Once A Bad Girl (2 page)

Neither did the fact that she had been sneaking little glances at him every time she thought he wasn’t looking. To be fair, he’d snuck his own share back. The dark-purple dress she wore covered her from wrist to knee, but couldn’t hide a very lush figure. She had dark hair piled on top of her head in some sort of messy updo and spent most of her time fiddling with the chain around her neck, when she wasn’t too busy fiddling with her earring, or her handbag.

Twitch, twitch, twitch. Josh rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, gave up on the conversation, and risked another glance in her direction. A prickling awareness coasted through his body as he watched her move across to the buffet table and fill her plate for what had to be the third time. If things were different, he’d have liked that about her, that edge of shamelessness. He’d have liked the way her dress pulled tight across breasts that were high and full, how serious her expression was when she made her selection from the buffet, and how she didn’t belong here any more than he did.

But things weren’t different, and she was just another chancer on the prowl. He was sure of it.

She turned her head and their gazes locked.

His pulse kicked.

Her eyes were violet. Shockingly, piercingly violet.

The tiny triangle of whatever she’d just lifted from her plate flew into the air, and she spun away, crashing straight into an unsuspecting waiter. Glassware flew in all directions as the silver tray he’d been carrying dropped to the floor, flipped once, twice before coming to a rest upside down on top of her feet.

Silence dropped like a bomb. Everywhere around him, people turned and stared, but did nothing to help as the waiter stood there with a look of shocked panic on his face, and the girl wobbled some more on those skyscraper shoes.

‘For god’s sake,’ Josh muttered. Without a second’s hesitation, he strode over to the buffet table.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ he heard her say frantically, as she dumped her plate on the buffet table and crouched down to pick up the tray then thrust it at the waiter, who had the skinny build and help-me reaction of a teenager without much work experience.

Josh set a hand to his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Get some more staff out here to sort this out and go get yourself cleaned up.’

Then he turned to the cause of the trouble. Miss Twitchy stood inches away, scarlet-faced. ‘I can’t believe I did that,’ she said, flapping her hands. ‘I am such an idiot.’

Josh wasn’t entirely sure she was talking to him, because she was staring at the floor and the glasses littering it, but he decided to run with it. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’

Dark, feathery lashes slowly lifted, and those bright eyes came into view. Close up their impact was even more powerful. For a moment, Josh felt like he’d been poleaxed.

‘No. No, we haven’t. I’m Lottie. Lottie Spencer. It’s good to meet you.’ She held out her hand, silver bangles clinking on her wrist.

God, she really was gorgeous. Close up, he could see the pale freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, the soft curve of her mouth which was the same colour as the strawberries he’d watched her eat. He took her outstretched hand and shook it. Fireworks shot up his arm. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lottie Spencer. I’m Josh. Josh Blakemore.’

Her name wasn’t familiar, but he knew from experience that names didn’t mean much. It didn’t take much effort to think one up, to slip on a new persona. Hell, his mother was an actress. He’d learned everything there was to know about faking it before he could walk. And the alarm bells had started ringing the second this woman had walked into the room and eyed him up like a prize bull, as if he was both impressive and terrifying.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That’s nice. This is an interesting building, isn’t it?’ Her voice, all breathy and flirtatious, wrapped around him as she waved a delicate hand at the curved glass that surrounded them like an oversized goldfish bowl. ‘It’s so kind of the Lord Mayor to invite all these people. And the view is simply magnificent from up here.’

Josh couldn’t put his finger on exactly what had started the alarm bells ringing. He only knew that he’d been here too many times before. Being the son of a film star had its benefits, it was true. It also had more than its fair share of negatives.

And if he wasn’t mistaken, he was staring one in the face right now. What did she want? Who was she, really? A journalist? A professional blogger hell bent on digging out the skeletons from his mother’s closet? It didn’t matter either way. From the moment he’d been old enough to talk, people had used him. Pretending to be his friend, then selling his words to the press. Taking photos at his birthday parties, making sure they caught his mother in the background. Sleeping with him for a few column inches.

