Home > A Million Guilty Pleasures (Million Dollar Duet #2)(3)

A Million Guilty Pleasures (Million Dollar Duet #2)(3)
Author: C.L. Parker

Every time we played this game, I never got my Coke. Dez, however, always got her cock—without my help.

Dez was dressed head to toe in black on black. Well, mostly. Black skinny jeans, black turtleneck, black snakeskin boots. A skull belt buckle adorned the center of her low-slung hip huggers, and she was wearing a black cap embroidered with yet another skull just over her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

I tackled my best friend, wrapping my arms around her torso and pinning her arms to her sides. “Oh my God! I’ve missed you so much!” It wasn’t until she was right in front of me that I realized just how badly.

“Get off me, Hulkette! Damn, what are they feeding you here, steroids?” she asked, trying to wriggle out of my hold.

I turned her loose, realizing my hug was probably borderline bone-shattering, and stepped aside to invite her in. “What’s with the Mission: Impossible getup?”

“I’m breaking you out.” She turned to look me over once again with an approving smile. “Boyfriend sure did trick you out, huh? Look at you with the little red minidress, Slutty McSlutterson.” Then she suddenly gasped, her eyes going wide. “You have been thoroughly scrogged! Spill!”

I felt my face go red. “What? No!”

“Yes, you were, Lanie Talbot! Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I think I know that just-been-fucked look.”

I wanted nothing more than to gush to my best friend, but I needed to catch up to Noah, and Dez’s arrival was keeping me from doing that. Speaking of … “Wait, what do you mean you’re breaking me out?”

“I mean get your shit and let’s go. I’m on a covert mission to bail your ass out of sex-slave prison,” she said, and then looked around in awe. “Although I don’t really see how you could exactly call these digs a prison. This is a freakin’ palace!”

“Okay, seriously. Why are you here, and how did you know where I was?”

Dez rolled her eyes. “You said Noah Crawford bought you, and it didn’t dawn on me at first, but then it hit me like a whore getting bitch-slapped by her pimp in a dark alley: Noah Crawford of Scarlet Lotus. Right? I mean, how many Noah Crawfords can there be in the world, much less in this corner of the country, with enough money to pay two million little cha-chings for his own personal little oh-yes-daddy-milk-me-papi?” she asked with all the great acting skills of a porn star destined for the not so silver screen.

“Yes, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re here, insisting on breaking me out. I’m fine, and really, it’s not exactly like I’m a prisoner. Noah treats me very good.”

My best friend took a deep breath and sighed. “I have something to tell you, sweetie,” she started. She never called me sweetie unless she was about to lay something heavy on me. My heart jumped into my throat and tried to claw its way out.

“Faye has taken a turn for the worse. She’s been admitted to University Hospital, and they’ve called in the family. I promised Mack I’d get you there. It doesn’t look good, babe.”

Just then the front door opened and Polly bounced over the threshold. “Good morning, Lanie!” she greeted me in her usual bubbly voice as if my whole world hadn’t been turned upside down mere seconds before. The smile immediately dropped from her face once she saw my expression. “Oh, God. What’s wrong?”

My chest constricted like an anaconda was squeezing the life out of it in preparation for swallowing it whole. “Noah was right. My parents do need me more than he does.”

David

My head hurt. Hurt like I’d been sucker-punched by an I beam that had fallen from twenty stories up. Or maybe it was more like one of those chandeliers on the Titanic—or, hell, even the Titanic itself.

And my mouth tasted like ass.

I cracked one eyelid open and surveyed the damages. Usually when I woke up like this, there was always one or two, maybe even three whores that I needed to get rid of fast before they got too clingy.

Thank God I was in my office at Scarlet Lotus alone. I guess that cunt Julie had taken the hint when I’d told her to get the fuck out last night. At least I thought I’d told her to get out. I remembered fucking her in the ass, because hell yeah, I had to take that trip down memory lane. Too bad Crawford hadn’t been there to see it. The look on his face when he’d seen Julie was my date to the ball had been priceless, although not as priceless as it could have been. No doubt because the lucky bastard had had Miss Delaine Talbot on his arm. I should probably say she’d had him on her arm, literally. That cuff bracelet she’d worn had said it all—he’d marked her as his personal property. Which cinched the fact that I had to have her. I just needed to get my game plan together. After our informative conversation the night before, it was obvious she actually had feelings for my ex of a best friend. But even if she hadn’t, nabbing a woman like Delaine Talbot was going to take more than empty promises and a fat bank account. Not surprisingly, that was all it had taken with Julie.

I stretched and felt every glorious muscle in my awesomeness of a body groan in protest. One thing was for damn sure: the cushy leather couch that I’d had imported from Italy wasn’t doing anything for my back. Too much fucking in my short lifetime had really done a number on it. But hell, as long as I was good at producing the orgasms, I was going to keep doing it. My orgasms, not theirs. Hey, I never gave any guarantees.

I willed my head to stop pounding as I sat up and stretched some more, hoping to get some of the kinks out of my neck and back. Goddamn, I was sore. My head started spinning, but after a moment or two I was able to get the floor to stop moving long enough to stand. Putting one foot in front of the other, I made a zigzag line to my bathroom—admittedly, I was still a little drunk—and grabbed the bottle of painkillers I kept in the cabinet. After popping one in my mouth, and then another for good measure, I ran cold water in my cupped hands and drank out of them.

When I looked in the mirror, I beamed at myself. Any other motherfucker who’d had the same night I had would look like shit, but not me. I always looked good. I reached for the toothbrush that I kept there, because I had a pretty fucking smile that had to be maintained, and made my pearls gleam before jumping in the shower. After toweling off, I headed to my personal closet to grab a fresh set of threads. Yeah, I kept a wardrobe there.

The shower sobered me up quite a bit, which was a good thing because I had a very important appointment that I needed to keep and I needed to be fresh. One glance at my Rolex let me know that I still had plenty of time.

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