Getting Dirty Read online

  Yeah, you just tell yourself that...

  I slam open the door before the doorman can do it for me.

  I just need to keep a lid on it for a little bit longer. I’ve done it for ten years; I can do it for umpteen more. And once the danger has passed I’ll walk away with a clear conscience. I will have kept her safe, and that’s all that matters.

  I pull out my phone and fire off messages to my researchers. I want to know all there is to know about Philip Lauren. I want to get to the root of his desperation and understand the exact timescale I’m working to. I should have done it sooner, but I had no cause to investigate Philip Lauren when he first came to me.

  I see Coco in my mind’s eye, see those bright green eyes, too generous by far—too generous and too vulnerable and getting to me more than they should.

  Shit.

  But I can’t walk away—not yet.

  In fact, I’ll start with her. There must be so much she can tell me herself, if I can coax her into talking a little. And as for Jackson’s potential membership leak...that needs flagging now.

  First Blacks—then Coco.

  * * *

  ‘Come on—spill.’

  Cait elbows me as she says it.

  ‘You’re not jealous that I went off with Ricky, are you?’

  She laughs, knowing she’s way off the mark. We don’t have that kind of relationship. We’re more friends than lovers—have been since we went to boarding school together. Our messing around came more from being shafted by the opposite sex than anything else. Sex with each other is safe, fun companionship. She’s hot. And she doesn’t kiss and tell. Neither do I. It works.

  She also knows me better than anyone. And she knows my mind is on six feet, two inches of dark, broody hotness.

  ‘Have you seen Jackson tonight?’ I ask. I want to quiz him about Ash. I want to understand him better...try to make sense of his rejection.

  ‘Not the question I expected...’ She sips at her espresso martini—tonight’s drink of choice—as she looks to the bar and nods. ‘Jackson was here earlier, doing his thing. I think he teases us on purpose—all that macho muscle and daring cheek.’

  She winks at me.

  ‘I’m telling you, I would so be on him if he’d shake off that no-dating-the-clients rule. It’s criminal, really.’

  She frowns into her drink and then her eyes light up as she looks back to me.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re after him as well as Tall, Dark and Sexy... What was his name again?’

  ‘Ash,’ I supply swiftly, and her grin is back, her brow hitting the roof.

  ‘Ah, yes, Ash,’ she drawls. ‘Now, that’s the man I expected you to be talking about.’

  I shake my head. ‘Nothing to tell. He bailed when I offered a repeat.’

  ‘Really?’ She pins me with her astute blue gaze. ‘Then the man’s a fool and—’ Her eyes leave me and widen. ‘Well, speak of the devil—or rather devils...’

  Every nerve ending pricks up. ‘What?’ I ask. Even though I know.

  ‘They’ve just stepped in and... Oh, yes, he’s spied us...or rather you.’

  She gives a flirtatious little flutter of her fingers in their direction.

  ‘Cait.’

  ‘Oh, hush—you need to get laid and I need to see the spark back in your eye. That guy can do both.’

  Heat creeps into my cheeks. ‘Cait, I—’

  ‘Ladies...pardon my intrusion, but I believe I owe this one a date.’

  Ash is so close I can feel his body heat penetrate my left-hand side. Cait is now staring in wide-eyed amusement. I don’t know whether to turn and smile or blank him entirely. The latter is what I should do, for refusing me earlier, but my body has a mind of its own and it turns to him. My eyes are quick to follow as they rise to his... Warm, friendly, apologetic, even.

  ‘You do?’

  He smiles and my blasted insides soar, uncaring that he patronised and humiliated me earlier this evening. ‘I do. Can we start over?’

  I look back to Cait. Her eyes are still wide.

  ‘Hey, don’t be looking at me—this is up to you... Not that I mind sticking around, though, if you like...’

  She looks him up and down, blatantly happy with what she sees, and I kick her beneath the table. The move earns me a grin as she scoots over, glass in hand, and rises out of the booth.

