About the Authors

JACKIE ASHENDEN dark, emotional stories with alpha heroes who’ve just got the world to their liking only to have it blown wide apart by their kick-ass heroines. She lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, the inimitable Dr Jax, two kids and two rats. When she’s not torturing alpha males and their gutsy heroines she can be found drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she can lay her hands on, wasting time on social media or being forced to go mountain biking with her husband. To keep up to date with Jackie’s new releases and other news sign up to her newsletter at jackieashenden.com.

CLARE CONNELLY was raised in small-town Australia among a family of avid readers. She spent much of her childhood up a tree, Mills & Boon book in hand. Clare is married to her own real-life hero and they live in a bungalow near the sea with their two children. She is frequently found staring into space—a surefire sign that she’s in the world of her characters. She has a penchant for French food and ice-cold champagne, and Mills & Boon novels continue to be her favourite ever books. Writing for Mills & Boon is a long-held dream. Clare can be contacted via clareconnelly.com or her Facebook page.

The Debt & Cross My Hart

Jackie Ashenden and Clare Connelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90108-0

THE DEBT & CROSS MY HART

The Debt © 2019 Jackie Ashenden Cross My Hart © 2019 Clare Connelly

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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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

The Debt

Back Cover Text

Booklist

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

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Cross My Hart

Back Cover Text

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

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

The Debt

Jackie Ashenden

Ruthless billionaire Ash Evans finds the sexiest way to collect on a debt in the first installment in The Billionaire’s Club quartet!

Notoriously ruthless property developer Ash Evans never forgives a debt. And I have two days to convince the former street fighter not to pull his investment in my father’s company. Taking a job as his chauffeur in Paris is the only way to get close enough to ask the bad-tempered billionaire for a favor.

With his sexy tattoo, scars and magnificently cut body, he’s as powerful, sleek and difficult to manage as the sports cars my family designs. And after meeting his electric-blue eyes in the rearview mirror all night, I’m more than happy to rev his engine and take the boss for a ride!

But now Ash thinks I’m just using him to get what I want. And he’ll give me what I need, but there is a price—posing as his girlfriend to help him exact vengeance on his half brother. Pretending to love Ash is the easiest job I’ve ever had…and soon my heart is racing into danger. Will a man so full of anger ever be capable of loving me back?

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

Four new Harlequin DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

The Debt is the first instalment of The Billionaires Club series, which continues with

The Risk by Caitlin Crews

The Proposition by JC Harroway

The Deal by Clare Connelly

Join an exclusive, elite, exciting world and meet the

globe’s sexiest billionaires!

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

To Fra.

I wrote this book sitting in your bedroom.

Just thought you should know.

CHAPTER ONE

Ellie

I WIPED MY palms surreptitiously down my black trousers and adjusted my black suit jacket, briefly touching my head to make sure the chauffeur’s cap was in place. Mentally, I went over the address the chauffeur company had given me: The Gustave Eiffel Suite of the Shangri-La, Paris.

Yep. I was in the right place.

I took a deep breath.

Okay, here went nothing.

It had taken me a month of careful planning to get to this point—including relocating from Australia to England—but now I was here I wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip through my fingers.

I had two days to convince one of the UK’s most difficult billionaires to give my father more time before withdrawing the venture capital his firm had invested in our family’s company. It was capital we desperately needed in order to stay solvent. And it was not going to be easy.

Ash Evans, billionaire property developer, investor and slave driver, was as famous for his ruthlessness as he was for his temper, not to mention his unapologetic pride in the fact that he came from a poor background.

He was also notorious for never forgiving a debt.

Still, I liked a challenge and, apart from anything else, this was for Dad’s sake and for Australis, our super car company, and that was more important than any qualms I had about confronting some self-important rich guy.

Not that I had qualms. I was a Little, and Littles were tough. We could get through anything. The key was to put your head down, not make a fuss, and keep going.

Keeping my fuss-making to a minimum, I gave my jacket another tweak then raised my hand and knocked sharply on the suite door.

There was no response.

There was also no one around, which was unusual.

I’d been driving for the rich and famous for a couple of years now—a second job to supplement my position as a designer at Australis because I liked driving—and I knew they tended to be always surrounded by people. Assistants, bodyguards and all kinds of hangers-on.

Apparently not Mr Evans.

But then, given what I knew about him from the research I’d done, that wasn’t completely unexpected.

He was a self-made man who’d grown up in one of London’s most notorious council estates and who’d risen to the top through a combination of ruthlessness, hard-headed business sense and a fight-to-the-death attitude that people whispered had come from his days as a street fighter.

A scary dude by all accounts.

Took a lot to scare me, though—I had four brothers after all—and I was prepared to do what I had to do in order to keep the company solvent. Dad was counting on me since he didn’t want my brothers to know the true state of the company finances, and I was very conscious of the fact that I didn’t want to let him down.

Mine was a ropey plan, but it was the best I could come up with: sign myself on with the chauffeur company that Mr Evans used and hope that I would be assigned to him. It had taken a month for that to happen, but a combination of luck and the fact that he was enough of a prick that no one wanted to drive for him had worked in my favour and I’d been given the assignment of driving him in Paris for two days.

It was a sneaky move, but I’d run out of options, not to mention patience. I’d tried all the usual ways to get a meeting with him to talk about the investment face-to-face, but apparently that was impossible and all I’d managed to score were a couple of interviews with some minor flunkey who hadn’t given a shit about either me or my dad.

Driving for him was the only way I could think of to meet with him in person, to convince him somehow to give us more time before withdrawing his money, because, with the current state of Australis’s finances, we would go under the moment he withdrew.

Yeah, and you know whose fault that is.

I ignored that thought and glared at the shut door instead, raising my hand to knock again.

It was suddenly jerked open.

A man stood on the threshold, the height and breadth of him filling the entire doorway.

I blinked, getting a confused impression of an expanse of bare skin and hard-cut muscle. Then a pair of fierce blue eyes met mine and all the air in my lungs mysteriously vanished.

He stared at me suspiciously for a second and it occurred to me that every single aspect of me had just been observed, catalogued and filed away for future reference.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d opened the door, the man turned and strolled back into the suite, talking to someone on his phone as he went, his voice a deep, gritty rumble. He appeared to be wearing only a pair of worn blue jeans that sat low on his lean hips, leaving his massively muscled shoulders and back bare. A Chinese dragon had been inked into the smooth olive skin, the colours all brilliant blues, reds and greens.

I blinked again, staring, oddly shaken though I had no idea why. Because it wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen a shirtless man before. I’d also seen a fair number of tattoos in my time—my brothers all had them, plus I was involved in the car industry where it was practically de rigueur. Still, I hadn’t seen anything quite as beautiful as that one.

I swallowed, for a second unsure whether to follow him or wait. But since I wasn’t the waiting type I stepped into the suite, shutting the door behind me as I followed him into the lounge area.

He stood with his back to me, still talking on his phone and so I took a moment to study him.

Okay, so this was the scary Ash Evans.

I’d seen pictures of him—who hadn’t? He was built like a heavyweight boxer with the height of a basketball player, his face scarred all to hell from an encounter with the wrong end of a knife back when he’d been a teenager. He was an absolute beast of a man—at least according to one gushing female journalist who’d been granted the rare privilege of an interview and had obviously been bowled over by him.

I’d scoffed at all the over-the-top language in the article—honestly, the way some women got when it came to men, I couldn’t understand it. But being in his presence now, I could see what she was talking about.

Even though he had his back to me, he stood in the middle of the lavishly appointed room as if he owned it. No, more as if he owned all of Paris. A fierce kind of energy radiated from him, kinetic and masculine and utterly compelling.

I knew what it was. Two of my brothers were race car drivers and they both had it in spades: pure male confidence.

Luckily, I’d had plenty of practice in dealing with it and my solution was simply to be as confident and in-your-face as they were.

I waited patiently for Mr Evans to wrap up his conversation, staring at his beautiful Chinese tattoo until finally he’d finished and turned to face me.

Intense blue eyes met mine and my breath caught for the second time that day.

The pictures of him were one thing, but the reality was a whole different ball game. His features were blunt, but roughly handsome and somehow made even more compelling by the famous scars that bisected them. One scar narrowly missed his right eye, while another caught one end of his mouth and twisted it, making it look as if he was sneering. A third highlighted his hard, square-cut jaw. But it was those eyes that really dominated his rough-hewn face. They were so blue, electric almost, reminding me weirdly of lightning in a thunderstorm.

Hot.

The thought came out of nowhere, hitting me like a gut punch. Because he was, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even noticed a guy in that way.

Since the Mark incident I’d put my love life on hold because I simply couldn’t be bothered dealing with all the drama involved, and, so far, I hadn’t met anyone who’d made me want to change my stance.

Not that Ash Evans was even in my league.

I didn’t actually have a league.

Conscious that I’d been standing there, staring at him like an idiot, I shoved my momentary fluster away and I stuck out my hand. ‘G’day, Mr Evans,’ I said, going full Aussie. ‘I’m Ellie Little. I’m—’

‘What do you want?’ His voice was as rough and gritty as sandpaper, and his stare skewered me like a pin through a butterfly. ‘I told the hotel I wasn’t to be disturbed.’

Obviously I was getting a taste of Mr Evans’s famous rudeness. So far, so billionaire. And to be honest, nothing I hadn’t come across before either driving or in the Australis workshop.

‘I’m not from the hotel,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I’m your chauffeur.’

‘Chauffeur?’ He ignored the hand I was still holding out. ‘I usually have Bill.’

‘He wasn’t able to make it to Paris. One of your assistants okayed a replacement.’ I lowered my hand since it didn’t look as if he were going to shake it. ‘Don’t worry, sir. I’ve been given a full rundown of your—’

‘Don’t call me sir. I’m Mr Evans to you.’ He shoved his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘And my assistant never mentioned this.’

With some dudes if you gave them an inch, they took a mile, and clearly Evans was in this camp. I’d found the best way to deal with it was to be as laid-back as possible, all the while making it clear that you were not there to be walked over.

‘I’m sorry you weren’t contacted, Mr Evans,’ I said easily, giving him a wide smile. ‘But that’s not really my problem. I’m just here to do my job.’ And to fix Dad’s little investment issue. But I couldn’t ask him about that now; I needed to build up a little rapport with him first.

There was a silence.

Clearly he did not like my answer, because his gaze became arctic, the electricity in his eyes taking on a bright, cold glint. A sense of threat gathered around him and I could suddenly see why people might be scared of him because that, combined with his height and scarred face, made him pretty damn intimidating.

I wasn’t intimidated, though. I’d dealt with plenty of difficult men in my time and not making things into a drama was the way to handle it.

So I simply stared back and kept my smile easy-going. Letting him know that I wasn’t a threat so he didn’t need to bristle at me the way he was doing now.

His eyes narrowed and I had the oddest feeling that his focus had shifted, zeroing in on me like a laser sight on a high-powered rifle.

It was unnerving since I didn’t much like being stared at, but I didn’t let my unease show. Keep it fuss-free, that was the Little way.

‘Do you speak to all your employers like that?’ he demanded.

‘Yes,’ I said, with absolute truth. ‘And they’ve all appreciated my laid-back attitude.’ I grinned wider. ‘That’s a direct quote by the way.’

A deep blue spark glinted in his eyes for a second and for some reason I felt an unfamiliar heat rise into my cheeks.

Weird. Why was I blushing? I kept my smile pasted firmly on and hoped the blush would go away.

‘Fair enough.’ He gave me a brief up and down glance then reached out to pick up the black T-shirt that had been draped over the back of a luxurious white couch. ‘Though if you speak to me like that again, you won’t last the night.’

I wasn’t listening. I was too busy being oddly mesmerised by the flex and release of the chiseled muscles of his chest and abs.

Which wasn’t like me at all. It was only that he was just so very…powerful. Like one of the Pythons, Dad’s latest model supercar. Super charged and sleek, with a big V8 engine. The most perfect design. Dangerous in the wrong hands, yet an adrenaline junkie’s dream in the right ones…

‘Do you understand?’

I nearly jumped as the edge in his voice caught me, making me realise I’d been standing there gawping at him with my mouth open.

Dude. Zoning out staring at his body? What is wrong with you?

Purely from a design perspective he was an impressive specimen. Built for strength and power, with not an ounce of fat on him. He could probably deliver the maximum amount of force with maximum efficiency too—

You’re not in the workshop now, idiot, and he’s not a bloody car.

Oh, hell. Of course he wasn’t. And now he’d caught me staring.

I struggled to find my normal chill, trying to think of a jokey way to defuse the situation.

