The Mad British (2 page)

"I didn’t say you were desperate." I place my hand gently on her lower arm, and wait for her to move away.

She stays.

Something in the air shifts between us when our eyes lock together. As she stares back, frustration and annoyance slip away from her eyes, revealing a hint of desire that nearly sucks the air from my lungs. My hand brushes slowly up the length of her arm, and an eruption of goose bumps dot her soft skin. My gaze drifts lower, unabashedly, down the steep neckline of her dres
s
, revelling in how the material folds round her tits.

She swallows again, the sound echoing in the tight, confined space. A small smirk plays across my lips, knowing I’m having as much of an effect on her as she is on me.

"Yes really." She jerks her arm away.

"Okay fine. But just so you know I have many talents I'm willing to share with you. All you need to do is say the word."

"How generous of you." She snatches my flask and chugs it down. "Congratulations, you've driven me to drunkenness." A deep chuckle rumbles in my chest. Christ, it’s been a long time since I laughed with a girl. She returns the flask and stands in the opposite corner. "So did you at least break it off with your date or did you do a runner?"

"Yeah, I broke it off with her. Not all men are tossers like Wayne.”

She picks at her nails. “You could have at least finished the date before you ended it. She must have got all dolled up for tonight.”

"Hey, at least I'm honest," I say gruffly. "It wasn't even my idea to go out with her in the first place and it was obvious she was only after one thing. . . They always bloody are. . . "

There’s a long pause. "Why did you then?"

"My sister set it up and she's not someone I like to argue with."

"Oh my God, you're scared of your sister?" She laughs. "Oh, I see. She's sick to death of her man-whore brother."

“I
don’t
sleep around."

"So you just proposition random women in the lift for fun then?"

"No, I bore easily and needed something to pass the time while we wait for help. And it’s so easy to ruffle your feathers. Not to mention you look smoking hot when you’re angry.” I unbutton the first two buttons of my shirt, the air getting stuffier in the lift. “Your nose does that thing.”

She looks both self-conscious and confused. “What. . . thing?”

“You know that thing you do,” I repeat, sitting back down. Silence once again descends over the lift, the reality of our situation finally sinking in. "Look, I'm sorry your date is a prick and left you alone on Valentine’s, whatever the reasons, but he’s an absolute bell end to let you out of his sight tonight.”

She narrows her eyes, trying to figure out my motive. But tiredness and defeat seem to win over suspicion and she comes to sit next to me. I hand over the flask. She doesn’t pause to think, grabbing it and swigging it back.

“Especially in that dress," I add. "Jesus, is he blind or something?"

"Oh
please
. No more cheesy pick-up lines."

"Come on, love, that wasn't a pick-up line, it's the truth. Even with that snappy mouth of yours, there's no denying you're incredibly attractive.” I look her straight in the eyes. “If a guy doesn’t see what’s right in front of him, he doesn’t deserve you.” Her eyes flutter with some kind of hurt and I realise I’ve hit close to home.

She shoots up all of a sudden and starts banging on the lift doors again. "Help us! We’re stuck!"

I didn’t mean to upset her; it was meant to be a compliment. Getting to my feet I open my mouth to try and explain myself, but a loud voice echoes through the intercom system and cuts me off.

"Wonderland Hotel apologises for the delay, folks, but we've fixed the problem and should have you out of there momentarily, so please bear with us. Thank you."

I’m gutted.

I stagger briefly when the lift begins to descend, moving down to floor one. She fixes her attention firmly on the doors, refusing to look at me. The lift pings, signalling our eventual arrival, and when the doors open the concierge stands at the entrance of the lift. "Sorry about that, folks," he repeats. Adelaide exits the lift, acknowledges the concierge, then stalks off across the hotel lobby, never looking back.

"That's fine," I tell him.

