Czech Mate Read online

  An image of her wearing just the pink feathers surfaced in his mind. He ran a slow glance down her long legs barely covered by her short black skirt. His gaze ended at her slim feet and his cock strained against his trousers. He inched his eyes upward. Without a doubt she would have to wear those sexy black-and-white dotted shoes with the straps caressing her slender ankles. His eyes continued to her breasts, his favorite part of a woman. Her nipples pressed hard against the thin red knit shirt. She didn’t wear a bra. His balls tightened.

  When she had bent over in the elevator and that miniscule skirt skimmed the cheeks of her naked ass, he squinted and leaned down to see better. Actually to see if he was accurate. And yes, he was. No panties. Just a shiny red strip nestled between her two firm butt cheeks.

  For the first time that he could recall, Dragan regretted not wearing undershorts. If he had broken his rule, then his cashmere trousers would not be teasing the head of his already beaded cock. He casually whisked the top of his hand across the cloth and hoped she thought he was brushing away a strand of lint, not checking for wet spots. Unfortunately the stroke made his cock harder. Walking down the hallway was not only impossible, but torturous.

  “Which broom closet am I to inhabit?” She laughed with the crystal ring of champagne flutes, a warm sound of which he could never tire.

  “I believe we are able to accommodate you in a slightly more spacious environment.” He pushed open his suite door and gestured for her to enter.

  Her sharp intake of breath filled the living room as her handbag spilled onto the thick carpet.

  “Holy shitta, Vic! I can’t afford this.”

  “Vic? Who is this Vic?” A sharp pang shot through him. He made a mental note to speak with the chef about the manner in which the luncheon had been prepared. The strange sensation in his stomach was from the fish. He refused to acknowledge any other explanation.

  “You know, your last name, Petrovic.” She waved her hand as if to erase his confusion. “Look at this place.” She spun around in a tight circle with her arms spread wide. A gasp filled the air. “Holy cats! You supply your guests with Jacuzzis in every bathroom?”

  Dragan nodded, pleased at her reaction, and switched on a table lamp.

  “Man, you’ve got the best of everything here.” She skimmed her fingertips along the arm of his striped sofa. “This little number had to have set you back a few bucks.”

  He frowned.

  “Sorry. In your case that would be koruna. That’s what your money’s called right?”

  He nodded, surprised at this strange and knowledgeable woman with a child’s enthusiasm on Christmas morning.

  “You know this won’t last very long. Your designer made a bad choice for couch fabric. This silk isn’t strong enough for daily use,” she called over her shoulder as she walked to the guest closet. “Spaness velvet in either all polyester or the poly and cotton blend. Definitely go with the blend for a hotel. It has the appearance of a silk, but much more durable. Resists stains, too. Your cleaning crew will love you.”

  He frowned as he picked at the loose threads on the seat cushion. Was this sexy magpie correct?

  She hung her bedraggled coat on a padded hanger and straightened the imitation fur as if it were ermine.

  “Mind you, I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just giving you an opinion.” She glanced at the window. “Another thing is those drapes. They shouldn’t be thick twill. Doesn’t go with the elegance of the sofa. That’s where you should have the silk, if you must. A lined Dupioni silk is elegant and luxury to the max. A beautiful fabric that’s normally woven from two different colors of thread and thicknesses. That allows the material to shimmer or change color with the light and creating a subtle luminescence. It’s a slubbed finish—kind of rough, with a slight sheen. You get the visual?” She looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “But don’t use it on furniture. The fabric has a tendency to wrinkle, even stretch, and you’ll never regain the proper shape.”

  He rubbed his head, confused by her rapid dissertation on fabrics and their correct usage. Now, if she were discussing computers…

  “Oops, I see I’m going over the edge here.” Her cheeks took on a rich red tone, and she dipped her head.

  “A designer friend suggested the furnishings.” He had the intense urge to comfort her and return the smile to her sweet face. “I accepted her advice and gave her carte blanch to do whatever was necessary.”

  Lacey cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Dragan swallowed hard, confused again. “It seemed like the correct thing to do at the time.”

  “Are all your rooms done in this same mode?”

  He thought for a moment. “Yes, I believe so. I have not examined the others.”

  Harrumph.

  Disapproval curled her lip. Guilt streaked through him, followed by heat flashing up his neck.

  She stooped to collect the items that had fallen from her handbag. He knelt and scooped up lipsticks, pens, and things he had no idea about, along with her passport. A light flipped on in his brain. He had not checked if the document was in order.

  Hotel owners can never be too secure, no matter how sexy the guest.

  He snatched the blue booklet off the carpet.

  “May I?” He leafed through the pages before she could protest and stopped when he came to her photograph. Her smiling face, alive in the small picture, held the hope and promise of the future. He glanced up, pleased to see her happy look had returned. “You are from Chicago?”

  She nodded. “Yup, been there all my life. You should come sometime.”

  “I plan to.” His cock stiffened again at the unintended double entendre. “And soon.”

