Читать книгу Getting Dirty - Rachael Stewart - Страница 12

I LOOK AT her chewing anxiously over her lip and feel something twist inside me. This case is bugging me. There’s a doubt I can’t shift. A sense that this job is messed-up—that I’m messed-up for playing a part in it.

Something just isn’t right.

And seeing her hesitate, spying the vulnerability in her glittering green gaze, not to mention the way my body refuses to chill around her, I know I should be ending this now. Walking away from both her and Philip Lauren.

But I’ve never called it a day on a job before. I’ve always been careful about which projects to take on, who I go after, who I work for…

But this time you were blinded by the memory of Jess, far too quick to judge.

The idea of another spoilt little rich girl getting her just deserts overrode my good sense. Because that’s what Coco is—Christ, Coco. Even her name got to me. Dripping with arrogance, money, affluence. Everything I hated.

Or so I thought…

It’s not hate that has me standing here hanging on her every word, laughing inside at her sudden playfulness, on fire at her flirtation and delicate touch. No. It’s this dogged attraction I just can’t shake.

That’s not why you’re suggesting going elsewhere, though…

I pull her back to me with the hand that’s still clutched over hers.

No, you’re doing this to get her out of her safe haven. To expose her.

So why does it feel so wrong and so right all at once?

‘I’d rather stay here.’

She says it nervously, her lashes fluttering as she stares up at me, her breath making her chest brush against mine once more, her lips teasingly parted.

I’ve only to duck my head and I could taste her, just as she tasted her friend not ten minutes ago. The urge burns through me. Fire at the memory, fire at her proximity, at the daring shade of her lipstick, all drawing me in.

And then she runs her tongue over her lower lip and my restraint snaps. I forget everything—work, my purpose, my age-old hate. All sense homes in on the gentle swell of her lips as I dip to sample.

Just sample, nothing more.

Nothing that will get out of hand or cut too deep.

But as I sweep my lips over hers, my taste buds come alive. She’s all sweet and strawberry-like, tantalising, inviting… And then I hear it, her tiny moan, so slight but definitely there, and it ripples down my ear canal, through my blood, right down to my disobeying cock.

I want to groan at the force, groan at the control I can feel slipping away. This isn’t you. This isn’t what you do. But it emerges as a growl, low in my throat, beating back the judgement.

To hell with it.

She shifts, her free hand travelling down my chest and around to my back as she encourages me closer, her message clear. And then her tongue brushes brazenly across mine and I give up on my sampling. I want it all—every last bit.

I spin her into a darkened recess carved out of the wall. The round table occupying it is the perfect height for her arse to rest as I lift her onto it. She hooks her legs around me, encasing me, hauling me closer. I can feel her heat through my jeans, feel her skirt bunched up to her hips as I rake my fingers down her thighs.

What are you doing? You’re in public, anyone can see.

But isn’t that the point? You need to get her somewhere you can use it? And with other people—her redhead friend, for starters…

My gut twists tighter, contending with the pulsing heat, and it’s a sickening contrast so marked that I gain a second’s clarity to tear my mouth away. ‘Come with me?’

She shakes her head, her green eyes blazing into mine as her hands take advantage of our parting to unfasten my shirt just enough to slip her fingers within.

‘No, I want you here.’

‘Why?’

She strokes my skin, her fingers burning a fiery trail down my torso that has my cock pressing harder, eager for satisfaction. Eager for it now—not in twenty, thirty, forty minutes. However long it takes to get her somewhere I can use it.

She smiles, all sultry and appealing as fuck. ‘Don’t you have a side you like to keep hidden?’

A side? Christ, I feel like my whole twisted self should be locked away right now.

‘Don’t tell me the great Coco Lauren fears a little bit of gossip?’ I try to sound light, but the words are tight, my teeth gritting against the heat racing through my veins. Desire and my endgame at war.

‘This kind of gossip has the power to hurt those that I care about, Ash.’

She says it softly, sincerely, and for a second she’s exposed, giving me a glimpse of pain so obvious I feel it against my will.

‘Like who?’ Because surely she’s talking about herself? Protecting herself. Surely, she’s aware that this makes her vulnerable to people like her brother. Not that I truly understand his goal.

‘People I love.’

My body tenses, the twisting sensation deep inside me increasing tenfold. And then she shakes her head, as though clearing it, and hooks her hands around my neck, her touch searing my skin even as I try to stay focused.

‘But I don’t want to talk about it—just take my word for it…’

She moves in to kiss me and I pull back, knowing it’ll be my undoing. I sense I’m on the cusp of something, of understanding, of getting to the bottom of Philip’s intent. Why I want to is beyond me. I should be running from her, from this, from the entire job that has me questioning everything, and instead I’m pushing.

