Once a Bad Girl

chapter Five

Hooking a finger into the collar of his dress shirt, Josh eased the tug on his throat, and wondered not for the first time what had possessed him. Not just to dress up in the monkey suit, but to suggest this whole crazy scheme in the first place. It was insane. But then when had his life ever been anything but? He was the son of an Oscar-winning actress, and that meant his life was never going to be normal. He’d spent his whole life dealing with it. Too many friendships had gone sour when he’d realised that he was nothing more than a gateway to Marlene, until he’d reached the point where he didn’t bother with it anymore. What was the point? It pained him that he couldn’t trust anyone, but he’d been burned too many times to be any different now.

Hell, he didn’t trust Lottie. But the memorabilia had to be auctioned, and by giving the contract to Spencer’s and keeping Lottie close, he kept control. Plus keeping himself in the media spotlight would guarantee publicity for the club. When he thought about it like that, it all made perfect sense. It was only for a few weeks after all. And he’d done Lottie a favour, getting rid of Barry the Perve. What the hell was she thinking, hanging around with a jerk like that?

Snarling to himself, Josh thumbed the doorbell again, and this time pinned it down. Was the damn thing even working? Why wasn’t she opening the door? He felt like he was 17 and picking up his date for the sixth-form ball all over again. He prayed that whatever happened, baby-pink tulle wouldn’t be involved.

Okay, so he was 20 minutes early, but he and Lottie needed to have a serious talk before they took this thing public. She’d said she didn’t have anything to do with the photos in Guilty Pleasures, and he was trying his damndest not to believe her. He didn’t want to believe her. But the fact remained that she’d tried to sneak out without him realising, and if she’d planned that photo, surely she’d have dragged him to the doorstep.

She was either the most media savvy person he’d ever met, or the most naive. Either way, from now on they were playing by his rules, and he was not going to allow himself to be distracted by her big, Bambi eyes. Or her lush, soft pout. Or her breasts. Those gorgeous, hand-filling breasts.

‘Lottie!’ he yelled, his patience drained. ‘Are you in there?’

The door popped open. Violet eyes simmered up at him, and his mind went completely blank.

‘I’m not deaf,’ she said. ‘You can stop ringing now.’

‘Huh?’

Leaning out, she slapped his hand away from the doorbell. ‘You’re early. I’m not ready yet. And no sexist jokes about it, thank you very much.’

‘I wouldn’t dare.’

She eyed him steadily. ‘We both know that’s a total lie. Now are you going to come in? Or do you want to stand there all night, waiting for another photographer to take a picture?’

Josh tucked his hands into his trouser pockets as the door swung back and she scampered away, giving him nothing more than a glimpse of little black shorts and long, dark hair. He couldn’t decide if he wanted that to be her outfit, or her underwear.

He pushed the door closed behind him and took a moment to orient himself in her space. It didn’t take long. There wasn’t much of it. He’d stepped straight into the living room of her basement flat, a compact cube of a room with a stumpy sofa tucked into the bay window and a fossil of a television threatening to crush a glass coffee table. A pair of pink porcelain cats sat either side of it, claws bared. At the other side was what he guessed passed for a kitchen, with a couple of gas rings, a battered kettle and a noisy fridge.

How did she live with so little space? How did she breathe? One thing was clear though. Whatever her job at the auction house paid, it wasn’t much. Could she have been tempted to take a payout from Guilty Pleasures for setting up that photo? He fought the urge to duck as he sauntered through the half-open door that lay to his left, telling himself that the ceiling wasn’t that low, and he wasn’t that far over 6ft tall, and that Lottie was someone he needed to keep an eye on. It had nothing to do with the urge to be near her.

A loud squeal greeted him. ‘What are you…Josh, I’m not dressed! Get out!’

‘What’s the problem? I’ve seen it all before.’

‘Last week!’

‘So?’

‘Last week you had permission to see me naked. This week, you don’t.’

‘Then I promise not to look. But before we go out tonight, we need to talk.’ He lowered himself cautiously onto the slippery satin throw that covered the bed. The bedframe groaned. ‘How do you cope with a bed this small?’

The wardrobe door hid most of her, but it couldn’t hide the delicious curve of her bottom encased in those shorts that he now saw were some sort of clingy black lace. Strictly speaking, that part of her wasn’t naked, so he wasn’t breaking his promise.

