Hooked Up: Book 3 Read Free Page A

of tea, no?
    “I have a plane to catch, I need to get back to Hampstead, then get my case and catch the tube to Heathrow,” I replied uneasily.
    “Hampstead? Alexandre usually stays at zee Connaught.”
    Sophie doesn’t know?? “I’m visiting a friend,” I said cagily. “Alexandre isn’t with me.”
    “My driver, he can take you to Hampstead and zen airport, okay? Save so much time. I have a friend in Hampstead I’ve been wanting to see forever. We go togezzer.” She linked her arm with mine and ushered me through the crowds, and out of Harrods. Her embrace was warm, and I wondered . . . was it me? Was I the one, all along, who had been spiky and defensive? Maybe Alexandre was right. Sophie has been trying to be my friend for months.
    I caused all that trouble for nothing. I wished, now, I could jump into a time capsule and travel back to the waiting private jet at Van Nuys Airport.
    But it was all too late.

ALEXANDRE
    T HE HOTEL DIDN’T have a gym, so I used one close by. I wanted to expend some of the pent-up, surplus energy I had, which was playing tricks with my brain, making me angry and quietly aggressive. I knew part of the reason was because I hadn’t had sex for nearly two weeks. It shouldn’t have affected me; I’d been without sex for long stretches before, when I was in the French Foreign Legion, but that was before I met Pearl. She was imprinted on my brain. I tossed and turned at night, smelling her, hearing her sweet voice, feeling that silky soft skin, dreaming of fucking her. Hearing her whimper when she came, the tears that would fall when her orgasm was so intense she couldn’t believe it was true.
    After the gym I showered then checked my cell to locate Pearl’s whereabouts. A rush of adrenaline spiked my veins; she was at James and Laura’s house! What the fuck? Not only was Laura playing games with me, but she was obviously fucking with Pearl, too. Regret washed over me—I should have warned Pearl—told her how dangerous Laura was. She must have called Pearl again, after the “Sophie is a killer call,” to set up some sort of meeting. I dashed over to my hotel to grab the box of books and set off in the direction of Chelsea. Finally, I could deal with the problem in situ. I’d confront Laura with Pearl right there; Laura’s lies would be etched across her face, and Pearl would believe me. We could be rid of Laura, once and for all; face the music together as a couple. I hailed a cab and jumped in, urgently giving the taxi driver Laura’s exclusive Chelsea address.
    I thought back to my code; treating women with respect at all times, no matter how unhinged they were. Bad idea. I should have told the lot of them to fuck off a long time ago. Laura, Claudine, even Indira. After the way my father treated my mother, I swore I’d always be gentle with women in every circumstance—the idea of being like him in any way disgusted me. But my kindness wasn’t paying off; it had got me in a tangled web with a whole lot of Black Widow spiders out to gobble me up.
    “Can you please step on it—don’t mean to be rude but I’m in a hurry,” I said to the driver, who was chatting away in his Cockney accent about immigration.
    “No problem, gov. It’s those bastard eastern European scum and the like. Vey come ’ere expectin’ work, stealin’ jobs from decent British citizens. Arf of ’em ’av illegal, dodgy businesses, drugs, prostitution and ve like—vey really are ve scum of ve earf.” They really are the scum of the earth, I finally realized he was saying.
    “Is there a shortcut?” I suggested.
    At first he thought I was engaging in conversation so I repeated, “Can we get there any faster? It’s an emergency.”
    He swerved to the right and took a narrow street through the back of Belgravia. “Are you Rumanian, or sumfing?”
    “No. French.”
    “Like a few frogs legs, do ya? Snails?” He laughed at his joke.
    Finally we arrived. I shoved too many pound notes in the