A drop-dead sexy private investigator is about to discover that digging for dirt can expose some seriously naughty little secrets…in this sizzlingly wicked novel from author Rachael Stewart.

Being a private investigator means that if there’s dirt, I always find it. Only, right now “work” is sitting across from me—a naughty little princess in London’s most exclusive, extra-posh sex club. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted—and tried to avoid—for so long, from that haughty, elegant poise to those perfect lips. Only, socialite Coco Lauren isn’t my client. She’s my target.

I’ve been hired by Coco’s brother to find out all of her dirty little secrets. All it takes is one moment of weakness and I’m done for, just so I can hear her moan in my ear, taste her on my lips. She’s already getting under my skin, with her contrast of vulnerable innocent and hidden temptress who’s so ready to talk—and play—dirty.

Now I’m on the wrong side. I’m the bad guy. And every moment we’re tangled up together, things get more complicated. I don’t know where my deception starts and the ruined mess of my heart begins. We’ve gotten good and dirty, but I’m running out of options and time.

How do I tell Coco the truth…especially when coming clean means losing her?

Mills & Boon DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

Four new Mills & Boon DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

RACHAEL STEWART adores conjuring up stories, from heartwarmingly romantic to wildly erotic. She’s been writing since she could put pen to paper—as the stacks of scrawled-on pages in her loft will attest to. A Welsh lass at heart, she now lives in Yorkshire, with her very own hero and three awesome kids—and if she’s not tapping out a story she’s wrapped up in one or enjoying the great outdoors. Reach her on Facebook, Twitter (@rach_b52) or at rachaelstewartauthor.com.

Also by Rachael Stewart

Mr. One-Night Stand

Mr. Temptation

Naughty or Nice

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Getting Dirty

Rachael Stewart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09934-9

GETTING DIRTY

© 2020 Rachael Stewart

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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For my sister Louise and her fabulous husband, Mark, for inspiring the inclusion of the Highlands with their awesome road trips!

And to my talented editor, Sareeta, for loving this story line when it was just an idea! I hope I’ve done it justice. ;-) Thank you for being so great at what you do!

Happy reading DAREdevils!

Rxx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

I LOVE MY line of work. People bitch and moan about their careers but not me.

Clients task me with a job and I get it done. I don’t run an empire. I don’t employ anyone full-time. I only have myself to watch out for and that’s the way I like it.

This job earned my family back a shred of their respect a decade ago and I’ve been dishing the dirt on corrupt arseholes, playboys and spoilt little rich girls ever since.

I didn’t set out to be a private investigator. It’s a job that chose me when my family needed it most and it turns out I’m a natural. If there’s dirt, I’ll find it.

And right now, that dirt is sitting across the softly lit room from me.

Only this kind of dirt I cannot dish.

It crosses a line that even my skewed moral compass cannot abide.

‘Come on, Ash, what gives?’

I raise my eyes from my untouched pint to see Jackson grinning at me from the other side of the bar. ‘Where’d you come from?’

‘We’re short-staffed tonight. I’m helping out.’

‘A bit beneath you, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Nah, I kind of enjoy it.’

He scans the darkened corners of the room, the various people making out, and barely raises a brow. And why would he? This is his life day in, day out. This is his club—Blacks—complete with sex on tap, catering to the British elite. The upper crust. A circle to which I once wholeheartedly belonged and now wouldn’t piss on if it were on fire.

These people have money. Enough to pay for the exclusive membership and the non-disclosure agreement that comes with it. Anything goes within these walls—within reason—and no one on the outside is any the wiser. Including my client. But the presence of my target—her—tells me there’s more to Coco Lauren than what the world sees. What the press witnesses. And that’s what I need to tap into, to expose, if I’m to get what I need and deliver what my client demands.

‘Jesus, you need something stronger than a pint, judging by the look of you.’

I barely acknowledge his observation. Truth is, what I need is something that gets her to step out of line, outside of this safe haven where I can’t say anything without compromising my friend’s business.

He backs up and snatches a bottle from the side with two shot glasses, smacking them down between us. ‘You never come here, so I repeat: What gives?’

The truth will only piss him off, and I’m not about to lie, so I stay quiet and his eyes narrow, his powerhouse of a frame turning rigid. If he wasn’t my oldest friend I’d think he was about to punch me.

‘You’d better not be here on the clock…’

‘Hey, easy.’ I raise my palms. I knew he’d be suspicious, and he has every right to be—because he’s right. I never come in here. ‘The twisted secrets of this place are safe with me.’

