Once a Bad Girl

chapter Three

‘I haven’t had sex in eight months,’ she said quietly, glancing down, not wanting to see his reaction, wishing she could treat it like a game, wishing just for once that she didn’t have to take everything so seriously.

‘I see,’ he said, and there was a wicked edge to his voice. ‘Are you worried your virginity might have grown back?’

‘Do not even think about mentioning cherries,’ she shot back. ‘Or popping.’

‘I won’t,’ he said easily, ‘if you shut up and kiss me.’

Lottie got carefully to her feet. He was leaning against the worktop, arms folded, watching her from under heavy lids, the intense message his body was sending out clashing totally with his joking words.

She moved closer, tried to remember how to breathe. He was strong and warm and didn’t budge an inch as she clumsily pressed her lips against his. There was no other contact, just that touch of his mouth against hers. It was chaste and nothing, and the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced all rolled into one, and it knocked her sideways.

‘Hell,’ he said, as his hands came up to take her hips and hold her steady. ‘Let me in.’

The sensation threatened to overwhelm her as the kiss turned dark, intense. He took it further, his tongue touching her bottom lip, letting her get her first taste of him. The fever that had flashed between them from the moment their gazes had locked back in City Hall rushed through her, hotter, stronger than anything she’d experienced before, and Lottie pushed her hands into the silk of hair at the nape of his neck and wondered how she’d ever thought she could resist this.

He wrapped his hands around her waist, lifted her against him. ‘God, Lottie, I want you.’

There was so much rough heat, so much raw desire, so much hunger in those words that Lottie forgot he was a stranger. She forgot that she didn’t know him. She forgot about the past, about all her mistakes. She lifted her head, dug her fingers into his shirt, pulled until the first button gave way, exposing a triangle of toned, tanned flesh. ‘Then have me.’

Her dress hit the floor before they’d even left the kitchen. His shirt followed suit in the hallway. Hands met skin, exploring feverishly, as she tasted his neck, his chest, then yanked open the waistband of his trousers so she could get her hand inside and grab one tight, firm buttock. The fire inside her soared higher, consuming her, as she wrapped herself around him, clinging to him like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go.

His retaliation was torture. Strong fingers eased under the strap of her shell-pink bra and slowly, slowly moved it away from her shoulder until the soft satin followed it down, exposing one dark, aching nipple. He lowered his head and ran his tongue over that hard peak.

Pleasure overloaded her system, her senses, and she could feel each hot stroke of his tongue spark a fire between her legs. Lottie arched her back and wrapped her hands across those muscular shoulders, his skin warm and smooth under her palms. She knew she didn’t deserve this, but she was only human. No-one could be expected to say no. ‘Do that again.’

He lifted his head, and they stared at each other. He gave her that smile again, the one that made her wobble, and the fire inside her grew hotter. Lottie reached around her back, fumbled open the clasp, and introduced her bra to the floor.

‘And here was me, thinking you were shy.’ His gaze moved lower, stroking over her naked flesh, down to where her nipples poked out, dark and puckered. One hand came up and covered her left breast. ‘I love your body,’ he said huskily, moving closer until she was pressed up against the cold, hard door, with his big hot body plastered against her, keeping her there, letting her know exactly what she was doing to him. ‘I knew I would.’

‘Really?’ she heard herself say, as he rocked his hips against her and she felt the full, hard length of his erection press into her belly, felt the corresponding rush of pure female pride. ‘I’m not exactly in great shape. You can eat a lot of ice cream when you haven’t got a boyfriend.’ And don’t think you’ll have sex again. Ever.

He covered her mouth with his hand. ‘Hush,’ he said. Then he lowered his head and licked her breasts some more. Every touch was hot, potent, shot through with excitement. Every touch only made the next one more precious. She kicked off one shoe then the other, the polished floorboards wonderfully cool beneath her bare feet. Up on her tiptoes to taste his mouth again, the sudden increase in height difference only adding to the thrill. And it was a thrill, she thought. They both had something to prove, to themselves and to each other.

Thick, coarse hair teased her fingertips as she traced a curving path round the base of his erection, and he proved one thing—he was hot for her. Lottie had forgotten how much she liked a man’s body, and this man’s body was perfect. Hard and tough and just for her. A rush of emotion crashed into her, as he went perfectly still and let her explore.

