Authors: Jane O'Reilly
‘And now?’
‘I have to admit you’re growing on me.’
The bar had seemed like a good barrier, a necessary one. Now it felt in the way. Shrugging out of his jacket, Josh tossed it aside, then strolled round to where she sat. Despite her attempt to fix her hair, loose strands of it softly laced the nape of her neck, trailed down across her collarbone, and he felt a sharp pull of desire, low in his gut. If Lottie had managed to find out that his mother was selling her stuff, it wouldn’t be long before the press found out.
It was all about damage limitation now. That, and exploring the unexpected affinity he had with this lush beauty who couldn’t tell a lie if her life depended on it.
It was so hard for him to trust anyone. Impossible, really. But when she laid it all out like that, when she didn’t bother to paint herself in a good light, it made him want to trust her. The urge to touch her again rose up inside him, and he didn’t fight it. He leaned his hip against the bar, folded his arms and nudged her foot with the tip of his shoe, cautiously teasing, boldly curious.
‘Are you single, Lottie?’
She crossed her legs at the knee, moving her foot out of his way. ‘Uh-huh,’ she replied, moving her ankle round in a slow circle. Her toenails were silver, matching her nails, her jewellery. Feminine, but not too flashy, too obvious.
‘Oh,’ Josh replied, letting his gaze drift from the arch of her foot to her knee. Her skin was bare, creamy. He already knew it was soft. ‘So am I.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You were
Guilty Pleasures
’ Bachelor of the Week.’ She glanced up at him, fiddled with her earring. ‘So why no girlfriend?’
Josh reached for his drink. ‘It’s hard to get one when you’re a creep.’
She laughed, a pretty sound. He wanted to hear more of it. ‘Cover’s blown, Josh. I know the truth, remember?’
‘I’m not interested in commitment,’ he said. ‘I travel a lot. My life is unpredictable.’ He shrugged. ‘Women get tired of that pretty quickly.’
‘And the fact that you don’t trust anyone doesn’t have anything to do with it?’
‘You don’t pull any punches, do you?’
She leaned down, rubbed the arch of her foot, and a low bolt of arousal shot straight to his groin. ‘Takes one to know one,’ she said. ‘The last man I was involved with was only interested in me because he wanted to stop his mother selling her collection of Lalique glass. It was worth a pretty penny. Put it this way—if we had auctioned it, I wouldn’t be here with you.’ Her fingers trailed upwards and got to work massaging her shapely calf.
‘Sounds like he screwed you over pretty bad.’
‘You could say that.’ Those slender fingers worked their way back down to her ankle, then on to the arch of her foot. ‘But I was stupid enough to let him do it. All I had to do was keep my knickers on. Pillow talk is a bitch.’
That low hum of arousal got louder. Much louder. An almost possessive urge took hold of Josh, and he set down his drink and reached for her hand. One quick pull was all it took to have her on her feet.
She gasped. ‘Hey!’
This close, he could feel the warmth of her body and smell her perfume, which was something subtle and flowery, the sort of scent that beckoned a man closer.
He wanted to get closer. He wanted to get a hell of a lot closer. One-night stands were a bad idea, he knew that, which was why he’d sworn off them a long time ago. But right now, he was hard pushed to remember why.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth for the briefest of moments. It was all he needed to know. ‘What would you say if I asked you to come home with me?’
Things moved so fast after that Lottie could barely work out how it happened. One minute she’d been fleeing City Hall, failure incarnate, the next she was in the passenger seat of a jet-black Porsche and headed for Josh Blakemore’s house. They hadn’t talked about why they were going back to his place, but they both knew. She’d seen the unspoken intent in his eyes, the question. She’d had every chance to say no.
She’d chosen not to.
Eyeing the complicated controls on the walnut dash, Lottie fanned herself with her hand.
Josh cut her a sideways glance. ‘Hot?’
It was August. There was absolutely nothing inappropriate about being hot. It was fine to say she was hot, though maybe not how hot. ‘A little.’
He thumbed a switch on the dashboard. A blast of arctic air hit her infuriatingly sensitive breasts. ‘Better?’
‘Absolutely.’ Lottie gritted her teeth, as her nipples tightened and tingled.