He continues to study me and I know he’s warring with what he knows of my work and what he knows of me. I know he doesn’t like how I earn a living; we agree to disagree. As far as I’m concerned, these people deserve what they get.

Just like the princess teasing me with her long bare legs, cute little arse and a face that’s bordered by a blonde low-swinging bob. She projects such innocence to the outside world, but not now, not in here.

As if on cue she stands and bends over the table to whisper in the ear of her female companion. I clock the feline curve of her body, the gentle swell of her hips, the delicate arch to her back, and then her friend turns and they kiss. Not just a peck. A deep, tongue-sinking kiss that has a spasm of heat ripping through me.

I straighten against it. Fuck.

I’ve seen her dressed for swanky lunch dates, the gym, charity galas and shopping sprees, and now I get to see her half-naked, with an intent that screams one thing: sex.

And in surroundings such as these, with soft lighting, plush grey sofas and the perfect balance of glass and warm wood, she’s lending a sophisticated charm that you could lose yourself in. It’s only the debauched goings-on here that make it more than just a hip wine bar, and she’s smack-bang in the middle of it. Adding to it.

I don’t want to see the appeal. The allure. The legs that go on for ever. And that kiss that sears the air, my skin, my blood.

‘Ah, now I see…’

Jackson’s enlightened murmur snaps me out of it. I pull my gaze back to my pint, chug back a gulp.

‘It’s a woman that brings you my way—now it makes sense. It’s about time.’

I almost choke on the bitter drink. ‘Hardly.’ He’s close, and yet so far off the mark. ‘I can’t say I care for your choice of clientele.’

He laughs. ‘You don’t need to care—not for sex. You ought to try it some time…a bit of no-strings fun. Celibacy doesn’t suit you.’

‘Really?’ My brow lifts. Never mind him punching me, I’m going to swing for him across the bar, to hell with the doormen flanking the place.

He laughs harder as he pours clear liquid into both shot glasses and slides one across to me. ‘Your mistake was letting one get under your skin.’

‘One?’

‘You know who I mean—Jess.’

I throw back the shot and wince. The harsh hit douses the burn of her—my ex, the woman who left the second my family lost it all. ‘Yeah, well, I’d take a woman out of my local over one from here any day.’

‘That’s not what your face was telling me a few seconds ago.’

I glower at him—but, hell, he’s right.

I drag my mind back to the job, to what I should be focusing on.

Coco is clearly at home here, her open affection with the other girl and the show they’re putting on for the guy across from them makes that obvious. Nothing in my research suggested she swung that way, but Philip Lauren—my client, her half-brother—had suspected it.

‘I’m not sure I’m her type.’

Jackson grinned. ‘Everyone’s her type if they can deliver in the bedroom.’

Heat unfurls deep within my gut. I can’t pinpoint the cause. Desire, envy, anger… She’s just like my ex, I try to tell myself. Only, Jess’s vice was money. Coco’s is sex. Just as her brother had said.

‘How often does she come in here?’

‘Depends. You asking for you, or for work?’

‘Does it matter?’

It really didn’t. It wasn’t like I’d put his livelihood at stake. It was the reason her brother was giving me shit. He expected me to have uncovered something by now, and the one thing I’d uncovered was the one thing I couldn’t divulge.

‘I’ve promised I’m taking your secrets to the grave regardless.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

He’s talking to me but his eyes are on her, just as mine were. His expression is thoughtful, almost concerned. And I’m listening, my ears attuned to whatever has him looking so intent.

‘It used to be once a fortnight, occasionally once a week, but lately it’s been more.’

‘More?’

‘Yeah.’ He looks back to me. ‘She’s probably been here twice this past week alone.’

‘And that bothers you?’

‘Not so much bothers me, but you know… This place serves a purpose, and whatever that is for her seems to me she’s needing it more and more.’

‘It’s sex, Jackson. Perhaps she’s just on heat.’

I’m purposefully harsh, flippant, but I don’t want his concern. It doesn’t pay for me to care, to soften towards her, but I can feel it happening. As each day goes by, each new discovery only adds to the appealing enigma that is Coco Lauren.

‘It’s more than that for people like her.’

Jackson’s like a dog with a bone. He’s not letting this go. Maybe she’s ensnared him too. Not that I’m ensnared—unable to douse the attraction more like.