But he was wise to it now. ‘It looked to me like you were more interested in the buffet table than the view,’ he said, setting a hand on the small of her back and steering her neatly out of the way as a couple of waitresses appeared armed with sweeping brushes and cloths.

‘Well, the food is good too,’ she said, stepping a little too close to him. ‘Would be a shame to let it go to waste. The world is full of starving people, you know. Not that any of them are here, obviously. But that’s not the point.’

Josh picked up a tall, skinny glass from the table and held it out to her, and ignored the sick feeling in his gut. He didn’t like what he was about to do, but he’d found it was the most effective way to deal with women like this. Doing nothing didn’t work. They just came back for more. It paid to be proactive. ‘So how does it feel?’

She took the glass. ‘How does what feel?’

‘Popping your conference cherry.’

‘I…excuse me?’

‘I know everyone here but you,’ Josh said calmly, settling into his routine. He knew his lines off by heart. ‘Definitely your first time. Otherwise you’d have known the rules.’

‘What rules?’

‘Strict dress code, for starters. Bad suits are compulsory. Sweat patches optional but preferred. And definitely no slinky, sexy dresses.’

One dark eyebrow shot up. ‘So where’s your bad suit?’

‘I don’t own a bad suit.’

‘Then you’re the rule breaker, not me. Because this is not a sexy dress,’ she said, lifting her champagne flute to her lips and wrapping one arm around her middle.

‘That depends on your definition of sexy.’ Josh reached out, stroked a finger down her sleeve. ‘How about we ditch the bad suit brigade and go somewhere a little less crowded?’

Her eyes flew wide, and she broke into a spasm of coughing so fierce that he was about to call the paramedics when she straightened up. ‘Are you always this forward, Mr Blakemore?’

Josh looked her up and down and felt like a sleaze. ‘Depends how attractive the woman I’m talking to is,’ he said. ‘You’re rating a nine. I can’t say if you’d hit 10. You’re not naked.’

‘Naked?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Lottie? You’ve been watching me for the past hour. We both know what you want.’

She shook her head, and a long strand of hair fell loose across her cheek. Then she looked at him like he was something unpleasant she’d just stepped in. ‘And what is that?’

‘The same thing I do,’ he replied. ‘You don’t need to pretend, babe.’

‘Oh my god,’ she said, choking out a laugh. ‘Did you seriously just call me babe?’ Her gaze fell on the champagne flute, and Josh steeled himself in preparation. At least this way, he’d have a good excuse to leave. He could hardly stay after he’d been doused in champagne.

But instead, she pressed the glass into his hand. She stared at him, and for a moment Josh thought he saw disappointment in those bright violet eyes, like she’d just tipped out her stocking on Christmas morning and found a rotten apple. Touché, he thought.

Then she shook her head. ‘You’re a creep,’ she said. ‘And I really am an idiot.’ She turned on her heel and walked away, the sway of her hips emphasised by the tight fit of fabric across a firm, round bum.

Josh carefully lowered the champagne flute onto the table. He eased it across the cloth, until it was safely out of the way of elbows and handbags. A strange ache had started up in his stomach, and his heart was pounding too hard, too fast. He was both hacked off and turned on.

You’re a creep
. For some reason, those three little words had cut into him and he didn’t like it. She was wrong. She was so wrong.

And he needed her to know it.

Cheek of the man! And to think she’d taken an afternoon off work to travel halfway across London for that. Folding her arms, Lottie hurried across the open-plan corridor towards the glass tube that housed the lift. The grey light filtering through the glass ceiling matched her mood perfectly.

Every step she took in her impractical, increasingly painful shoes pushed her anger up a notch. She’d worn the silver suede peep toes in the vain hope of giving herself a boost in the style stakes, because her pitiful excuse for a dress certainly couldn’t, and she hadn’t had time to do anything with her hair other that twist it up on top of her head and hope it wouldn’t collapse. What a waste of effort that had been.

Everything she’d wanted for the auction house, and, she admitted painfully, for herself, had crash-landed in a town called Disaster. And she could feel the stinging squish of a blister on her little toe.

It all begged the question—where had she got the crazy idea that Josh Blakemore was someone she could do business with?