  ‘Didn’t think so. She’s all yours, Ash.’

  But as she straightens, she fixes him with a glare, her free hand reaching out to poke him in the chest.

  ‘Mark my words, though, buster: mess with her and it’s me you’ll answer to. I may be small, but believe me, I can bite.’ She punctuates the last three words with a jab of her finger and then turns and walks away.

  Ash watches her go, clearly bemused, and it frees me to look at him—really look at him.

  You’d think after all we’ve shared I’d be immune to him by now. Instead my eyes rake hungrily over him, taking in the same clothes he wore earlier, only now his sleeves are rolled back, his forearms deliciously bare, flexing muscle exposed and worthy of salivating over. My mouth does just that.

  What the hell is wrong with you? my wounded pride mentally admonishes. Do you really want to go another round with him?

  ‘Got your fill?’

  Shit. Caught staring. A great start at keeping your cool.

  I pride myself for my front—it’s never let me down before. I depend on it to get me through each day, to be the perfect Coco Lauren. But it’s nowhere now. It’s taking a fucking holiday. Maybe that’s what I should be doing—hitting a deserted island until I can get this craziness under control.

  Or you could go for the far less extreme coping strategy of not giving a fuck?

  I smile to hide my mental roller coaster and decide to adopt my trademark Coco Lauren tone—the one I’ve perfected—and I’m sure as hell going to wheel it out now if it kills me.

  ‘Yes, you can leave now.’

  I take my barely touched martini and sip it, the bittersweetness sliding smoothly down my throat as I fix my sights on Cait, now sidling up to the bar.

  ‘Okay, I deserved that.’

  I don’t react. I keep my eyes on Cait and count to ten.

  One, two, three...

  ‘Can I get you another drink?’

  Four, five, six...

  ‘An espresso martini?’

  Seven, eight, nine...

  ‘Coco, please...’

  I don’t know whether it’s the gentle way he says my name or the fact that he has the gumption to slide into the booth that makes me look at him.

  ‘I don’t need another, thank you.’

  He scans the bar, smoothing his hand over his hair. He looks nervous now. I like him nervous. It creates a shift in power that I can work with.

  ‘Why are you here, Ash?’

  His blue gaze returns to me, all soft and alluring. And, God help me, my clit pulses—instant, acute. I exhale over it, crossing my legs beneath the table and clamping my thighs tightly together. Behave. He doesn’t need to know the effect he has on me.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’ I raise my brow, arrogant and assured.

  No, I’m not going to turn into a hot, gooey mass inside. I’m not.

  He runs his teeth over his bottom lip—definitely nervous—and I definitely like it.

  ‘I came to see you...to apologise for earlier and to...’ he opens his palms out to me ‘...talk.’

  I take a small, steadying breath as I smile over my glass. ‘Talk?’

  His gaze falls to my mouth as I take a sip and I purposely sweep away the remnants with my tongue. If I’m going down, I’m taking him with me.

  ‘Just...talk?’

  ‘To begin with, yeah...’

  I’m rewarded with a flash of perfect white teeth and a gr
in that makes my belly flip, upping the low, incessant ache inside me.

  ‘What can I say? I’m an old-fashioned guy.’

  The door to the club opens and his grin stills, his eyes flicking in its direction.

  ‘Waiting for someone?’ I ask, turning to see a couple walk in.

  ‘No.’ He’s looking at me when I turn back, but then his eyes flit to the bar, where I can see Jackson talking to his staff.

  ‘You been here all evening?’ he asks me, but his eyes don’t leave the bar.

  ‘Since leaving your place?’ He nods and I frown. This feels like some strange interrogation all of sudden. ‘Yeah, is that okay, Mother?’

  His eyes come back to me, sharp at first, but they soften as he smiles. ‘Sorry, I was momentarily distracted.’

  He leans forward on his elbows, giving me his full attention now—a fact my hyped-up body positively purrs over and is more than willing to forgive the little interruption for.