What they really needed was warmth. Like the kind male hands could supply, if they were big. The ones currently caressing the steering wheel were big, with large, square palms, and thick, blunt fingers.
She turned her head and stared out of the window as the car eased to a halt at the traffic lights. A swirling mass of tension rose from the pit of her stomach, into her chest. Lottie hooked her hands under her seatbelt and hoped he didn’t notice they were shaking as she slowly twisted round and found him watching her.
‘What are we doing?’ she asked softly.
‘We’re doing what we both want to.’ The low rumble of the engine vibrated through her, as he regarded her steadily, his blue eyes even brighter somehow.
A cacophony of furious horns smashed through the moment. ‘Bloody hell.’ Josh slammed his hand onto the gear stick, the mouth that had been so close to hers curving with amusement. ‘Green light.’
He forced the car into first, taking the right turn at speed. Lottie jammed her heels tightly into the foot well. ‘Is it much further?’ she managed. A Porsche didn’t offer much in the way of space, not with a man of Josh Blakemore’s height and build inside it. She could practically feel the heat from his body, every movement of his muscular thighs underneath the snug fabric of his charcoal-grey trousers causing a miniature explosion in the pit of her stomach. If the lights had changed just a few seconds later…
With one more sharp twist of the wheel, Josh brought the car to a standstill in front of a four-storey townhouse that rose out of the pavement like an expensively veneered tooth. Ornate black railings speared up in front of it, the otherwise bare frontage in sharp contrast with the ivy-draped houses on either side.
He slung an arm across the back of her seat and nodded to the house. ‘Is this close enough for you?’
Lottie tipped her head back so she could take in the full view of the magnificent property. ‘You live here?’
‘I stay here occasionally. Not sure I’d call it living.’ He elbowed open his door and levered himself out of the car. Lottie didn’t move. Her hand located the button for her seatbelt, but her thumb exerted no pressure.
In that moment at the lights, there’d been something in those bright blue eyes. Something hot and primitive, that had called to something equally as base and instinctive in her. Desire expanded in her stomach, the undeniable slip of it all too apparent as she finally released the seatbelt that bound her to the butter-soft leather. Pushing her door open, Lottie swung out one leg, planting her foot firmly on the pavement.
The car was low. Her heel was high. Grabbing at the edge of the door, she tried and failed to heave herself out. So much for dignity.
‘Here.’ Josh held out his hand, and not for the first time, Lottie found herself staring at it, wanting to touch. Only this time, they both knew why they were here.
Don’t do it
, whispered the good girl inside her.
You swore you wouldn’t get involved with anyone connected to work
.
‘Come on,’ he said, wiggling his fingers. ‘This car wasn’t designed with women in mind.’
‘What was it designed for?’
He grabbed her hand, held tight, and the good girl inside her was trampled under a rampaging horde of lust-driven thoughts. ‘So men could burn off their sexual frustration.’
‘Does it work?’
‘I’m contemplating asking for a refund.’
Then he pulled her out of the car. Her hand met the wall of his shoulder, and for a moment there was nothing. Nothing but the warm, masculine scent of him, nothing but those long fingers spread wide around her hip.
He cut the space, and the few brain cells she had left melted. One arm snaked around her side, his face lowering towards hers. His breath caressed her cheek, warm and sweet, and Lottie turned her head, control gone. Instinct taking over. She sought his mouth, wanting that intimate contact so badly it hurt.
Then there was a loud thunk. ‘You forgot to shut the car door,’ he whispered softly against her ear, lingering for a moment as her body arched up to meet his. But he denied her the contact she craved, the thin, weightless press of empty air replacing the heavy heat of that big male frame.
Lottie heard herself whimper. Her hands shot to her hair, her lips, smoothed the front of her dress. Dying from embarrassment seemed not only possible, but probable. Josh had managed to make it all the way to the front door, she noticed. No jelly-legged walk of shame for him. He inserted a key into the round brass lock, twisted it, then pushed the midnight-blue door open and beckoned to her. ‘The last thing we want is to be photographed snogging on the doorstep,’ he said. ‘
Guilty Pleasures
would have a field day.’
Lottie stepped over the threshold and eased the door closed. Silence wrapped around her, squeezed like a fist as she stood there in the bewitching semi-darkness, fidgeting with the chain around her neck. She’d had so much to say earlier, more than enough, and now she couldn’t think of a single word.
