Beautiful Mess (6 page)

“Rats. Were-rats. Woah, were-rats are easy!”

Linc slammed the door shut and shoved me up against it with a grin. “So.” A slow, barely restrained kiss. “Finally got you all to myself.”

“You certainly have, Mr. Forester. Do you think they’ll cope without me?”

He chewed his lip. “Well, we aren’t going back round there until at least nine o’clock.”

“You’re right. It’ll be touch and go.”

“But it gives us hours and hours.”

Soft little licks trailed down my neck, and my nipples rubbed stiffly against his chest.
Ow
.

“Hours and hours of montages?” I giggled.

“Yes. God, yes.”

I let Linc scoop me up and take me to the bed now bedecked in my velvet comforter. Our spaces, our lives, were mashed together in a shocking, beautiful mess. I didn’t remember ever falling in love with Linc; I woke up one morning and I just kind of
was
. It was the biggest
screw you, Craig!
ever--and the one I never dared to expect.

It was also the best thing that had ever happened to me.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he mumbled. “We need a rule. Strip when I say, or there’ll be spanking.”

Oh, and in case you were wondering?

Yep.

Every. Single. Time.

If you liked BEAUTIFUL MESS,

then you might like Lucy’s erotic series...

CHAIRMAN OF THE WHORED

Coming soon from Lyrical Press

www.lyricalpress.com

WARNING: Contains clever lawyers with a penchant for violence, and an alter-ego like Tinkerbell on meth.

Leila Vaughn is a tax lawyer at a prestigious London law firm. And a whore. She didn’t take the night job just to pay off her debts--an affair with an older man once stirred a pit of darker desires. Now her year as an escort is almost over, she’s ready to lock up her alter-ego, Charlotte, and be normal once again. What’s bad is that her colleague, Matt, just caught her out. What’s worse is that their boss Joseph is with him.

Matt wants to rescue Leila. And she should want what he does--monogamy and escape from the city--if she’s going to be normal, right? But Joseph is as familiar with the slippery world of escorting as she is, and that makes him hard to resist. In London‘s tightest circles, he’s known as the Chairman of the Whored. Bold, sharp and ruthless, he’s everything Leila is trying not to be--so why can’t she say no to him?

Three jobs left before she pays off her debt. Two men playing games she can’t handle. One alter-ego, banging against the mirror. In a dark hotel room, the glass is about to break...

Excerpt

One o’clock rolled around and I headed out to meet Joseph, who had been out with his
real
solicitors all morning. He’d booked the same restaurant that we’d dined at on Isobel’s birthday, and it was as gloriously pristine in the sunshine as in candle light.

I wished I’d worn something more formal than my fennel wrap-over dress.

Joseph stood up to greet me, planting a kiss achingly close to my mouth. He smelled like lemon and tarragon: fresh and wild.

“Good morning?” I asked.

“Boring as fuck. You’d best be entertaining.” That freshly-fucked gleam shone in his eye--was he thinking about it?

“Erm…I’d planned a fascinating discussion on my holiday allowance and probationary period.”

“Leila, you could be telling me the winning lottery numbers and my mind would still be elsewhere.” He cocked his head. “In the gutter, most probably.”

“I like the gutter.” Oops. “That came out wrong.”

Beneath the table, he trapped my bare leg between his. “Shut up.”

The waiter arrived with a bottle of Champagne and opened it with a crisp
pop
.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“You, of course.” A smile played on his lips. “Your glittering future career with Bach and Dagier.”

“I haven’t even had a contract yet.”

“Considering another offer?” He wasn’t talking about work any more. A teasing edge scored his voice.

The froth rose in my glass and I ducked to hide behind it.

He sat back in his chair. Stared at me. “I know about you and Matt,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not stupid, Leila. He may as well piss all over you.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I was never much for water sports.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” Joseph tightened his legs around mine. “Are you involved with him?”

“Not in the way you think,” I muttered.

“What
do
I think?”

“I don’t know, but
you
were the one who decided to involve him in the first place. Don’t try to make me responsible for the way he’s acting now.”