  ‘How about we take this conversation back to my place?’

  I laugh, surprised, delighted, confused. ‘Is that your best chat-up line?’

  He laughs too, the sound deep and husky and so fucking erotic he might as well have strummed his fingers over my clit.

  ‘You answer my question and then I’ll tell you whether it is or not.’

  My laugh is real and easy now, and my fingers run through my bob as my body loosens up. I don’t understand his power over me, this dizzying attraction coupled with his ability to put me at ease so readily, but I’m happy to go with it if he gives me a little truth first.

  ‘What’s changed?’ I ask.

  ‘Since earlier?’

  Like he needs to ask... ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s just say I’ve had a few hours to consider my options.’

  ‘Options?’

  He shifts in his seat and leans even closer, all serious now, and I’m completely hooked, barely aware of the glass in my hand.

  ‘I can walk away from you—abstain from all the delights the gorgeous Coco Lauren has to offer...’ He draws his words out, slow, thoughtful, and his eyes are doing their thing again, penetrating my very soul and projecting the heat of such delights.

  Then he leans back, and his severity morphs into playfulness as he gives me a cocky grin.

  ‘Which, let’s face it, would keep your heart in one piece and avoid the devastating heartache that’s sure to ensue when I up and leave you.’

  I laugh derisively. ‘Oh, believe me, there’s no risk of that. My heart is not up for grabs.’

  His eyes drop to my lips, the playfulness gone as quickly as it came. ‘So you say. In which case, how about we get out of here and stop wasting time?’

  ‘And I thought you wanted to talk?’

  ‘Oh, I still want that, princess. I like to know who I’m letting share my bed.’

  My laugh turns awkward. ‘I’m sure you know enough already, thanks to the Great British press.’

  He’s quiet for a long moment, like he’s waiting for me to say something more—but what? It’s true. Not a month goes by without me featuring in some article or other.

  ‘Is that really all there is to know about you?’ he asks quietly.

  The worry mounts, the hairs pricking at the back of my neck.

  ‘What about the person beneath the public image? Your family? Your dreams? What does the great Coco Lauren want aside from “peace, love and harmony”?’

  He’s quoting me, from an article published in a gossip magazine last month, and I cringe inwardly. It was a family photo shoot, taken before Granny got too sick to perform for the camera. In it, my pristine white dress is respectable, to the knee and chosen by Granny especially. The string of pearls around my neck was a gift from her. A sedate French manicure, simple white heels and a silky-smooth bob. All just so. The picture of Lauren perfection.

  And a total contrast to the girl sitting here now.

  My cheeks blaze at the falsity of it, of me, and a sudden spark of anger hits—how dare he make me feel like this?

  ‘What’s your point, Ash?’ My tone is like ice and his eyes narrow.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘No? Just like you “didn’t mean to” earlier this evening?’

  ‘Hell, no.’

  He reaches out, combing his fingers through my hair and holding me there as he leans in. I want to break out of his hold, but already desire is drowning out the anger, more potent the closer he gets.

  ‘I just want to know the real you.’

  The real me...

  My breath flutters over my parted lips, and then he’s there, working them further apart, his tongue gently probing.

  ‘I find you fascinating...’

  He sweeps inside, his nose nudging mine as he encourages me to angle my head so he can delve in further.

  ‘I want to get to know you better...’

  My heart sings at his words, and my mouth is quick to follow his bidding. People don’t usually want to know me. They want what I can give them. Money, status, connections.

  And what if he’s just trying to get you into bed?

  A giggle erupts and he breaks away to frown at me. I can’t help it. I’m heady on his words and the ridiculous mental argument they’ve sparked. What does it matter whether or not he means it? I only want him for sex, for distraction. There’s no getting hurt here. No feelings—just fun.

  ‘Are you trying to wound my ego?’ he grumbles.

  I laugh a little more. ‘I think your ego is impenetrable.’

