Читать книгу The Dare Collection September 2019 - Stefanie London - Страница 20

I WASN’T HAPPY when the job came through and I almost refused. I didn’t even want to see Ash Evans again, let alone drive for him.

But I couldn’t say no, not if I wanted to stay on the chauffeur company’s books, and I did want to, because my options for money were few and far between.

I’d spent the week since getting back from Paris trying to figure out what my next move should be. I couldn’t bear the thought of calling Dad to tell him I’d failed—not that I had failed. I just needed to...regroup.

Failure wasn’t an option anyway, not when I was the whole reason the company was having difficulty in the first place.

So I accepted the job and tried to ignore my own personal doubts about seeing him again. Tried not to think about why he’d asked for me, especially given how angry he’d been back in Paris.

Perhaps it was for another encounter in the back seat, though if that was the reason then he was shit out of luck. No way I wanted to have sex with him again, not given how emotional I’d been after the first time. And then there had been him getting so furious with me...

No, definitely not going back for that. I wasn’t a masochist.

Thoughts of what we’d done together that night in the limo wouldn’t leave me alone, though.

The whole week I’d tossed and turned in my uncomfortable single bed in the Shepherd’s Bush flat I shared with a few other Australians, my body aching. Unable to stop thinking about him. His hands on my skin, his cock inside me, pushing deep and hard. The weird sense of freedom as I’d given myself up to him...

And you crying like a fool afterwards.

Yes, there was that. I should have been able to put the experience behind me, and the fact that I couldn’t disturbed me.

So, by the time I reluctantly turned up for my shift as Mr Evans’s driver, I was already feeling restless and out of sorts.

The address for the pick-up point was odd into the bargain and I had to double-check it numerous times to make sure it was right, because it seemed very much not the kind of place from which to pick up a billionaire.

A large, featureless council estate tower block, it had a scraggly green lawn out the front with a couple of spindly-looking trees dotted here and there. A group of teenagers were hanging around outside, shouting and playing loud music, and being generally annoying.

There was a grim feel to the place, a kind of hopelessness that made me sad. I might have had a lonely upbringing after losing my mother, but at least I’d had a decent home and food on the table, and no drug dealers hanging around my front door.

I frowned out of the window. Surely Mr Evans wouldn’t be here?

A young woman pushing a small toddler in a stroller approached the entrance to the building, prompting a swirl of attention from the gathered teenagers.

Tension crawled over me and I reached for the door, ready to spring out and go at them if they started threatening the woman.

Except at that moment a tall, powerful figure came striding out. And instantly the teenagers swarmed, clustering around him instead, hooting and calling out greetings, their faces alight.

I stared in amazement as Mr Evans gave out high fives as demanded then paused to chat, the group hanging on his every word.

The woman waved at him as she passed, entering the building unmolested as the air filled with the sound of raucous teenage laughter.

Then Mr Evans extricated himself from the crowd of youths, striding on to where I sat waiting for him in the limo.

And all of a sudden my heartbeat accelerated, my pulse so loud it just about competed with the beats coming from the teenagers’ phones.

Somehow I’d reduced him in my mind. Made him not so large, not so muscular. Not so powerful. Not so compelling. Certainly I’d turned down the burn on the intense energy that trailed along in his wake like his own personal force field.

How could I have forgotten the sheer physical reality of him? How could I not have remembered how completely and utterly hot he was?

I stared dumbly, my mouth dry as he came up to the limo, pulled the door open and got in.

And when I looked in my rear-view mirror, there were those eyes. Those searing blue eyes.

‘You didn’t open the door for me,’ he said, his familiar, deep, gritty voice vibrating through me. ‘I really expected better service from you, Miss Little.’

Oh, hell. I’d forgotten about the stupid door. I’d been too busy staring at him.

I tried to find my usual laid-back, cheerful persona, but it had slipped away on me and all I managed to take hold of was anger. At him for being so ridiculously hot and at myself for being so susceptible.

‘Sorry, Mr Evans.’ I let a touch of acid tinge the words. ‘I wasn’t sure what temper you were going to be in this evening. Outright rude or merely mildly offensive.’

His eyes gleamed, as if with appreciation. ‘Tonight I thought I might try pleasant.’

‘Pleasant? You?’

‘Drive, Miss Little. There’s a bar I want you to take us to.’

Us?

I opened my mouth to ask what he meant by that, then decided against it.

Not my business. Just as it wasn’t my business to ask him why he’d chosen me to drive him for the night. Silence was probably the best response I could give.

It was a resolve that lasted all of two seconds.

‘Interesting pick-up address,’ I said, unable to contain my curiosity. ‘Not your usual billionaire hang-out.’

There was something about his expression in the mirror that fascinated me, similar to the savage satisfaction that had burned there the night after he’d come out of the club in Paris. The look of a man who’d beaten all comers to win.

‘Not usually,’ he said. ‘But it’s mine. I used to live there.’

I blinked in surprise.

So that was the dodgy council estate he’d grown up on. Interesting. Was that where he’d fought too? I could imagine that, him with his fists raised, blood on his face and on his knuckles, that savage look in his eyes...

Hot.

A shiver went through me. I had no idea why I found the idea of him as a street fighter so damn sexy, but I did.

I glanced in the mirror. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. My mother still does.’ His hard mouth quirked in something that looked very close to a smile, sending another shiver of heat chasing across my skin. ‘I renovated a perfectly nice place in Chelsea for her but she refuses to move. Says she likes it there.’

‘Why?’