‘Uh, yes,’ was all I could come up with.

His gaze narrowed further. ‘You’d better,’ he said, his upper-class British accent completely at odds with the roughness of his voice, his scarred face and worn jeans. ‘I’m not accustomed to repeating myself.’

Concentrate, fool! It’s like you’ve never seen a man before.

Well, to be fair, I hadn’t seen a man like him before.

‘Sorry, Mr Evans.’ I grinned like an idiot, pretending I wasn’t still blushing furiously. ‘I was thinking about something else.’

He stared at me with the same intense focus as when he’d opened the suite door earlier. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Ellie. Ellie Little.’

Would my surname mean anything to him? Probably not. Evans Investment, his venture capital firm, invested money in a lot of different projects so there was no reason he’d know about our company in particular.

Sure enough, there was no recognition in his eyes as he unexpectedly put out his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Miss Little.’

Now, he wanted to shake? A small, rebellious part of me was very tempted to refuse, which would have been stupid given the massive favour I had to ask of him at some point.

So I ignored the urge, reaching out to take his hand politely instead. Yet as his big palm and long fingers wrapped around mine, the weirdest thing happened.

A jolt of electricity shot straight up my arm, making me jerk my hand out of his before I could stop myself.

Good one, fool.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Damn static.’

An odd expression I couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face, making the unsettled feeling inside me deepen.

My heart was beating fast and my skin was tingling where he’d touched me. It felt sensitive, as if I’d been scorched by his fingers.

It wasn’t static, you idiot.

But I didn’t want to think about what else it might have been so I shoved that thought away and put my hands behind my back instead. ‘Ready when you are, Mr Evans,’ I said, as if nothing had happened.

He gave me another of those intense searching looks, though what he was searching for I had no idea.

‘Go down and wait in the car,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

With one last dismissive glance, he turned away, the colours of the tattoo on his back flashing, leaving me with no other option but to do as I was told.

CHAPTER TWO

Ash

I LOOKED OUT of the window of the limo, watching a string of couture-clad people file through the entrance into the elegant historic brick building, and allowed myself a certain sense of satisfaction.

Finally. Fucking finally.

Here I was, outside the door to the most exclusive private members’ club in the world: The Billionaires Club.

Joining was by invitation only—an invitation that only came once your bank balance reached a certain level. A cool billion, obviously.

Mine had come a week ago in the form of a hand-delivered black envelope with a simple gold seal on the back and my name, Mr Ash Evans, written in cursive on the front.

Inside was a heavy slice of black platinum the size of a credit card, embossed with the club insignia: an M with two bars over the top of it, the Roman numeral for billion.

An exclusive club for the rich and famous.

And here was I, the scum of the streets, with a key.

Dad would be turning in his fucking grave. He’d have hated the thought of his bastard son finally having access to everything he’d denied him over the years.

Correction. Dad wouldn’t hate the thought, because, even if he’d still been alive, he wouldn’t have thought of me at all. Not thinking of me was all he’d done from the moment I was born, the product of an illicit affair with one of his maids.

Still, I wasn’t going to let happy memories of my prick of a father ruin my evening, not tonight. I’d worked too long and too hard to get to this point and I had other, bigger fish to fry.

Fish like my half-brother and chief competitor, Sebastian Dumont. He was one of the reasons I’d decided that my first appearance at the club would be at their burlesque event in Paris. I knew he’d be attending and I wanted to shove my membership in his rich and privileged face. He wouldn’t be expecting it and seeing me, his undeserving, lower-class half-brother, showing up where he didn’t belong, would piss him off in the extreme.

Petty? Yes. Satisfying? Completely.

But that wasn’t the only reason. I was also hoping to sabotage his latest business deal, too, just for the hell of it.

John Delaney, a property investor who was looking to sell a couple of islands in the Caribbean that he owned, was also going to be attending the event tonight, and my plan was to corner him and make him an offer for those islands.

I had a luxury hotel business that I’d just got off the ground and the islands Delaney was selling were perfect sites for it.

They were also the same islands that Dumont just happened to be after for his luxury hotel business.

Oh, Dumont had tried to keep his intentions under wraps, but I had my ways of finding out things. And now my entire plan was to buy those islands out from under him.

Yes, we had a rivalry. And to say it was mild was like saying England and Germany were slightly at odds during World War II.

It had been going on for years and I had no plans to build bridges any time soon. Not after what he’d done to me.

I flicked a glance in the rear-view mirror of the limo and found my chauffeur for the evening, the sexy little Australian, staring back at me.

And for a second, all thoughts of my hated half-brother vanished.

When she’d come to the door of my hotel, I’d been expecting Bill, white-haired and grizzled and pushing sixty-five. Instead, what I’d got was brunette and fresh-faced, and pushing twenty-five, if that.

Not to mention small and curvy, with a pretty, freshly scrubbed face, glossy brown hair in a no-nonsense ponytail, the usual chauffeur uniform of black trousers, white shirt and a black tie doing its best to hide the fact that she was unequivocally female.

Oh, yes, and she had a sunny attitude to match.

She hadn’t appeared to notice my scars or to be in the least bit intimidated by my manner, and she had looked me in the eye, which most people never did.

Then there had been that smile. That pretty smile like a bright burst of sunshine. As if she’d never heard of my reputation and had no idea what a bastard I was.

Those things shouldn’t have made her so immediately fascinating to me, because she was nothing like my normal type. I preferred them beautiful and expensive-looking, all the better to soil with my rough, dirty hands, not with a dusting of freckles, dressed in a chauffeur’s outfit, and telling me with a cheerful smile how my assistant not briefing me on her arrival wasn’t her problem.

Not many of my employees would have dared say that to my face.

Correction, none of my employees would have dared say it.

What made her think she could?

She stared at me in the mirror, hints of gold and emerald glinting from beneath long, silky dark lashes, and there was no deference in her gaze. It was full of curiosity and a certain boldness that I found…exciting.

Been a long time since you had a worthy opponent.

Yes, it was true. A very long time. Not that I was into physical fights these days, at least not outside the gym and never with a woman. But it had been a while since I’d met anyone who could hold their own against me. And every fighter needed a challenge to improve their game.

If you didn’t get better you didn’t win, and if you didn’t win, all you got was your teeth kicked in.

I’d never been a fan of getting my teeth kicked in.

She grinned at me. ‘Are you ready to go, Mr Evans?’ Her tone was ridiculously chirpy, yet her voice had a soft, smoky edge that somehow made it sexy at the same time.

She could be your challenge.

Nice idea, but no.

I’d felt the chemistry between us the moment she’d taken my hand back in the hotel room, and when she’d jerked away, her skin pink, I knew she’d felt it too.

Normally that would be something I’d explore, since I never denied myself something when I wanted it, but fresh-faced, tomboyish little Australians who should know better than to smile at men like me were not worth the trouble of tangling with.

And besides, I had a golden rule: never screw the staff.

She might only be a substitute for Bill for a couple of nights, but she was still a staff member. Which made her out of bounds.

‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready, Miss Little,’ I growled, irritated for no good reason.

‘Of course,’ she replied with the same chirpiness, apparently impervious to my annoyance. ‘You can sit here as long as you like. I only asked so I could be ready to open your door for you.’

My irritation increased. She looked so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and eager to please.

You could think of a few ways she could please you.

Yes, but again, not happening.

I stared hard at her, trying to put a dent in her insufferable cheerfulness, but she kept staring boldly back, apparently impervious to my game. And also, apparently, unaware of the blatant challenge she presented by doing so.

A certain tension began to gather in the car, one she also seemed blithely unaware of. At least until I noticed a hint of red glowing in her freshly scrubbed cheeks.

So. Maybe she wasn’t as unaware as she seemed. Not that I was going to be doing anything about it.

‘Then what are you waiting for?’ I said, unaccountably irritated with the direction of my thoughts. ‘I’m ready now.’

Once again, she didn’t bat an eye at my tone, immediately getting out of the car, coming around to my door, and pulling it open for me with a little flourish.

Normally I didn’t bother with that kind of theatre, but tonight I was making an exception.

I glowered as I got out, unfolding myself to my full height, looming over her like the hulking, scarred beast that I was.

She was very small, her head tilting back as she gave me a searching look. Her forehead creased, her smile turning sympathetic. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Evans. You’ll have a great night, I’m sure of it.’

The comment was so unexpected that for a second I had no idea what she was talking about.

‘Do I look fucking worried?’ I said.

Either she didn’t hear my sarcasm or ignored it, because she gave me another thorough scan, her expression becoming serious. ‘Actually, on second thought, you don’t. You just look really grumpy.’

No one made casual observations about me quite like that. Certainly no one said them out loud. To my face.

I opened my mouth to give her another lesson in driver etiquette, but she charged on, giving me another sunny smile before reaching out to pat my arm. ‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down, eh?’

People didn’t touch me, not these days. In fact, the only people who did were the women I took to bed.

No one ever patted me sympathetically on the arm.

No one would dare.

To make matters worse, the brief touch sent a ghost of the same electricity I’d felt back in the hotel sparking through the leather of my jacket and straight into me.

Christ. That was all I needed.

My temper, already mean, took a feral turn.

I glanced pointedly down at her hand on my arm. ‘I’m not a dog, Miss Little.’

Colour bloomed in her cheeks. ‘Oh. Sorry.’ She dropped her hand, her cheerful smile returning. ‘No worries.’

For some reason that didn’t make me feel any less irritated.

Trying to ignore my inexplicable annoyance, I turned away without another word, starting towards the entrance of the hotel and pushing her out of my mind.

The pretty, rich people in their glittering couture gowns and perfect tuxes were gathered around the doors and they all stared at me as I approached.

I scowled, staring them down in turn.

I didn’t miss their looks of disdain and the whispers, their glances at the limo and then at me in my jeans and black T-shirt, leather jacket thrown over the top. I knew what they were thinking. They were thinking that I couldn’t possibly belong in their rarefied circles. I wasn’t handsome enough, glittering enough, rich enough.

Poor bastards. They were in for one hell of a shock.

The thought mollified me and I was cheered still further by how they all rushed to get out of my way like antelopes before a lion as I strode for the door.

The impressive-looking doorman, though, was not an antelope and there was not a whiff of disdain from him. He gave me a nod and pulled open the door as soon as I approached, ushering me into the foyer with a simple, ‘Welcome to The Billionaires Club, Mr Evans.’

I hadn’t been expecting to be treated with respect and it took the wind out of my sails slightly.

The foyer was a huge space with an impressive staircase leading to the upper stories and a massive chandelier that dripped jewelled light into the vaulted space.

Directly in front of me was an ornate and obviously antique table with a huge spray of white orchids in a glass vase on top. The simplicity of the arrangement was in direct contrast to the chandelier and the table it sat on, and the floor of horrifically expensive Italian black marble. A few chaises longues were strategically placed for people to sit on, covered in luxuriously ostentatious gold silk.

The whole place reeked of money, the scent of the elite, the entitled, the privileged. The lucky, lucky few.

Of which I was now one, despite my father’s best efforts to keep me in my place, and my own half-brother’s betrayal.

Fuck you, old man. And fuck you too, Seb.

I smiled savagely at the thought.

There was a woman waiting for me beside the table, tall and slim, with long blonde hair and the kind of perfectly groomed appearance that only the very wealthy could achieve.

She ignored my smile, didn’t blink at my scars, simply held out a hand and said, ‘Mr Evans, welcome to The Billionaires Club. I’m Imogen Carmichael. Pleased to meet you.’ Her accent was American, east coast.

I took her hand, reining in my temper, because I could be pleasant when I wanted to be. ‘Likewise.’

She gave me a cool smile in return. ‘I’m glad you could make it to Paris to join us. Would you like a drink to start with or would you prefer it after the tour?’

‘After. Since I received precisely nothing in the way of information, I want to know how this place works.’

A flicker of genuine amusement crossed her classically lovely face. ‘That’s intentional. Part of the mystique, you understand.’

‘Of course. It’s also pretentious as hell.’

She laughed. ‘You’re direct. I like it. In fact, if I’m not much mistaken, you’ll fit right in.’ Stepping back, she gestured towards a grand set of double doors opposite the main entrance. ‘Right, I’ll show you to the ballroom. We’re in the middle of a burlesque gala event right now, which will give you a taste for the kinds of things we do.’

The club was as exclusive as it got, with a million-dollar membership fee per year. It was an extortionate amount, but I’d already figured out that membership could only benefit me. Evans Construction and Development, my property development firm, was going from strength to strength as it was, but the club would open doors when it came to growing Evans International, my luxury hotel chain. Especially when it came to stealing my half-brother’s business from him the way he’d once stolen mine from me.