  ‘Believe me, no ego survives a girl erupting into giggles when you kiss her.’

  ‘Then let me make it all better...’ I say softly, leaning in to do just that.

  The door opens again behind me and his body instantly tenses, his eyes dart.

  It’s my turn to frown at him. ‘What—’

  ‘Hold that thought,’ he says, ‘and let’s get out of here.’

  I’m about to ask what the rush is but he’s already out of the booth, his attention on Jackson at the bar. The guy gives him a nod and then Ash offers his hand to me.

  ‘But I haven’t finished my drink.’

  I’m used to doing things on my terms, whether I’m doing it for the public or for me. I’m the one in control. And the fact that I’m losing it more and more in Ash’s company is freaking me out.

  Admit it—don’t you like it...just a little?

  ‘I’ll make you another,’ he says.

  My eyes narrow as I take a leisurely sip of my drink, making him wait. He really is itching to leave. I’d like to think it’s because he wants me that badly, but I’m not convinced.

  ‘Are you going to promise me one as good as this?’

  ‘Better.’

  I give a soft laugh, loving his confidence. ‘Very well.’ I slip my hand into his and feel my entire palm come alive at the contact. ‘You have a deal.’

  I rise up, hooking my bag over my shoulder as I make for the main entrance, but instead he tugs me the opposite way and I frown at him in surprise.

  ‘My car’s in the basement.’

  ‘I didn’t realise there was parking here.’

  ‘It’s Jackson’s private garage.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I follow him, giving Cait a little wave as I go. Her grin is all-knowing, and then her attention goes back to the bar and more specifically to Jackson. I watch them for a second longer, their easy conversation evident from across the room and I shake my head. The poor guy is going to get eaten alive one of these days.

  ‘You laughing at me again?’

  ‘Your ego suffering again?’

  Now he laughs and I follow him out, his husky rumble working its magic over me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘MY GOD, ARE all these Jackson’s...save for you
rs?’

  I look at her as she surveys the underground garage, where the line-up of sports cars is impressive even to me. ‘It’s a weakness of his—he can’t resist a new toy.’

  Her excited green gaze sweeps to me. ‘So, come on, then—which of these babies is yours?’

  ‘Just over—’

  ‘No, actually don’t tell me. I want to guess.’

  I stop and look at her. ‘Okay...’ I string the word out, curious at her reasoning.

  ‘I think a car can tell you a lot about a man.’

  I fold my arms across my chest and work hard not to look in the direction of any particular car. This is going to be interesting.

  Her heels clip against the concrete floor as she starts to walk, looking at each car with open appreciation. Occasionally she dips, caresses a bonnet and then looks to me. It shouldn’t be provocative, but with every stroke of her delicate fingers, every dip and rise that she performs, my cock gets harder—to the point that my jeans are suffocating. I adjust discreetly, not taking my eyes off her.

  She’s teasing me. I think she’s about to declare a vehicle as mine and then she moves on and gives me a little shake of her head, her bob swinging and making my palms itch with the need to fork my fingers through it.

  She pauses before a blacked-out Range Rover now, private plate, nondescript. It means something to the owner—I know it does, because Jackson takes great delight in explaining this to anyone who asks.

  ‘This one,’ she murmurs, turning to face me and resting her hip against it. ‘It’s big and strong and...’ She looks me up and down. ‘Safe.’

  I bark out a laugh. ‘Safe? Christ, you really know how to kick a man when he’s down. You might as well declare me boring.’

  She’s not wrong, though. I have the exact same model in my garage back at home.

  She walks towards me, her heels doing their musical clip again, her body statuesque and so fucking appealing in her white shirt and tight jeans.

  ‘For the record,’ she says, pausing before me, reaching out her hand to make tantalising contact with my chest, ‘there’s nothing boring about being safe.’ She strokes her palms upwards, hooking them over my shoulders. ‘In truth, I happen to find the sense of security when I’m in your arms quite a turn-on.’