Getting Dirty Read online

  His throat bobs and I can sense his need to clear it. I’m not naive when it comes to sex. Sex and attraction. His body is giving me all the signs, even if he doesn’t want me to see it.

  ‘It’s like that, is it? Hmm... Let me see...’ I smile as I ponder and watch his eyes flicker back at me. Am I amusing him? I want to amuse him... ‘What about... Reginald? Penfold? Archibald...?’ I mock pout at his flat expression and catch the slightest twitch to his lips. Definitely amused. ‘No? What about Terrence? Bert? Ernie—no, Arnie...? Ooh, yes... Arnie... I can definitely see a bit of Schwarzenegger in you...the whole I’ll be back thing?’

  I tuck my chin in as I deliver my best Terminator impression and my ridiculous comedic act—which, to be fair, makes me look like I sport a double chin—is totally worth it as he rewards me with a grin he clearly doesn’t want to give.

  ‘It’s Ash.’

  He takes firm hold of my fingers, which have just made tantalising contact with the exposed hairs of his chest, and my moment of triumph dampens as I sense the rejection coming.

  ‘And I have to go.’

  ‘Don’t be a party pooper, Ash. We were just getting to know one another.’ I take another step forward and my breasts brush against his chest as I breathe, my fingers still trapped in his warm, firm grasp.

  ‘And as I said, you’re hardly my type.’

  He looks away and I follow his line of sight. He’s looking towards Caitlin at the bar and I realise what he means.

  ‘She’s a friend of mine...a close friend.’

  He turns back to me. ‘So I saw.’

  I frown just a little. Is he jealous? Or is Caitlin his type and he means it when he says I’m not? She’s the opposite of me—a fiery petite redhead, free and easy. Normally I’d offer to share—to 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...

  CHAPTER TWO

  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, her fingers burning a fiery trail down my torso that has my cock pressing harder, eager for satisfaction. Eager for it now—not in twenty, thirty, forty minutes. However long it takes to get her somewhere I can use it.

  She 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.

  I’m fucked.

  She sweeps her thumb over the tip of my cock, sweeping up the pre-cum as more appears. I breathe, ragged, losing it. She runs one scarlet-red nail over my slit.

  ‘Fuck.’

  She looks at me from beneath her lashes. I’m so ready to be inside her, so scared I’ll shoot my load before I even get there...

  ‘Mmm... I wonder if you taste as good as you look, Ash.’

  Oh, Christ, no.

  I shake my head, the move negligible with my body pulled so taut, my fingers tight upon her thighs.

  ‘How about I find out?’

  She slips forward, forcing me back a step to give her the space to drop to her knees, and I stare at the wall ahead of me, my brain screaming at me to stop her as my cock eggs her on, bucking in her grasp.

  She gives a pleased little laugh—and then I feel it, the delicate point of her tongue, sweeping over the sensitised head and my eyes drop. I’m lost to her and all she can do.

  Her lashes lift, her eye
s lock onto mine and she grips the base of my cock, steadying my length to trace a teasing path around her mouth with my very tip. Like I’m her fucking lipstick.

  Holy mother of God.

  I fling my hand to her hair and pull her away. Just for a second...just until the wave passes. The wave that’s pushing me too close to the edge.

  ‘You know what I think?’ she says, looking up at me. ‘I think I’m exactly your type.’

  The words hit home. Harsh, true. She is my type. She’s everything I’ve wanted and evaded for so long. Her haughty air, her elegant poise, her perfect fuck-me-now lips.

  I bring her back to my cock. ‘Less talking.’

  I don’t need a reminder that I’m destined to walk the world alone because I let my dick pick ’em, thus exposing me to the worst of the female species—the ones who will always feel themselves superior. Hell, she is superior to me. Because I’m the villain of this piece. I’m the one out to expose her, to break her, all for the money her brother is willing to pay me. And she—

  She sucks over me and my mind quits, only a moan breaking through my consciousness. It’s not me. It’s not her. It comes from someone close behind me. Someone watching. It shouldn’t turn me on—none of this should. And still I fork my fingers through her perfect bob and hold her there. Watch as she takes me deeper with every thrust, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks, her eyes bright as they reach inside mine, her soft, feminine scent sailing up to me.

  I am fucked. I can’t stop this—no matter what I want, or what is right.

  I’m going to take all she’s willing to give—take it and walk away. Just as Jess would deserve, just as Coco—

  Damn it, she isn’t Jess.

  And that’s what’s eating at me, even as heat starts to streak through my limbs.

  You’re the one to be despised. Not her. You’re the one blinded by your own pain, your own past, taking it out on her. You’re the nasty piece of work.

  I groan over the realisation, squeeze my eyes shut, throw my head back. My balls contract, my release is imminent, and—

  Fuck, I should warn her. But pleasure steals my voice, my ability to move. I can only grip her head tighter and try to breathe, try to stave it off. And then I’m gone, my hips jerking forward with the force of my release.