As Imogen showed me into the ornate ballroom, with high ceilings and yet more chandeliers, I took a glance around, scanning the glittering crowd for any sign of Dumont or my other quarry, Delaney. Suspended above the crowd by a pair of red, silken ribbons, a woman clad in nothing more than jewelled bikini bottoms and nipple pasties performed a sensual aerial act. Music with a heavy beat played while both men and women in risqué jewelled costumes circulated with trays of drinks.

‘We hold gala events like this one all over the world and throughout the year,’ Imogen murmured. ‘And all the proceeds go to various nominated charities, as does fifty per cent of each member’s buy-in.’

‘Of course,’ I said, listening with only half an ear as I searched the crowd. ‘You must need the tax breaks.’

Imogen clearly heard the cynicism in my voice, because she raised a brow. ‘It’s all completely genuine, Mr Evans, I assure you. And most of our members help out by attending each event, though you can come and go as you wish. Right now, I’m in the middle of arranging the Christmas ball that will take place in New York, the money from which will also go to a very good cause.’

From the expression on her face she believed every word that she said, and maybe it was true. Maybe my cynicism had more to do with me than with her and this club.

Whatever. I wasn’t here to debate charity and privilege, or to hear about parties. I was here to find Delaney and my brother.

As if sensing my impatience, Imogen gestured to another door. ‘Come with me, I’ll show you something else.’

We went through into another area, a series of plush interconnecting rooms full of subtle lighting, clusters of deep, velvet-covered armchairs and low tables. People were sitting either in groups or pairs, talking intently in low voices. It was all brandy balloons and Scotch glasses, expensive cigar smoke in the air, and the scent of money, of big deals being done.

My favourite hunting terrain.

‘Our quiet area,’ Imogen said as we passed through. ‘Where members can relax and talk business or whatever else they might like.’

‘Sounds like my kind of place,’ I murmured, finally spotting Delaney sitting in a corner chatting to a group of people.

Good. He was here. Now to figure out where Dumont was.

We came back out into the entrance hall and Imogen gestured to the magnificent staircase that led up to the upper levels. ‘And up there are our intimate suites, if you want to take a look.’

I raised an eyebrow, curious. ‘Intimate suites?’

Imogen’s smile turned secretive. ‘The club provides for anything our members and their guests might need or want, and that includes some private spaces for blowing off a little steam.’

She didn’t need to elaborate, I got the idea. And I approved.

‘Now,’ Imogen went on. ‘That concludes the tour. You’re free to join the other members in the ballroom or adjourn to the bar, whichever takes your fancy.’

The bar, obviously, since Sebastian was not in the ballroom. Besides, although I was very much into pretty girls dancing while wearing not a lot, I wasn’t keen on the pointless posturing that was happening in the ballroom. Give a person a billion and they thought they were God’s fucking gift. Half those arseholes hadn’t had to work for what they had, not like I’d had to, and I wasn’t going to stand around pretending I was as good as the rest of them.

I was better. And I saw no need to pretend.

The bar was off the main ballroom and was just as gilded and ornate, with quite a few people gathered at the tables and sitting in the gold-velvet-covered booth seats that ran down one wall. Light glittered and dripped from the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, sparkling on jewelled necklaces and glinting off cufflinks. The low hum of voices filled the room along with the heavy beat from the ballroom.

People stared at me as I made my way to the bar and I let them look, enjoying the attention. Me, with my knife-fight scars, in my jeans and T-shirt amongst all the jewels and tuxes.

I didn’t need to imagine what they were thinking. I knew, since it was written all over their faces. They were thinking I didn’t belong. That I was scum from the streets, their reminder that, though they might be insulated from the hard cold realities of life by their wealth, hard cold reality was now also here amongst them.

It amused me. I also didn’t give a shit. They could think what they liked. I’d earned my place here and too bad if they didn’t like it.

Strolling up to the bar, enjoying the way the crowd rippled to give me space, I took another scan around before ordering a drink.

A pretty blonde in a red dress with diamonds sparkling around her neck sidled up to me smiling, her intent very clear.

She was just my type: rich, sophisticated and beautiful. Definitely the kind of woman who’d never let a guy like me, rough and blunt and scarred all to hell, touch her if I didn’t have a billion dollars in my bank account.

Definitely a potential cure for the burn of thwarted attraction and annoyance my little chauffeur had ignited inside me.

I bought her a drink and she put her hand on my chest, leaning in to whisper something filthy in my ear. And that was when I finally spotted him.

He was standing right down the other end, one elbow propped casually on the bar, his head bent to talk to a brunette in a tiny black dress.

A deep satisfaction pulsed through me.

Sebastian Fucking Dumont.

My half-brother and once my closest friend. We’d ruled the exclusive school my mother had forced my father to shell out for—the only money he’d ever given her for me—and we’d had plans. So many fucking plans.

Until he’d stolen those plans for himself.

They say you’re supposed to forgive and forget, but I wasn’t a forgiving kind of man. I never forgot a betrayal, either—and I hadn’t forgotten his.

His blue eyes—so like mine—widened as they saw me and I gave him a savage smile.

Yeah, you rich fuck. Here I am, despite what you did to me. Here, in your territory.

Shock gave way to anger, and he frowned. As I expected. He’d be wondering what I was doing here and why the club had let riff-raff like me into its elite halls. And then, no doubt, he’d be calling someone to have me thrown out for daring to gatecrash.

The bastard was in for a couple of big surprises. Especially when he eventually found out the islands he’d been angling for were already sold. To me.

I smiled wider and gave him a jaunty one-finger salute. I’m a member of your precious club, motherfucker, and what are you going to do about it?

He stiffened, turning away to say something to the brunette before pushing his way through the crowd towards me.

But I was done.

I’d showed my face. I’d proved my point.

Time to find Delaney and buy those fucking islands.

CHAPTER THREE

Ellie

I CHECKED THE rear-view mirror again to make sure the entrance to the fancy hotel Mr Evans had disappeared into was still clear and, again, it was.

I didn’t expect him to come back out so soon—not that I’d been given details of the event I’d dropped him off at—but I wanted to be ready when he did. Anything to make up for my little mistake earlier, when I’d attempted to defuse his mood by cheering him up.

I’d thought he looked apprehensive when he’d stared at the crowd outside the doors, so I’d given him a pat and a rousing ‘don’t let the bastards grind you down’ talk the way I did with Jason, my oldest brother, when he was racing and feeling nervous.

Not a great plan in hindsight, because Mr Evans was not my brother, nor had he been feeling nervous, apparently, given his grumpy response.

Which meant that now I needed to be on my best behaviour, especially if I was going to be broaching the topic of Australis with him.

I’d hoped I would have made a good enough impression by this point that I could ask him about it tonight, but maybe that was too soon, especially given his temper.

Now that I’d been given a taste of his fearsome reputation, it seemed as if he’d come by it honestly, and the curious part of me wanted to know why. Was he genuinely a grumpy bastard all the time or did he just not like people? Did it have something to do with his scars? Or was there something else going on?

My research hadn’t given me any clues since he never talked about his private life. There were all kinds of rumours about how he’d made his initial start-up money, but the general consensus was that he’d earned it in illegal street fights, which naturally the media ate up with a big spoon.

They had quite a fascination with him and now I’d met him, I could see why.

He was quite…magnetic.

I frowned out of the front windscreen, reflecting again on when and how I needed to approach the question of his Australis investment.

It was important I get this right, since there wouldn’t be another opportunity to get close to him and if I didn’t succeed, the company was more than likely going to tank.

If only Mark hadn’t been drunk at the Christmas party and thought I was fair game. And if only I hadn’t got angry when he’d grabbed me and kneed him in the balls.

But I had. I’d committed the cardinal sin of turning something minor into a big deal, and Mark had complained to Dad about ‘assault’ and talked about lawsuits. Dad had had no choice but to pay him off, thus losing the best designer we’d ever had, not to mention a large portion of the investment capital we’d been given by Evans Investment.

I’d then compounded my error by showing Dad a potential answer to our financial worries—the design for an electric supercar that I’d been working on for the past five years or so.

But he wasn’t interested. He’d already been disapproving of how I’d handled Mark and he liked my electric car suggestion even less. He was an internal combustion engine man all the way and ‘fancy, newfangled’ ideas had no place at Australis.

There’d been no point making a fuss so I’d quietly shelved the supercar project, turning to other ideas to fix our money problems instead.

Some days I wondered if he would have liked me more if I hadn’t been born the spitting image of my pretty, womanly, passionate mother. If I’d been born a boy instead.

Mum had died of cancer when I was seven and Dad had been destroyed by her loss. He hadn’t even been able to look at me in the days following her funeral, so I’d put away my pretty dresses and swallowed my grief, and tried to act like my brothers instead.

But I couldn’t change the basic shape of my face. And of course, I had her eyes…

Dad had never treated me the same way since.

An old grief caught in my throat, but I forced the emotion down, distracting myself by glancing at the hotel entrance again.

This time I saw the doorman move to pull open the door and finally Mr Evans came striding out, his arm wrapped around a pretty blonde woman in a skintight red dress.

I only just suppressed a groan.

Bloody hell. There went any opportunity for a quiet word about Australis. If he was going to be entertaining women, I’d probably have to wait until tomorrow.

Annoyed and trying to ignore it, I got out of the car and hurried around the side to open the door, pasting on my usual smile.

The woman was tall and lovely, her dress beautiful, her make-up perfect. Just the kind of woman men liked. At least, she was definitely a woman my brothers would have liked.

She didn’t look at me as she got in and I was expecting Mr Evans to ignore me the way she had, but he didn’t. As I stood there holding the door, he glanced at me and those electric-blue eyes pinned me to the spot.

An intense, hot satisfaction glowed there and it was so at odds with the cold lightning that had been in them before that I could only stare, my breath catching.

But it was only a moment. The next second, he’d got into the car leaving me standing there staring into space, my heart beating unreasonably fast.

God, what was wrong with me? He was just a man. A rich man, yes, and powerful, but a man all the same. And I knew all about men. They were either stoic like my dad and my middle brother, Dev. Or they were cheeky and fun like my two older brothers, Jase and Justin. Or quiet like George, my youngest brother.

Or pretending to be nice and ending up a sleaze like Mark.

But Mr Evans didn’t fit into any of those categories. There was something burning inside him that none of the men I knew had, something that sparked and crackled like an arc welder melting metal.

I had no idea why that fascinated me or why I’d ended up standing there staring into space because he’d glanced at me…

It’s not static, remember?

But the thought was an uncomfortable one, so I pushed it away before it could settle, shutting the door and going around to the driver’s side, getting back behind the wheel.

I reached up to adjust the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of the pair of them as I did so.

Mr Evans’s dark head was bent and he was whispering in the woman’s ear. She was sitting very close, half turned towards him, her hand spread on the broad expanse of his chest, and she gave a soft giggle.

Ugh. Were they going to carry on like that the whole way? Not that it was any of my business what they did and not that I was at all bothered by it. I’d seen worse over the years I’d been driving.

Ignoring my strangely hot cheeks, I jerked my gaze away from the mirror and stared out of the front windscreen instead.

‘Back to your hotel, Mr Evans?’ I tried to sound cheerful and professional and completely relaxed about what was happening behind me.

‘Yes,’ Mr Evans said.

His voice had gone even deeper and grittier, a thread of heat curling through it, and, despite myself, I glanced into the mirror again, drawn inexplicably by the sound.

He was watching me, a hot blue flame glowing in the depths of his eyes.

My mouth dried and my heart kicked in my chest, which was totally ridiculous, because him looking at me shouldn’t affect me like that. Not after Mark and the way he used to stare at me from behind his computer in the workshop. Making me feel as if I’d had a bath in a tub full of grease.

So there shouldn’t have been any reason why I felt restless and hot. Why the expression in Mr Evans’s eyes connected to something hungry inside me. Something he saw that I hadn’t realised was there.

Something I didn’t understand.

I looked away before I could stop myself and then felt instantly annoyed. As if I’d retreated somehow, which was a mistake when dealing with a guy like him.

Get it together, Little. You shouldn’t be playing games anyway.

I definitely shouldn’t, not that I was a game player anyway. But there was a reason I’d managed to manoeuvre my way into driving for him and it wasn’t because he’d turned out to be hot shit on a stick.

I had a mission and I had to keep that in mind.

Determined not to look again, I started the limo and pulled away from the kerb, concentrating squarely on driving and not on the man behind me.