‘How can gossip of this kind hurt? You’re single, available, an adult—’

‘And I’m a Lauren—born of a scandalous mother. Believe me, this kind of gossip has the power to sow the seeds of my downfall.’

I can feel her withdrawing but I don’t stop. Not yet. ‘You fear the public backlash? The loss of your golden halo?’

Her eyes flash and her skin pales just enough to tell me I’ve hit a nerve. ‘No, the only eyes I care about are my grandmother’s.’

‘Scared she’ll disinherit you?’

She frowns up at me and I know I’ve pushed too far. Maybe even said too much. But then everyone would assume she has an inheritance; they just wouldn’t all know its value, like I do.

What I don’t expect is the sudden movement of her hand as her palm makes for my cheek. I grab her wrist a split second before it collides with my skin and face off the fire in her gaze.

‘Apologies.’ And I mean it—I do. Damn it, why do I care?

Her eyes tremble as they stay fixed on mine and I feel the need to explain. I can’t stop myself. ‘I meet spoilt little rich girls who put money above love and family all the time.’

‘Just because we’re born into money…’

She tries to pull her wrist free but my fingers are locked. The contact heats me as her eyes project the same fire.

‘It doesn’t make us all cold-hearted bitches.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ It’s like she’s throwing my own deductions back at me and I almost laugh at the irony of it. ‘But if you’re so worried about this side of you getting out, why risk it?’

‘Because I need to live my life too—because right now she’s dying, and I don’t know which way is up…’

Her voice cracks a little, her fire dwindling. And, God help me, my gut turns over as I stay locked in her gaze. I knew this too. That her grandmother was sick. I just hadn’t anticipated her caring this much.

Now who’s the heartless bastard?

I can’t speak. Nothing can get past the chaos she has evoked within me.

She wets her lips, takes a shuddery breath. ‘Because I thought you were the man who could take that pain away, be my distraction just for a second, just for now.’

Her eyes glisten as they waver over my face and then she backs away from me, shaking her head as my body reels from her admission.

‘I can see I was wrong. You’re not my type after all…’

She starts to walk, trying to pull free, but I yank her back to me. I’m not even thinking. It’s impulsive—a need to take it all away, just as she hoped I would. Because I can’t face her pain a second longer. I can’t deal with the sickening guilt that comes with it either.

I claim her mouth and force all the guilt out, hanging on to her startled whimper, the swift surrender of her pliable mouth and the heat of her hands as they thrust inside my shirt. She rakes her nails over my chest and I feel a heady sting as she pierces the skin, wild, hungry, desperate. Heat surges through my body. My cock is more than willing to be the distraction she demands.

And what about you? Do you really want to go there with her? She’s your fucking target, for Christ’s sake!

But she’s a target who doesn’t deserve to be. This little exchange off the back of all that I’ve already witnessed is enough to prove that.

But if she’s not like Jess—a woman I despise—doesn’t it actually make her all the more dangerous? All the more to be avoided?

She bites down on my lower lip and tugs. Pleasure-pain drowns out the inner voice of reason as her fingers move to my belt. Fuck, she’s undoing it.

‘We shouldn’t…’ I manage against her lips.

‘We should.’ She nods, her breath coming in short pants. ‘Now.’

I can sense eyes upon us. Does she know we’re being watched?

Of course she does—you’re in Blacks.

But in that moment I feel like I’m the only person in her world. The way she’s looking at me, drowning in me, makes power surge through my veins, and I can’t stop my hands from sliding higher, my thumbs caressing the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She feels so perfect; her eyes, her breath, the arch of her body are all so responsive to me.

You don’t deserve what she’s giving you…

She parts my belt, unfastens my button, my zipper. My cock strains ready and then she slips her hand inside my briefs, her warm fingers taking hold. I freeze. I can’t breathe, can’t move. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut just for a second, just enough to regain some control, and when I open them again, she’s grinning up at me, her eyes alive with mischief. So much better than the pain seconds before…

She pumps me once and my balls contract—shit.

‘And there I was, believing I’m not your type…’

She moves over me now, her eyes dropping to take in the sight of her hand gripping me. Masterfully working me. My thighs tremble… My groan is strangled in my throat.

I’m fucked.

She sweeps her thumb over the tip of my cock, sweeping up the pre-cum as more appears. I breathe, ragged, losing it. She runs one scarlet-red nail over my slit.

‘Fuck.’

She looks at me from beneath her lashes. I’m so ready to be inside her, so scared I’ll shoot my load before I even get there…

‘Mmm… I wonder if you taste as good as you look, Ash.’

Oh, Christ, no.

I shake my head, the move negligible with my body pulled so taut, my fingers tight upon her thighs.