“Apologies for being such a big, bad wolf. Not my fault he needs a big pint of man-the-fuck-up.” One hand toyed with his open collar. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“No.” I was uncomfortable. Beginning to sweat. “Shall I be honest?”

“I’ll know if you’re lying.”

I took a moment to compose myself.

It didn’t work.

“He and I have talked about it. About what happened, I mean…about liking each other. We agreed that when all this is over--”

“What do you mean,
all this
? Do you mean me?”

I nodded slowly.

“You actually
like
him?”

“Is it any of your business?”

He squeezed my leg harder. “Yes. It is.”

The waiter arrived and Joseph ordered for both of us. I hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Are you angry with me?” I asked finally.

He smiled. Gulped down the Champagne. “No. A little surprised, maybe.” He released my leg, sitting back. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know what the rules are in this game. I don’t know whether I’m bending them or breaking them entirely.”

“Who says we’re playing a game?”

“That’s what it feels like.” I reached for my own glass and the bubbles burst sharply on my tongue. “I mean, feel free to enlighten me. Any time you like.”

He smiled again, taking the glass from my hands and circling his fingertips over my wrist. “I like you. Can’t you tell?”

“Yes, but…” I squirmed in my chair. “I’m not sure where this is going.”
Please don’t offer to shack me up as your mistress. Please, please…it’s so unoriginal.

“Me either, especially if you’re planning on running off with Matt as soon as I untie you.”

I considered tugging my wrist away but his warm, warm skin…I loved the way it simmered against mine.

He was checking my pulse. Measuring the snares. Jesus.

“Should I be considering another offer?”

“Consider whatever you like, Leila--just be fucking honest about it.”

Our starter arrived--a pea and mint risotto--and I busied myself with the cutlery. Why was he being so roundabout in his proposition? What exactly did he think he’d bought?

The food signalled a change of subject and we slipped into a discussion about my possible contract--the one I hadn’t officially been offered yet. It dragged awkwardly through the main course and, feeling both nauseous and guilty, I declined desert. The Champagne and its frosted loveliness made me doubt my own self-control.

Our walk back to the office steered through a park where the trees swayed in the sunshine. Joseph reached for my hand. I should have pulled away, shouldn’t I? Friends could knot fingers, but that wasn’t what we were.

Our palms warmed together. His thumb slid over mine. Cyclists pedalled past and he tucked me behind him--like we’d done this a million times.

A group of sixth form school girls sat cross-legged in a copse of silver birch. Their green blazers and checked skirts looked fresh against the turf. They giggled, threw bits of paper at each other. One brushed another’s hair as they poured over a magazine.

Joseph watched them.

“You can blink, you know,” I teased.

“I’m not looking.”

“Liar.” I elbowed him in the ribs. “Maybe I’m looking, too.”

“Oh?” He squeezed my hand. “So I’m looking. They’re hardly my type, though.”

I thought back to the old uniform I had worn for clients on occasion, the one I would have worn with Aidan tonight. “You sure about that?”

“Leila. Schoolgirls are like sports cars. They’re nice to look at, but they’re impractical. In the end, they don’t do what you need them to do.”

I had to stifle my smile, he looked so serious. Then I stole a glance back at the lithe-limbed shadows beneath the trees. “Is that so?”

“It’s true. They won’t let you take them up the arse. They’re rubbish at sucking you. You want to ride them at a hundred miles an hour, but you end up doing forty in the sixty zone because you’re too fucking scared of damaging them.”

A giggle trembled to a riotous guffaw. I couldn’t stop.

“You’re meant to be appalled.” He laughed.

“Oh, I am--”

“No, you aren’t.” Another hand squeeze, then he let it slip away. “Best not do that near the office.”

I bit my lip and thrust my numb fist into a pocket. “No.” A beat. “Thank you for lunch.”

“My pleasure. Now…back to the playground, hmm?”

CHAIRMAN OF THE WHORED, and sequel THE WHORED’S PRAYER, available from www.lyricalpress.com