Except I found the low rumble of his voice distracting. There was a velvety texture to it, a kind of huskiness that made me feel shivery.

The engines of the Pythons sounded like that. A deep purr, like a giant cat. I loved the sound of those engines, loved those cars, sleek and dangerous and powerful.

Taking one of them for a spin around the track was a huge rush, an adrenaline hit I’d craved right from the first moment I’d sat behind the wheel and the engine had turned over, throbbing like a giant heartbeat.

The rush of speed had been the perfect way to deal with all the messy teenage emotions I hadn’t known how to handle, the emotions that Dad hadn’t known how to handle either, and so I’d taken to the track to drive whenever I was feeling upset or needing an emotional release.

Speed was better than crying and there was nothing like hitting the gas hard and throwing a powerful car around a few corners.

Ever since then, the revving purr of a V8 engine had made me feel good. Made me feel reckless and powerful. And listening to Mr Evans talk, his voice thrumming through me like one of those engines, a deep vibrating rumble that I could feel in my chest and lower, in my sex, made me feel that same way.

What would it be like to drive him?

What a stupid thought. He wasn’t a car. He was a man and probably wouldn’t appreciate being driven anywhere.

Yet try as I might to concentrate on the road ahead of me, the thought wouldn’t go away.

He was muscular and powerful, just like one of the Pythons. Would he take me on a wild ride if I put my hand on him? He probably wouldn’t be as easy to drive, but he’d certainly be as hot. And he’d be hard, too, and the rumble of his engine…

There was a throb between my legs, a hot, raw feeling that I wasn’t sure how to handle. I’d never felt this before, not for anyone, not even for my one lone high-school boyfriend.

Still think it’s static?

Okay, no. It wasn’t static. It was attraction. But that didn’t make things any easier, because I still didn’t know what to do about it.

Sex is what people usually do about it.

I glared out of the front windscreen as I manoeuvred the giant car through the narrow Parisian streets.

Sex was not happening. I’d had it a couple of times with that one single boyfriend and it had been nice but forgettable. Certainly not worth trying it with Mr Evans, even if he had been interested, which I was sure he wasn’t. Not given the woman he was with now.

Anyway, he was clearly a man who was used to being in charge and, after Mark and his handsy ways, I wasn’t keen on letting any guy take charge of me.

Apart from anything else, I was supposed to be asking him for more time on the Australis investment, not…anything else.

The lights were red at the intersection ahead of me so I stopped, irritatingly conscious of Mr Evans’s voice rumbling again, followed by more feminine laughter and then a soft gasp.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

I wasn’t going to look. I wasn’t curious. I didn’t need to see what was happening behind me.

Of course I looked.

And the way the rear-view mirror was positioned gave me the perfect view of one of his large hands cupping her breast over the fabric of her dress, his thumb moving lazily back and forth over her nipple.

I blinked, a weird flashback hitting me. Of how Mark had grabbed me from behind, squeezing me and pinching me, and how it had hurt. He’d been rough and I’d been taken by surprise, unable to jerk away until it was too late.

Yet the woman didn’t seem to find what Mr Evans was doing to her unpleasant. She was arching into his hand as if wanting more. And…it seemed as if he was holding her carefully, his thumb moving gently, lightly…

Unexpectedly, my own nipples hardened, pressing against the cotton of my bra, and I had to jerk my gaze away, my face flaming.

Bloody hell, what was I thinking? Staring at my clients wasn’t at all professional. And as for getting turned on by it…

No. Just no.

The light changed colour and I put my foot on the accelerator, determined to ignore what I’d just seen.

But Mr Evans made another of those deep, purring sounds and it shivered through me, making my mouth go dry and the throb in my sex even more intense.

Was it the blonde making him sound like that? And why? What was she doing?

Madness. I shouldn’t even want to look again, let alone be battling the sudden and intense desire to do just that.

Another set of lights was up ahead, turning red as soon as I approached.

I wasn’t going to look. I wasn’t.

But I couldn’t help myself. I did.

His hand had moved to her butt, curving around it possessively, while hers had shifted from his chest and down between his powerful thighs, her fingers spread as she cupped him through his jeans, her red nails standing out against the blue denim.

I swallowed, trying vainly to get some moisture into my bone-dry mouth.

Her fingers were lazily stroking up and down, tracing the outline of something very long and very thick, and his thighs were spread wide, giving her room, as if he was enjoying very much what she was doing to him.

A hungry feeling pulsed inside me, my palms sweaty as I gripped the steering wheel.

This time I couldn’t drag my gaze away. I was glued to the view in the mirror, mesmerised and not even sure why.

There was something hypnotic about the way her fingers moved on him, about the shape of his cock beneath the denim, that caught my attention, twisting my curiosity tight and refusing to let go.

What did he feel like? Was he hot? Was he as hard as he looked? Would he make that soft bass rumble for me if I touched him?

Need throbbed between my thighs, my hands itching to touch.

I loved driving, and chauffeuring satisfied that need in me, but I also loved design. There was nothing that gave me as much pleasure as the clean lines and curves of a beautifully designed car, form and function perfectly melded.

I wanted to see Mr Evans’s form. I wanted to see the lines and curves of him, and whether he’d be as beautifully designed for power and strength as he seemed to be. I already knew his torso was a work of art, but what about the rest of him?

My heartbeat accelerated like one of the Pythons, revving hard.

The mirror didn’t show his face and suddenly I wanted to see it. Wanted to know what his scarred features looked like when he was turned on and whether those intense blue eyes were still full of heat and not just lightning.

With a hand that shook only slightly, I reached up to adjust the mirror so I could see. Then froze as his gaze clashed with mine.

Electricity sizzled through me and this time there was no static to blame.

It was all him.

‘The light is green, Miss Little,’ he said in his deep, rough voice.

And it took me at least five seconds to process what he was saying. And then I did.

Oh, crap.

My face burned and I wrenched my gaze away, pressing my foot down hard on the accelerator. Too hard. Much to my shame the car bunny-hopped a couple of times before I managed to bring it under control again. I stuttered an apology, keeping my attention resolutely forward this time.

He didn’t answer, but I was just about combusting with embarrassment, angry with myself for staring when I knew I shouldn’t, and also at my own reaction. At the pulsing, insistent ache between my thighs.

I didn’t understand it. Australis’s continued existence was on the line and here I was, letting some stupid sex stuff distract me. And now he’d caught me watching him…

He’ll probably fire you.

Shit. The thought made my palms even more sweaty.

I tried to dismiss it, plaster my smile in place, get back into a more professional space, but I was still blushing furiously by the time I pulled the car up outside Mr Evans’s hotel.

‘Stay there, Miss Little,’ he growled as I reached to undo my seat belt.

Oh, great.

He said something to the woman that I didn’t catch, but I didn’t dare look this time to see what was going on.

Instead I waited, staring out of the widow, listening to the rear door open and then close with a thunk.

There was a long silence.

Eventually, I had to glance in the mirror, because the suspense was killing me.

The blonde had gone, but Mr Evans hadn’t.

He was still sitting in the back seat.

And he was staring straight at me.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ash

I HAD NO idea what Miss Ellie Little was playing at, but one thing I did know: she needed to stop.

Because I was finding that having my fresh-faced chauffeur steal little glances in the rear-view mirror, watching me while the blonde stroked my cock through my jeans, was surprisingly erotic. And that if she kept on doing it, she was going to find herself spread out on the back seat of the limo, naked, with me on top of her.

Which obviously could not happen.

I should be thinking about screwing my beautiful blonde friend instead, because she was sexy and experienced and definitely not working for me. Unlike Miss Little.

Which meant I should not be thinking about Miss Little’s sneaky glances in the mirror, watching us from her place in the driver’s seat, her gaze darkening as she realised what was happening. Colour flooding her clear skin, making her freckles stand out, and her lush red mouth open.

Or thinking about how watching the blonde and me was turning her on.

Or about the realisation that it wasn’t so much what the blonde was doing to me that was making me hard as it was Ellie’s reaction.

It was obvious she didn’t want to look and yet hadn’t been able to help herself, and I liked that very much.

Too much.

I’d got under her insufferably chirpy skin, flustered her; made her blush. And I found that incredibly satisfying, especially after she’d steadfastly refused to show any reaction to me or my temper.

Except there’s nothing you can do about it.

Irritation gnawed at me. Even though she was only driving for me temporarily, she was still an employee and that was a line I never crossed.

And it irritated me still further that the thought she was forbidden only made me harder, perverse bastard that I was.

The lights from outside illuminated Ellie’s face in the mirror and the deep blush still burning in her cheeks. I could even see the scattering of freckles across her nose. She was clearly embarrassed yet she didn’t look away. ‘Uh, so I guess I’m fired now, right?’ she said, that cheerful smile trying to make an appearance again, though it wasn’t as confident as it had been before. ‘Perving at the clients isn’t exactly a good look, I know, but—’

‘Want to tell me why you were staring at my dick?’ I demanded, not letting her finish, impatient with the attraction that burned in my blood and with the hard-on in my jeans that refused to subside no matter how unwanted it was.

Her smile faltered, green sparks of irritation flickering to life in her hazel eyes, and that didn’t help. Because I did not need further signs that I was getting to her. Not given the state I was in.

‘To be fair, I could hardly not stare at your dick,’ she pointed out. ‘Especially when it was in my face every time I had to check my rear-view mirror.’ She tried again with the smile, though it was even less convincing this time. ‘And hey, if you really didn’t want me to see, you should have put the partition up.’

She might have been trying to make a joke of it, but I heard the note of challenge in her husky voice and it hit me like a shot of adrenaline, making my cock even harder than it was already.

Fuck, she had guts confronting me like that.

Respect stirred inside me even as my anger deepened, mostly at myself for not simply getting out of the car and going after the blonde, whom I could at least have in my bed without all these moral quandaries.

And it didn’t help that she was right. I should have put the partition up. But I hadn’t. Because I liked her watching.

My jaw ached, tension crawling through my shoulders.

I’d come out of the club so pleased with myself, because my meeting with Delaney had gone extremely well. My price for the islands was significantly more than what Dumont had offered him and he’d been into the idea. Though not without a few unexpected caveats.

The islands had been in his family for years and he had a certain sentimental attachment to them, going on to tell me that he’d hoped to sell them to someone who was family-minded, too.

I wasn’t family-minded in the slightest, but to get those islands away from Dumont, I could pretend, so I’d muttered some nonsense about a girlfriend and how we were looking to get serious. Delaney had been surprised, but very positive, and told me he’d be in touch in a couple of days, likely with good news.

It had all been very satisfying. As had been the prospect of a couple of hours’ pleasure with the blonde.

But not now. Now the thought of the blonde left me cold.

Get out of the car, you stupid bastard.

I should get out of the car. Not sit here, hard and annoyed because I wanted a woman I shouldn’t touch.

But I didn’t.

And she was still looking at me in the rear-view mirror, gold glowing through the green in her eyes, like the sun through leaves on a hot summer’s day. Making me realise that I was cold and had been for quite some time.

Except the gold in her eyes now was different from the sunny cheerfulness of before. There was a smoky heat to it that was definitely not forced.

Where there’s heat, there’s fire.

Oh, yes, I could see hints of that fire now, glowing embers in her gaze that wouldn’t take much to ignite…

‘You shouldn’t look at me like that.’ My voice was rough and harsh in the dense silence of the car. ‘Not if you’re not ready to face the consequences.’

‘What consequences?’ Her hands were curled around the steering wheel, making me think of how it might feel to have those delicate fingers wrapped around my cock.

Did she really have no idea? Could she not feel this tension between us? Static, she’d said back at the hotel, a response that had seemed genuine. Which meant she was probably inexperienced.

Yet another reason for me to get the fuck out of the car and not sit here like a bloody fool, staring into her pretty gold eyes.

‘What consequences do you think?’ I snapped, my temper getting a mean edge. ‘I don’t want to fire you, Miss Little. I want to fuck you.’

Shock flickered over her face. ‘What?’

‘Don’t act so surprised. Did you really think those little glances you kept stealing wouldn’t get me as hard as a rock?’

She blinked rapidly. ‘Uh… Are you sure you’re not talking about the blonde chick? I mean, she was the one who had her hand on…um…you.’

Was she serious? Or was she playing with me? Some women liked that kind of game, but I didn’t. I preferred straight-up honesty, especially when it came to sex.

However, there was no doubting the surprise in Ellie’s eyes: she really had thought it was the blonde.

‘No, I’m not talking about the “blonde chick”,’ I said, increasingly annoyed at the hard-on in my jeans and my apparent inability to get the fuck out of the car and away from her. ‘You kept looking at me like you wanted to join in.’