‘It’s not small,’ she informed him tartly. ‘It’s a perfectly normal size.’

‘For a pixie!’

‘Then there’s your answer. I use my magical powers.’

‘Stop trying to hide in the wardrobe for a minute and listen to me.’

Fabric rustled, and she muttered something rude. It occurred to Josh that he’d heard her say something similar, loudly, right before she came. Blood crashed south, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He pressed his fingers hard against his temple as she emerged from behind the door, wearing a crumple of noisy black fabric that covered her from armpit to knee. ‘You can’t wear that.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘I can, and I will.’

‘Okay.’ Josh held his hands up in surrender. ‘But you can’t wear that tonight.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’ She was trying her damndest to be cool, but he heard the panic in her voice.

‘This is a film premiere, Lottie. The battleground of the serious attention seekers. We need something “wow”.’

She smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘Didn’t I tell you? The shops are all out of “wow” at the moment.’

Josh got to his feet. It only took one short stride to get next to her. Gripping her shoulders, he moved her to one side. ‘Let me see.’ He glanced inside, expecting to see neatly folded piles of pastel.

He did a double take. ‘If the shops are out of wow, it’s because you bought it all.’ She had every colour in the rainbow hanging from the rail, plus a few more besides. He pulled out a strapless crimson number that would have made Jessica Rabbit blush, an emerald-green catsuit, a gold-sequinned jacket. ‘Do you moonlight as a showgirl or something?’

She fiddled with the back of the ruffly black dress, her face turned to the wall. ‘I like fancy clothes. What’s wrong with that?’ She managed to move the zip maybe an inch. Josh didn’t bother to help her. No point. She wasn’t leaving the flat in it.

‘But you don’t wear them.’

‘I do!’

‘You don’t wear them outside your flat.’

She shrugged, gave up the fight with the zip, and slowly turned to face him. ‘I don’t see how this is any of your business.’

She looked, he thought suddenly, tired. Dark circles he hadn’t noticed before ringed those pretty eyes, and her skin had the pale tinge of someone who spent far too much time cooped up indoors. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to his house, set her up in a deckchair in the garden and ply her with fruit, but that was not going to happen. Instead, he rummaged in the wardrobe again. And there it was. ‘Put this on. I’ll wait next door while you get ready.’

Lottie pushed the bedroom door closed, leaned back against it and closed her eyes. She pushed her knuckles against her mouth and held in the scream.

She shouldn’t have given him her address. She shouldn’t have agreed to let him pick her up. She should have caught the bus to Leicester Square, met up with him there, where there was plenty of space and he wouldn’t have to stand so close, stealing all the oxygen inside her tiny flat. It might be cheap to heat and easy to clean, but the downside was that it made him look even bigger, even more imposing.

And the suit. Dear lord, the suit. It was like James Bond had walked through her front door. Her insides were jelly, heat liquefying in her stomach just at the thought of all that tanned, taut muscle packed inside that gorgeous combination of jet black and bright, snowy white. She wanted to wrap herself around him, put her tongue in his mouth and never leave the flat again.

But that wouldn’t save the auction house. She’d made her deal with the devil, and now she had to honour it. Goosebumps rose up on her flesh as she wiggled her way out of the black dress and put it back neatly in the wardrobe, then turned to see what he’d picked out.

Her heart jumped into her mouth. Was he serious? She stood in her underwear and stared at it for a moment, clutching protectively at her bra.

A gentle knock sounded at the door, and she whirled round. ‘What?’

‘Do you need any help getting dressed?’

‘No! Shove off!’

A low, wicked chuckle made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. ‘If you’re not ready in five minutes, Lottie, I’m going to come in and dress you myself. And don’t even think about picking out something else.’

‘Big bully!’

He was right. They did need to talk. She would start by helping him with his understanding of the word ‘no’.

Before she could lose her nerve, she whipped off her bra and manoeuvred herself into the clinging acid-yellow dress. With sleeves to the wrists and skirt to the floor, it flirted with demure. With razor-sharp slashes across her back, her décolletage, her thighs, it committed to outrageous. Surely he’d take one look and agree it was totally unsuitable. Then she’d slip back into her black silk ruffles, and they could get on with their evening.

Decision made, Lottie picked out glittery silver heels then stormed out of the bedroom, swinging them like a weapon.