  Lacey gulped. Reality time check. How the hell could she ever pay for a room in this hotel? Crap, she couldn’t even afford the broom closet. She squared her shoulders—time to hear the game plan.

  “Okay, big boy, lay it on me.”

  He blinked several times, a mask of confusion pasted across his broad face. She bit hard on the inside of her cheeks to hold back the laughter ready to bubble out.

  “What I mean is, how am I to pay you for all this?” She waved a hand at the décor Paris Hilton would love. “My credit card limit wouldn’t withstand a night’s stay here, even if I didn’t have a permanent ongoing balance.”

  “Do you have an evening gown with you?”

  Infuckingcredible.

  She slammed her hands on her hips.

  “Are you serious? I pour out my heart, explain what a financial fuck-up I am, and you’re worried about clothes?” The workings of a man’s mind would always be a mystery to her. Her cheeks burned. “To answer you, no, but there’s this nurse outfit in my lost bag you might enjoy.”

  He snorted and moved closer. His spicy aroma floated around her and created an ache she needed to control. She stepped back and walked to the window. Space was important until he set the parameters of his bargain. Staring down at the people below, she wondered if anyone else lived as screwed up a life. He must think she was lower than ant dirt.

  “The only thing required, and only if you wish, in return for the hotel services and room is to be my companion at a formal dinner this evening.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. His heat burned though her knit top. “Lacey, I am not a dirty old man as you Americans say. I would never exchange lodging or money for sex. That would make you a prostitute.”

  He spun her around in his arms. Warmth and kindness shone in his black eyes.

  “Vic, I don’t know what to say.” No one had ever been so considerate.

  “Nod if you are in agreement with my offer.”

  She bobbed her head until he caught her chin in his massive palm.

  “You should stop before you disconnect such a lovely part of you.” His eyes twinkled. “A neck collar
is not considered formal.”

  “Oh, Vic, I…” Her heart swelled with warmth and tenderness. She rose on her tiptoes, bracing herself on his broad shoulders, and laid a soft kiss on his firm mouth.

  A new degree of heat spread through her as he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her tight against his hard chest. She ran her hands through his hair. Electricity arced up her arms as the thick coarse strands slipped through her fingers. He deepened their kiss. His moist tongue pried her lips apart and he explored deep within. Marvelous tingles started in her abdomen, then traveled lower until they settled in her aching clit. She pressed her pelvis flush to his erection, but just as things were getting good, he pulled away.

  “Lacey, the dress.” His hands fell to his side.

  Her brain took a moment to catch up to his words. “Oh, yeah… Nope, nothing like what you have in mind.” She tugged him closer, missing his heat and intimacy.

  His left eyebrow shot up. “What is in my mind requires no clothing.”

  Her heart thudded.

  “Now behave. This is important. I will make arrangements with a friend to supply you with a gown. What is the size?”

  “An eight, but when the airline finally gets my other bag here, there’s a decent slacks and jacket combo that should work.”

  He shook his head. “This number you say means nothing to me. I must determine your dimensions to fit our European sizes for myself.”

  The prospect of him eyeing her body sent a jolt of electricity zinging through her.

  Get a grip.

  “Wait a minute.” Lacey sashayed to the suite foyer and toted her battered suitcase back to the living room. “Before you borrow an outfit for me, let’s see what I can piece together.”

  “The dinner is formal—tuxedos, gowns, no slacks for the ladies or pieced together anything.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, looking every inch formidable, yet sexy as hell.

  She sucked in a sharp breath and forced herself to concentrate. “I’d like to know what this event is and why you’re taking me instead of your girlfriend.” Maybe she was being sneaky to learn if he had a permanent bed partner, but Lacey didn’t need some irate Czech chick gunning for her.

  His grin spread, full and wide.

  “Most important, there is no girlfriend, who, for a man of my age, would be referred to as a companion.”

  She prayed a black hole would open and swallow her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  He held up his hand, palm out.

  “Now that that is out of the way, this dinner is hosted by the International Technological Association of Scientists. They are the convention held in Prague for this week. I am invited simply because their work interests me.” He looked everywhere but at her.

  Pretty strange reason to warrant an invitation.

  She unzipped her bag.

  “Since you are adamant, what is in your valise?” He pointed a thick finger toward her travel case as he walked closer.

  Chapter Three

  Lacey lifted out a teetering stack of silky looking items. Lingerie? A light blue bra encased with what must be rhinestones slid to the floor, quickly followed by matching bikini panties.

  “What are these?” Dragan knelt next to her. Blood pounded through his veins as he captured the delicate cloth in his hands.

  “My undies.” She continued to rummage, spilling more silken items onto the carpet.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Uncomfortable?”

  “Surprisingly, no.” She giggled. Her creamy skin took on a rosy glow as she dipped her head lower to the suitcase. “Damn it, where is it?”

  A vision of her dressed only in the intimate garments and those sexy high heels strapped to her ankles flooded his mind, sending jolts of electricity south.

