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“The room was clean, but from his track record—”
“Oh my god, I think I’m going to be sick.” Sophie started hyperventilating, she bent forward, head between her knees. Derek rushed to her side. Kneeling on the floor, he dragged her into his arms and cradled her on his lap. He whispered words of comfort, words promising that he was going to keep her safe.
In truth, Derek was chilled to his bones. The perversion of one Justin Bishop knew no bounds. He was one sick motherfucker.
* * *
The limousines started pullinginto the driveway of Larkspur Manor in McClean for the Robinson fundraiser. The only time Jack and Derek would use a chauffeur-driven limo was when they attended formal events. The DC society pages frequently gabbed about the dangerous MDI boys as being “too macho” to hire a driver despite the billions the company made. A recent picture of Derek and the overturned Escalade hit a gossip column and reiterated it was probably time for him to hire a driver and become a respectable, mainstream executive.
Not in a million years.
Derek got out of the limo and waved his driver away. Making his way up the marble staircase, he fell in step at the receiving line. He spied Jack and Maia already working the room.
“Lockwood!” Senator Robinson boomed in greeting, grasping his hand in a firm handshake and giving him a hearty thump on the back. “Couldn’t stay out of trouble, could you?”
“Crazy drivers on the Beltway, Senator.”
“Maybe Congress can do something about that,” the senator joked.
“Much appreciated, Sir,” Derek replied, deadpan.
“Your man, McCord and his lovely wife are already inside. Enjoy the evening. I’ll be in touch with you boys next week on some matters for the Senate Intelligence committee.”
“Anytime, Senator.”
Derek graciously shook hands with the senator’s wife and was thankful that Layla was not in the receiving line. He turned his attention to the luxurious ballroom where the usual sight of silk covered chairs and tables were graced with an elaborate centerpiece. A ten-thousand dollar a plate affair, further money was raised at the silent auction later in the evening. The money from the auction usually benefited the senator’s favorite charities. Time to play the politically-correct businessman.
Two hours later,Derek stood back from the crowd, leaning languidly on a massive marble column while observing the festivities of the Robinson fundraiser. He checked his watch. It was almost 10:00 p.m. Normally by this time, he would already have picked out his woman for the night, sexed her up with some dirty talk and in another hour they would be on their way to a hotel room.
This time though, he was keeping an eye on Blackstone. Maia waylaid Christopher earlier and talked to the man for about twenty minutes. Blackstone seemed to be taken with her, as most men were when she turned on the charm. After their conversation, she looked at Derek and shook her head. Nothing. Jack was up. His friend had cornered the man at the bar, and he was clearly not out to charm him. Their conversation seemed to have turned heated. Derek made a move to intervene before his friend actually took a swing at the older man. Jack had no patience for the likes of Christopher Blackstone, and Derek was annoyed that Sophie treated him like a beloved uncle or an old friend.
He caught a whiff of her cloying perfume before he actually saw her. Layla Robinson. She was dressed with one thing in mind. To seduce. Derek’s eyes flickered appreciatively over her voluptuous female form. Her generous breasts were barely covered by the plunging V of her neckline, while a slit on one side of her gown went clear up almost to the top, exposing a shapely leg. If Jessica Rabbit were human, she would be Layla Robinson. She was indeed a beautiful woman, however, at the moment, she didn’t do a thing for him.
“Derek? Dance?” Layla breathed in a sultry voice.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Layla,” Derek said tightly.
She stepped closer and brushed her lips on his. “Please. For old times sake?”
Before Derek could say no, Layla took his hand and led him to the dance floor. Just his luck, the orchestra started playing a slow number. Derek had a sneaking suspicion that Layla had planned this. She pressed her body close to his, more than what was required with the dance. Derek always used dancing as a way to seduce his next conquest, but Layla was not in his sights tonight. His thoughts were on Sophie. He had left her at the AGS bunker with Beth and had planned to pick her up after the fundraiser. He couldn’t stand to be away from her even for a single night.
“Can’t you even focus on me?” Layla said with irritation. “It was good between us, Derek.”
Derek stared down at the glamorous face before him. Nothing. Sophie was who he wanted. As if sensing his disinterest, Layla’s hand went between them and stroked the front of his trousers. Repulsed by her maneuver, Derek caught her hand and pulled her off the dance floor. He dragged her into one of the deserted hallways.
He put two hands on her shoulders and backed her into a wall. He leaned in and said, “There is no us, Layla. There never was. We fucked each other, that was all there was between us. Sex. I’m with Sophie now. Get that through your damned head.”
Derek tried to hide his disgust from his face, but he must have failed miserably because Layla’s face jerked in surprise, tears filling her eyes before she fled through one of the exits.
“Goddamn it!” Derek cursed. What would he need to do? Layla wouldn’t clue in. He was more than frank at the cafe, and she still thought Sophie was a passing fancy. She wasn’t. For the first time in his life, he was contemplating a future with one woman. It terrified him, but the thought of losing Sophie terrified him more.
He needed a drink.
* * *
Justin watchedthe shapely woman sobbing by the terrace outside Larkspur Manor. He couldn’t believe his luck. Derek Lockwood was making it too easy for him. He walked up to Layla Robinson and handed her a handkerchief.
“Fuck off,” Layla hissed.