I rush out, ready to follow her, but the concierge gets in my bloody way. "We don't usually have these problems. Please, my sincere apologies for any trouble caused, sir." I force a smile, trying to edge away. “Would you like a complimentary bottle of champagne at the bar, Mr Hatter? Or, if you prefer, we can send you a bottle to your room, compliments of Wonderland.”

I’ve only just moved back to England after living in New York City for the past three years. I’m living in the hotel for a few weeks until my long business trip overseas.

I smile again at the shorter man and turn round to find Adelaide. But all I can hear is the faint sound of her heels and the lingering smell of. . . chocolate.

There are only two choices in life: now or never. I have to seize the moment now before it passes me by. Maybe tonight’s the night events will turn the tide. Christ, it’s been a long time coming.

"That’s very generous of you, thank you,” I say, looking down at the concierge. “But I think I’ll go have a little fun in the casino."

“INSTINCTU DIVINITATIS,” I comment, glancing down at Adelaide who’s eyeing a painting of the Arch of Constantine.

It didn’t take long to find her. It’s easy when she stands out like a diamond amongst stones.

She lifts her head in the direction of the painting. "I take it you're an architecture aficionado?"

"Italy enthusiast," I correct, looking briefly back to the painting, then back at her, back to those alluring dark eyes. They’re a dark brown, but not just any brown. They’re a colour and a shade that is yet to be defined. I have the feeling that a lot of her is undefined. "The Arch of Constantine is one of the most beautiful—"

"Most people would say that's the Coliseum," she interjects, brushing back a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Then those people have never been to Italy." I dip my head toward her. "Though there’s also—"

"Palatine Hill," Adelaide cuts in, interrupting me for the second time. I try to hide my amusement, but she picks up on it. She sips her champagne, then places a hand on her chest. "What? Did I steal your next attempt at making me feel inferior?"

"I wasn't implying—"

"Yes, you were," she whispers, leaning into me. "You thought you'd rattle off some unimpressive history and that I will fall all over myself in disbelief that a man cares that much." She pauses, switching to a breathy, ditzy tone. "About an old building that some stupid Italian artist carved." She cocks her head to the side and smiles. “Instinctu divinitatis—do you even know what that means? What it
really
means?"

"Inspired by the divine," I reply, without missing a beat, though it’s hard for me to focus when she’s looking at me like that. Her lips are far too plump, asking to be taken.

I take a sip of my bourbon. "Some call it a play on Constantine's religious context, of how God appears in a vision to Constantine. I'm sure you know the whole ‘To the Emperor Caesar Flavius Constantinus, the greatest, pious, and—’"

"’Blessed Augustus: because he, inspired by the divine, and by the greatness’ and so on." She glances around the room, shaking her head. "How many women does this tactic work on?"

I don’t have to follow her gaze to click on. Wonderland’s doors are only open to the elite and the very wealthy. And the majority of men in here tonight seem to have a certain type—the
same
type—on their arms. I don’t blame her for thinking I’m the same, but she’s pegged me with the wrong crowd.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to judge a man.”

“And what makes you so different?” Her eyes are still on the room.

"I wasn't trying to use it on
them
." She tries not to return my smile, but it’s clear she is flattered by my attention.

"Oh, no, you don't have to be that creative with them. I'm sure something along the lines of ‘I’ve a condom, meet me in the nearest empty toilet’ works just fine."

"Is the toilet too tacky for a girl of your stature?"

"To each their own." She folds one arm across her chest, sipping her champagne, and then leans in closer. "But I prefer the coat closet."

I bite my cheeks to keep from laughing out loud. She kicks back fast.

I like it.

"Coat closets are nice." I check out her tight body again, and start to imagine how well the curve of her body will mould well against mine. "They’re dark and quiet."

"Plenty of bars and racks to brace yourself on." Her tongue sweeps across her lips before she sinks her teeth into the lower one. "Though, it can prove to be hell on your body the next day."

She winks at me, then turns away to saunter down the row of paintings that are hanging on the wall. I watch the way her hips move, swinging from side to side, the fabric bunching round the smooth curve of her arse.