Lottie glanced up, saw colour rising high on his cheeks as she slowly stroked him. She hadn’t let herself even think about being with anyone in the past eight months. She’d locked that part of herself away, denied her need for touch, for contact. But the hunger burning openly in his eyes made her feel like she was worth being with. More than worth it.

‘Much as I can tell you’re enjoying your little power trip,’ he said, his voice deep and amused, ‘I want to see you naked on white cotton sheets.’

‘Do you have white cotton sheets?’

‘White cotton sheets,’ he said, punctuating each word with a hot, erotic nip at her jaw, ‘on a bed which deserves to be broken.’

‘I’ve never broken a bed before.’

‘But there’s a first time for everything.’

Those words jolted her back to reality. Yes, there was a first time. There was also a second. Lottie slowly pulled her hand out of his trousers. He stopped her just as her fingertips grazed the head of his penis, and held her hand still. His eyes were dark, the blue a thin, bright ring, his neck dark with colour. ‘You can trust me,’ he said, as if he could read her thoughts. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ And she believed it, 100 percent. But could she trust herself? She wanted to. He made her want to. ‘Yes,’ she said again, with more conviction this time. ‘Yes.’

‘Get used to saying that,’ he murmured, as he banded an arm around her waist, crushing her aching breasts firmly against the hard width of his pecs and they took the stairs. ‘You’re going to be saying it a lot tonight.’

Somehow, they managed to make it upstairs, though Lottie barely noticed herself move, too distracted by his ability to pinpoint all the most sensitive spots on her throat. Sensation swamped her, sending her into a swirling haze of delicious sensitivity where every part of her body felt astonishingly alive.

Josh was her whole focus. She couldn’t see anything else. Not even the sound of a door being kicked open registered, until he took her waist and tossed her back onto a lake-sized mattress and she realised that this was it.

She was in his bedroom, on his bed. There was no turning back. Propping herself up on her elbows, Lottie watched as he toed off his shoes and kicked off his trousers, her heart pounding so hard she felt dizzy.

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his black jersey boxers and eased himself free. She shouldn’t stare. But, dear lord.

Muscle ridged his stomach, curved his arms. His skin was tanned a light golden brown, and dusted with just the right amount of dark hair, over his chest, down the middle of his belly. Her gaze drifted over his stomach to the point south of his belly button where the tan stopped. His erection was thick, gleaming at the tip, and pointing right at her.

He was so beautiful. And yet he needed to question why someone would say yes to a fumble in a cleaning cupboard. An odd sort of pain lanced through her, and Lottie had to look away, biting down on her lip. She knew why he had to question it. She was no different to all the other women who’d approached him, who’d used him. Except that she wanted to be. Oh god, she wanted to be.

‘You can look,’ he said as he moved over to the table and tugged open the top drawer. He lifted something out, tossed it in her direction. It landed flat on her belly and sat there, gleaming, and she placed a hand over it, feeling the foil press into her fingers, confirming to her that he was just as perfect on the inside as he was everywhere else. ‘Go on. Be a bad girl. Look at the naked man.’

So she did. She looked. And she wanted to wrap herself around every inch of that gorgeous male body and show him that not everyone wanted him for anything other than himself.

He strolled back to the foot of the bed and with one swift tug on her ankles, Lottie found herself flat on her back, staring at the ornate ceiling rose and trying to remember how to breathe. Warm hands met her knees, slid up to her hips, and in a move that had her blinking, her knickers were gone. Heat roared between her thighs.

She moved to sit up, but he stopped her. ‘You said you trusted me,’ he said.

‘I do,’ she said, and it was the truth.

‘So relax.’

‘I am relaxed,’ she lied.

‘Sure about that?’ He dipped his head and flicked the tip of his tongue against all that heat. ‘How about now?’ He made the move again. Her fingers dug into the bed, her back arching uncontrollably. Oh, he was good, so good. Right now, there was nothing she could do. Nothing except grab the sheets and hold on tight.

It started somewhere in the pit of her stomach, building and building as he licked into her, soft, hot, over and over until she didn’t know whether to fight to stay grounded so she could have his mouth on her longer or surrender and let herself fly. Then everything went tight. Her eyes slammed shut and she soared into a soft, cushiony darkness.

And wondered if she should feel awkward about going off like a rocket in three seconds flat.