‘How about I find out?’

She slips forward, forcing me back a step to give her the space to drop to her knees, and I stare at the wall ahead of me, my brain screaming at me to stop her as my cock eggs her on, bucking in her grasp.

She gives a pleased little laugh—and then I feel it, the delicate point of her tongue, sweeping over the sensitised head and my eyes drop. I’m lost to her and all she can do.

Her lashes lift, her eyes lock onto mine and she grips the base of my cock, steadying my length to trace a teasing path around her mouth with my very tip. Like I’m her fucking lipstick.

Holy mother of God.

I fling my hand to her hair and pull her away. Just for a second…just until the wave passes. The wave that’s pushing me too close to the edge.

‘You know what I think?’ she says, looking up at me. ‘I think I’m exactly your type.’

The words hit home. Harsh, true. She is my type. She’s everything I’ve wanted and evaded for so long. Her haughty air, her elegant poise, her perfect fuck-me-now lips.

I bring her back to my cock. ‘Less talking.’

I don’t need a reminder that I’m destined to walk the world alone because I let my dick pick ’em, thus exposing me to the worst of the female species—the ones who will always feel themselves superior. Hell, she is superior to me. Because I’m the villain of this piece. I’m the one out to expose her, to break her, all for the money her brother is willing to pay me. And she—

She sucks over me and my mind quits, only a moan breaking through my consciousness. It’s not me. It’s not her. It comes from someone close behind me. Someone watching. It shouldn’t turn me on—none of this should. And still I fork my fingers through her perfect bob and hold her there. Watch as she takes me deeper with every thrust, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks, her eyes bright as they reach inside mine, her soft, feminine scent sailing up to me.

I am fucked. I can’t stop this—no matter what I want, or what is right.

I’m going to take all she’s willing to give—take it and walk away. Just as Jess would deserve, just as Coco—

Damn it, she isn’t Jess.

And that’s what’s eating at me, even as heat starts to streak through my limbs.

You’re the one to be despised. Not her. You’re the one blinded by your own pain, your own past, taking it out on her. You’re the nasty piece of work.

I groan over the realisation, squeeze my eyes shut, throw my head back. My balls contract, my release is imminent, and—

Fuck, I should warn her. But pleasure steals my voice, my ability to move. I can only grip her head tighter and try to breathe, try to stave it off. And then I’m gone, my hips jerking forward with the force of my release.

Heaven flows through my entire body, my head falling forward as my eyes open to take her in, wide with shock, with desire, with all manner of mixed-up emotion. And then there’s her hum of satisfaction, reverberating around my length as she takes my all. She’s not quitting and I don’t want her to. She’s taking my every last drop, forcing out reality and making me want more. So much more.

I soften my hands in her hair, caressing instead of holding. I drag in a breath and then my brain rips through the haze—you fucking idiot—and sends guilt and hatred hot on its tail.

And it’s not her I loathe. I know that with ice-like clarity now.

It’s me—all me.

Something flickers in his gaze, and for a second I worry that it’s regret I can see. I don’t want Ash’s regret. I want the fire back. The same fire that has me all wet, aching, needier than I can ever remember. It’s the perfect antidote for life. Powerful, all-encompassing, a perfect distraction.

I release his cock and put right his underwear—but I don’t zip him up. I’m not done yet. Not if I have my way. I lick my lips as I stand and take pleasure in his touch as he tilts my head towards him, his thumb and finger gentle on my chin.

‘You’re pretty talented.’

‘Call it practice.’

His eyes flash and his fingers flex. He didn’t like that…

‘I’ll bet you’ve had plenty of practice too.’ I throw it back at him and run my teeth over my bottom lip. I want to push him. I want to toy with his obvious conflict. I want this twisted game to go on for however long he will play it. ‘I bet your tongue is skilled in so many ways—or do you use your fingers more?’

I take hold of his hand upon my chin and slowly lower it down my body. My breasts prickle inside the confines of my bra as he travels through the valley between them and over my exposed midriff, which has me sucking in a breath.

He isn’t stopping me, but that war is back. I can see it in his gaze. At any moment he’s going to back away and leave, and the very idea is making my heart beat that little bit faster and urging me on.

I lift myself up on tiptoes and lean into his ear, my free hand working my skirt up, my other hand drawing his hand down. ‘Feel how wet I am…just for you.’

I slip his hand inside my lacy knickers, press his fingers into my wetness. His breath hitches in my ear, a curse hot on its tail.

Better. So much better.

My lips lift in victory as I dare to lean back, to meet his eye, and slowly I circle my hips over his touch, my hand still tight on his.

You’re not going anywhere, Ash, not yet.