Her cheeks turned an even deeper red. ‘I didn’t want to join in.’

‘No? Then why did you keep staring?’

‘I…’ She looked away. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. That wasn’t very professional.’

‘Screw being professional. Just answer the bloody question. And look at me when I’m talking to you.’

She stiffened then abruptly twisted around in her seat so she was facing me, the dusting of freckles across her nose even more fascinating close up without the distancing effect of the mirror.

Gone was the cheerful smile. Green sparks of anger danced in her eyes instead and they were every bit as interesting as her freckles.

‘Look, you’re being a bit bloody rude,’ she said flatly. ‘I’d heard of your reputation, but seriously, mate, you need to tone it down. I’m just doing my job.’

Mate? She’d really just called me ‘mate’?

This pretty little thing in her chauffeur’s cap, who didn’t know what the hell she was getting into, thought she could talk to me like that? Because if so, she really did have no idea what she was doing.

I was a man who liked a fight, who was all about the challenge. And if that challenge was a pretty woman I could get down and dirty and sweaty and raw with? Who I could take apart with pleasure, make her beg, make her want all kinds of filthy things?

Fuck, yes.

Which made me too much for this sweet-faced girl, no matter how badly she called to the warrior in me.

The blonde would have been able to handle me. The blonde knew what she was getting into.

You don’t want the blonde.

And that was the problem. I didn’t.

‘Say that again, and there will be consequences.’ I didn’t disguise the naked threat in my voice. It was explicit.

She didn’t appear to hear it. ‘So you keep saying. What exactly are these consequences, then?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘If you’re too bloody afraid to say them out loud then maybe you shouldn’t go throwing vague threats around.’ Gold glittered briefly in her eyes. ‘Mate.’

If that wasn’t a gauntlet thrown down, I didn’t know what was.

Exhilaration pulsed through me and I leaned forward, getting in her face, giving her a taste of what it would be like to tangle with me and enjoying the way her breath caught in response.

‘You’re a pretty thing, Miss Little. And pretty things shouldn’t mess with men like me.’

‘Pretty thing?’ she echoed, incredulous. ‘Dude, seriously?’

‘You’re pretty and you’re a little thing.’ I leaned forward even more, getting closer. ‘And I eat pretty little things for breakfast.’

We were almost nose to nose, but she didn’t move away or back down. She was so close. Close enough for me to see the fine grain of her skin and the sparks of gold and green glowing in her eyes. To feel the heat of her body and smell the warm, musky scent of her.

Her pulse beat fast at the base of her throat and her mouth looked soft and kissable. Fuckable, too.

‘That’s not at all patronising.’ She glared at me. ‘How would you like it if I called you…big dick or something?’

Oh, yes, I was getting to her. I very definitely was.

Desire spiked in my blood, a hot, raw feeling. ‘I’d like it just fine,’ I said roughly, trying to resist the urge to grab her hand, draw it over my fly and hold it down so she could feel how big I actually was.

She went scarlet and I didn’t miss the way her gaze dropped to my groin, where my cock was pressing hard against the denim. ‘Of course you would,’ she muttered. ‘But firstly, I’m not pretty or a thing. And secondly, you’re not…uh…’ She stopped.

‘Big?’ I finished. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Her hazel gaze flicked up, the fire I’d sensed in her beginning to ignite. ‘What? You want me to check?’ She sounded defiant and angry, yet the heat in her eyes told a different story.

I went very still. ‘Be careful what you ask for, Miss Little. Because you might just get it.’

She stared at me, no trace of that sunny smile evident now. ‘You think I can’t handle you?’

‘I know you can’t handle me.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Heat flared in her eyes. ‘Try me.’

I shouldn’t have goaded her, because I knew what her reaction would be. And I knew myself. I knew what I liked. And the fact that she was responding without fear, without being intimidated by me…

Christ, it was the biggest turn-on I’d had in years.

I wanted to see what she would do, whether she’d rise to the challenge. Whether I could get under her skin as deeply as she was getting under mine.

‘You want to touch me?’ I said it out loud so there could be no mistake. ‘You want to feel me for yourself?’

She didn’t blink this time. Not once. ‘Yes.’

The word was thick and breathed out, making my fucking cock ache, and I had to grit my teeth against the intense rush of desire.

‘Give me your hand, then.’ I tried not to make it an order.

Without hesitation, she held out her hand and I took it. Her palm was small, her fingers delicate, her skin very soft. Electricity bolted the length of my arm, a direct line straight to my dick.

And she must have felt it, too, because her breath caught, her eyes widening. But she didn’t pull away. If anything, her chin lifted higher.

So I slowly drew her hand to where I wanted it, over the front of my jeans, holding her gaze all the while. And she never once looked away, the fire in her eyes burning brighter, hotter.

I held her palm down, letting her feel how hard I was. Letting the heat of her hand seep through the fabric and into me.

Her pretty mouth became a perfect O of surprise as her fingers closed over my aching hard-on. Then, finally, she looked down. ‘Oh…uh…wow.’

I wasn’t sixteen any more. I didn’t need a woman to look in awe at my cock. So why I felt such pleasure at her reaction I had no idea and, like so many of my interactions with this fascinating woman, it irritated the hell out of me, even as it turned me on.

‘I did tell you,’ I bit out, my voice much rougher than it should have been.

The flush in her cheeks showed no sign of abating. ‘Sorry, that sounded dumb. But seriously…’ Her gaze rose to mine, searching. ‘Does that…uh…feel good? When I touch you, I mean?’

I should have stopped her. I should have taken her hand off me and got out of the car. Because I was crossing a line here and I knew it.

But I didn’t do either of those things.

‘Yes.’ I held her fascinated gaze. ‘It feels fucking good.’

Her mouth curved, as if she was pleased with the news. Then she bit her lower lip, her fingers moving hesitantly over me, tracing the line of my dick through the denim, watching my face intently as she did so.

I’d never been looked at like that before, not even when I’d been street fighting and an opponent was sizing me up. Sex for me was usually about making my partner come and come hard, that was how I got off. They generally didn’t pay me the same attention, mainly because I refused to let them.

So I didn’t know why I was letting her now. But, Christ, it was good. Too good. My muscles went tight, my jaw aching.

‘Wow,’ she murmured for the second time. ‘You’re really hot. Like an engine.’

An engine? What the hell?

But then her fingers spread out and she gave me an experimental squeeze, and all thoughts vanished from my head as a wave of pleasure rolled over me.

‘Fuck,’ I muttered hoarsely, my hands closing into fists to stop myself from reaching for her.

A crease deepened between her silky dark brows. ‘Sorry. Was that too hard?’

‘No.’ I could barely get the word out. ‘But you’re done.’

My control was good but it wasn’t limitless.

‘Oh?’ She frowned. ‘But I haven’t finished checking.’

I glowered, my prick throbbing, lust firing in my blood, my temper in no way helped by the firmness of her grip. ‘Yes, you have. I suggest you take your hand off me now, Miss Little. I’m not made of fucking stone.’

There was an intensity in her stare now, as if she was weighing something up in her head, and she didn’t take her hand away, the heat of her palm destroying me second by tantalising second. ‘Are you sure? I mean… I could do something about it, if you like.’

Oh, Christ.

There were so many fucking reasons not to. She was my employee and I didn’t want to cross that line as my bastard father had with my mother. She was also inexperienced and in no way ready to handle what I wanted from her.

Then again, it had been a long time since I’d been with a woman I’d actually wanted because of who she was and not because of what she represented. A long time since I’d been with a woman who looked at me the way Ellie Little was looking at me, as if she saw the dirty street fighter that still lurked inside me and wasn’t afraid.

So, why not? It would be the perfect ending to a perfect night.

‘Yes,’ I said, staring at her, noting how the dusky red in her skin made those little freckles stand out. How the pulse at the base of her throat was fast and getting faster. The way her white shirt pulled across the full curves of her breasts as she breathed. ‘I would very much like you to do something about it.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Ellie

I COULDN’T BREATHE. I literally couldn’t. Not while Mr Evans stared at me as if he wanted to eat me alive.

And I wanted him to.

Or rather, I wanted to climb into the back seat, crawl into his lap and put my hands on him. Discover the contours of his body, get his engine revving hard, experience the thrill of being at the wheel, handling all that raw power. Speeding down the track…

I had no idea how I’d gone from being embarrassed and expecting to be fired to having my hand on his cock, but it was probably to do with the way he’d goaded me.

I’d tried not to make a fuss about how he’d busted me staring at him in the mirror, tried to keep it jokey and light instead, but he hadn’t let me. He’d been all pissy and rude, and when I’d confronted him, he’d stared at me with those electric-blue eyes and told me bluntly that he wanted to fuck me.

I’d been as much shocked as I had been turned on.

Then I’d got angry at being turned on and things had somehow escalated from there until here I was with my hand on his cock, wanting to fuck him as badly as he apparently wanted to fuck me.

Thoughts of my father and Australis had vanished. The doubts I’d had about touching him, about the way he was looking at me, about memories of Mark had dissipated like smoke.

Because this was nothing like what had happened with Mark.

Mr Evans hadn’t made a grab for me, even though I’d put my hand on him. Even though I’d goaded him as much as he’d goaded me.

No, he’d just sat there and let me touch him, the hard set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes telling me exactly what my hand was doing to him.

It was intoxicating. He was a supercar in human form. Powerful, sleek, dangerous and difficult to manage. But, oh, how I wanted to manage him.

And why not? I knew how to drive a car. Driving a man wasn’t that different.

Are you sure that’s a good idea? This isn’t Davey and you’re not at school any more.

No, I was a grown woman and Mr Evans was definitely nothing like my high-school boyfriend.

He was more than that, he was a challenge I simply couldn’t resist, and wasn’t going to. Because who knew when I’d meet a man like this again?

I might not ever. In which case this would be my only chance to take him out for a spin…

Mr Evans was sitting sprawled out in the back seat, the whole car full of an intense, thrumming energy, like an engine at full rev.

And he was looking at me as if daring me to take him on.

God, he was mesmerising. Even sitting there apparently relaxed he looked dark and arrogant and powerful.

He wasn’t a beautiful man—he was too rugged, too rough and scarred, for beauty. Yet he was phenomenally attractive all the same. Blue eyes and a hard jaw, powerful chest and lean hips. A long, thick ridge behind the denim of his fly…

A thought suddenly occurred to me. ‘What about your blonde?’

‘What about her?’

‘She’s waiting for you.’

His glower intensified, but without a word he reached into his pocket and drew out his phone, looking down at the screen to type in a quick message. Then he threw the phone carelessly down on the seat next to him. ‘She’s not waiting any more. The hotel staff will make sure she’s looked after.’ The ferocity in his face grew impossibly fiercer. ‘Happy?’

I didn’t respond. Instead, with no grace at all, I launched myself out of the driver’s seat and into the back.

He reached for me before I’d completed the movement, catching me by my hips and pulling me into his lap so I sat facing him, my thighs spread on either side of his lean waist.

Right where I wanted to be.

For a moment all I could do was sit, my heartbeat thundering in my head as the reality of the situation began to form around me, a cage of heat, of sensation. Of need.

Sitting on him was exactly like sitting directly on top of a V8 engine.

Hard. Hot. And so powerful.

Excitement clogged my throat and I put my hands out to press against the wall of his chest and, sure enough, that was hard and hot, too, power thrumming through him.

God, he felt amazing.

‘Oh.’ I breathed out slowly, my palms pressing harder, lost for words. ‘Oh…wow… You’re…like…wow…’

His gaze burned up into mine, the rough lines of his face tight and fierce. His hands tightened and he shifted, flexing his hips, the ridge of his dick pressing against me in the most incredible way, sending a bolt of pleasure right through me and making me gasp aloud.

But Mr Evans wasn’t simply a machine waiting for me to turn the key. He was already running.

He lifted a hand, his fingers curling around my black tie, tugging on it at the same time as he leaned forward, catching my mouth with his.

Heat poured through me in an overwhelming wave.

I’d never had a kiss like it. Oh, I’d kissed my high-school boyfriend quite a bit, but comparing him to Mr Evans was like comparing a Mini Cooper to a Lamborghini. They were both men and both had mouths but, as far as similarities went, that was it.

Mr Evans took my mouth as if he owned it, his tongue pushing inside, exploring, demanding a response. He tasted rich and dark, like my favourite chocolate, with a sharp, spicy edge that took my hunger and amplified it somehow.

I leaned into him, my fingers spreading out on his chest, kissing him back with a desperation I couldn’t hide, unable to stop the moan that ripped from my throat.