Cool air replaced the heat of his mouth, and she forced her eyes open. The mattress moved and he closed in on her, long and lean, covering her with all that delicious warmth and strength, and her vision suddenly blurred.

‘What’s wrong, Lottie?’

‘Nothing,’ Lottie swallowed down the lump in her throat. ‘It’s just…’

He touched her cheek so delicately, as if she was made of antique porcelain, not flesh and blood and crazy emotion. ‘No-one’s ever cried on me before.’

‘What do they usually do?’

His mouth moved slowly, sensually over hers. ‘Scream.’

She could feel the thick weight of his erection pressing against her, hard against soft as he settled himself between her thighs, but it wasn’t where she wanted him to be. Her hands met his chest and she pushed him up, then shoved him down onto the bed. She picked up the condom, searched his face for a moment, wanting him to understand.

He folded his hands behind his head. Yes, he got the message, she thought, relief rushing through her, that flash of sadness gone. His gaze never left her face as she rolled it on. Lottie locked her hands onto his thick forearms, as the hot, insistent throb of desire started up inside her all over again. ‘Do you trust me?’ she whispered, leaning forward so that her breasts grazed his chest as she straddled him, the outside of his hard, hair-roughened thighs pressing against the soft inside of her own, putting her in control.

He smiled.

‘Good.’ The she started to move.

He set his hands to her hips and rocked her into a slow, sexy pace, as if they had all the time in the world, as if this wasn’t just crazy afternoon sex with a stranger. His body fascinated her, all that slow, sensual power laid out in front of her, so tightly leashed. She ran a hand over his belly, exploring the hard ridges of muscle, the soft play of hair under her fingers, and she let herself go, let herself feel and explore, her touches alternately gentle and desperate, echoing how she felt.

The sighs of the bed barely registered. There was nothing in her world but him, inside her, under her, filling her senses. ‘Lottie…’ he said, his voice deep, dark, edged with something she didn’t really understand. ‘Lottie, I…’

But the rest of his words were lost, because suddenly she was there, right there, no warning this time before the explosion that had her arching her back, pushing hard against him, wanting all of him as spasm after spasm of pure joy clutched at her.

She heard him laugh, heard that laugh turn into a groan, felt him thrust into her with all the power of that magnificent body as he broke her world apart and then slowly, slowly put it back together again. The aftershocks were still shaking through her when he sat up and fitted his mouth to hers. She took the kiss deeper, wrapped her arms around his broad back, loving the way he felt inside her, loving the fact that he instinctively seemed to know what she needed, even when she didn’t know it herself. ‘How long till we can do that again?’

‘How good are your powers of recovery?’ he teased, flipping her onto her back and tugging up the sheet. His fingers started to walk across her stomach, around her belly button and down, down…

And Lottie found out the answer.

A cool breeze stroked her back. Her eyes snapped open. Lottie inhaled the smell of unfamiliar sheets, and warm man, and good sex.

And every single muscle in her body contracted.

Fingers landed millimetres from her shoulder as Josh rolled over, muttering in a sleepy, sexy baritone. A chink in the curtains revealed that darkness had started to fade out to blue, though the still silence filtering through the open window told her it was early—4am, maybe? She glanced at her watch, silently cursed. Make that closer to five.

Three hours till clock-in at work, where no doubt the inquisition would be waiting for her. She hadn’t checked in the previous afternoon. Explanations would be demanded, lies necessitated, and migraines provoked. Crap.

Yesterday seemed a million miles away. Today, in the clear light of morning, she could see what a dreadful mistake she’d made. They’d spent most of the night tangled up in each other, inside their own little bubble where they didn’t have to worry about the rest of the world, where he wasn’t the son of a client and she wasn’t another woman who’d tried to use him. But the bottom line was that both of those things were true, and she shouldn’t be here.

She fought the urge to look at the naked god sprawled across the bed. If she did, she would be tempted by his warmth, by the knowledge that they’d fit together so comfortably, so easily, almost as if they were old friends. It had felt so right, being with him, and everything about that was wrong.

Slowly, painstakingly so, Lottie eased herself off the mattress and tiptoed to the doorway, scanning the floorboards for her knickers. No sign.

Screwing up her eyes, she hid her breasts with her hands, as if it made her less naked somehow. If she hung around too long he might wake up, and she’d rather go commando than deal with a morning after conversation. It would be too easy for him to talk her back into bed. She couldn’t risk it.