‘They come here to get away from it all, and if she’s upping her visits, something’s bothering her.’

‘You sound like you care.’

‘She’s nice, that’s all.’ He gives a shrug and his eyes drift back in her direction. I let mine do the same, watching as she walks in the direction of the ladies’ room, her hips swaying provocatively. I feel the telltale ripple of heat through my groin and clench my jaw.

‘You could be good for her, you know.’

Jackson’s tone has a sincere ring to it that makes my blood run cold, as effective as a cold shower ever would be. Never would I go back to a woman like that. They have a knack for taking you to your knees and I’ve no interest in risking that again.

‘If you haven’t forgotten how to do it, that is?’

‘Shut it, Jackson, or regardless of your bouncers I’ll take you down right now.’

I shake my head and neck the minuscule drink. He’s hit a nerve and he knows it. Hell, maybe that’s why Lady Legs is having such an undesirable effect on my libido.

Who are you kidding? The reason you haven’t had sex in an age is because you can’t find anyone who does it for you. That is, you couldn’t until you started this job, until her…

I look to the closed lavatory door and beat back the thought.

You’re here on business, not for sex. And if you were looking for sex it wouldn’t be with one of these hoity-toity bitches who remind you so much of Jess.

I’m wired and it’s driving me crazy.

Usually I can lose myself in this place. Forget the trappings of my life on the outside and have fun. It takes the edge off—just enough to go back to it and do it all again. Smile, perform, play the part to perfection.

But not now. Not with Granny so sick.

She’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever known, and since losing my father two years ago she’s been my world.

Nothing can bury the pain. I aim for distraction, pure and simple. But not even distraction is enough tonight.

Caitlin murmurs something in my ear, her dainty tongue tracing its delicate ridge, and I watch as the eyes of the up-and-coming footballer opposite—what was his name? Ryan? Reece? Ricky? I don’t know, he’s new—turn to saucers. He’s out of luck, though. I’m not in the mood, and no amount of Cait’s expert attentions are going to do it for me. Not tonight.

I push out of my seat to rise. I take pity on him and give him a view as I lean in to make my excuses to her and kiss her full on the mouth. She tastes of strawberry, the remnants of the daiquiri she’s been sipping, and I linger a second longer, urging my body to obey, to want, to overtake this pain with the numbing heat of desire. But…nothing.

With a smothered sigh, I head to the bathroom, triggering a text to my driver to collect me in ten. I’ll hit the hard stuff when I get home, knock myself out in my own private domain. I’m not even fearing the hangover that’s bound to ensue. Anything to beat off the impending pain of loss that’s hanging over me.

A quick pit stop, a sweep of red across the lips and I re-enter the room. Caitlin’s chatting to Jackson at the bar and the footballer’s long gone. The fact that I’m not struck with the slightest hint of disappointment tells me I’ve done the right thing.

The sigh comes full force now and I move off—just as a wall appears in front of me and I smack right into it. A wall of hard, lean muscle that smells oceanic and male, all fresh and inviting, not like the expensive cloying cologne most guys here favour. No this is more natural, more… Just more…

My eyes trail upwards from where our bodies are still pressed up against one another. A black shirt, open at the collar, an honest hint of hair… How unusual. A square-set jaw, ample stubble… Nice. A full mouth, firm yet sensual, very nice. A strong nose, not too big, not too small. And eyes—

Oh, my God.

I start to lower my lashes, but I’ve never stood down in my life and force my eyes open. Wide.

Fierce blues pierce me, the coloured rims almost drowned out by glittering pupils. I swallow. At least I think I do. But my throat’s still closed tight as my cheeks start to heat. Part of me is aware I should step back. The other part is more than aware that he hasn’t made any attempt to either.

I wet my lips and manage, ‘Hi,’ feeling glad when it’s not the squeak I feared.

His eyes rake over my face and then he seems to come alive on a breath. ‘Apologies.’

Stepping away, he rubs a hand over the back of his head and my palm tickles like it’s mine that’s grazing over the dark buzz cut. And then he moves off and the connection is gone, the spell with it.

What was that?

Distraction, that’s what.

‘Wait.’ I reach out to touch his arm and feel heat permeate my fingertips, solid muscle flexing beneath the shirt. ‘I’m Coco.’

He hesitates as he looks back to me, his eyes still piercing, still ablaze. It’s like there’s a war raging in his head—he looks angry, even. But instead of being scared I’m drawn in. My body is well aware that this is what I need right now and I can’t let it go.