‘I don’t think anyone is watching now,’ he said. ‘So are you going to let me?’
‘Let you what?’
‘Do what I’ve been wanting to do since the first moment I saw you.’
‘Oh. Really?’
‘Hell, yes.’
She pulled in a slow breath. ‘You’re the son of a potential client.’
‘You can trust me,’ he said.
‘Can I?’ she replied. ‘Half the time, I can’t even trust myself.’
‘I am not going to screw you over,’ he said. ‘I don’t do that to people.’
He placed his free hand against the door, leaned closer, and Lottie let herself drink in all that masculinity. She looked up at him, those bright blue eyes dark now, his pupils huge and liquid black. His breath grazed her cheek, warm and sweet, his chest only one deep inhale away from brushing against her tingling breasts. ‘Do you know what I like about you?’ he asked. ‘We’re two of a kind, you and me.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she retorted, suppressing a nervous giggle. ‘You were Bachelor of the Week. Last time I checked, I wasn’t in the running for BabeWatch.’ Lottie tried to stop herself from trembling. She didn’t want him to think she was fazed by any of this. She wanted him to think she was totally confident with all of it, that it hadn’t been eight months since the last time she’d had sex, and that she wasn’t panicking about the fact that she hadn’t shaved her legs that morning.
‘I don’t give a toss about what the media think of me,’ he said. ‘But you understand what it’s like to trust someone and get burned.’ His hands found her waist. ‘So do I.’
And there it was. The elephant in the room, that had been sat on her stomach for the past hour. Was she really about to get naked with a man she’d met through work? Again? It wasn’t that they’d only just met, although a little part of her acknowledged that that should bother her far more than it did. She already felt like she knew him. She’d already shared secrets with him, humiliating secrets.
But that wasn’t the real problem. She could accept that Spencer’s was never in a million years going to get Marlene Blakemore as a client. It had been the longest of long shots anyway, even if it would take her the rest of the year to get over her disappointment.
She just couldn’t go through with it knowing that this man, this sexy, sharply intelligent man was only in her life because she’d been prepared to use him for her own ends. She hadn’t even hesitated. He deserved better than that, surely.
She swallowed down the brick in her throat, and said the killer words. ‘I don’t think we should do this.’
His hands fell away. He swore softly, turned on his heel and walked away. Lottie felt her confidence evaporate as he disappeared through a door at the end of the hallway. Where was her pile of self-help books when she needed them? She’d jumped from hot to cold faster than the decrepit shower in her flat.
She fixed her hair as best she could and headed towards the door Josh had disappeared through. Her stomach shrank into a fist-sized ball, but she had to do this. She had to explain.
She walked through the doorway. It took several determined blinks for her eyes to adjust to the light flooding a monster of a kitchen that could have swallowed her tiny flat whole. Simple oak cabinets were topped with sparkling marble the colour of sand. Copper pots and pans gleamed on a rack on the wall, their colour matched perfectly by the little terracotta floor tiles, the walls the colour of a tropical sky.
A vast domed skylight overhead brought in the outside world. She glanced up just in time to see a jumbo jet pass low overhead.
Josh held aloft a flashy steel kettle. ‘Want a drink?’
‘Tea, I guess,’ Lottie replied, twisting her hands together as the tail end of the plane disappeared out of sight. Josh gestured to the long wooden table, and she took a seat at the door end. No point in putting herself any nearer to him, torturing herself with the close-up view of those mouth-wateringly broad shoulders. She wasn’t a masochist.
The kettle clicked off, and he sloshed water straight into the mugs. No pot. No fuss. No ceremony. It was basic and honest and oddly, wonderfully attractive.
‘Milk and sugar?’ he asked.
She nodded, both were added. He was so calm it was almost unnerving. A minute ago they’d been heading towards passion central at a million miles an hour. Her body was a hot, aching mess. Obviously Mr Cool over there hadn’t been quite so badly affected. His laid-back demeanour was a sharp little sting.
A slow breath in, the same breath out, time to steel herself. ‘Look, Josh, about what just happened. I’m sorry.’
He placed a steaming mug in front of her. His gaze met hers. ‘Ask me to call my mother. It’s why you’re here, after all.’