His grip tightened on my tie in response, holding me still. Then he took the cap off my head and threw it on the seat next to him, before pulling my hair free of my ponytail and letting it spill over his free hand.

He made a soft, rumbling sound of approval before he took my mouth again in another hard kiss, nipping at my bottom lip, sending little electric shocks of pain jolting through me.

I groaned, the kiss intensifying the ache between my thighs.

Unable to keep still, I curled my fingers into the cotton of his T-shirt, tugging at it, desperate to touch him as I kissed him back, to feel his skin and the hard muscle beneath under my hands.

He didn’t move, ravaging my mouth, his grip keeping me right where I was. But I was in the driver’s seat and I wanted to drive.

Acting on an instinct I hadn’t known I’d possessed, I ground myself down on his lap, twisting so the hard ridge of his cock was pushing against my throbbing clit, sending hard, sharp pulses of pleasure spiralling through my veins.

A growling sound escaped him, the vibration of it echoing through my entire body, thrilling me, making me so aware of him and his power, his strength.

I’d never felt so hungry for something in my entire life. Hadn’t known I could even feel this hungry, as if it had been inside me all this time just waiting for the right man to release it.

My hands shook as I clawed at his T-shirt, dragging it up, and then the hot, oiled silk of his chest was bare and I was touching him, prickles of hair a delightful abrasion against my skin, the rock-hard feel of his muscles a glory.

Oh, yes, he was just like one of those cars, smooth and sleek, the bass rumble of his engine a delicious thrum as I touched him.

I could handle this. Oh, I could more than handle this.

I opened my mouth, kissing him harder, shifting my hips impatiently, being demanding.

He bit me, a firm nip on my bottom lip that made me gasp, then let go of my tie and took his hand from my hair…before jerking my shirt open with one hard, sharp movement.

I trembled, the air cool on my heated skin, and then he was pulling aside the cups of my bra, his big, warm hands cupping my breasts, long fingers pinching my nipples.

I shuddered as sparks of pleasure and delicious points of pain electrified every nerve ending I had. It felt so good, I could hardly believe it. I had the distant thought that after Mark, having someone touching me should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. This made the throb between my legs more intense, the pleasure more acute. No wonder the blonde had been leaning into him.

‘Oh, my God,’ I whispered in amazement, arching into his hands as he flicked his thumbs over my achingly hard nipples.

‘Yes, you like that, don’t you?’ His voice was as deep and dark as it could possibly get. ‘Now who’s boss, pretty thing?’

‘Me,’ I replied, gasping as he pinched me again. ‘I’m the one driving.’

‘Are you, now?’ His thumbs circled around each nipple, gentle now, teasing me mercilessly. ‘Then by all means, take the wheel.’

So I did, spreading my hands out on his chest and pushing him firmly against the back of the seat. Then I reached down to the button on his jeans, pulling at it, trying to get it open.

He was so hot and he smelled musky, with the bite of some dark spice that had me nuzzling down the side of his neck, biting it so I could taste his skin, kissing his collarbones and nipping at him.

He cursed, his powerful body tightening, and I clamped my thighs around his waist to let him know that I had no intention of moving and that I didn’t want him to, either.

But his hands were moving too, finding the button on my trousers and deftly flicking it open as I fumbled with his jeans, then he was pushing beneath the cotton of my knickers, his fingers sliding against my slick flesh.

Stars burst behind my eyes as a whip of pure pleasure licked across me, tearing another gasp from my throat. His other hand settled on the small of my back, urging me forward and against his stroking fingers.

‘Oh…’ I gasped. ‘I… God…’

‘Still driving, hmmm?’ he purred in my ear, all arrogant male satisfaction.

I tried to pull myself together, tugging at his jeans, desperate to get them open and my hands on him so I could stay in charge, but he’d already found my clit and, for all his brute strength, his touch was so gentle, so light that, much to my horror, I felt the prick of tears.

No. How was this happening? I hadn’t cried for years, not since my mother’s funeral, so why was I crying now? Why was having someone else touch me so much more intense than when I touched myself? Because it was. And I had no idea why.

I shuddered helplessly, all thoughts about fighting him for control fading away, crushed by the weight of pleasure building inside me.

‘Why don’t you let me drive for a change?’ His voice was a low, dark rumble, his finger stroking gently, making me rock against him, desperate for more.

‘Yes,’ I panted, barely aware of what I was saying, turning my face into his neck as pleasure gathered tight as a fist inside me. ‘Yes, okay…please.’

There was something to this, to simply letting him do what he wanted. Like giving myself up to the machine carrying me, to the speed of it. Trusting that it wouldn’t crash somehow.

Strange to give that trust to a man I didn’t know.

But I did it all the same, shifting my hips against his hand as his finger slipped and slid around my clit, his other hand pressing hard against the small of my back. ‘Oh, Mr Evans…’

‘That’s sexy, pretty thing. But I think you can call me Ash now.’

I shuddered as his finger eased inside me, testing me. ‘A-Ash…’

‘Better,’ he growled. ‘I like the way you say my name when my fingers are in your pussy.’ And he pushed another in, stretching me.

I moaned, pleasure breaking over me in waves as his fingers slid in deep. Then out. Then in.

My fingers curled on his chest, digging into the heavy muscle of his pecs as I tried to move against him, impatient now and increasingly desperate. ‘More,’ I whispered. ‘Faster.’

‘Patience.’ His fingers slowed. ‘Remember who’s driving.’

But I’d never been one for patience.

My hands were shaking as I made one last frustrated attempt to get his jeans open but this time I managed it. And then I was pushing beneath the denim and into his boxers, finding the huge, hard length of his cock.

He hissed as I wrapped my fingers around him and for a second I forgot what he was doing to me, the velvety feel of his skin so unexpected. But the heat was there—oh, God, so much of it.

I tightened my fingers, relishing the way he jerked in my grip.

But that was where I miscalculated.

One minute he was sitting there like a car before a race, engine rumbling, my foot on the gas and my hands on the wheel. The next he surged beneath me as if the flag had dropped.

With effortless strength, he pushed me back, holding me as he somehow stripped my trousers off, taking my underwear with them. I thought he was going to put me on my back and I opened my mouth to protest, wanting to stay in his lap, but before I could say a word he settled me back where I was, my thighs spread over him, the denim of his jeans rubbing against my tender skin.

Panting, I stared at him, for a second unable to move.

His blue eyes met mine with so much ferocity I couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t look away as he reached behind him, shifting to get something out of his pocket. His wallet. Then he took a small foil packet out of it. A condom.

‘Still with me?’ he demanded as he ripped open the packet, his gaze searching.

‘Yes.’ My voice was little more than a croak. ‘Can I…?’ I reached for the condom, wanting to put it on him, touch him, feel the rock-hard length of him for myself.

‘Hell, no.’ He ignored my hands. ‘Not this time.’

And I didn’t have time to be disappointed, because he’d rolled down the condom and lifted me before I could protest, setting me back down, something long and hard and thick easing into me.

I gasped as he put his hands on my hips, pushing me down at the same time as he thrust up, impaling me.

The pleasure was almost agonising and I cried out, overwhelmed by an intense feeling of fullness, as if he were taking up all the air in my body and there were no room for me.

I shuddered, the unexpected sensation making me feel strangely panicky, my eyes prickling again.

But he must have sensed my distress, because his hands were stroking down my back, soothing me. ‘Easy,’ he murmured. ‘Take it slow.’

His blue gaze was a lifeline I could hold on to and I did, staring back, my hands on his shoulders, shivering as he began to move, surging up into me, his fingers shifting to my hips and moving me with him, showing me the way to go.

The panicky feeling receded, leaving me with the same breathless hunger I’d felt before and a pleasure that pushed at my boundaries, making me gasp and shake.

He kept moving, thrusting up into me, hard and deep, pulling away from me, like those big cars. Taking control.

And I let myself go, let myself feel the speed, moving with him faster and faster, the power of his hot, hard body pushing into mine, taking me with him, a race to the finish.

I could have raced for ever.

But then he took my hand and brought it down between us, putting my fingers against my own wet flesh and holding them down as he thrust, deeper, harder.

Then there was lightning behind my eyes, an explosion of heat inside me, petrol igniting and pleasure cascading through my body. So much pleasure…

I opened my mouth to scream but he covered it with his own, drinking down my release as he moved, faster and out of control, chasing his own ending.

Afterwards there was nothing but silence, the car full of the desperate sounds of our breathing. I couldn’t move, my body heavy and sated, happy to rest against his strength and immense heat.

Then the aftershocks of the orgasm began to recede and I began to feel cold and shaky. And somehow he must’ve sensed it, because he slid his hands from my hips and up my back, then down again, stroking me slowly, lightly, like a cat.

My family wasn’t physical. A back slap here, a handshake there, and that was it. We didn’t hug. Dad wasn’t much for displays of affection. And since my mother had died, no one had ever touched me like this, gently, as if I needed soothing or comfort.

Again, I was horrified by the prickling of yet more tears, my throat getting tight and my chest sore as another weird emotional tide rushed in where the pleasure had been not moments before.

I didn’t understand it. I’d never cried the few times I’d had sex. It had been nice, sure, but afterwards I’d only felt a bit awkward. Certainly not…whatever this was.

Maybe it was a girl thing. Either way, I did not want it, especially not in front of Mr Evans.

Moving quickly, I pushed myself away, wriggling out of his grip before he could stop me.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’

I kept my face turned away as I frantically grabbed my trousers and underwear, inelegantly shifting around on the back seat as I pulled them back on again. ‘Uh…gotta get back. You know, things to do.’

Thank God I sounded okay and not all husky and thick.

There was a moment’s silence as I hunted around for my cap, blinking furiously against the tears that threatened.

‘Are you okay?’ The edge of command was in his voice, leaving me in no doubt he wanted a response.

Dammit.

Forcing away the thickness in my throat and ignoring the pricking behind my eyes, I made myself turn around and meet his gaze.

It was sharp, the expression on his scarred face fierce as he scanned me like a quality inspector looking for faults.

I forced myself to hold his stare. ‘I’m fine.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why don’t you come up to my hotel room? I’ll order dinner and run you a bath.’

The heavy emotion in my chest gathered tighter. ‘Um, no, thank you,’ I said quickly, ignoring the part of me that very much wanted to do just that. ‘Like I said, things to do.’

‘Miss Little—’

I leaned forward and kissed him before he could finish. ‘Thanks for that, it was really fun.’ I turned around, pulling the door handle so I could get out.

It would have been better if I could have walked away, but sadly, I had to deal with the limo, which meant waiting until he was ready to leave.

So I got in the driver’s side, determinedly checking over my clothing to make sure everything was all buttoned up, resolutely not looking at him.

There was a silence in the back of the car. Then eventually, his voice curt, he said, ‘Tomorrow. 9:00 a.m. Don’t be late.’

I risked a glance in the mirror and found his searing blue gaze on mine again. It took effort to give him my usual smile, but I managed it. ‘See you then, Mr Evans,’ I said jauntily.

I waited until he’d got out of the car.

Then I burst into tears.

CHAPTER SIX

Ash

‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you’re rethinking the deal?’ I demanded, staring sightlessly at the view of the Eiffel Tower from the hotel suite.

Delaney sighed down the other end of the phone. ‘I told you yesterday that the islands have a certain…sentimental value. And I was very much hoping they would go to someone who has the same family values as I do.’

I scowled at the street outside, trying to get a handle on my already touchy temper. I didn’t much care about other people’s feelings in the normal scheme of things, but alienating Delaney would be stupid. ‘If you’re expecting Dumont to have the values you’re looking for, you’re sadly mistaken.’

‘Actually, Mr Dumont told me that he’s thinking of settling down and is looking for a place to raise a family.’

Like hell he was. My half-brother was a playboy extraordinaire and settling down was the very last thing he’d ever do.

The bastard.

If I wasn’t careful, my little plan to buy his precious islands out from under him was going to go tits up. Not that it was just my petty-yet-satisfying revenge that was at stake. There was also the success of Evans International, my luxury hotel business, to consider.

It was my first foray into the market and I wanted it to work, especially since all profits were to go into the charitable foundation I’d set up especially for the purpose.

A foundation for business scholarships, leadership programmes and mentorships for kids from poor areas who didn’t have access to the kinds of education and contacts that rich kids did.

All the things that I could have had if my own father hadn’t washed his hands of my mother and me, relegating us both to a hand-to-mouth existence on a council estate.

I’d made it my mission to succeed despite him. To be better than him in every way. To help people who needed it and never deny them.

