Royally Claimed (The Triple Crown Club Book 2) Page 16

  Then I noticed the handcuffs around my wrists connected by a chain to the wall.

  Suddenly, I was awake.

  Much more awake.

  I sat up with a start, instantly wincing as pain knifed through my head. I gingerly brought my manacled hands up and rubbed the side of my head with a wrist as I looked around the room. My mind seemed dulled and slower, as I tried to piece together the only question looming through all of this.

  Where the fuck was I?

  I groaned as the pain came lancing through my head again, forcing me to lie back and curl up on the cot.

  This wasn’t the island resort. This wasn’t the club with the pounding music and the dancing, grinding, sweaty people which was the last thing I remembered.

  With a start, I realized one other thing that suddenly made my skin crawl.

  …These weren’t even my clothes.

  The thought had my heart jumping into my throat as I felt the adrenaline spike. I was wearing a shift of some kind — almost like a hospital gown. A quick, terrifying look told me I was still wearing my underwear — thank God — but it was a small comfort.

  Slowly, shivering and still trying wake my brain up, I curled into a ball on the cot.

  Where the hell was I and how the hell had I gotten there?

  Because the last thing I remembered was the beach…

  Chapter 2

  “How about a little fucking gratitude, Cassandra?”

  Frank, my stepfather, glared at me across the white-linen table laden with breakfast food.

  I scowled right back. Honestly, nothing outside the norm for our exchanges.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said how about some fucking gratitude?” He nodded his chin at the phone in my hand, his eyes darkening. “I didn’t take us all down here for a vacation like this so that you could ignore your mother in favor of Snapchat or whatever in God’s name you deem more important right now.”

  It was the arrogance of the way he talked to me that always set me off. The arrogance and the way he had of twisting words and fact in his favor.

  Probably how he got my mother in the first place.

  Frank hadn’t brought us down here, my mother had. Well, her money had — the money my actual father left us before he’d passed years before. So for starters, it wasn’t like Frank had shelled out for an expensive island resort like this, goodness knows how much it cost.

  Secondly, Frank didn’t give a single shit if I ignored him. But any possible thing he could sniff out and find to drive between my mother and me, he took. It was as if he saw me as some sort of competitor that needed sidelining.

  Maybe it was because unlike my mom, I saw right through his smarmy fake-charm bullshit and saw exactly what he was: a grifter. A con man. A phony only after my mother for the insane wealth her first husband had left behind.

  Unfortunately, Mom didn’t see that part of him. Mom — aided by her newfound love of 11 a.m. cocktail hour, which was of course a new “Frank” thing — didn’t see that side of him at all.

  “I’m not ignoring my mother, Frank,” I spat back. “I’m also not twelve, just so we’re clear. So I’m actually on work stuff — for my career. Not snapchat.”

  “Well no one forced you to come down here and waste your time with us,” he grumbled.

  I rolled my eyes, ignoring him as I usually tried to as I turned to my mom. She smiled, raising her fourth mimosa of the morning and grinning a loopy grin at me. “We’re on vacation, Cassie! Wasn’t it nice for Frank to treat us?”

  I gritted my teeth. “He didn’t Mom. You did.”

  “What’s that dear?”

  “That’s enough,” Frank snapped. He reached over and took my mother’s hand before glaring at me again. “If you had so much work to do, why did you come here?”

  To be fair, he had a point. Even growing up with money like I had, I’d never wanted frivolity like this. The Caribbean island resort was probably close to ten-grand a night, and I even had my own cabana, which probably doubled that.

  Gross, right?

  People are starving all over the world, and there we were literally eating caviar and sipping champagne for breakfast at some insanely expensive resort in this beautiful, exotic locale.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong — the place was beautiful. White sands, crystal-blue water, palm-trees, thatched-roof cabanas with all the modern amenities wealth could buy? Yeah, amazing. The place could have even been pretty romantic.

  That is, if I had romance in my life.

  …I did not, in case that wasn’t clear. Not after my boyfriend of a year — Simon — skipped out on me along with my best friend two months before.

  Yeah, nice friend, right?

  Between that, the crazy amount of work I was taking on at the nonprofit I worked at, and the looming possibility of turning twenty-seven with not a single romantic prospect in my life, I’d said yes to the vacation.

  Even if it did mean putting up with Frank’s childish bullshit.

  “I came down to spend a little time with my mom, Frank,” I said thinly, reaching out and putting a hand over hers. “Right Mom?”

  “What’s that dear?” She smiled at me in that dazed way again — the way she had been for the last few months.

  “We’re going to spend some time together! Maybe go for a hike? Or some tennis, like we used to?”

  “Sounds fantastic, dear!” She laughed — more than necessary — before raising her empty glass to the waitstaff.

  Great.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. And as much as showy wealth like this always turned me off, being here was a change — one I probably needed if I was being honest with myself.

  Stressed-out me, drunk Mom, asshole stepfather.

  Not exactly the Disney post-card vacation, but it was a start.N

  Chapter 3

  My sour mood persisted through breakfast, through helping my mom back to her and Frank’s cabana for a “nap”, and through me heading back to mine to try and get some work done.

