, shuddering breaths after our race.
Pleasure skates along my nerve endings, has my dick throbbing and my breath coming in short, tortured gasps. I close my eyes, arch my back, pump harder and faster as I imagine those full lips of hers closing around my cock. Imagine her tongue licking along my length. Imagine her throat closing around me and—
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.