Play it Filthy (Kings of the Tower Book 4) Read online

  These people…they seemed to have it all, and then some. He felt lost and confused. How did they manage it?

  "He doesn't like it," Ryn said, pouting.

  He laughed. "I love this place. It just makes me feel pretty old." And very single.

  All of a sudden, he remembered his conversation with Hester earlier.

  The words that left his mouth surprised even him.

  “Hester knows about it. Is she a member?”

  Desmond laughed. “Technically. I’ve given her a membership so she could reach me when I’m here, but it’s not her thing.”

  Ryn snorted. "You have no idea what Hester's thing is. She just doesn't mix business with pleasure. Ever. I don't think I've ever seen her with her hair down. She makes the rest of us look like slobs."

  Ryn was the kind of woman who couldn't look like a slob if she tried, and Edmund told her so.

  "You're such a charmer. Come, let's have a drink."

  Within half an hour, Edmund decided that Desmond King wasn't an asshole at all, so long as his better half was in the room.

  He made his excuses after one drink, rather joining the melee around him. Edmund was hard, and horny as fuck, but the woman he wanted wasn't anywhere in this tower, so he got back to his hotel room and used his hand in the shower, thinking about red lips, large brown eyes, and long blonde hair in a ponytail.

  Chapter 12

  Hester woke up at five, about an hour before her alarm, and started her usual routine. There was a Zumba class on Thursdays; she tried that rather than her normal yoga one, and got to the office at eight thirty, a little later than usual, but still a lot earlier than she should. She spent most of her morning on the phone with Italy to round out the details about the purchase of a new harbor; it looked like they were going to make a decent profit on the deal, as the seller was willing to go down to two hundred thousand euros, and Edmund hadn't flinched at four hundred. She winced, feeling a little guilty about profiting quite so much from a guy who just wanted to give his grieving mom a present. She shrugged it off. It was just business, and Edmund could obviously afford it.

  By eleven, she was calling his cell.

  "Three hundred. We'll just sell the harbor for three hundred thousand dollars, all right?"

  Ed laughed on the other end of the line. "Hi, Hester, how are you doing? Yeah, me too. Great day."

  "We'll profit plenty enough at three hundred."

  "I've already said yes to four and your team has sent me the paperwork."

  Dammit. She should have checked with Claudia before calling him. "Oh. Sorry. I was just—I checked on the harbor we're going to buy, and it looked like we sort of screwed you on this deal."

  "You can screw me any time. Really."

  Well, she'd walked right into that one.

  "So, Desmond and Ryn took me out last night. That certainly was enlightening. And it explains so much about your twitchiness. You're not into bonds and ropes, I take it?"

  She laughed awkwardly. "I was calling for a business matter, Edmund. I'm working."

  "You were being a sweetheart and calling to save me money. That counts as a personal call. Take it off your allotted coffee break time or something."

  Her nose twitched.

  "That's not how this works."

  "How does it work, then, Hester?" he asked. "I can follow the rules if I know what they are."

  She hadn't expected him to sound quite so considerate.

  "I'm working nine to five every weekday. I don't like distractions during those times."

  "Even during your lunch breaks?"

  "They're generally working lunches, so, yes. Even if I'm eating by myself—I don't like to have my head out of the game during working hours."

  "Understandable," Edmund replied. "All right, anything else?"

  "I don't like the idea of being—seen after hours with a business partner. That's unprofessional."

  "No unprofessionalism whatsoever. What else?"

  "I have a personal mobile phone. I'd prefer to use that for nonprofessional interactions."

  "Text me from it. Anything else?"

  Why was he being so very accommodating all of a sudden?

  "That's it."

  "All right. Saturday night, my suite. Room service. They have an excellent menu."

  "And cheesy chips."

  He chuckled on the other end of the line. "And that, too." After a pause, Edmund said, "I've been dreaming about getting you up there all to myself all week, Hester Hall."

  She laughed. "Yeah, right. Let's not pretend this is anything more than what it is, Ed. Good fun."

  "Yes, I expect we'll have a lot of fun, you and I. Now, I have to get back to work, and so do you. Talk to you after five."

  Hester was astonished that Edmund did, in fact, leave her alone until five, and even more shocked that exactly at five o'clock, her generally silent old phone displayed a new text from him.

  She unlocked the screen.

  "I'm curious. Why did you think I'd lose interest in you after checking out the Tower?"

  She rolled her eyes.

  "Like that isn't obvious."

  "Evidently, it isn't."

  He was going to get her to spell it out, wasn't he?

  "There are hot models, and actresses, and singers, all after a good time."

  "And you believe that you're not as worthy of interest as said hot models, actresses, and singers. My shrink would have a lot to say about that. Fortunately for you, he's not on the continent."

  She started to type. "I don't think that I'm a lesser person. I just know they're a lot more…"

  Her fingers stilled. More what, exactly? She erased the message, and replaced it by, "Whatever."

  "Defensive. To tell you the truth, I had a thing with an actress, once. Never again. She turned me off the entire industry. I'm certain some of them aren't drama queens, but I have PTSD. As soon as I hear 'actress', I lose my boner. Serious issue."