Yeah, she’s trouble.

Normally in my line of work, I’m surrounded by those who wear a façade. But this girl. . . Adelaide. . . Yeah, I might’ve hit the jackpot with this one.

"Who is that fine piece of—"

"She's mine," I cut in, turning toward my best friend Travis O'Neil.

"She's all real," he comments. "You know me, Hatter, I like my birds with big knockers and—"

"Then you should have your fill tonight."

He grins. "So, what's her name?"

"Adelaide."

“Australian?”

I shake my head. “Half Finnish.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah.”

Travis gives her the once-over. More than he needs to. Is he deaf? Did he not hear me when I said she’s mine?

He’s still leering. . .

Enough now, Travis. . .

He just won’t quit.

My jaw clenches.

He licks his lips.

My hand balls up.

His eyes drop low on her arse.

That’s it.

I smack him on the side of the head.

"
OW
. The hell’s that for? You git."

"Mine," I say once again. “Don’t make me say it again.”

"The hell you being possessive over this bird for?” he asks, rubbing his head. “Who is she anyway?”

"No idea." Adelaide looks my way then, with that knowing smile. She flicks her tongue over her bottom lip and chews it. Jesus, I ache to chew on it for her. "But I’m going to find out."

"Are you falling in love, Hatter?"

I laugh. “Slow down, Travis, just met the girl. . . There’s just something about her. . . I don’t know. She’s fun to be around with. . .”

“Last time I said that about a bird she went all Fatal Attraction on me. Got my name tattooed on her left tit just three days of being with her."

"Fatal Attraction?"

"Michael Douglas bangs the shit out of Glen Close. And he’s married and she goes—"

"Travis, shut up, you prat."

“Fine, dick brain, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m here to gamble and double my wallet. And maybe get laid.”

“Maybe?”

“No, definitely getting laid. Look at them, Hatter. We’ve got the pick of the litter here.”

“And what makes you so sure you’re getting lucky?”

He scoffs at me, then takes a sip of his cocktail. “I don’t need your swagger and charm. All I have to do is flash my pearly whites, flip out a dirty joke, and give it say, five or ten minutes, and their knickers—” He lifts his head up to the ceiling and clasps his hands together in a prayer. “Oh God, please let it be a thong.” He looks back to me, unclasping his hands. “Will be in my hands.”

“Please, I don’t need the rundown of your sexual strategy. I am never in the mood for that.”

Travis says something but I ignore him, too busy watching Adelaide play with the thin strap of her dress, letting her hand linger against her shoulder. That knowing smile is becoming dangerous.

But not for me.

"Maybe it's your turn to go all Fatal Attraction, Hatter." Travis turns round and heads toward the bar.

Christ, she’s lapping up my attention.

Sweet, sweet Adelaide, there is so much more I can attend to. . .

I groan quietly and tuck my hand into the waist of my trousers, adjusting them against me. At this rate, I’ll either have to get her into the coat closet or go up to my room empty-handed.

My shoulders tense when a short-arse, who barely looks twenty-one, struts up to her.

Is that Wayne AKA Tosser?

I cross my arms over my chest, fighting the urge to go over and mark my territory. It would be easy to put his arse down. So easy. But I won’t do it. Only because I know that would be a dick move. Not for his sake—screw his sakes, the bell end—but for her. I don’t own her. I barely know her. I check my Rolex. They’ve been talking for a while now.

Damn it.

Empty handed it is then.

No, make that one handed.

Just when I’m about to turn and leave, Wayne finally sods off. Adelaide leans against the wall. She looks pissed off. Frustrated even.

Trouble in paradise.

Perfect.

I step in front of her. "I can throw him into the Thames, if you like."

She stands up straight, looking flattered for a moment. It doesn’t last long. Her eyes narrow in on me like a missile.

"If I wanted him thrown into the Thames I could do it myself." She tightens the grip on her champagne glass. I can’t be sure if her anger is directed at me or at Wayne. But I swear, if that tosser said anything out of line toward her, I’ll throw him out before he gets the chance to even look at her again.

