Getting Dirty. Rachael Stewart
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aware I should step back. The other part is more than aware that he hasn’t made any attempt to either.
I wet my lips and manage, ‘Hi,’ feeling glad when it’s not the squeak I feared.
His eyes rake over my face and then he seems to come alive on a breath. ‘Apologies.’
Stepping away, he rubs a hand over the back of his head and my palm tickles like it’s mine that’s grazing over the dark buzz cut. And then he moves off and the connection is gone, the spell with it.
What was that?
Distraction, that’s what.
‘Wait.’ I reach out to touch his arm and feel heat permeate my fingertips, solid muscle flexing beneath the shirt. ‘I’m Coco.’
He hesitates as he looks back to me, his eyes still piercing, still ablaze. It’s like there’s a war raging in his head—he looks angry, even. But instead of being scared I’m drawn in. My body is well aware that this is what I need right now and I can’t let it go.
‘I know who you are.’
It’s a simple statement, but there’s an edge to it. I almost want to say it’s contempt, and curiosity toughens my spine as I retract my hand and smile. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’
‘Look, princess, you’re just not my type.’
I laugh. The sound tinkles, high and easy. I’m already having fun. More fun than I’ve had in a long time. ‘Really…?’
‘Really.’
He makes no attempt to leave, though. Interesting.
I cock my head to the side, let my gaze travel over him slowly, more brazen this time.
‘I hardly think I’m yours either,’ he adds, his tone rough and teasing at the electricity already thrumming in my veins.
I lift my eyes to his as I say, ‘Let me be the judge of that.’
A pulse dances in his jaw and I wet my lips as I step closer, reaching out to toy with the first fastened button of his shirt. His chest stills beneath my fingers but his face is set hard. If not for the slight flare to his nose and that tripping pulse point I’d think the chest thing was a figment of my imagination.
‘You going to tell me your name, or am I to guess?’
His throat bobs and I can sense his need to clear it. I’m not naive when it comes to sex. Sex and attraction. His body is giving me all the signs, even if he doesn’t want me to see it.
‘It’s like that, is it? Hmm… Let me see…’ I smile as I ponder and watch his eyes flicker back at me. Am I amusing him? I want to amuse him… ‘What about… Reginald? Penfold? Archibald…?’ I mock pout at his flat expression and catch the slightest twitch to his lips. Definitely amused. ‘No? What about Terrence? Bert? Ernie—no, Arnie…? Ooh, yes… Arnie… I can definitely see a bit of Schwarzenegger in you…the whole I’ll be back thing?’
I tuck my chin in as I deliver my best Terminator impression and my ridiculous comedic act—which, to be fair, makes me look like I sport a double chin—is totally worth it as he rewards me with a grin he clearly doesn’t want to give.
‘It’s Ash.’
He takes firm hold of my fingers, which have just made tantalising contact with the exposed hairs of his chest, and my moment of triumph dampens as I sense the rejection coming.
‘And I have to go.’
‘Don’t be a party pooper, Ash. We were just getting to know one another.’ I take another step forward and my breasts brush against his chest as I breathe, my fingers still trapped in his warm, firm grasp.
‘And as I said, you’re hardly my type.’
He looks away and I follow his line of sight. He’s looking towards Caitlin at the bar and I realise what he means.
‘She’s a friend of mine…a close friend.’
He turns back to me. ‘So I saw.’
I frown just a little. Is he jealous? Or is Caitlin his type and he means it when he says I’m not? She’s the opposite of me—a fiery petite redhead, free and easy. Normally I’d offer to share—to enjoy a debauched night of fun as a threesome. It’s something we’ve done many a time before. But I don’t want to. Not this time. Not with him.
I realise he’s staring at me, his striking blue eyes penetrating my mind, and suddenly I feel naked…exposed. Like he’s reached inside me and can read the very heart of what makes me tick. Which is nonsense. Utter nonsense.
I plaster on my superficial smile—the one I save for the cameras—and his eyes adjust to the change he’s seen in me. ‘If you’re not interested,’ I say, stepping away, ‘far be it from me to force you.’
I start to pull my hand from his grasp and walk. It’s time to go home and do what I intended all along. Now I can add his rejection to my list of things to forget.
‘Wait.’
He firms his grip over my fingers and I pause mid-stride. Part of me—the part that felt every millimetre of exposure beneath his gaze—knows I should keep on going. But the devil in me, the pain, needs the distraction more. I look back at him and raise my brow in question.
‘I’ve changed my mind. Let’s grab a drink—somewhere else, though. For all Jackson is a mate of mine, his beer sucks.’
‘Somewhere else?’
I genuinely hesitate. What I have in mind requires the sanctity of Blacks—this club. These four walls keep everything private. It’s why I come here. To let my hair down, to beat off the stress, do whatever I so desire without judgement. Without exposure to the press. Without threat to the great house of Lauren.
‘There’s a pub not far from here…serves proper craft beer.’ He gestures to the bar, where the footballer has returned and is trying his luck with Cait again. ‘Bring your friends.’
I chew my lower lip. Would it hurt? Just this once?
But it would only take one photo, one loose tongue, even, and the press would pounce. My reputation would be in pieces and Granny’s trust—love—would be irrevocably lost.
No, while Granny still lives, I’ll be the Coco Lauren she believes in, no matter if it’s not the whole story.
Guilt churns away in my stomach—but, hell, I am that Coco Lauren in all the ways that matter. Not that she’d see it. She would never approve of my pleasure-seeking side, never understand that I have no interest in relationships and the disappointment that they bring.
No, she would simply tar me with the same brush as my mother and be done with it.
And no one is worth taking that risk for, Coco, no one…
I LOOK AT her chewing anxiously over her lip and feel something twist inside me. This case is bugging me. There’s a doubt I can’t shift. A sense that this job is messed-up—that I’m messed-up for playing a part in it.
Something just isn’t right.
And seeing her hesitate, spying the vulnerability in her glittering green gaze, not to mention the way my body refuses to chill around her, I know I should be ending this now. Walking away from both her and Philip Lauren.
But I’ve never called it a day on a job before. I’ve always been careful about which projects to take on, who I go after, who I work for…
But this time you were blinded by the memory of Jess, far too quick to judge.
The