‘I know who you are.’

It’s a simple statement, but there’s an edge to it. I almost want to say it’s contempt, and curiosity toughens my spine as I retract my hand and smile. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

‘Look, princess, you’re just not my type.’

I laugh. The sound tinkles, high and easy. I’m already having fun. More fun than I’ve had in a long time. ‘Really…?’

‘Really.’

He makes no attempt to leave, though. Interesting.

I cock my head to the side, let my gaze travel over him slowly, more brazen this time.

‘I hardly think I’m yours either,’ he adds, his tone rough and teasing at the electricity already thrumming in my veins.

I lift my eyes to his as I say, ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

A pulse dances in his jaw and I wet my lips as I step closer, reaching out to toy with the first fastened button of his shirt. His chest stills beneath my fingers but his face is set hard. If not for the slight flare to his nose and that tripping pulse point I’d think the chest thing was a figment of my imagination.

‘You going to tell me your name, or am I to guess?’

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 eyes 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.

Heaven flows through my entire body, my head falling forward as my eyes open to take her in, wide with shock, with desire, with all manner of mixed-up emotion. And then there’s her hum of satisfaction, reverberating around my length as she takes my all. She’s not quitting and I don’t want her to. She’s taking my every last drop, forcing out reality and making me want more. So much more.

I soften my hands in her hair, caressing instead of holding. I drag in a breath and then my brain rips through the haze—you fucking idiot—and sends guilt and hatred hot on its tail.

And it’s not her I loathe. I know that with ice-like clarity now.

It’s me—all me.

Something flickers in his gaze, and for a second I worry that it’s regret I can see. I don’t want Ash’s regret. I want the fire back. The same fire that has me all wet, aching, needier than I can ever remember. It’s the perfect antidote for life. Powerful, all-encompassing, a perfect distraction.

I release his cock and put right his underwear—but I don’t zip him up. I’m not done yet. Not if I have my way. I lick my lips as I stand and take pleasure in his touch as he tilts my head towards him, his thumb and finger gentle on my chin.

‘You’re pretty talented.’

‘Call it practice.’

His eyes flash and his fingers flex. He didn’t like that…

‘I’ll bet you’ve had plenty of practice too.’ I throw it back at him and run my teeth over my bottom lip. I want to push him. I want to toy with his obvious conflict. I want this twisted game to go on for however long he will play it. ‘I bet your tongue is skilled in so many ways—or do you use your fingers more?’

I take hold of his hand upon my chin and slowly lower it down my body. My breasts prickle inside the confines of my bra as he travels through the valley between them and over my exposed midriff, which has me sucking in a breath.

He isn’t stopping me, but that war is back. I can see it in his gaze. At any moment he’s going to back away and leave, and the very idea is making my heart beat that little bit faster and urging me on.

I lift myself up on tiptoes and lean into his ear, my free hand working my skirt up, my other hand drawing his hand down. ‘Feel how wet I am…just for you.’

I slip his hand inside my lacy knickers, press his fingers into my wetness. His breath hitches in my ear, a curse hot on its tail.

Better. So much better.

My lips lift in victory as I dare to lean back, to meet his eye, and slowly I circle my hips over his touch, my hand still tight on his.

You’re not going anywhere, Ash, not yet.

His lips are deliciously parted and I love it, taking advantage to sink my tongue inside his mouth and coax his own into action. He comes alive at last, his fingers moving of their own volition, his mouth crushingly sweet as he takes control.

He slips his fingers deeper, enters me as his thumb grazes my clit and I buck on the spike of pleasure that runs through me, the continued onslaught of his mouth catching my sigh of ecstasy.

I raise my hands to his shoulders and cling to his body for support, my lower half on a shameless ride of its own.

I struggle to catch my breath as his thumb works me to fever pitch, his mouth endless in its brutal exploration of my mouth. I tear my lips away, press my forehead into his shoulder and remember the audience taking in our brazen display, enjoying what they can see, what they can hear.

I look to where his hand is buried in black lace. His movements are quick and dizzying, his fingers in deep. He’s skilled, all right, and I’m seconds away from combusting. My nails bite into his shoulders, my body tenses up and I fling my head back to look at him, to register the blazing heat of his gaze.

‘That’s it—come for me, princess.’

His words, his hand, his skill… Every muscle floods with heat, my insides are wound so tight, and then I burst from the inside out.