"But you see, if I did it, I would get away with it."

My mother was right. My charm could save the world because it doesn’t take me long to get her smiling again.

"And I wouldn't?" She skirts her finger round the rim of her glass. "I'm a tiny little woman. No one would ever believe that I tossed a two hundred pound male into the river. Not to mention my impeccable record."

"Impeccable, eh?"

"And yours is just full of incidents?" She knocks back the champagne in her hand like it’s the last drop of water in the world. "None of which is your fault though, right?"

"You’re judging again." I snatch her champagne glass from her hand. It would be obvious, even to a drunk man, that she’s drinking too fast. And that never has a happy ending.

"
Hey.
What the hell are you doing?" She tries reaching for her glass.

"Cutting you off." I hold it above her head.

At six-foot-three, she doesn’t stand a chance. She looks like a dog jumping for its treat. She must realise it too. Her cheeks pink up and she stops to curl her hands round her tight little waist. It forces my gaze down to her hips. Her sweet, oh-ride-me-hard-James hips. Jesus Christ, is her dress sewn onto her body?

"Give me back my drink," she orders, glaring up at me.

"You've had enough. Trust me, you’ll be thanking me in the morning.” I wiggle my brow.

“Shall we head to the coat closet now or would you like a drink beforehand?” She straightens the strap on her shoulder. “Wow. Do you really think your cheesy lines are going to get me into your cheesy bed?”

"I was just trying to make conversation and—"

"Give me a break."

She may not subscribe to the Hatter bandwagon just yet, but I see a trace of a smile on her lips. She’s loving this play-by-play as much as I am.

"You were trying it on.
Again
. Are you that desperate?"

Okay, so maybe I was getting ahead of myself. She’s back to locking horns with me.

"Love, I’m not desp—"

"Probably coming over here to win a bet with your friend," she continues, pausing only to see if I’ll object. "Yeah, that's right. I saw you with him. I'm not stupid. I’ve seen that dog of yours wagging his bone at every poor woman here tonight. Are you two betting on who gets the most action in one night? Is this your thing?” I’d never noticed that Travis resembled a poodle, what with his bushy hair. A deep chuckle resonates from my chest. “What’re you laughing at? Is this funny for a man like you?"

I set her glass of champagne on a passing waiter’s tray, and bite back my laughter. "You know, some time with me will do some of that misplaced anger of yours some good."

"You arrogant arsehole." Her fingers dig into her hips. "I’ll let you into a little secret, James. If you want to gain a score with me—make sure your IQ is larger than your shoe size." She folds her arms across her chest.

“I have
very
large feet.” That line doesn’t get the response I want, so I try a little harder. “You know what they say about men with large feet?”

“They’re clowns.”

“Funny.”

“Clowns usually are.”

I’m too mesmerised by her boobs to hear her insult. It’s really, really hard, not to look downwards when she’s pushing them up like that.

"And make sure to look me in the face." She leans forward to place her hand under my chin, lifting my face upward. "
Hello
?"

I sip my whiskey. "Hello to you, too." Much to my surprise, she laughs. Her face flushes immediately and she looks embarrassed to be laughing with me. One second she can be sexy-as-hell, and the next, she can be incredibly adorable. "You’re beginning to find me charming, right?"

"I can barely contain myself." Suddenly, I have a sinking feeling she’s five steps ahead of me, playing a game all of her own. "Kinda makes me want to strip naked and bang you right here on the blackjack table."

I’m so focused on the words ‘strip naked’, ‘bang’, and ‘blackjack table’, that I almost fail to notice her sarcasm.

"Again, not all men are jerks. Give me a chance to show you. Ditch short-arse Wayne and let me take you out for dinner tomorrow night. . . There’s no chance in hell I’d leave you all alone.”

Her eyes darken briefly, but the same light-hearted sparkle returns almost instantly. "Why should I?"