  I know, in a way, Frank had a point. I was on vacation. I knew it was stupid for me to be sitting on the steps of my cabana typing away on a laptop, even if the view here was incredibly better than my office. But then, with my mom passed out, it’s not like I had much else to do, or anyone to actually be on vacation with.

  I glared at the laptop screen before pulling my eyes up over the top of it and gazing out at the pristine beach.

  Oh screw it.

  I wasn’t admitting that Frank was right, but I did know me sitting there doing work in a place like this was some sort of sacrilege. I snapped the laptop closed, ducked back into my cabana, and started poking around my suitcase for my swimsuit.

  The waves felt amazing — tropical water crashing over me with just enough coolness to chase away the heat of the equatorial sun. I dove into one, coming up for air with a grin on my face and actually feeling more refreshed than I had in a long time.

  Maybe I needed this vacation.

  I padded back up the beach to my towel, mostly dry from the sun by the time I even got there. I looked up the beach towards the resort, spotting my mom and Frank’s cabana on the edge of the sand. I sighed, pulling the towel tight around my waist as I started to head that way. It’d been a few hours now — time to check on Mom after her morning happy hour.

  “Mom? You up?”

  I skipped up the wooden stairs to the luxury-suite cabana and reached for the doorknob.

  “Mom, are you-oh.”

  I froze, stopping short in the doorway at the sight in front of me.

  “Ever heard of knocking, Cassandra?” Frank hissed. He snapped the briefcase shut, shooting a quick glance at the man he’d been talking quietly with when I’d barged in.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “She went to get some lunch,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at me before shooting a quick glance at the other man — a dark-haired guy with an ugly scar running the length of his jaw. He was wearing a full suit,
which seemed out of place to the point of absurdity in a beach resort like this, even if it was an insanely expensive one.

  The man turned to me, his eyes slipping up and down my body, making me cringe and shiver in a not-so-nice way. He grinned, and I shivered again as I pulled the towel tighter around my waist and protectively crossed my arms over my bikini top.

  Frank cleared his throat, snapping my attention back to him.

  “I said she want to get some lunch, Cassandra. I’m in the middle of a meeting here.”

  Beyond the weirdness of Frank having a business meeting at a tropical resort, in his cabana, wearing a t-shirt and swim-shorts, with a guy who looked like a James Bond villain, there was the other thing.

  There was what I’d seen in that briefcase before he’d snapped it shut.

  Money. Lots of money, all cash.

  Frank awkwardly passed the briefcase to the man, who took it with a firm nod. “We’ll be in touch.”

  The creepy guy turned back to me, his eyes slipping over me again in a way that made my skin crawl. His lips parted in a slow, predatory, leering grin.

  “Be seeing you, sweetheart.”

  I shivered and stepped quickly to the side as he moved past me and out the door.

  “Knock next time you want to interrupt a business meeting of mine,” Frank grumbled, turning and heading to the bar against the far wall of the suite.

  I narrowed my eyes at his back as he started to pour himself a drink. “What are you up to, Frank?”

  He turned, taking a sip of his drink and glaring at me. “Business.”

  “All cash business?”

  “Leave it,” he snapped icily.

  “Mom know about your business?”

  He turned to me then, his eyes narrowing to slits as he stepped towards me. “I said, leave it.” He took a slow sip from his glass, his eyes locked on me over the rim. “Remind me why you even came along to this?”

  “Because my mom wanted me to, that’s why.”

  “So go bother her,” he muttered, turning away from me.

  “Relax, Frank, it’s only a few more days. You’ll be rid of me soon,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  “Not soon enough.”

  I snorted. “Excuse me?”

  “I married your mother, Cassandra. Not you.”

  “Oh, you mean you married my mother’s money, right, Frank?”

  He turned, a cold look on his face. “Enjoy the rest of your free vacation, Cassandra.”

  Chapter 4

  I skipped my mom’s invitation to dinner with her and Frank that night.

  I just couldn’t.

  I’d checked with her at the resort cafe after leaving the awkward run-in with Frank, where she was nibbling at a lunch salad and sipping chardonnay. And I did want to spend time with her, especially in a place like this. With me working in New York for the nonprofit, and her still back in L.A., it wasn’t like we got to spend all that much time together. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to stomach dinner that night, not with Frank there, and not after the weirdness I’d walked in on.

  Instead, I sat on the steps of my cabana again, sipping a gin and tonic I’d poured from the bar in the room,looking out over the moonlit ocean. For the millionth time — especially on nights like this — my thoughts wandered to Simon and Tina.

  That bitch.

  In a way, I knew I’d dodged a bullet. A guy like Simon was always going to leave like that in the end. The warning signs had been there for a long time before he actually had, but I’d ignored them for months. After all, if I ignored them, I could keep myself in the ignorance bubble. Things might not have been perfect, but they were…something.

  I rolled my eyes at myself at the thought. God, how pathetic did that make me sound?

  I took another sip of my drink, when suddenly, I realized I’d been hearing music, even if I wasn’t sure when it’d started. I sat up and glanced towards the thumping beats, further down the beach back by the main resort buildings.

  Whoa.