‘Fuck…’ My eyes clamp shut, my body spasms and he locks his arm around my waist, holding me tight. He won’t drop me. I won’t fall. It’s perfect—perfect and safe.

His thumb rolls over me, slowing against my heightened sensitivity, and then he palms me, his hot heat pressed against my wetness until my body eventually stills and my breathing calms.

My head falls forward, he withdraws his hand and reality seeps in.

Nothing’s changed. Life is as it was before. But for those blissful few minutes it was gone, and for that I am grateful.

Slowly I raise my lashes and calm my expression. He doesn’t need to join me on the comedown. He doesn’t have to shoulder what I do.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

He curves his hand around my behind beneath my skirt. ‘You’re welcome.’

And then he releases me to fasten his trousers. He steps back, his attention off me. So off me that I’m floundering.

I look away and smooth out my skirt, suddenly awkward, sheepish. Do we just say goodbye? It’s what I would normally do. But I don’t want to. Already the chill is taking over and the distance is building between us. I want the warmth back.

What’s the likelihood of us seeing each other again? I’ve been coming here for years and never seen him, regardless of his claim that Jackson is a mate. Maybe he’s not from London. Maybe he’s just visiting.

So many questions burn through me and I can’t give voice to a single one.

Regardless of his actions, he said I wasn’t his type. Would that still be the case now we’d had our fill?

He’s very still and I risk a look. He’s staring at me, but I can’t read him. He’s impenetrable, cold. While his blue eyes seem to pierce me, strip me bare. My confidence is in tatters. Obliterated with the surprising force of my orgasm and his sudden detachment.

Perhaps it’s because I could see myself wanting more.

More like what?

A date. A normal, everyday date, like any normal, everyday woman would want.

But you’re not one of them. Never have been… Never will be.

The growing chill reaches my heart and I shiver.

‘I should go,’ he says, smoothing a hand over his hair.

I nod, still speechless, my messed-up thoughts keeping me tongue-tied as I wrap my arms around myself.

He starts to walk and then stops. My heart flutters, my head lifts, I’m hopeful. But then he continues on and I watch him leave…cold, sober, sad.

I turn back to the ladies’ room, my head swimming with what’s gone down.

You sure you want to let that go…?

I’m already spinning on my heel and heading after him, but as I break out onto the pavement and scan the street all I see are the doormen. There’s no sign of him. Not even a lit-up car about to leave. Where in the hell is he?

I look to the doormen, who are doing their best not to notice me. ‘Did you see where he went?’ I say, and they give me a brief look.

‘Who?’ one says.

‘The guy that left just ahead of me.’

‘Afraid not.’

I think he’s lying. In fact, I know he’s lying. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m on the wrong side of the non-disclosure agreement now I’m outside the building that means he won’t tell me anything.

I’m about to ask again when I hear a car door open behind me, down the street, and my heart soars. I turn towards the sound.

Maybe he’s seen me… Maybe he’s coming back for—

‘My lady?’

It’s my driver. Hope vacates my body, the chill returns, and I wrap my arms around my middle and head towards him. The sinking feeling inside me is ever more pronounced.

It was foolish, anyway. I’ve read of infatuations that start with such a spark. I’ve read it in my mother’s diary, have been able to feel my mother’s lust and then love for my father through the pages. But I always thought such a thing out of my reach. Every boy, teen, man has taught me that aside from sex I’m good for one thing only: money.

No, make that two things. Money and a title. I have them both. And because of that I’m destined to become a spinster.

My tombstone:

Lady Coco Lauren

Lived and died

Single and alone

Why did one chance meeting with a stranger make me hope for something more?

CHAPTER THREE

THREE DAYS HAVE gone by since my momentary lapse in judgement.

Momentary lapse?

Monumental fuck-up, more like.

I swear I can still hear her moans ringing in my ear, taste her on my lips, my fingers… I’ve only to close my eyes and I see her dilated gaze looking up at me, her skin flushed pink, her body moving with sheer abandon in her quick-fire orgasm, my fingers buried deep—

Fuck. There my dick goes, tightening inside my jeans, painful and persistent, nagging for release.

What the hell’s got into you?

Stupid question.

She has.

Her taste, her scent, her flirtatious little mouth. She’s got under my skin, exposed my inner desires. Making her come while others watched on, her sucking me off, me losing control…

And not only that she’s fucked with my job, making me cross a line that I’m struggling to come back from. Making me question everything.

