Free Eyes Wide Open by Lucy Felthouse Page B

implication sank in. If they had a suite, then they weren’t just successful, just well off. They were filthy rich. Again, she asked herself why the hell they were talking to her. And—if she hadn’t gotten it totally wrong—flirting with her a little, too.
    “Oh yeah,” Logan said. “We always have a suite. We take up quite a lot of room.” It was then she noticed that he’d almost finished the Jack Daniel’s and Coke he’d bought. “And it certainly helps that the suites are soundproofed.” He let out a bark of laughter and grinned over the table at James, who returned the smile, but his looked forced—more like a grimace.
    Clearing his throat, James returned his attention to a confused Fiona. “So, where are we currently on the interesting scale? Do I need to start dancing on the table?”
    Tutting, she replied, “That sort of behavior wouldn’t be allowed in here, either. I dunno… You’re somewhere between ‘quite’ and ‘very’, I guess.” Then her curiosity got the better of her. Dead cats be damned . The hotel was enough off the beaten track that traffic noise wasn’t an issue. “How about this? If you tell me why having a soundproofed suite is such a good thing, I’ll let you buy me another drink.”
    The men glanced at each other, and James glared at Logan momentarily, before altering his expression to a charming smile. “Oh.” He waved a dismissive hand. “That’s nothing interesting, I’m afraid. He snores.”
    Logan’s resultant indignation and spluttering told Fiona everything she needed to know. “No way! If that were true, why would Logan have mentioned it with a big grin on his face? People don’t publicize the fact that they snore—much less to the extent that soundproofing is necessary. Come on. What is it? Wild parties? Loud music?” She lowered her voice. “Crazy monkey sex with supermodels? Swinging from the chandeliers?”
    After several seconds of silence, in which the two men alternately shared uncomfortable eye contact and finished their drinks, Fiona thought perhaps she’d gone too far, been over-familiar. But then, they’d been the ones that had wanted the conversation in the first place and had agreed to volunteer information. They only had themselves to blame if she’d unearthed the truth about their kinky sex games or whatever.
    Something didn’t quite make sense. She’d only ever seen the two of them together, not with anyone else. And yet they were neither confirming nor denying that they had orgies in their luxury suite. Unless their orgies took place with people much more interesting than supermodels… Maybe they were involved in a full-on sex scandal? Married women, royals, dignitaries… In a place like this, with clientele like this, the possibilities were endless. Particularly since she defied any straight woman to turn these two down—or even one of them. She certainly wouldn’t.
    “Well,” James said, standing and shooting a meaningful look at his friend, who also slid back his chair and got to his feet. “It’s been really lovely talking to you, Fiona, but I think we’re going to call it a night. Would you like us to walk you back to your room?”
    “No,” she snapped. “That won’t be necessary, particularly as we’re not done here. You”—she waved her index finger between the two of them—“started this. You took us down this path, and now you won’t answer me. You’re forgetting I have a wild imagination, so if I’m not right about orgies or supermodels, then what the hell are you two up to? Something illegal? Drugs? Porn? People trafficking?” Panic made her brain spin with the possibilities. “Is that why you’re loaded? The bloody property development malarkey is just a front for your more nefarious activities, is it? Christ, and here was me thinking there was only a certain type of clientele that frequented this place!”
    She got up too, only she shoved her chair back so hard it fell over. Not bothering to pick