  They chatted seamlessly for the rest of the evening, and the following day.

  Hester finished at two on Fridays; with Desmond's approval, she spent the afternoon volunteering at a youth club in Brooklyn, close to the group home where she'd spent most of her childhood. Back in the day, she'd spent most of her free time in the streets before that club was founded by the neighborhood parents. Now, giving some of her time there was important to her. Desmond used to overwork her, treating her like she was some sort of a robot, and she hadn't complained, because the paycheck was worth it, but sometime around when he started to date Ryn, he stopped to look at Hester's schedule and made modifications. He let her hire her own assistant and considerably lightened her load. He even gave her the apartment so close to Kings and Knights to limit her commute.

  Hester had always had a knack for math; she tutored some kids until five, when she taught a simple yoga class.

  She ignored her phone until seven, and found three messages waiting for her.

  "Another meeting with the family. Joy."

  "What are you up to?"

  "Done for the day."

  The last one had been sent about an hour ago. She replied, "I told you I was busy on Fridays."

  "Anything fun?"

  "Volunteering. Honestly, it's rewarding, but between that and a full week at the office, I always crash right after. My bed is beckoning me."

  "Lucky bed. Where do you volunteer?"

  She generally felt quite self-conscious when she talked about her upbringing, but Edmund was equally curious about every subject they'd attacked, and he'd never said anything close to judgmental, so she told him about growing up in the city, and the club, and what she did for it now. She even revealed how she and a bunch of the kids she'd grown up with funded a small scholarship they gave to one Brooklyn kid every year. It ate into her income quite a bit, but she pointed out it was tax deductible.

  To her surprise, instead of answering by text, Edmund called her for the first time since Thursday mid-day.

  Chapter 13
r />   Volunteering. The damn woman was volunteering at a youth center. The cherry on top was that she thought to point out that her financial donations were deductible for tax purposes. Edmund laughed to himself, making a mental note to avoid introducing her to his mom, or Cici, for that matter. If they ever met her, they'd get on his case until he got down on one knee and carried her ass off into the sunset. The woman was that fucking perfect.

  He started a few texts, but ended up just calling Hester in the end.

  "I have a few theories crossing my mind. One involves aliens sending spies mimicking human behavior to blend in. Gotta say, if that's the case, your parasite kinda sucks. Or it could be a sort of Stepford-wife scenario, in a business suit rather than an apron."

  She laughed on the other end of the line. "Aliens. Wow. I think you missed your calling; you should totally write sci-fi shows."

  "Exactly what an alien would say, arguably. Or you could just be an angel."

  She shot back, "I sense a terrible pickup line in the works."

  "Don't need one. I've already got a hot date."

  Which did, of course, raise one question: why was he talking to her quite so much? It certainly wasn't his usual M.O., but the woman entertained him as much as she attracted him.

  "Do you, now? How presumptuous of you. Maybe I'm just after your fries."

  "Possible. I'll have to be persuasive in my endeavor to seduce you."

  His phone rang, displaying Alice Trent's number.

  "I gotta dash. Talk to you later."

  "I'll probably be asleep," she replied. "Tomorrow, then."

  "Tomorrow," he repeated, before regretfully picking up his aunt's call. "Mrs. Wright-Trent," he said formally, greeting her like the stranger she was. "What can I do for you?"

  "You know very well what you can do for us, Edmund. Our lawyer has gone through Malcolm's will. It is outrageous."

  "I agree. If I were in his shoes, I certainly wouldn't have been quite so generous with you. Look, you were bigoted and judgmental, and you paid the price. Neither you nor I can change that will."

  "A decent man wouldn't keep the majority of the company for himself while the rest of his family gets breadcrumbs!"

  He'd had variations of that conversation with the various siblings all week. Sometimes they begged, sometimes they threatened. They always ended up hanging up angrily after a while. Edmund was only indulging them because he needed them to sign their inheritance; the estate was frozen until all major parties signed off.

  Cici would sign before the funeral; her four siblings pointblank refused to, for now. Edmund knew they'd crack eventually: if they didn't give in, they couldn't touch their one percent. From what his research showed of their finances, they couldn't afford to drag their heels for too long. They'd lived a lavish life, spending more than they ought to, fully expecting a large pay-off after Malcolm's death. The first quarter of the year would end next week; if they hadn't signed by then, they weren't going to get paid for another three months. Edmund doubted they could afford the wait.

  When he'd arrived in NYC, he'd hoped that the matter could be settled as soon as possible. Now, he wished he could slow down time. Get to spend a little more time with a certain enticing blonde he was either calling, texting, or thinking about.

  He didn't even know Hester, but he had a feeling he would miss her when he returned home.

  Edmund found himself looking through his workload, checking on his schedule for the next few months. A lot of traveling, meetings all around the globe, phone calls. But how much time did he actually need to spend at the office?

  He already knew the answer to that. Not much. In England, he spent most of his time at home, away from London; he only had to make it to town once a month, if that. And if he worked remotely in any case, who said he couldn't do it from here? London, like the rest of the world, was just a first-class plane ride away. Ed had no issue sleeping on planes; he traveled so often he was used to it. He could stay for a while, get to know her.