But here I finally am. After three long days of battling my conscience, her insane appeal and every crazy doubt she has instilled, I’m back with it and tailing her. Because I have to. I’m a fucking PI—it’s what I do. I don’t fall for princesses, and I don’t give a fuck. I really don’t. I learned that lesson well, and no amount of honesty from her lips is going to change that.

But I can almost hear my inner laughter, mocking me. As if it knows that I’m here because I can’t stay away.

It’s two thirty in the afternoon and I’m standing in the shadows at an outdoor charity gala for the local children’s hospice, my eyes hidden behind shades and once more on her.

I wear a baseball cap, a nondescript hoodie and jeans, my casual clothing blending right in with that around me. But she shines above everyone. Her hair is tied back, highlighting her radiant smile, her effortless grace. She wears a soft pink sweater, white skinny jeans and a pair of trainers. Nothing special, but on her…

To her right is a child in a wheelchair, with no hair and pale, tubes travelling from her nose and arm to a bag of liquid high above. Coco ducks down to talk to her, her smile natural and vibrant, and the girl nods and murmurs in return, her own lips lifting.

They talk a little more and I see Coco’s PA start to get edgy as she watches from the sidelines, her eyes flitting between the watch on her wrist, the tablet she has tight in her hand and the pair talking.

It seems Coco isn’t adhering to the schedule, and as I look back to her I can see why. She has the girl laughing now, and the joyous noise is lighting up all those around them. Hell, even my insides lift. She doesn’t care for her schedule—she only cares for the girl.

And then she stands and turns. For a second I think she spies me, and then I realise she’s wiping her eyes. She does it so discreetly, so smoothly, that any ordinary onlooker would probably miss it—but not me. I’ve come to know her gestures, her smiles, her laughs, those that are forced and those that ring true.

She’s crying.

My gut twists and sinks, and I double back.

Guilt. That’s what this is. Guilt and another emotion I haven’t felt in so long it’s almost alien to me now. I don’t want to acknowledge it. I just want to get as far away as possible and that means telling her brother I’m out.

You’re going soft, comes the mental gibe. The same one that has plagued me since we crossed the line at Blacks. And it’s backed up by the sensible argument that I’ve been blinded by what we did, what we shared. That ultimately she’s still the spoilt little rich girl I once had her pegged as—that her brother has her pegged as.

But it’s bollocks.

I’ve followed her enough to know she cares about these charity projects. Not the front—not the face of it. She cares about these people. And she works hard. She barely stops—moving from one event to another. Even those lunches seem to be more a function of her public role rather than for her pleasure.

No, the only time I’ve truly seen her do something for herself is at Blacks. That was for her. All for her. And I loved being able to give her that. Loved it too much.

And there was her total honesty, her love for her grandmother, her need to bury the pain.

My chest tightens as I fist my hands. I have no choice but to bring this to a close. Even if it could ruin my reputation. Philip Lauren isn’t the kind to take my withdrawal lying down, and the more anxious he becomes, the more his nasty side shines through.

How the fuck I didn’t see this side to him in the first place, I don’t know.

Liar. You didn’t see it because you didn’t want to; you were too interested in taking down another Jess. Another hoity-toity, good-for-nothing rich girl who only has love for herself.

And more fool me… I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I deserve the pain that plagues me now, the sickening guilt, but the least I can do is tell Philip where to stick it. He’ll likely do his damnedest to see Livingston Investigations closed down as a result, but I’m not afraid of him or the threat. My PI work exists for a reason: to bury my past and save others from similar fates. It isn’t my bread and butter. I have property up and down the country that gets that for me.

Not that I’ll roll over in the face of Philip’s anger—far from it. I might even have some fun with it. And if I can convince him there’s nothing to tell, maybe he’ll just walk away from whatever this vendetta is and leave both her and my business alone.

I take my mobile out of my back pocket and send him a text.

We need to meet. Friday. Usual place. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.

I smile as I pocket my phone. It’ll certainly give me some satisfaction, watching the guy stew on it as I tell him what I really think of his sister and all that I’ve learned.

Well, almost all—I’ll leave out the finer detail that starts with Blacks and ends with our brief spell of fun.

If only I could forget about it…

Okay, I’ve officially hit stalker level.

