Иностранец. Становление. Игорь Шелег

I won’t be staying too long at your place, though,” Seven said, making a sudden decision. “I’ll get my own soon. But before I get too settled here, I need to take care of a few financial things.”

      Most of his money was at a bank in England. He needed to set up accounts in the U.S. and arrange for his last check from the Bank of Arab Emirates to be sent there.

      “That’s the last thing you should worry about. I know a money guy who can help you with whatever you need.”

      A money guy, huh? Seven thought briefly about refusing Marcus’s help. Although Seven’s finances were very much in the black, in just a few short days of knowing the American billionaire, he’d received commissions worth almost three times what the bank in Dubai had paid him for the piece in their lobby. A man who made that happen probably knew a thing or two about multiplying and sheltering a fortune.

      “Okay,” he said. “I’ll meet with your guy.”

      “Cool.”

      “Marcus, baby!” The sloe-eyed woman from across the room had apparently gotten tired of sending her kisses long-distance. She grabbed Marcus’s arm. “It’s time for you to tuck me in.” She grinned, all tiny teeth and bountiful cleavage.

      Seven held up his hands. “Go ahead. I won’t keep you from your duties.”

      Marcus tossed a grin his way before walking off with the woman toward the sleeping quarters belowdecks. Seven stayed only long enough to finish his Scotch. That last drink forced him to acknowledge the tiredness tugging at his shoulders and making his lids flag over his eyes. The past few days of nonstop partying with Marcus were catching up to him. Seven placed his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and left the boat, heading down a stone-paved path to the small cottage at the back of Marcus’s mansion. Music throbbed faintly behind him, followed him on his escape from the mad party, the sounds of laughter, a body splashing into the pool.

      Seven let himself into the relative comfort of the cottage, undressed and fell into the bed. It enfolded him like a lover, soft as dreams yet firm under his back. Soon, he drifted into sleep, the worries and annoyances of his third day in Miami fading away with the sounds of the music from the larger house.

      * * *

      “Hey, wake up, rock star!” Someone pounded at the cottage door and called out again, “Wake up!”

      Seven jolted from his sleep, reaching automatically for his cell phone on the bedside table to check the time. He swore under his breath. It was just past noon. Monday. But his body felt as if it could still do with another five hours of sleep. With a groan, he scrubbed a hand over his face. In the large mirror across from the bed, his reflection gazed tiredly back at him, bleary-eyed and naked. His body, hardened from years of lifting and shaping his steel sculptures, looked almost too heavy for him to haul out of the bed.

      Whoever it was knocked on the door again, forcing Seven to gather the top sheet around his bare hips and stumble to open the door. Marcus stood there, grinning.

      “About time you got your lazy ass up,” he said.

      A trio of young women stood behind him, staring over his shoulder at Seven’s bare chest and stomach. Seven was suddenly glad that he’d taken the time to cover himself, otherwise the girls would have gotten more than they’d bargained for. But, looking at the scantily dressed girls who watched him with a shark’s intensity, maybe they wouldn’t mind seeing him naked, after all.

      “Damn,” one of the girls said under her breath.

      Seven cleared his throat. “Morning. It’s a little early, isn’t it?”

      “It’s never too early.” Marcus laughed as if he’d made some big joke.

      Behind him, the girls tittered on cue.

      “You remember the girls from last night, right?” Marcus gestured to the women around him by way of introduction. Kenya was the bleached-blonde with deep gold skin. Felice wore her hair in a short natural, a pretty complement to her deep chocolate complexion. And Masiel had a fountain of black hair spilling around her narrow, foxlike face. All three girls were fiercely made up, dressed as though they’d just come from the set of a rap video.

      Confused, Seven looked at the foursome gathered on his borrowed doorstep and gave them a questioning look.

      “I came to take you to that money guy I told you about,” Marcus said. “The girls and I are on the way to that side of town and thought you might want to tag along.”

      Seven raised an eyebrow at “the girls,” who wore tight skirts and body-hugging blouses of the animal-print variety. They didn’t look ready to see anyone’s money guy. Unless he was a pimp.

      Marcus read his look accurately enough. “They’re not seeing the banker, you are. Come on. Get dressed. Maybe after you’re done we can go grab the jet and go for a bite and a sail in Cape Cod.”

      Seven hesitated. He was flattered by Marcus’s interest, but he had had enough of the man’s hearty company. Marcus was generous, but he seemed to expect to be entertained at all times. His investment in Seven made him think the artist was there for his entertainment. It was time to end this.

      “I have to shower. I don’t like leaving the house dirty,” Seven said.

      “We’ll wait.”

      And they did. As he walked out of the room to go shower, Marcus and the three girls sauntered into the small living area. Marcus fell into a sprawl on the couch while his companions grabbed the video game controllers and knelt in front of the fifty-inch flat screen to start a game.

      In the bedroom, Seven quickly discarded the sheet and grabbed some clothes from his suitcase, climbed into the travertine-tiled shower and turned the water on full blast. The hot water washed away the last of his tiredness, flooding over his head and face, dripping through his lashes, over his mouth and down the muscular planes of his chest, belly, the thick stalk of his sex and his corded thighs. He sighed into the water, the heaviness in his body falling away to leave him awake.

      Energized, he quickly finished his shower and dressed in jeans, a plain white Armani T-shirt and a favorite pair of loafers. He walked into the living room, fastening the clasp on his watch.

      There, the three girls played “Just Dance,” their breasts and hips shaking as Marcus looked on with laughter and appreciation.

      “Ready,” Seven said.

      “Yummy,” Masiel murmured, turning her attention from the video game. Bouncy black waves tumbled down her back as she twisted around to look at Seven.

      “I liked him better without clothes,” Felice said. With her close-cropped hair and sensual mouth, she was pretty in a Meagan Good kind of way, although not as sexy.

      “I’ll take you however I can get you.” Kenya gave up any pretense of paying attention to the game and strutted over to Seven, who stepped back before she could touch him.

      He wasn’t into playing with another man’s toys. Marcus watched all the action with a faint smile but didn’t say a word.

      Seven raised an eyebrow. “You ladies are making me blush.” Though clearly he was in no danger of doing that. He looked at Marcus. “Are we heading out or what?”

      “Of course.” Marcus stood up with a set of keys in his hand. “Let’s go.”

      In the detached garage that was as big as another house, he chose a black Mercedes C-Class sedan and ushered the girls into the backseat before getting behind the wheel. He looked at Seven briefly. “You want to drive?”

      Seven got in the passenger seat. “Yeah, right. I’m just here to relax and go along for the ride. Drive on.”

      Marcus chuckled.

      They drove out of the garage, under the wide, slowly lifting door, into the bright spotlight of a Miami Monday afternoon. Diamond sunlight bounced off the reflective lenses