  Shaking his head to get the ludicrous idea out of his mind, he headed out of the hotel to catch some air. Stay here? In New York? No way. He couldn't imagine living in any city for an extended period of time, and who made major decisions like that after knowing a girl for less than a week?

  He was just being stupid.

  Finding a small Italian restaurant, Ed ate quietly, reading a book on his phone. He was halfway through his entree when he noticed the woman who was visibly trying to catch his eye from the bar. She was having cocktails with a handful of friends.

  She was a beauty, with large breasts and come-to-bed eyes; just his type. Edmund didn't think Hester had large breasts, although he couldn't tell, as he'd only seen her in a suit, quite unlike the dress poured over the brunette with the martini.

  She was visibly open to some fun, and Edmund was quite free to accept the invitation, just like he'd been free to play with anyone at the Tower the previous evening.

  And exactly like yesterday, he found that he didn't feel like it. No, he was looking forward to Hester Hall, and no one else would do.

  Shit. What was wrong with him?

  Chapter 14

  That Saturday, the time passed at a snail's pace. Ed found himself wishing he'd invited Hester for breakfast rather than dinner. He ended up shutting himself in the study of his suite and working; the hours generally flew by when he was immersed in a planting project. Not today. Dammit. He found himself checking his clock a dozen times.

  Finally, at six, he called the front desk to advise them to send Hester up to him when she arrived. He also asked them to deliver some champagne at six-thirty, before heading to the shower.

  The knock on his door came sooner than he'd expected it, interrupting his shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door. Instead of a hotel worker, he was standing in front of a vision. Hell yes. Now he realized just why he hadn't felt a pull toward the brunette in the tight dress the previous night. Hester was in casual clothing, wearing a dark pair of jeans that made her legs look endless and a red top under an open leather jacket. Her blonde hair, instead of being tightly tied at the back of her head, fell in messy curls all around her face. The brunette didn't compare. This woman was everything.

  Hester's gaze started at his eyes and dipped to his torso, then his towel, before going back up, slowly. She stepped into his suite.

  "You're early."

  "And so very glad I am." Her gaze roamed over him, hungry. "All right," she said as she passed by his side. "Consider me convinced."

  Edmund closed the door.

  "Convinced?" he repeated, still somewhat dazed by her appearance. She was beyond hot today.

  "To stay for more than cheesy chips," she elaborated, stepping closer to him, and pressing her lips to his torso without raising her head; they landed right on his collarbone, sending waves of electricity through his skin.

  Holy shit. His dick made a tent in the towel, poking her right between the thighs. "Why, hello there."

  "Fuck, Hester."

  "Please do."

  She hooked her index finger into his towel and pulled, without looking away from his eyes.

  Edmund vaguely wondered if anyone had ever taken control like that, but the next moment, she got to her tiptoes and planted her lips on his. Then he couldn't think of anything at all, except kissing her again, and again, and again, while his hands touched everything they could reach, pulling clothes off her. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, not letting go.

  He only came up for air when the doorbell rang again.

  Hester chuckled. "Will they go away if we ignore them?"

  "Probably not. That'd be the champagne."

  She pouted adorably as he retrieved his towel from the floor and grabbed a twenty from his wallet on the table beside the door, before opening it.

  "Thank you, here's your tip. Bye."

  Bucket of ice in hand, he closed the door as fast as he could, and turned back to find that Hester had finally left th
e entryway, walking into the suite. She was sitting on the sofa, having shed all of her clothes except for her lingerie. Black lace. Edmund hoped he wasn't drooling.

  "You're so fucking sexy," he told her, in the unlikely event that she wasn't aware of that.

  "Why, thank you. Now if you wouldn't mind undoing that silly piece of cloth? I'd like to resume my ogling."

  He obliged with a laugh, felling quite good at the way she followed him with her eyes. Edmund took his time finding flutes, opening the bottle, and pouring them champagne.

  He went to her and handed her a flute. Hester took it in her left hand and crooked her finger to beckon him forward with her right. He took one step, then another one, slowly, to give her a chance to say if he'd misunderstood her. But now he was standing right in front of her on the sofa, his cock at the level of her face. She downed the entire contents of her glass before setting it on an occasional table, slid to the edge of the sofa, and circled his waist with her hands, palming his butt, before wrapping her delightful mouth around his cock, and sucking, hard.

  Ed groaned, all the blood in his brain traveling downward. His cock twitched in her wet hole. Her head went back, she released his length, and her tongue dipped out to tease his tip. She licked the bottom, removing her left hand from his butt cheek to seize his dick, and pumped it up and down as her mouth explored him. In good time, she wrapped him in her mouth again and sucked, and blew, slowly, in rhythm with her hand. His balls tightened, he sucked in air between his teeth, unable to say or think a coherent word.

  "I'm..." Shit. "I'm gonna..."

  Her pace increased and she sucked harder, faster, her mouth becoming wetter and impossibly hotter. He came with a low guttural growl he didn't think he'd ever heard.

  Holy shit. How had that happened so fucking fast?

  His blurry vision slowly focused again. Edmund remembered how the speaking thing was supposed to work. "You're dangerous, Hester."