It’s been a week since I went all gaga over Tall, Dark and Handsome, and despite several visits to Blacks, he’s been a no-show. Which is as I expected, if I’m honest. So last night I swallowed my pride and confronted Jackson. He was his friend. He’d know where Ash lived, and with some gentle persuasion he’d tell me.

What I didn’t expect was a grin as wide as the Thames is long and the information that Ash’s home address is just around the goddamn corner. It was obvious Jackson was matchmaking, and that gave me hope that whatever this connection between Ash and me is, it’s powerful enough for his friend to believe in it too.

So here I am, at six thirty on a Friday evening, nervously toying with my bag as I stare at the exclusive warehouse development before me. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but I’m not fooled. This postcode doesn’t come cheap, and whatever’s hidden on the other side is going to be just as exclusive…rather like the man himself.

And here’s another dose of truth: I didn’t expect him to be this well-off either. His rough, honest edge hinted at something more normal, something more ordinary—something I wanted to reach out and hold on to so bad.

All I have to do is ring the damn bell and, fingers crossed, he’ll be at home and willing.

So why I’m still standing here, ten minutes after my driver opened the car door to let me out, I don’t know.

Derek’s probably watching me from the car and wondering exactly the same thing. I must look like I’m losing my mind.

I pull my handbag tighter over my shoulder and scan my clothing. Today I’m dressed in black skinny jeans and a free-swinging white shirt—perfectly innocent and a complete contrast to the debauched ideas taking centre stage in my brain. My underwear is bang on, though. It may be white, but the crotchless panties and the revealing lace bra communicate exactly what I’m after.

I take a breath and look to the frosted glass of the double front doors ahead that give nothing away, at the brick archway above that appears far more daunting than it should, and butterflies kick up inside my belly.

What are you doing?

Fuck it, I’m doing what I want—screw the judgement and the doubts. I head for the door. Reality can be pushed away for a night at least. I deserve this. A bit of fun…a bit of—

The door swings open as I reach for the buzzer beside the entrance—the single, solitary buzzer. Christ, does he own the whole lot? And then he’s there, filling the opening, and I’m gaping like a fucking fool.

‘Coco?’

His surprised expression all but does me in. He’s even more handsome than I remember, his jaw still unshaven, his eyes just as piercing beneath his dark angled brow, all rugged, rough and—

His brow quirks.

Fucking get with it, Coco.

I straighten, my hands tight over the strap of my bag as I cling to it for solidarity when my legs want to give way.

‘Hi,’ I say—like this is totally expected, like I haven’t just stalked the bejesus out of him. ‘I thought we could do dinner…if you’re free?’

I struggle to hold his eyes. He’s doing it again: reading me and all my fucked-up mental chaos. I lower my gaze but stand firm. He’s wearing a deep blue shirt and dark denim jeans. Very smart. And as I breathe in, I get the welcoming scent of freshly applied cologne. He looks and smells date-worthy.

Oh, Christ, was I asking him on a date?

My eyes flick back to his and I see my double take reflected back at me.

‘How did you find me?’

Not quite the response I was hoping for…

‘Jackson gave me your address.’

Fire sizzles beneath my cheeks. Please, God, let my make-up do its job and stop me from looking crimson. I’m blonde, I’m freckly, I go red at the drop of a hat.

‘It’s not like I tailed you or anything. I’m not some stalker.’

I swear his skin pales. Shit. He thinks I am some stalker.

‘Jackson thought you could do with me swinging by.’

‘Jackson should mind his own bloody business.’

He scans the street, clearly on edge, and I feel the situation rapidly running away from me.

‘Look, it’s okay if you’re busy.’

‘I am.’

‘Going somewhere nice?’ I try for a smile and gesture to his outfit. He has the same number of buttons undone at the collar, the same hint of hair…

‘You shouldn’t be here, Coco.’

I realise I’m staring. Right at his chest. My palms are tickling with reignited memories. I pull my gaze back to his face and swallow past the desire-shaped wedge taking up camp in my throat. I hear his words, register their negativity, but there’s also his tone, and the pulse working like crazy in his jaw…

Is he really freaked out by me turning up? Or is he fighting the same forceful attraction?

Please let it be the latter.

‘No, you’re probably right…’ I take a breath and give him another smile, wanting to test the water. ‘But I can’t get our last meeting out of my head.’

His mouth tightens, his throat bobs. He says nothing, but his eyes tell me he’s reliving it too and I push on, my confidence returning. ‘I thought maybe we could…you know…see each other again?’

‘See each other?’