She almost lost her footing in her haste to get to the door. Why didn’t the man have carpets? All this bare wood was totally unnecessary. And loud. It took twice as long as it should have to reach the bottom of the stairs, by which time she had her bra and her shoes. Dress? She scanned the entrance hall, spotted it hiding in a dark corner.

Cold air goose-bumped her skin as she scooped it up. She should be at home right now, her body priming itself for the call of her alarm. Not playing clothes hunt in the house of a man she barely knew.

Into the kitchen. The tiles were cold against her feet, her heart pounding fiercely as she reached for the light switch, bathing the long, airy space in clean, bright light. Her bag sat on the table exactly where she’d left it, it’s neat and tidy state a snarky little reminder of the mess in her head. It made her want to scream. What was she doing? Come on Lottie, he deserves better than this.

‘What else am I supposed to do?’ she muttered, every second that ticked by winding her nerves closer to breaking point. She grabbed her bag, jostled the contents and ran to the door. Buses would be running. Quick fly by her flat, shower, change, then straight on to work. Achieve that, and everything would be safely back to normal. She didn’t want to get involved with anyone, especially not someone who had any connection to the auction house, no matter how tenuous. If this stayed as a one-night thing, it meant she hadn’t really messed up.

And she was more likely to prove the existence of fairies than convince herself of that. Her fingers shook. The bolt on the front door fought her every step of the way. She battled for control, wished desperately for silence as the brass bar thumped to the side and she swung the door open.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Lottie shrieked, her heart accelerating at a million miles an hour. ‘Josh!’ She skittered to a halt on the top step. ‘You frightened the life out of me.’ Bright white jersey boxers took him past naked but left him nowhere near decent, and his hair was stuck out at all sorts of crazy angles. He looked delicious.

‘Leaving without saying goodbye.’ He folded his arms, leaned against the door jamb and stared her down with those stunning blue eyes. ‘You’re a naughty girl, Lottie Spencer. I expected better of you.’

‘I…I didn’t want to wake you.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s five in the morning. And you don’t need me hanging around annoying you. I’m not one of those women who gets all clingy the morning after.’ He didn’t look convinced, so she tried again. ‘You’ve probably got loads to do today anyway.’

He unfolded his arms, then took the edge of the doorframe with a white-knuckle grip that made his pecs flex and her mouth go dry. ‘No, not really.’

The casual tone was completely at odds with the angry heat burning in his bright blue eyes. Flames of desire licked up her thighs, her breasts, scorching her very core. She ached. From him. For him.

Lottie pulled in a lungful of crisp, early-morning air, tinged with the intoxicating scent of still-warm-from-bed male. ‘I know how this looks. I just…’ How could she explain it? How could she make him understand? ‘We shouldn’t have slept together.’

‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ll forgive you for trying to sneak out on me. I wouldn’t normally. But it’ll cost you.’

Lottie cut him a wary look from under her lashes. ‘Cost me?’

He crooked his finger and beckoned her closer. Then lowered his head, put his mouth on hers, and plundered. He kissed her until her bones dissolved and blood thundered in her ears. He kissed her until her knees gave way and he had to hold her up like a battered rag doll. He kissed her until she couldn’t see straight any more, and then until she couldn’t see at all. Then, and only then, did he let her go.

Josh watched her leave, his gaze flicking side to side in time with the quickstep sway of her hips. He rubbed a hand over his face as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. He should have called her a cab. But that would have meant her hanging around, and then they’d have talked themselves back into bed, and it was pretty clear she didn’t want to go there.

At least she hadn’t managed to sneak out without him knowing about it. His mind wandered back to the last time that had happened, and a cool shiver zipped down his spine. He’d thought, for the first time in a very long time that he’d met someone he could trust.

What the hell did it matter? He’d crossed the line, and now he’d have to deal with the consequences, whatever they turned out to be. Only this time, he’d genuinely thought Lottie was different. He’d thought they’d connected. He’d obviously lost his mind. All last night had done was remind him how much he liked sex, and why he never, ever let his guard down. She’d used him, and he’d let her.

Rolling his shoulders loose, Josh decided some self-flagellation in the form of a boiling-hot shower was what he needed. He was about to head back inside when the dense 5ft shrub at the side of the steps gave a big shiver. Cat, most likely. His neighbour had a toilet brush of a ginger tom that thought it was a Rottweiler and approached the rest of the world from that deluded angle. The bush gave one almighty shake that set its thin leaves dancing.