  His stiff cock, which was its normal posture in her presence, swelled larger as she walked toward him. The throbbing head was anxious to be deep inside her and wrapped in her wet heat. The tips of her hard nipples shoved against the silky fabric of her bra. Their outline was a beacon to his aching member. His fingers itched to caress the soft mounds that rose over the miniscule rhinestone studded cups. He wanted to tongue her hard nipples Erotic sensations streaked through him as he imagined mounting her, and sliding his cock between their firm flesh.

  She stepped closer, drawing his attention lower to her shapely hips. He was mesmerized by their sway, the movement seductive, sensual, compelling him to taste her.

  The clear gems sprinkled across her sheer panties twinkled in the dim light. He licked his dry lips. The burning desire to kiss the lacey V at the apex of her thighs, suckle her clit through the thin material, and graze a finger along her folds brought sweat to his brow.

  She slid the bra straps down her shoulders. His heart thudded, banging against his ribcage. He stood—

  “Earth to Vic. Come in, Vic.”

  A hand shook his shoulder and slammed him into the present.

  “Um, you might want to let go, big time.”

  He glanced at his hands wadding her undergarments into a knot. Souložit. Fuck, what the hell could he say and not appear an old lecher? “I apologize. My mind must have taken a short vacation.”

  “Yeah, right.” She laughed. “Don’t even think I’ll buy that one, big guy.”

  Dragan smiled. Even in a dire situation she still enjoyed life enough to make amusing retorts. A wonderful asset more women should embrace. And even though she owned the sexiest lingerie he’d ever had the pleasure to fondle, Lacey Blake was not a whore. The lady had style. But time was short and he needed to move forward and not dwell on her attributes.

  He pursed his lips and was not sure how to best measure Lacey’s shapely body without appearing to molest her, especially after making a fool of himself over her delicate things. He did not trust himself to hold back and not wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she begged him to make love to her.

  Make love to her?

  Obviously that thought was formed wrong. Or was it?

  Kersati, how the hell could he have become so affected by this young woman in a matter of an hour? His hands fisted tight at his sides.

  “Do you have a tape measure?”

  He shook his head, not trusting the right words to travel past his lips.

  A grin spread across her face and carried to her bright hazel eyes, eyes that saw deep into his soul.

  “Then how do you plan to do this? String? Belt?” Her voice echoed the humor radiating from her face. “Silk scarves?”

  He raised his hands, the fingers spread wide as if he were testing melons in the market. Disgusted by his absurd action, he jammed them into his trouser pockets.

  Lacey shook her head. “Nothing’s going to happen if you don’t make it happen.”

  She reached for his wrists. When he dug them deeper into his pockets, she laughed. Souložit, his balls were drawn so tight they hurt.

  “Perhaps the solution is to take one of your dresses to Magda.” Magda was a genius at creating costumes. That will work! It has to work. Proud of himself for finding an easy answer, he stood a little straighter. “It is no problem. She will know how to match the size for a gown.”

  “Magda?” The smile dropped from her face, her lips drawn tight. “Not a companion, right? Just a friend? One you know well enough to borrow her clothes.”

  She folded her arms beneath her large breasts, as if offering them to him, until he focused on her expression. Fire shot from her eyes. He was grateful he was made of flesh and not wood, or he would have gone up in flames.

  “She is a longtime friend, and no, I do not borrow her clothes, at least not before. Magda designs costumes for the cinema producers who film in Prague.”

  Harrumph.

  He stifled his laugh, not wanting to create an argument wit
h a woman who looked like she would castrate him given any reason.

  “Anyhow, I can’t help you there…no dresses in this bag.” She patted the cracked leather.

  “What of this nurse uniform you mentioned?”

  “Ah, not going to work.” She shook her head and the last of her curls spilled out onto her shoulders.

  “Why not? It is much like a dress and must fit you. You have worn this garment.”

  Her laughter sang out on a sad note. “Yeah, but not for long.”

  Costume. What category of man would require props when he had Lacey in his bed? He stared at her and was pleased a blush crawled up her slender neck.

  Teeth gnashed together as he made a decision. “I will measure you myself.”

  Her eyes widened. She swiped her moist tongue over her full lips and held her arms straight out. His cock twitched as her rounded breasts pushed against her knit shirt, her stiff nipples poking toward him, separating the fabric until her brown points threatened to split the inadequate threads.

  He cleared his throat, stalling for time and to gain some measure of courage.

  Her eyes lit up, and a small smile curved her pink lips. “Maybe you should start with the length.”

  She took one step forward, then another, filling his space.

  “My, you are a tall stud.”

  Her upturned face barely reached his shoulder. His hand trembled as he glided it from her shoulder to his chest.

  “Should you be writing this down?” Her eyes twinkled, confirming the laughter in her voice. “You know, measure for measure so your friend will get the size right.”

  “I have an excellent memory.” Or at least he used to until this free-spirited woman came into his life.