Once A Bad Girl (12 page)

‘I did not refuse to kiss you. I refused to put my tongue in your mouth. Not the same thing.’

Lottie narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re infuriating, do you know that?’

‘I aim to please. So do you like the painting, or not?’

She didn’t want to blush, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘It’s unnecessarily explicit.’

‘Agreed. I think I’ll buy it.’ And with that, he wandered over to Trixie, who had her arms around his neck and was peppering his cheek with burgundy lipstick before Lottie could blink. He’d
bought
it? She almost didn’t know what to think. In fact, she couldn’t think. Grabbing a handful of skirt, she hoiked her dress up to mid-shin and rushed across to the makeshift bar in the corner. A deep swallow of surprisingly nice Sauvignon Blanc later and she had herself a little more under control.

By the time Josh removed himself from Trixie’s cleavage, she’d reached the bottom of the glass and decided that actually, she didn’t like Trixie at all, she didn’t like him either and she wanted to go home.

She felt wobbly and vulnerable and she hated it. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to get horribly, blindingly drunk. Anything to block out the way she felt about Josh, and her total inability to control it.

Josh watched Lottie from the corner of his eye, his gut tensing as she tickled the stem of a second glass of wine. He’d bought the painting on impulse, because the combination of shock and arousal flashing over Lottie’s pretty features had gone to his head, and because it had reminded him of her, and he didn’t want anyone else to see it. Stupid fool.

Things were starting to get…sticky, and he didn’t know what the hell to do about it. He’d made a deal with Lottie, to boost the auction house and his club, and that was more than done. But he still couldn’t seem to break away, and with the auction itself growing nearer, he was soon going to have deal with the inevitable. There would be plenty of awkward questions about how an actress who’d raked in an eight-figure sum for her last film could be short of cash barely a decade later.

But was that the problem that had him thrashing his pillow at two in the morning? No, it was not. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know why, but Lottie Spencer was getting under his skin. He’d seen the want burning in those gorgeous amethyst eyes, felt his own throbbing response to it as he pinned her down on the ground, his body aching with a raw, primal need to strip her naked and bang her senseless. They could so easily have gone straight back to his and spent the afternoon in bed. She’d been thinking about it. He’d been thinking about it too, which was why he’d had to pull back before they both ended up doing something they’d regret.

Only when he’d said no, she’d been hurt, and the guilt was relentless. Telling Trixie to bill him without even bothering to haggle over the price, Josh rounded on Lottie, who had not only claimed that second glass, but drunk most of it. His experienced eye told him the measures were on the extra-large side of large. So too did the dizzy look in her eyes and the hand that landed firmly on his chest. Time to take her home.

‘You’re an idiot, Josh Blakemore,’ she said, obviously very pleased with herself about something.

‘I know.’ She wasn’t used to alcohol. She’d feel like death in the morning. He could imagine her, sat behind that battered desk, head pounding. And he knew exactly who she’d blame. ‘Come on. We’re leaving’

‘Oh, I don’t think so, pretty boy. We’ve not even had our picture taken yet.’

Josh slid an arm round her waist and angled his head in towards her neck, never taking his eyes off the room. ‘I don’t think we need a picture tonight, do you?’

‘But that’s the whole point’ she squealed loudly. ‘To get the pictures! How else are we supposed to sell it?’

A hush descended through the gallery. It settled on his skin like a blanket of ice as he turned his back on them all, shielding her from their view. ‘Careful, Charlotte. People are watching.’

‘I thought that was what you wanted.’ She glared up at him. ‘Or did I get that wrong too?’

Josh took her wrist, took the glass from her hand, and slammed it down on the table. Wine sloshed up, out, over his fingers. ‘We’re leaving.’

Her hands shot up, captured his, brought it to her mouth. ‘No. We’re. Not.’ She punctuated each word with the slide of her mouth over a finger, the gentle suction so fiercely erotic that he struggled to keep a grip on himself. ‘And don’t even think about trying another one of your caveman stunts and carrying me out of here.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’

‘Why not? What will you do? You’re too much of a coward to even kiss me.’

The silence got louder. So did the roar of blood in his ears. ‘I am not a coward.’

‘Yes you are.’

Josh dragged in a breath, locked his emotions down tight. ‘This is not the time, or the place, Lottie.’ Where the hell had the sensible woman gone? ‘Don’t do this to yourself.’