  There, out by the pool area, a whole dance-party of sorts seemed to have sprung up. Strobe lights, an elevated DJ booth, lasers, and pumping electronic dance music. The whole area was packed too. I could even see that from my cabana. Tanned, toned bodies in swimsuits and formalwear alike danced and swirled and moved to the throbbing beats.

  …And there I was, sitting by myself like a total dork, moping about being single.

  Screw it.

  I was on vacation, after all. I was single, in a place like this, and I had two choices. I could sit there drinking and feeling sorry for myself, and grumbling about my situation.

  Or I could go out and do something about it.

  After all, this place could be romantic, if I could find some romance — even if it was the temporary, “I’m on vacation so I can do this kinda thing” romance.

  A cheer went up from the crowd as the DJ slid into a new track, and I suddenly stood up, my mind made up.

  Yeah, time to do something about it.

  I hadn’t exactly packed “going out” clothes for this vacation, but I also didn’t think showing up in just my bikini was really me. Instead, I pulled together an outfit I decided looked appropriately “tropical nights” — a short, loose, black tank-top that showed off the mid-drift I’d put punishing hours on the treadmill for, and a wraparound sarong that I rolled to shorten to mid-thigh. Sandals, a loose tie for my long blonde hair, a bit of makeup, and I was ready.

  The music pounded as I slipped into the crowd of dancers, bodies grinding and swirling like this big rolling orgy of movement. I pushed my way through to the bar, grabbing another gin and tonic before turning to gaze out over the dance floor. My eyes flitted over them, the bare, sun-tanned skin, the hands in the air, the hips moving together, and the strobe lights flashing over the whole thing giving it this almost erotic feel.

  I was so caught up, in fact, with watching the mass of grinding bodies and flashes of skin that I never even realized he was looking at me until I looked up.

  And I was lost.

  Dark eyes, bronzed skin, thick dark brown hair, and a look on his face that got me warm in all sorts of places instantly. His lips pulled back in a strong, confident grin across his slightly scruffed jaw as our eyes locked.

  Caught.

  Definitely caught, and I was definitely not going anywhere as he effortlessly moved through the dancers, slipping easily past them all with his eyes locked on mine.

  I swallowed, realizing as he got closer that he was shirtless, and I felt a throb of heat flash into my face as I broke the stare to drag my eyes down over his torso.

  Holy cow.

  His face was gorgeous, but his body was a work of art. Broad, sculpted shoulders, a muscled chest, strong, powerful looking arms, and grooves down his abs leading right into the waist of that dangerously low-slung swimsuit.

  Um, yeah. This was the vacation night I needed. This was exactly what I needed, actually.

  “You’re staring.”

  I blinked, quickly swallowing as I glanced up into his eyes, blushing.

  “I was not.”

  “You were.”

  There was a hint of smile on his face — just a teasing upward twist to the corners of his lips. I lost control of my eyes again, letting them wander over those perfect muscles, and the lines of ink etched over at least half the skin I could see.

  And I could see a lot of it.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  My eyes snapped back to his, feeling the heat rush into my cheeks as that grin and those eyes lanced right through me.

  “I— no, I was just—”

  “It’s okay, darlin.”

  I gasped as he suddenly stepped even closer to me, his bare, muscled chest inches from me, the scent of him creeping into my senses.

  “Cause I was staring too.”

  I glanced up into his eyes, biting back a grin as I saw the cocky smirk on his face. “Oh really?”

  “Damn right,” he growled. Th
ere was something primal and animalistic about the way he growled it into my ear that sent a shiver through me.

  “And you liked what you saw enough to come over, huh?”

  God, this was not me. I never flirted, or teased, or toyed around like this. Hell, I never even really went to dance clubs at all, let alone made eyes with tall dark and handsomes across the room.

  “Wouldn’t have come over otherwise.” He grinned down at me, his dark eyes flashing. “But let’s go back to the part about you eye-fucking me.”

  I hooted out a laugh, grinning at his cheeky comment. “Wow, use that one a lot?”

  He frowned. “Use what?”

  “That line. On women.”

  “Only on the ones hot enough to make wade through a crowd of rich douchebags to get to so I can tell her I want to take her home and undress her piece-by-fucking-piece.”

  My heart jumped into my throat as the pulse of heat slid deliciously through my body. I blinked in shock at his crude words. Crude, and yet hot — bold and filthy like no man had ever spoken to me before.

  I swallowed the heat from my face as I tried to keep cool, forcing myself not to look like some sort of blushing dork and forcing myself to hold his gaze right back.

  “So, what, you’re not part of the crowd of rich douchebags? Sort of hard to believe given the price of staying at a resort like this.”

  “Nice.”

  “What?”

  “Nice job totally sidestepping the part where I just told you I wanted to take you home and tear your clothes off.”

  I shivered at his words and bit my lip. “Maybe I’m not the kind of girl who responds to filthy talk like that.”

  “Yes you are.”

  I gasped as he moved even closer, his hand moving to my hip — a move so bold I’d have never let a man I just met pull under any rational, clear-headed circumstance.

  Evidently, this was not one of those circumstances. I didn’t move. I didn’t push his hand away, or slap him, or tell him not to touch me.