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.