She wove around him, dodging the hand that shot out to catch her, and sashayed her way across the space. The chatter had started up again, but a veneer of embarrassment coated it.

Their first public fight, Josh thought, noticing the rapid flash of a camera from the other end of the room. It would be funny, if it wasn’t so damn worrying. He had to get her home before she did something she would regret, and before he ended up blowing another 30 grand on a painting just because it looked vaguely like Lottie Spencer naked.

He caught up with her easily. ‘Come on, Lottie. We’re done here.’

‘You might be,’ she sniffed, shrugging out of her jacket and revealing creamy, bare shoulders. ‘I’m not.’

Josh swallowed. The dress stopped at her armpits. Where was her bra? He shook his head, trying to rattle his brain back into a sensible place. The caveman option was looking pretty damn good right now.

And the triumphant look on her face told him she knew it. ‘You want me to leave, Josh Blakemore, then kiss me.’

Lust crawled all over him, even as his brain yelled at him not to go there. Lifting his hands, he dug his fingers into the waterfall of dark hair cascading down her back and tipped her head back. Her eyes went wide, hazy, her pupils huge as she stared back and all the reasons why this was wrong fell quickly, quietly away.

It had nearly killed him to push her away the last time they’d been this close. He didn’t have the strength left to resist her now. He lowered his head, angled his mouth over hers, and took everything that she had.

This was no play for the crowd. Not when her lips parted so greedily, tempting him in. He touched his tongue to hers, savoured the sweet, warm taste. She clawed at him, nails digging into muscle, and he laughed against her mouth, dragging her hard against him. ‘Still think I’m a coward?’

‘Yes.’ She nipped at his bottom lip, and it woke up the devil inside him. ‘You’re a yellow-bellied fraidy cat, Josh Blakemore. I can scare you without even trying.’

‘Can you now?’ Cupping the back of her head, he took back control with a deep, punishing kiss that left no room for uncertainty. He could feel her start to tremble, knew the exact moment that she’d realised she was in way over her head. He waited for her to shove him away, to tell him he’d gone too far.

She pulled back exactly as he’d predicted and it felt like hell. ‘I think we should leave,’ he said, his voice not quite steady.

Her mouth was swollen, only a smudge of gloss left sparkling in one corner, her neck flushed. He could see the pulse in her throat flickering at a million miles an hour. ‘Yes.’ She looked up at him dizzily. ‘I think you might be right.’

The sky was a brushstroke of coral overhead, the streets packed with late-evening revellers and the smell of five spice and hot, roasting duck. They dived into the back of the nearest black cab. Josh quickly gave the driver his address as he pulled the door closed and settled himself back into the seat. All his senses seemed to be on high alert, everything more vivid, more real somehow.

Yet all he could see was Lottie. She crossed her legs at the knee, draped her skirt carefully over them, and slid a slender hand over his thigh. The contact had him sucking in a sharp breath, steeling himself.

‘I want you,’ she said softly.

‘I know.’

‘This is a mistake,’ she continued.

‘I know that too.’

The taxi zipped rapidly down one-way streets, dodging traffic lights and cyclists before slamming to a halt outside his front door. Josh tugged out his wallet, stuffed a couple of notes through the slot for the driver, swung open his door and yanked Lottie out. His mouth was on hers before her feet even met the pavement, wanting more of her, needing it.

Somehow they made it to the front door, and he pinned her against it with his hips. Neither of them said anything.

The key thrust home, and he turned it with one shaky hand as he slid the other up between her legs, cupping her through the thin fabric of her voluminous dress. No-one could see. He could make her come right here if he wanted to, and the thought of it sent adrenaline pumping through his veins. She was that hot for him.

He pressed a little harder, and she whimpered. Then the door shot back, and they tumbled to the floor in an undignified heap. Josh flung out his arms, bracing himself before he could crush her, his heart pounding. She stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes. He set his weight to his knees, started to rub her, checking her arms, her shoulders, the back of her head, panic soaring inside him. Her fingers dug into his hair and forced his eyes to connect with hers. ‘I’m okay,’ she whispered. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Is it?’ He was too confused to know. She was tipsy, and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this, and they were on the hallway floor for god’s sake.