‘No idea. She’s a stubborn woman, my mother.’ His gaze caught mine. ‘Perhaps that’s why I like stubborn women.’

Surely he wasn’t meaning...me?

Irritation needled at me. If he was trying to angle for another encounter in the back seat he needed to think again.

‘Is there any reason you asked for me in particular tonight?’ I asked, sounding more belligerent than I’d meant to. ‘Because if you’re hoping to get me in the back seat again—’

‘No,’ he said, before I could finish. ‘Rest assured, that’s not what I want from you tonight.’

‘Then why?’ I demanded, annoyed by the fact that I felt disappointed, which I totally shouldn’t have.

‘You’ll see.’

There was a hint of smugness to the words that needled me even further.

I knew I shouldn’t let him get to me, that I should be thinking of this as another opportunity to talk to him about Australis, but the irritation and disappointment sat inside me all the same. And by the time I’d pulled up outside the Covent Garden address he’d given me, it wasn’t so much him who was in a foul temper, but me.

The bar looked exactly like the kinds of bars he’d be used to, complete with a long line of beautifully dressed hopefuls outside, an ostentatious-looking bouncer, and a velvet rope to sort the aristocracy from the peasants.

‘Here we are,’ I said unnecessarily, trying to force my bad mood away with a cheerful smile. ‘Do you want me to get your door?’

‘No.’ Another gleam in those blue eyes. ‘I want you to come and have a drink with me.’

‘Excuse me?’ This time I actually turned around in my seat.

The impact of his direct gaze was like a physical blow.

‘One drink, Miss Little,’ he murmured. ‘I have a proposition I want to put to you.’

He sat there, dark and scarred and powerful, and so achingly compelling I couldn’t look anywhere but at him. And, God, he was incredible. I didn’t know how he managed to look so damn hot simply in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt—this time a dark blue one that somehow intensified the colour of his eyes—but he did.

‘A proposition?’ I echoed stupidly. ‘What proposition?’

‘Come and have a drink and you’ll find out.’

Fighting the pull of his charisma, I gave him a narrow stare. ‘You’d better not be rude again. I haven’t bloody got time for that kind of carry-on.’

Again, his hard mouth twitched. ‘I can’t guarantee there won’t be any “carry-on”. But I can guarantee it will be worth your time.’

I didn’t want to accept, not just like that. It felt like giving in.

‘I’m supposed to be working,’ I said, prevaricating.

‘You are working. For me. Think of it as a business meeting.’

Huh.

I gave him a suspicious look. ‘About what?’

‘Australis. I’ve been investigating your family’s company.’

Shock pulsed down my spine, my bad temper vanishing in an instant. ‘Seriously? In that case, yes. I’d love to have a bloody drink. Though it’ll have to be non-alcoholic. I’m still driving.’

I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high, but I couldn’t stop the excitement that gathered in my gut as we were ushered to the head of the queue outside the bar, the velvet rope being pulled aside so we could enter in front of everyone else.

Inside, the bar was dark, full of dimly lit alcoves and small rooms where people could sit and chat in complete privacy. Another room had a dance floor in it, but we passed it by, Mr Evans leading me to an out-of-the-way alcove furnished with a dark blue velvet couch and a low coffee table in dark wood. The lighting was atmospheric, the music low and seductive.

As we sat, a waitress came to take our drinks orders and I went with an orange juice while he had a Scotch.

I perched awkwardly on the couch while he sprawled out beside me, surveying me, the electricity in his eyes turning into something hotter and more potent, and I was very conscious of how close he was, his knee nearly brushing mine.

His proximity was insanely distracting, near enough to me to feel the heat pouring off his body. It made it hard to concentrate on anything else.

‘Okay, so what’s this proposition?’ I asked when the waitress had gone. ‘And why couldn’t you ask me in the car?’

‘Because I didn’t want you to be distracted by driving.’

‘Fair enough. This is about the investment money, yes? About what I asked you in Paris?’

‘Yes.’

My heartbeat got faster. ‘And?’

His gaze was very direct. ‘I don’t change my mind often, Miss Little. And when a thing is done, I consider it done. But I’ve had a week to think about what you asked me and I’ve decided that I was too hasty in refusing you.’

I swallowed, taken aback despite myself. I really hadn’t thought he’d reconsider. ‘You were?’

‘Yes. I had a chance to look at your family’s company personally this week and I’m willing to give Australis more time before we need to see some return on our initial investment.’

Yes!

Despite how I’d nearly screwed it up, my gamble in going from Paris to England to face Mr Evans personally had paid off. Dad was going to be so pleased.

Triumph glowed in the centre of my chest and I grinned like a lunatic. ‘That’s just fantastic, Mr Evans. I can’t tell you—’

‘But you’re going to have to do something for me in return,’ he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken.

The triumph glowed a little bit less bright.

‘If you’re wanting sex—’ I began.

‘Sex is not required,’ he said before I could finish, a spark of his usual bad temper glowing in his eyes. ‘You must know by now I’m not that kind of man.’

‘But I don’t know,’ I shot back. ‘All I know is your reputation and, to be honest, that’s pretty shitty.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘Fair point. But understand me, I don’t need a business deal in order to get sex and I certainly don’t blackmail people into it.’

I refused to feel ashamed about it. After Mark, who knew?

‘You can never tell,’ I said. ‘So what do you want from me, then?’

The scar pulling at his mouth was very white against his olive skin, his sneer pronounced. ‘What do I want?’ The scar twisted further as his mouth curved, making his smile seem savage. ‘I have an event I have to be at in Dubai in a week’s time. And what I want is for you to be my date.’