It rasps out, but his tough-guy exterior is at odds with the widening of his eyes. The rabbit-caught-in-the-headlights look makes him seem boyish and I give a soft laugh.

‘Don’t worry, Ash. I’m not asking you for a relationship…or even a real date…’ Although the truth was I’d take the date. ‘Only sex.’

I straighten on the last word, my chin jutting just a little, like I’m trying to convince him as well as myself.

‘You mean more distraction?’

‘Yes, if that’s what you want to call it.’

‘It’s what you called it.’

‘I did.’ I step closer and he tenses, backing away. ‘I’m not about to go all clingy on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not like that.’

‘That’s not what I’m worried about.’ He shakes his head. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he says again.

‘No? Where should I be, then?’

His eyes move over me, hesitant, probing. ‘Seeing a counsellor, a professional—someone who can help you deal with what you’re going through.’

I laugh. I can’t help it. Is he for real? ‘I don’t need a therapist.’

‘I didn’t say you did. I’m just telling you I understand.’

He says it like he knows it. Like he’s lived it with me. And confusion, a sudden surge of sadness, has my temper sparking. ‘How can you possibly understand? I came to hook up with you again, not to be lectured. But of course you won’t get that, will you? Since I’m just a spoilt little rich girl?’

‘No, Coco, that’s not… You’re not…’ He rakes his fingers over the back of his head, turning away in frustration, tension thrumming off him in waves. ‘You just shouldn’t be here.’

‘Why?’

He stares back at me, the nerve in his jaw pulsing. He looks like he wants to say so much and yet nothing is coming.

‘Ash, what—’

‘You need to go.’ He raises his palm to me and avoids my eye.

‘Are you going to tell me the other night wasn’t fun?’ I’m going to make him acknowledge this, if nothing else. ‘Because I thought it was.’

His eyes flicker in my direction, that nerve in his jaw ever more pronounced.

‘I particularly loved the feel of you in my mouth.’

He sucks in a breath and damn if his cheeks don’t heat. The sight has my belly tripping out and the telltale warmth is quick to spread, killing off the sadness, the confusion, the anger. He’s like my on-and-off switch and I’m not ready to give up on him.

‘Coco, don’t do this.’

‘What?’ I say in mock innocence. I let my eyes drift over him, wetting my lips. ‘Or did you prefer sinking your fingers into me?’

‘Coco.’

He’s so tense, and I’m getting off on it now. Goading him, pushing him where I want him.

‘I’m not the man you think I am; you can’t play those games with me.’

‘Games?’ My smile is seductive, calm, the perfect front. ‘Who’s playing games? I’m being a straight shooter and telling you exactly what I want.’

His breath shudders out. ‘Go home, Coco. Before we do something we both regret.’

‘Regret?’ I frown. ‘How can we possibly have regrets? We’re just two strangers hooking up. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Everything’s wrong with it.’

‘Am I missing something? Do you have a girlfriend—or a wife?’

He’s shaking his head at me but I feel like I’m missing something huge and I can’t begin to imagine what.

‘Is that your car?’

His sudden change in tack has my frown deepening and I follow his gaze to where Derek waits for me.

‘Yes.’

‘Come on. I’ll walk you.’

Hell, no.

My laugh is harsh, almost manic. I glare back at him, confusion morphing into anger at his condescension.

‘Forget it. I’m not a child. I don’t need you to hold my hand. You don’t want me—that’s fair enough. But don’t patronise me while you reject me.’

I spin on my heel and force my stride to be steady as I head for the car. I won’t give him the satisfaction of racing off and letting him see how his words, his contradictory behaviour have hurt me. And I certainly won’t let him see the tears that come from nowhere.

Because they aren’t about him. They’re about everything else. His rejection has only served to trigger the whole damn lot.

‘Coco…’ he calls after me. ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you.’

And now he’s offering out pity? I shake my head. No fucking way.

I’ve heard enough. I don’t turn. I don’t break stride. I head to my car and get in. I don’t dare look back at him until I’m safely locked away behind the privacy glass and the car is moving. Then I look and I see him standing there, confusion in his eyes.

‘Where to, my lady?’ Derek asks.

The last thing I want is to go home like this. I spent the morning with Granny, chatting with her doctors, the nurses, trying to mask the pain, to be strong. This foolish seduction was to have been my solace, my hope. Now that has failed, and I’m even more messed-up than before. The tears were living proof.

‘Blacks…please.’

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