enjoy a debauched night of fun as a threesome. It’s something we’ve done many a time before. But I don’t want to. Not this time. Not with him.
I realise he’s staring at me, his striking blue eyes penetrating my mind, and suddenly I feel naked…exposed. Like he’s reached inside me and can read the very heart of what makes me tick. Which is nonsense. Utter nonsense.
I plaster on my superficial smile—the one I save for the cameras—and his eyes adjust to the change he’s seen in me. ‘If you’re not interested,’ I say, stepping away, ‘far be it from me to force you.’
I start to pull my hand from his grasp and walk. It’s time to go home and do what I intended all along. Now I can add his rejection to my list of things to forget.
‘Wait.’
He firms his grip over my fingers and I pause mid-stride. Part of me—the part that felt every millimetre of exposure beneath his gaze—knows I should keep on going. But the devil in me, the pain, needs the distraction more. I look back at him and raise my brow in question.
‘I’ve changed my mind. Let’s grab a drink—somewhere else, though. For all Jackson is a mate of mine, his beer sucks.’
‘Somewhere else?’
I genuinely hesitate. What I have in mind requires the sanctity of Blacks—this club. These four walls keep everything private. It’s why I come here. To let my hair down, to beat off the stress, do whatever I so desire without judgement. Without exposure to the press. Without threat to the great house of Lauren.
‘There’s a pub not far from here…serves proper craft beer.’ He gestures to the bar, where the footballer has returned and is trying his luck with Cait again. ‘Bring your friends.’
I chew my lower lip. Would it hurt? Just this once?
But it would only take one photo, one loose tongue, even, and the press would pounce. My reputation would be in pieces and Granny’s trust—love—would be irrevocably lost.
No, while Granny still lives, I’ll be the Coco Lauren she believes in, no matter if it’s not the whole story.
Guilt churns away in my stomach—but, hell, I am that Coco Lauren in all the ways that matter. Not that she’d see it. She would never approve of my pleasure-seeking side, never understand that I have no interest in relationships and the disappointment that they bring.
No, she would simply tar me with the same brush as my mother and be done with it.
And no one is worth taking that risk for, Coco, no one…
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,