And if I got a bit of private satisfaction out of privileged arseholes paying an arm and a leg to stay on some island so that the money could go to helping the very people those privileged arseholes looked down on, then that was just icing on the cake.

Another one in the eye for the old man.

‘I’ll be settling down too,’ I said. ‘Eventually.’

There was a pause down the other end of the phone. ‘You mentioned a girlfriend…?’

‘Yes.’ My gaze dropped from the famous view to the street below, tracking a long black car moving down it and drawing up outside the hotel. ‘What about her?’

‘You said yesterday that you were serious about her.’

The door of the car opened and someone got out. Small and curvy and female in black trousers and a white shirt, a chauffeur’s cap on her head. She moved to the front of the limo and pulled something out of the back pocket of her trousers: a piece of cloth. Then she leaned down and buffed the shiny black metal with it.

Everything in me drew tight.

Ellie.

My heartbeat began to accelerate, my jeans to feel a little snug, reminding me of why I’d had such a bloody terrible sleep the night before.

I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

How she’d come apart so beautifully in my arms. How she’d screamed as I’d made her come. How soft and silky her skin had felt, and how tight and hot her little pussy had been.

How she’d tried to take control, only to give it up to me in the end without hesitation. Trusting me despite my reputation for being the biggest bastard in England. Even though she’d only just met me.

Even though I’d not done a thing to deserve it.

Which either made her a fool or very calculated and I couldn’t decide which.

What I did know was that I’d wanted to scoop her up in my arms and carry her upstairs to my room. Peel her completely out of her clothes and lay her across the bed, do lots of dirty, dirty things to her just so I could hear her scream my name again.

Except she’d very firmly refused.

I hated being denied anything and I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t been royally pissed off by it. But maybe I wouldn’t have been quite so annoyed if I’d suspected that something had upset her. She’d determinedly avoided my gaze as she’d pulled on her clothing, giving me that incredibly fake smile again.

I should have pushed the issue, but had decided that, since I’d be seeing her the next day, I’d broach the topic then, meanwhile giving her the space she so clearly wanted.

‘Evans?’ Delaney’s voice was sharp. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’ I followed every one of Ellie’s movements as she inspected the limo, giving the black metal small polishes here and there.

Something had been wrong after we’d had sex. Something had upset her. Had it been me? Something I’d done? I’d been rough, but she’d seemed to enjoy it and I’d given her plenty of opportunities to call a halt to the proceedings if she’d wanted to.

Then again, I was, after all, still me. And plenty of women couldn’t handle my particular brand of rough dirtiness.

‘Well, how about it, then?’

Shit. I’d missed something, hadn’t I? I’d been too busy staring at my chauffeur. ‘Sorry, had a call on another line,’ I lied, still watching Ellie from the window. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said, why don’t you bring your girlfriend to the club event in Dubai in a couple of weeks? I’d like to meet her. Then perhaps we can talk more about the islands.’

Oh, fuck.

I gritted my teeth, annoyed that I’d let myself get so distracted.

‘Of course,’ I said, left with no other option but to agree. ‘That sounds like a great idea. I’ll bring her along.’

‘Excellent. I’ll look forward to it.’

I disconnected the call and shoved the phone into my back pocket, my already foul mood turning even fouler.

Wonderful. What the fuck was I going to do now? I didn’t have a girlfriend, let alone a serious one, and I didn’t want one, either. Wives and kids were for other men. I was too busy and too damn selfish for either, and people had to take me as I came or not at all.

Except Delaney wasn’t taking me as I came. He wanted me to bring my non-existent serious girlfriend to meet him and I’d agreed purely so I could buy his fucking islands.

My plan to sabotage Dumont was getting more and more complicated by the second.

Down in the street outside, Ellie had shoved the cloth into her pocket and was now moving to the driver’s door. She glanced up at the hotel briefly but I couldn’t see her face. She must not have seen me, either, because she looked away, getting into the car once more.

I had a day full of meetings before I flew back to London that evening, and no time to talk to a temporary staff member about the sexual encounter we’d had the day before. Certainly no time to obsess about it the way I was doing now.

Christ, it was ridiculous. I’d double-check she was fine when I went downstairs, but then I’d ignore her the way I should have done the day before.

She’d be gone by tomorrow anyway.

I turned away, grabbed my jacket, laptop and the duffel bag that was the only item of luggage I’d brought with me, then went downstairs to check out.

Ten minutes later I strode out of the hotel and, sure enough, Ellie was already out of the car, hurrying around to open my door for me.

I’d planned to simply walk past her and get in, but for some reason I paused, looking down into her pretty face, searching for I didn’t know what.

‘Good morning, Mr Evans,’ she said chirpily, giving me the same jaunty smile as the day before.

And it irritated me just as much.

Because there was no trace of the husk in her voice that I’d heard when I’d touched her. No sign of the blush in her cheeks and the gold flames in her eyes that I’d seen as I’d slid my hands between her thighs, the wet heat of her pussy against my fingers.

‘Good morning, Miss Little.’ I narrowed my gaze, scanning her for any signs of the upset I was sure I’d sensed the day before. For any sign of acknowledgement of what had happened between us at all. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Box of birds, thanks.’ Her expression was resolutely cheerful.

I tried not to scowl. ‘You slept well?’

‘Fantastically.’

Damn woman.

It was ridiculous to be annoyed at her cheeriness, though. Because it was good she wasn’t upset. I didn’t want her to be, after all.

But you don’t want her to act as if nothing happened between you, either, right?

Bullshit. What did I care? The sex between us had been good, yet nothing more was going to come of it. I was flying back to London tonight and she would be driving for someone else and that would be that.

I’d have Bill back at the wheel by tomorrow.

‘And you?’ A small crease appeared between her brows as she studied me. ‘Did you sleep well?’

I lost the battle against irritation and scowled. ‘I don’t appreciate small talk, Miss Little. Keep it to a minimum, please.’

Her mouth opened, but I’d already turned away, getting into the car before she could speak.

It was churlish of me to take my temper out on her, but too bad. I was churlish, and petty, too. Selfish to boot. I embraced my faults honestly at least, unlike others who pretended they were better, all the while being just as deeply flawed as I was.

Whatever. She’d be glad she only had one more day of putting up with me.

After she’d shut the door, I got out my laptop and fired it up, hoping to distract myself by dealing with the mountain of emails I got every day.

It turned out to be pretty effective and I’d been working a good five minutes before I realised that the car wasn’t moving.

I looked up from the screen and, sure enough, we were still sitting right outside my hotel, while Ellie stared at me in the rear-view mirror.

‘You do know I have a meeting in twenty minutes I have to get to, don’t you?’ I snapped.

Her small, pointed chin lifted, green gleaming in her eyes. ‘You do know that you don’t have to be an arsehole, don’t you?’

People didn’t call me on my behaviour normally; I was too rich, too powerful. Certainly they never called me on it the way Ellie was doing right now.

I didn’t like it.

Perhaps because you know already that you’re acting like a prick?

My temper pulled on the leash I kept it on, growling and snapping like a beast. Of course I was acting like a prick. I always acted like a prick. Did she really expect anything different from me just because we’d had sex?

She probably expects you to act like a human being and not a petty bastard.

I gritted my teeth, glowering at her. ‘What? You don’t like me snapping at you? Too bad. I snap at everyone. Don’t take it personally.’

Her jaunty smile had vanished and I was bastard enough to be happy about it. ‘Would it kill you to be nice? Even for a second?’

‘Yes,’ I growled.

There was a very disapproving silence.

‘What?’ I grumbled bad-temperedly, not sure why I was conceding this to her. ‘You want an apology?’

The expression on her face was uncompromising; of course she wanted a fucking apology.

I let out a breath. I never apologised, not to anyone, not after spending most of my childhood feeling as if I had to apologise for my very existence. And certainly not after I’d discovered how much power anger and not giving a shit gave me.

But for some reason, I gave a shit now.

‘I’m sorry for snapping at you,’ I said, graceless and brusque. ‘There. Happy?’

She frowned at me. ‘Are you angry because I didn’t come up to your room last night?’

The question was unexpected and abrupt, making something hot flash through me. I definitely wasn’t angry about that. Was I?

‘No,’ I lied, very conscious of the tension gathering in my shoulders and the sullen burn of my temper.

She ignored my denial as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘Look, I’m sorry about yesterday, but I—’

‘Couldn’t get away from me fast enough?’ The words came out before I could stop them and as soon as I’d spoken I wished I hadn’t. Christ, I sounded pathetic. Like a hurt child.

But to my surprise, Ellie glanced away, colour creeping into her cheeks. ‘I thought it would be easier if I didn’t.’

‘Easier for whom? Certainly easier for you.’

The long, dark lashes veiling her gaze were streaked with gold in the sunlight coming through the windscreen. ‘I didn’t think you’d care. It was only sex. No big deal, right?’

Good point. It was only sex and very much not a big deal. And yet, here I was, turning it into one. Great sex, sure, but ultimately sex I could get from someone else.

She wasn’t special. I could get hunger and fire and desperation from any woman, it didn’t have to be her.

But the kind of instinctive trust she gave you?

I shoved that thought away before it could take root.

‘No big deal,’ I echoed flatly.

An expression I couldn’t decipher flickered across her face. ‘Well, I guess you’re ready to go, then?’

‘I am.’

She turned the key and we pulled away from the kerb at last.

And I directed my attention back to my laptop, curiously unsatisfied and not sure why.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ellie

THE DAY PROVED to be long and not only due to the driving I had to do in the interminable Parisian traffic.

It was also due to the presence of the man sitting in the limo behind me.

I tried very hard to pretend he didn’t exist, but it was difficult when every time I looked in my rear-view mirror, I caught a glimpse of him.

Sometimes he had his attention on his laptop and sometimes he was looking out of the window as he talked on his phone. And then there were also times I found his gaze on mine, a burning look in it, as if he were waiting impatiently for some kind of response from me.

Except I didn’t know what response he wanted.

I’d lied when I’d told him I’d slept perfectly well. I hadn’t. I’d spent all night going over what had happened in the limo and why I’d stupidly burst into emotional tears afterwards like a silly virgin.

Had it been the way he’d stroked me at the end? Or had it been due to the sheer power of the physical release? Either way, I’d hated it and I definitely didn’t want it to happen again.

Pleasure I could handle, but a big no to all that emotional bullshit. It only reminded me of how I’d felt after the Mark incident and how pissed off Dad had been at me at the way I’d handled it. Sure, kneeing Mark in the balls had been an instinctive reaction, but that had caused a whole lot of extra drama that had ended up with him making all sorts of extortionate demands.

No fuss, that was key, and yet here I was, making a fuss about the sex by crying, not to mention giving Mr Evans a piece of my mind for being rude to me.

I didn’t know what was happening, especially considering I still needed to ask him about Australis and our debt.

Finding the right moment to broach the topic proved difficult, however.

When he wasn’t in a meeting, he was on his phone, and it wasn’t until I’d picked him up from his last appointment and was taking him to the airport that he finally put the phone away, directing his attention to the laptop.

Ideally I would have liked to pull the car over, but he was pressed for time since the meeting had dragged on, and the traffic to Charles de Gaulle was a nightmare, so there was no time to stop.

I was just going to have to ask flat out.

Trying to ignore the fact that I’d complicated matters first by having sex with him and then letting my anger get the better of me and calling him out for being rude, I swallowed my nerves and checked him in the rear-view mirror.

He had his attention on his laptop, his face set in lines of fierce concentration.

Bloody hell, this wasn’t a good time, either. But what else could I do? He’d be flying out in a couple of hours and then my opportunity would be gone completely.

It was now or never.

‘Can I ask you something, Mr Evans?’ I asked, straight out.

He didn’t look up. ‘What did I say about small talk?’

‘It’s not small talk.’

‘Bill doesn’t talk at all.’

Well, this was off to a great start. Go me.

I gripped the wheel tightly, trying to hang on to my determination to keep this low-key and not a big deal. ‘I’m not Bill.’

‘No,’ he said flatly, his attention still on the screen. ‘You’re not.’

Okay, well, I was just going to have to go for it. I didn’t want to let Dad down, not again.

‘I need a favour,’ I said, throwing caution to the winds. ‘I need to talk to you about an investment.’

That caught his attention.

His head lifted, electric gaze coming straight to mine. ‘What?’

Time for my spiel.