His lips are deliciously parted and I love it, taking advantage to sink my tongue inside his mouth and coax his own into action. He comes alive at last, his fingers moving of their own volition, his mouth crushingly sweet as he takes control.

He slips his fingers deeper, enters me as his thumb grazes my clit and I buck on the spike of pleasure that runs through me, the continued onslaught of his mouth catching my sigh of ecstasy.

I raise my hands to his shoulders and cling to his body for support, my lower half on a shameless ride of its own.

I struggle to catch my breath as his thumb works me to fever pitch, his mouth endless in its brutal exploration of my mouth. I tear my lips away, press my forehead into his shoulder and remember the audience taking in our brazen display, enjoying what they can see, what they can hear.

I look to where his hand is buried in black lace. His movements are quick and dizzying, his fingers in deep. He’s skilled, all right, and I’m seconds away from combusting. My nails bite into his shoulders, my body tenses up and I fling my head back to look at him, to register the blazing heat of his gaze.

‘That’s it—come for me, princess.’

His words, his hand, his skill… Every muscle floods with heat, my insides are wound so tight, and then I burst from the inside out.

‘Fuck…’ My eyes clamp shut, my body spasms and he locks his arm around my waist, holding me tight. He won’t drop me. I won’t fall. It’s perfect—perfect and safe.

His thumb rolls over me, slowing against my heightened sensitivity, and then he palms me, his hot heat pressed against my wetness until my body eventually stills and my breathing calms.

My head falls forward, he withdraws his hand and reality seeps in.

Nothing’s changed. Life is as it was before. But for those blissful few minutes it was gone, and for that I am grateful.

Slowly I raise my lashes and calm my expression. He doesn’t need to join me on the comedown. He doesn’t have to shoulder what I do.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

He curves his hand around my behind beneath my skirt. ‘You’re welcome.’

And then he releases me to fasten his trousers. He steps back, his attention off me. So off me that I’m floundering.

I look away and smooth out my skirt, suddenly awkward, sheepish. Do we just say goodbye? It’s what I would normally do. But I don’t want to. Already the chill is taking over and the distance is building between us. I want the warmth back.

What’s the likelihood of us seeing each other again? I’ve been coming here for years and never seen him, regardless of his claim that Jackson is a mate. Maybe he’s not from London. Maybe he’s just visiting.

So many questions burn through me and I can’t give voice to a single one.

Regardless of his actions, he said I wasn’t his type. Would that still be the case now we’d had our fill?

He’s very still and I risk a look. He’s staring at me, but I can’t read him. He’s impenetrable, cold. While his blue eyes seem to pierce me, strip me bare. My confidence is in tatters. Obliterated with the surprising force of my orgasm and his sudden detachment.

Perhaps it’s because I could see myself wanting more.

More like what?

A date. A normal, everyday date, like any normal, everyday woman would want.

But you’re not one of them. Never have been… Never will be.

The growing chill reaches my heart and I shiver.

‘I should go,’ he says, smoothing a hand over his hair.

I nod, still speechless, my messed-up thoughts keeping me tongue-tied as I wrap my arms around myself.

He starts to walk and then stops. My heart flutters, my head lifts, I’m hopeful. But then he continues on and I watch him leave…cold, sober, sad.

I turn back to the ladies’ room, my head swimming with what’s gone down.

You sure you want to let that go…?

I’m already spinning on my heel and heading after him, but as I break out onto the pavement and scan the street all I see are the doormen. There’s no sign of him. Not even a lit-up car about to leave. Where in the hell is he?

I look to the doormen, who are doing their best not to notice me. ‘Did you see where he went?’ I say, and they give me a brief look.

‘Who?’ one says.

‘The guy that left just ahead of me.’

‘Afraid not.’

I think he’s lying. In fact, I know he’s lying. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m on the wrong side of the non-disclosure agreement now I’m outside the building that means he won’t tell me anything.

I’m about to ask again when I hear a car door open behind me, down the street, and my heart soars. I turn towards the sound.

Maybe he’s seen me… Maybe he’s coming back for—

‘My lady?’

It’s my driver. Hope vacates my body, the chill returns, and I wrap my arms around my middle and head towards him. The sinking feeling inside me is ever more pronounced.

It was foolish, anyway. I’ve read of infatuations that start with such a spark. I’ve read it in my mother’s diary, have been able to feel my mother’s lust and then love for my father through the pages. But I always thought such a thing out of my reach. Every boy, teen, man has taught me that aside from sex I’m good for one thing only: money.

No, make that two things. Money and a title. I have them both. And because of that I’m destined to become a spinster.

My tombstone:

Lady Coco Lauren

Lived and died

Single and alone

Why did one chance meeting with a stranger make me hope for something more?