Or that she could do business with anyone? Ever?

The lift appeared in no hurry to show. She gave up and stomped towards the stairs. She didn’t try to stop her filthy mood from taking over. If anything, she encouraged it.

Better that than let the disappointment and the shame creep in. Heat hit the back of her eyes as tears smacked the front. It was Failure with a capital F. Spencer’s was going to crash and burn in a haze of debt, and it would be all her fault. She’d wanted so badly, so desperately to succeed. Everything had been planned so perfectly.

And then she’d met Josh Blakemore.

He’d given her that cool come on, put his gaze places he shouldn’t, and generally sleazed all over her like a big, gorgeous bag of oozy slime. It wasn’t right. Someone that horrible on the inside should be horrible on the outside, too. He should be short and fat, with a sun bed tan and stringy hair. He’d no right looking so…so healthy. No right to have such lush, dark hair, or such a distinct lack of overhang above his tan leather belt.

But that wasn’t really the problem, was it? No. The problem was her, and the fact that she had simply been unable to handle him. She was…she was just useless.

She took the next step with a stumble. The one after that with speed. The sooner she put some distance between herself and this stupid chicken’s egg of a building, the sooner she could calm down and think.

There had to be another way to boost the business. A long-forgotten Hockney painting lurking in a basement. A selection of Cartier jewels hiding in a box of junk at a car boot sale. Perhaps she should make her first stop a newsagent’s and buy a lottery ticket. It would give her better odds.

Pushing her knuckles against her mouth, Lottie blinked away the film of moisture blurring her vision and made every step careful. Her day was already ruined. No need to add insult to injury by falling down the stairs.

Then a shout came from behind her. ‘Lottie! Wait up a second…’

Oh he wasn’t, was he? Lottie increased her pace, hitching her dress up a couple of inches to gain extra swing. The world would just have to suffer her thighs. Escape was the priority now. She had to get out of this pit of humiliation before she howled like a baby. Or worse.

‘I said wait!’ He was at her side a heartbeat later, spinning in front of her and blocking her path a half breath after that. His bulk made a neat side step impossible, and made worse inevitable.

Her hands shot up. Met the firm, well muscled wall of his chest. The heat of his skin soaked into her palms. For a moment, Lottie couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t do anything but stare at her pale silver nails, her fingers spread like starfish over his broad, hard chest.

Then she ripped her hands away. Cotton that fine should not be allowed, especially not in the vicinity of pecs that well defined.

She dropped one hand to her hip and worked ‘infuriated’ to a level best described as spectacular. ‘Do you mind?’ How dare he make her touch him up like that? How dare he stand there, all height and suit and hard, taut muscle? The tense gleam in his bright blue eyes only served to increase the tension stiffening her spine. ‘What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see you’re in my way?’

‘You walked off before we could finish our conversation.’

‘Sorry,’ Lottie snapped back. ‘I thought I’d made it clear that we were done.’

He turned his head to the side, pulled in a breath, then fixed his gaze on her. Pinned her to the spot with it, in fact. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘I was acting like a creep. I’m sorry.’

‘Wow.’ Lottie gripped the stair rail. ‘Just…wow. Are you serious?’

‘Totally.’

‘Right,’ she said. ‘So this is what you do when the sleaze doesn’t work? Tell women you didn’t mean it, and then they fall into bed with you anyway?’

He rubbed a large hand across the back of his neck. ‘Not quite.’

‘Oh. So what do they do? Jump?’

‘I’m usually glad they’ve gone.’

‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’

‘Hardly. Where are you going exactly?’

‘Back to work.’ Her stomach churned at the thought of it, and she gave an involuntary whimper.

One dark brow rose upwards. ‘Oh. And where’s that?’

Nowhere there was any point telling him about. ‘I’d love to stand here discussing this, but I’m afraid I have things to do,’ Lottie managed, her emotions tumbling. He was like Jekyll and Hyde. The only consistent thing was his undeniable attractiveness and her response to it, and she’d made enough of a fool of herself for one day. She forced herself to move down another step.

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, slipping in front of her for the second time. ‘At least give me a chance to explain.’