Time to get out of the way.

Picking up her battered desktop phone, Lottie dialled the number for the answering machine for the sixth time in an hour, the 15th time that day, and the 75th time since she’d walked away from Josh Blakemore’s front door a week ago. She doodled a little cartoon drawing of the ginger cat that had followed her down the street as she’d walked away from that door, gave it stripes and a bottlebrush tail, and zapped it with a streak of lightning. Kapow.

No messages. Swinging round in her creaky desk chair, she twiddled her bright green pencil between her fingers and rested the receiver on her shoulder long enough to hit redial.

Could it be some sort of technical problem? She wasn’t entirely sure how these things worked, but they were electronic, which meant that they went wrong all the time. Yes, that had to be it. Alone in her poky office in the chilly basement of the auction house, it was easy to convince herself as she counted the splotches of black mould decorating the top right corner of the once-magnolia wall that this was all some terrible mistake.

After all, didn’t her photocopier explode at least twice a week? The printer drank so much ink she was thinking of sending it to Printers Anonymous meetings, and as for the coffee maker…

Who was she trying to kid? Sooner or later she had to accept the fact that Marlene Blakemore wasn’t going to call, and neither was her son. She had to kill the hope still lingering in her belly, stop hiding the crack in the window with a spider plant and stop dreaming about Josh Blakemore naked.

No time like the present. She slammed the receiver back into the cradle, put her elbows on the desktop, put her head in her hands, and felt quite sick. She let it burn at her stomach for all of a minute, then she straightened her spine, pulled her Rolodex forward and started to flick.

Marlene Blakemore had been a long shot and she refused to take up permanent residence on planet pity. What she wanted was a shiny new office, one that smelled of fresh flowers and warm jam doughnuts. One with under-floor heating, where ice formed on the outside of the window in winter, not the inside.

She flicked through a couple more cards. Posey Pennington, at the antiques shop on the corner? She’d probably have more luck shooting for the moon. Roger McAllister might be able to help, but she’d have to endure one of his wife’s legendary cremated dinners. Her stomach hurt just thinking about it.

Pressing her fingers against her eyes, Lottie fought the sting. She’d been on the edge of tears for the past seven days, restless, nervy, strung up with tension. She hated it. She needed air. And food. She shoved the Rolodex to the back of her desk, knocking it round a couple of inches. Her gaze fell onto the name and number. She sank back into her chair. Possible. Not good. But possible.

And possible was good enough. She picked up the phone and dialled the number. Barry agreed to meet her for lunch before she’d even got the words out. As long as she managed to make it clear that the only bed they’d ever share was in his imagination, everything would be fine. She felt pretty horrible about it, after trying to poach Marlene, but she was that desperate, and it seemed that using people was what she was about these days, anyway.

Lottie gave her office a routine once over, locked the door behind her and headed upstairs. The door to her mother’s first-floor office was open as always, and the room beyond looked the same as always. Black-and-white photos showing the auction house in its primary incarnation as a Victorian mill dotted the butter-coloured walls, the furniture was a hotchpotch of carved rosewood and midnight-blue upholstery that was one overenthusiastic bottom away from dead.

Lottie eyed the staff rota pinned on the wall next to the door. Her heart sank when she spotted another stretch of spaces wiped clean. Another member of staff sent off to the job centre. ‘Mum, I’m popping out for lunch. I won’t be long.’

Helen Spencer sat on her favourite velvet armchair in the corner of her office, defiantly petite and fiercely blonde. A pile of glossy magazines balanced on her knee. She lifted her glasses onto the top of her head and gave Lottie a warm smile. ‘There you are. Have you been busy this morning?’

Lottie had the weird feeling it was a trick question. ‘Quite busy. I finished the paperwork for the Smith account, and settled last month’s cleaning bill.’

Helen fiddled with the drape of her gold jersey cardigan. ‘I’ve been trying to get through to your office phone for the past half hour, but it was permanently engaged.’

Odd. Her dad never ventured down to her office, but her mum wafted in and out several fragrant times a day. Lottie decided to play it safe. ‘The phones are probably acting up. Did you want me for something?’

Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘Yes. And for goodness’ sake, Charlotte, don’t linger in the doorway and fidget. You’ve got a visitor.’