She nodded, stroked the back of his neck. It didn’t seem possible for a caress to be tender when there was so much heat between them, but it was. And any hope he’d had of resisting died a rapid, blessed death. He kicked the door closed. The almost darkness surrounded them, the cold hard floor in sharp contrast with her soft, warm body. He lifted one hand to the bodice of her dress and dragged it down to her waist, wanting to satisfy that curiosity. Black satin cupped her breasts, holding them high, but he didn’t uncover them.

Instead, he trailed a line of hot, open mouthed kisses over her stomach, dipping his tongue into her belly button, teasing, tasting as she arched her back and squirmed. ‘Lie still,’ he ordered her, catching her wrists as she reached for him. ‘Just…just let me do this, Lottie.’

‘Do what?’ She gasped out the words as he slowly, carefully dragged the hem of her dress up over her thighs, baring her to his gaze, and just as it had the first time, the sight of her naked skin proved too much of a temptation. She was too much of a temptation. He’d been fighting this too hard for too long, and he was tired of fighting.

‘You’ll see,’ he said, pulling in a shuddering breath, the air tinged with her scent, his whole body starving for a taste of her. Her knees were pressed tightly together, her sex covered by a scrap of black satin with a bow on each hip. Josh reached forward and gave one an experimental tug. It came apart with just that gentle pull, and he felt his groin tighten. He shouldered her knees apart, propped himself up on his elbows and gave the other bow the same treatment.

Her breathing was fast now, shallow. But Josh didn’t go fast, not this time. He wanted to savour this, to taste every inch of her. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He’d managed it in the park, but only just, and here? Now? With her half naked and eager? Not a chance. He made a point of avoiding drunk women, but he couldn’t avoid Lottie Spencer. Not when he was so close to her, and she smelled so bloody good.

The skin on the inside of her thigh was so soft when he set his mouth to it, licked it, tasted it. He moved a little higher, did the same, and higher still, until his jaw rubbed against satin and she moaned. It was torture, pure torture, his erection pushing hard against the tight denim that held it in. He moved his head, covered the satin with his mouth and lapped at the fabric, wetting it with his tongue, tasting her through it, pinning her hands to the floor when she desperately tried to shove her knickers out of the way.

She wanted it. He just hadn’t realised how much. Letting go of her hands, he ripped that barrier aside, held her hips and feasted on her. She was so soft, so wet, and she muttered gorgeous little words of pleasure as he circled his tongue round, over. ‘Louder,’ he said. ‘Tell me how much you like it.’

Her heels scrabbled wildly against the floor as her hips started to move and he kept on, relentlessly driving her until she flirted with a scream. ‘Come on,’ he teased her. ‘You can do better than that.’

Her hands dived into his hair, pushed him firmly back down so she could ride his mouth. She came and came and came. Yes, he thought. Yes.

And nothing had ever felt more satisfying or more wrong.

There was something wrong with her head. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Lottie groaned, feeling around her for the duvet. Locating a handful of fabric that felt promising, she gave it a sharp tug but the stupid thing refused to budge. She gave it another tug, and her stomach decided to join forces with her head and torture her some more. ‘Ugh.’ What time was it? She couldn’t be late for work. The first of Marlene’s pieces were arriving today, and she had to be there to catalogue everything.

‘Morning.’ The familiar gravelly voice made her feel like her brain was about to explode. Lottie rolled onto her stomach and pressed her face tightly into the pillow. ‘Go away and let me die in peace.’

A warm hand slapped her lightly on the backside. ‘No can do.’

She heard the sound of a cup being placed somewhere in the vicinity of her head, then a strange rattling sound. ‘Seriously, Josh, I’m dying here.’

The mattress shifted, and she found herself being rolled onto her back and her hair combed back from her face. ‘No, you just wish you were.’ His tone was dry, and the expression on his face was shuttered, grim.

Did she really look that bad? Suddenly desperate to get herself near a mirror, Lottie ripped her gaze from his face and spotted the white mug with steam rising from it that he’d set on the table at the side of the bed. Two shiny white pills sat next to it. She levered herself up into a sitting position, picked up the mug and bravely took a sip. It was strong and sweet, and it slid down her throat at speed. She knocked back the painkillers with the next mouthful, watching Josh from under her lashes as he pushed up from the bed and stomped over to the window, cradling his own mug. He was wearing striped pyjama pants that clung to his taut backside and flapped around his ankles. The sun caressed his bare shoulders, his beautiful golden skin. Was there anything about him that wasn’t perfect?