‘So, my family makes supercars, all built by hand in our workshop in Sydney, and we were lucky enough to get a cash injection from your venture capital firm a few years ago. But, business hasn’t been great and we’re not able to make the returns that were expected.’ Shit, I was talking too fast; I needed to slow down. ‘So, we tried contacting Evans Investment to give us some more time before the investment was withdrawn, but they weren’t very receptive. I thought that if I spoke to you directly—’

‘That I would automatically be fine with potentially losing my investment?’ he interrupted, his voice sharp, hard, the look in his eyes cutting me to shreds. ‘Is that why you had sex with me?’

A cold shock pulsed down my spine.

Did he really think that?

But there was no mistaking the icy blue light glittering in his eyes. Not just annoyance or irritation, but genuine anger.

Yes, he really did think that.

We’d come to a red light so I was able to give him my full attention. ‘No,’ I said fiercely, forgetting all about the need to keep things light and no drama. ‘I had sex with you because I wanted to. Not for any other reason.’

But there were storms in his eyes, electric tension gathering in the air inside the car. ‘Are you sure? It’s been done before.’

Anger gnawed at me. How dare he think that? I would never use sex to get what I wanted and certainly not after Mark. ‘No,’ I repeated, with more force this time. ‘That’s…oh, my God, that’s the last thing I would ever do.’

He ignored that. ‘Do you know how many people have tried to use me to get what they want over the years?’ His voice was cold and gritty as sleet, his accent even more cut-glass than normal. ‘Many, many people, Miss Little. Believe me, you’re not the first.’

Heat surged through my cheeks. ‘I wasn’t intending to have sex with you. I just wanted to talk to you.’

‘But you didn’t, did you? You liked the idea of my cock instead.’

I struggled to get a handle on my anger. ‘So? It’s just sex, mate. Like you said, no big deal. So, could we talk about the investment that Dad—?’

‘No,’ he cut me off, the word cold as an arctic frost. ‘We will not talk about the investment. We will not talk about anything at all. This conversation, Miss Little, is done.’

Behind me someone honked their horn and I realised the light had turned green, leaving me no choice but to begin driving again.

I slammed my foot on the gas, trying to get a grip on my boiling emotions, very conscious that if I let rip the way I wanted to, I was in danger of screwing this up completely.

I couldn’t do what I’d done with Mark and let my anger get the better of me. Certainly kneeing Mr Evans in the balls wouldn’t help, which meant I needed to try something else, think of another angle that might interest him.

There is something else.

No, I couldn’t tell him about my personal project, not after Dad had poured scorn on it. It wouldn’t work and was going to end up being a huge waste of money, that was what Dad had said.

Still, I didn’t have that many options. And besides, I had to fix this. Especially since it was my fault that this was a problem in the first place.

‘I have my own project,’ I said into the silence, ignoring the nervous tension in my gut. ‘I’m designing an electric supercar. I think it could be a game changer, but Dad won’t fund it because he doesn’t approve. Not that he has the money, anyway, but if I could just get some backing for a prototype, it could turn Australis around, I’m sure of it.’

Silence from the back seat.

I didn’t want to look in the rear-view mirror. I didn’t want to meet his fascinating blue eyes, not again. ‘I know you’ve got every right to withdraw your money,’ I went on doggedly, ‘but I’m asking you personally at least to put it on hold. If I get funding for my project, it has the potential to do really well and then I could pay you back with a ton of interest.’

Again, silence.

Dammit. I’d bloody well screwed this up, hadn’t I? Sex had ruined it and then mentioning my stupid project probably hadn’t helped.

There was pressure at the back of my throat, a heaviness in my chest. Shit, that was pathetic. Dad would be appalled. He’d tell me to pull myself together, that it was my mess and crying about it wasn’t going to help anyone. I just had to suck it up and deal with it. That was the Little way.

The airport was coming up and soon I’d have to stop and let Mr Evans out. He’d walk away from me and that would be my opportunity gone.

‘I can show you pictures,’ I said uselessly. ‘My design is pretty unique, so if you want to see an example of—’

‘No.’ The word was flat, unequivocal.

‘Mr Evans—’

‘I said no.’ The was no mistaking the note of absolute authority in his cold, gritty voice.

The discussion was over.

Hot, angry words filled my mouth, but I kept it closed, my jaw aching with the strain.

Don’t make a fuss.

‘Hey, no worries.’ I forced my mouth into a smile. ‘Can’t blame a girl for trying though, eh?’

He said nothing, the silence in the car becoming thick and suffocating. Full of his anger and something else I didn’t understand.

I pulled the limo up in the drop-off area outside the airport and only then, gathering my courage, did I glance into the mirror.

But he was putting his laptop away and not looking at me.

I stared at him, unable to help myself. His face was guarded, the white seams of his scars stark against his olive skin. A muscle flickered in his hard, strong jaw. And I couldn’t help noticing that he had the longest, darkest lashes I’d ever seen on a man.

My fingers itched to touch him, a throb between my thighs reminding me of what he’d felt like inside me, surging into me, taking me hard and fast, the wild thrill of having a man like that under my hands…

Abruptly he looked and the vivid colour of his eyes caught me, held me.

‘Goodbye, Miss Little,’ he said expressionlessly.

And then he was gone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ash

I STARED OUT from the empty floor of the tower building my company was in the process of constructing in Southwark, the Thames looking black and sluggish in the early afternoon light. Wind blew through the big empty space where the windows were going to go, while the site manager went through a list of excuses as to why the project had been delayed by several months.

I was only half listening. Despite the delays, the construction was going according to plan and I didn’t care about the man’s excuses. What I was concerned about was the upcoming trip to Dubai that I’d promised Delaney, and how I still hadn’t sorted out the issue of the ‘serious girlfriend.’

The solution, of course, was to bring someone with me and have her act the part. I had no shortage of women who’d be only too happy to pretend to be my ‘serious girlfriend’, but my real problem was that I couldn’t act to save my life.

I’d never pretended to be anything but what I was, a former street fighter turned property developer, and I seriously doubted my abilities to pretend to be ‘serious’ about a woman, no matter how lovely she was.

And I didn’t see why I had to bother with this nonsense just to get those islands. But Delaney wasn’t budging, which meant that if I wanted them, I had no other option. My only consolation was that he’d no doubt be doing the same thing to Dumont.

‘Excuse me, Mr Evans?’

A female voice floated through the empty floor and I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the lightning bolt that hit me every time a woman said ‘Mr Evans.’

Christ, after a week, you’d think I’d have forgotten about one encounter in the back of a limo with a sexy Australian chauffeur.

Apparently not.

I turned from the site manager to see my chief assistant, Petra, exit the construction elevator and make her way towards me, adroitly skirting the piles of wood and steel offcuts, metal shavings and concrete dust that littered the floor, despite the skyscraper heels she wore.

‘What is it?’ I snapped, deciding my irritation had nothing to do with being reminded of my one-time chauffeur and everything to do with being interrupted.

Petra ignored my temper the way she always did, peering at me from underneath her hard hat. ‘You wanted to know the moment I had that dossier ready. Shall I email it to you?’

Instantly the single lightning bolt down my spine became a storm, igniting me for no fucking reason that I could see.

It was just a dossier on a supercar company called Australis. Nothing major. And only for my interest’s sake. It certainly didn’t require me being interrupted in the middle of an important meeting with a site manager.

Yet that didn’t stop me from saying, ‘Yes, of course, email it to me. Immediately.’

Petra tapped her phone’s screen and smiled sweetly at me. ‘Done. Shall I finish up with Doug?’

But I’d already turned away, getting out my phone and opening my mail app, leaving her to finish up the meeting with Doug, the site manager. It didn’t need me to be there, but I liked to visit a site at least a couple of times to get a feel for the building and the site itself, because you couldn’t get that sitting behind a desk.

My boots crunched on bits of concrete as I came to a stop, staring down at the screen as the files Petra had sent me loaded.

Australis Supercars, an Australian company that designed and hand-built luxury sports vehicles. It was owned by a guy called Oliver Little, who managed it along with his four sons and one daughter.

I flicked through the pictures of the cars themselves. The Python model was the one garnering the big interest, apparently giving Ferrari and Bugatti, and some of the other big names, a run for their money.

I didn’t keep track of every company I invested money in—I left that to my managers at Evans Investment—but according to the files we had invested quite a bit of money in this particular company.

Money that was not going to see the returns we’d anticipated.

So? Lots of companies don’t make it. Why does this one matter?

It didn’t matter, so why I was interested in it, I had no idea.

Yet I couldn’t seem to stop flicking through more images, pausing at one particular photo. It was of the Python and had the family clustered proudly around it. And right at the back, almost hidden, was a smaller figure, her hand possessively on the roof of the vehicle.

Ellie.

The lighting storm inside me sizzled against my nerve endings, igniting them, making me curse under my breath.

I generally never regretted anything in my life—I couldn’t, not if I didn’t want to spend it being paralysed by all the shitty things I’d done—and had always believed the only way was forward. So there was no reason for me to be looking back at what had happened with a woman over a week ago.

A woman I’d only known a couple of days.

A woman whose relatively simple request you refused because you were being petty.

I glared at the picture of Ellie on the screen, remembering the dogged way she’d continued despite the reception she’d got from me, talking about some electric car project she was working on.

And I’d ignored her, too caught up in the rush of anger that had overtaken me the moment she’d mentioned that she wanted a favour from me.

An anger that even now I didn’t understand.

Yes, the timing of her confession, right after we’d had a one-night stand, left a lot to be desired, but, still, that didn’t explain my furious reaction to her request.

You thought it was you she wanted.

The way she’d looked at me… Seeing the fighter inside me and not being afraid. Not being intimidated. Ready to take me on. And the sex had been incendiary…

But then she’d asked for money, just like all the others.

Not that all of them wanted money. Some of them wanted the cachet of having slept with the notorious bastard billionaire. It wasn’t actually me they wanted. But I’d thought Ellie was different.

Christ, why was I still obsessing about this? I wasn’t some sixteen-year-old kid hurt because some girl rejected him. I was thirty-two. I’d grown up on a grotty council estate with meth dealers in the stairwells and gangs roaming the hallways. My mother had spent her days constantly worried for me and my safety, grovelling to my father for money to at least send me to a private school—and he had.

But after that night when I’d realised how little he actually cared, I’d decided I was done apologising for myself. Done cowering with my mother, terrified she would get hurt.

I’d decided to make myself the biggest, baddest motherfucker out there. I’d have the drug dealers and gangs scared of me.

So that was what I’d done.

And then later, I’d had Seb. He hadn’t yet shown me his true colours and I’d thought he had my back to hell and beyond.

Sadly, hell had come sooner than I’d thought.

You think that excuses you being shitty to her?

My jaw ached. Behind me I could hear Petra and Doug talking, Petra flirting a little in the way that she did when she wanted to get someone on her side.

Fuck, I was shitty to everyone. Why should Ellie be exempt?

Yet all I could see was her face as she’d talked about her family’s company, genuine worry glittering in her eyes. Then she’d mentioned that special project, the one that pulling my investment dollars would put at risk.

It was important to her, wasn’t it?

I was supposed to help people when they needed it, not deny them the way I’d been denied. That was why I’d set up my charitable foundation in the first place. And yet, what had I done?

I’d refused her.

If my company had been small and in its infancy, it might have been a different story, but it wasn’t. Evans Investment was just one of a number of companies in my portfolio and giving someone some time before requiring promised returns would have absolutely no impact on my bottom line.

I shouldn’t have denied her.

On the other hand, business was business and if she wanted a favour…

Something clicked into place in my head like pieces of a perfectly constructed building.

I could give her what she wanted, while at the same time solving my own problem. Not that I couldn’t give her what she wanted without making it dependent on me, but I hadn’t got where I was today by being soft. Everything was a deal. Everything was give and take.

I’d give her something and she could give something to me.

Such as her presence as my serious girlfriend in Dubai, for example.

I wouldn’t have to act as if I was into her the way I would have struggled to with someone else. Our chemistry would take care of that. Certainly it should be convincing enough for Delaney.

Hell, I could even sweeten the deal by giving her access to The Billionaires Club and their contacts. There’d be plenty of people there who’d be interested in her electric car project.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the better an idea I found it.

All I needed to do was put the proposal to her.

I didn’t waste any time, putting through a few calls there and then. Bill was more than happy to take an evening off and the chauffeur company was more than happy to accept my exorbitant offer for one night of Ellie Little’s services. It was very late notice, but they could certainly accommodate me.

That sorted, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and turned to rejoin the meeting, trying to ignore the way the lightning in my veins had become hot, electric.

Nothing to do with the prospect of seeing Ellie again, definitely not. I was simply pleased to have solved the problem of how to get Delaney on my side.

Liar. You still want her.

No, I didn’t. Been there, done that, and I didn’t go back.

This was business. Nothing more.

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