Josh sat on her sofa, taking up far too much space and looking far too gorgeous for comfort. He blew out a low, slow whistle, set the book he’d been thumbing through back on the shelf. ‘Now that’s more like it.’

Her mouth went dry as his gaze travelled south, stopping unashamedly on the swell of her unsupported breasts.

An image of him teasing a taut nipple with his mouth flashed into her mind and nearly derailed her, and she knew from the way his eyes had gone dark that he was thinking exactly the same thing. ‘You said we needed to talk. So talk.’

‘Later. We need to get going.’

‘What’s wrong with being fashionably late?’ Lottie plonked herself down on one arm of the sofa and set about tucking her feet into her shoes, trying not to make it obvious that the ugly sisters had more chance of fitting into the glass slipper.

‘Fashionably late implies that you had something more interesting to do, and I’ve seen your bed. It’s not up to it.’

‘Josh, we’re not sleeping together again. I don’t want to get tangled up with anyone right now, least of all you. And this is for the auction. That’s all. Once that’s done, we won’t be seeing each other again.’

A moment of silence. Then, ‘Agreed.’

Lottie forced the first shoe on. She could feel his gaze sliding over her skin, feel the impact of having him so close in every sensitive part of her body. Her nipples chafed against the fabric of her dress as she pressed her knees tightly together, capturing her fingers between her thighs. She felt utterly confused. He’d told her what she wanted to hear. There was no reason to feel disappointed. She patched herself up with a big dollop of common sense and a sideways glance at the neat row of self-help books sitting on the shelf. ‘That’s sorted then,’ she said brightly.

He held out one big hand, the slash of white cuff emphasising his tan. ‘Come on, the limo’s waiting. We need to get going.’

It would be nice if he at least tried to change her mind, though. Not that he could change it, obviously, but that wasn’t the point. Men were supposed to be sex mad, weren’t they? Lottie shook her head. Silly girl. Of course he wasn’t going to fight about it. He didn’t have to. There would be a million women willing and ready to slide into bed with him. He had it all; the looks, the money, the heritage, whereas she epitomised ordinary, with her tiny flat and normal, unglamorous life.

There had been a point in her life where she’d believed herself destined for something more, but those had been the dreams of a selfish adolescent who didn’t care who she hurt. Until her brother David had died, and she’d promised herself she’d never make that mistake again. He would never have been on the road that night if it wasn’t for her, and if he was still here and running the auction house like her parents had always wanted, they wouldn’t be in such a mess. David had been far too smart for that.

She had to remember that. She had to be strong. She would attend this premiere with a face-busting smile, and she would sell this non-relationship for all it was worth. The contract between Marlene and Spencer’s was almost finalised, so Josh had kept his promise, now she had to keep hers.

She let Josh lead her out to the limo and made what she hoped were all the right noises, gushing over the plush interior, the state-of-the-art sound system. When he flicked on the in-car TV and tuned it to some sort of extreme sport involving motorbikes and riders with a death wish, she took the hint and stopped talking.

He put a friendly distance between them, not too far away but not close either, and in no time at all they arrived at Leicester Square. This was it.

Lottie felt the scratch of anxiety as the driver opened the door and the sound of a thousand screaming girls crashed into the small space. She froze in her seat, heart pounding furiously as her eardrums threatened to burst.

Josh winked at her, then unfolded himself from the car. He turned round and beckoned. ‘Moment of truth.’

Lottie grabbed the edge of her seat with both hands and held on for dear life. ‘What is that racket?’

‘By the looks of it, the teenage female population of London has turned into a hysterical mob and has descended on Leicester Square, hungry for flesh.’

‘What?’

‘Are you chicken, Lottie?’

Her insides twisted and turned, as panic warred with excitement. She was a step away from walking the red carpet at a film premiere. She’d be mingling with the stars. When would she ever get an opportunity like this again? The memory of the last time she’d had that thought threatened to resurface, but she shoved it right back down. No-one was getting naked. No-one was going to get hurt. ‘No,’ she snapped out. ‘I’m just waiting for the right moment.’

Which, hopefully, would be along any minute now. She was still gathering her courage when Josh reached across, locked strong fingers round her wrist and tugged. She zoomed forward and fell out of the limo.

Straight into his arms.

A roar went up from the crowd. Those big hands clamped round her waist and held her steady, his fingertips grazing over sensitive slivers of bare flesh. She shivered. ‘Remember,’ he murmured, dark brows flicking up, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, ‘as far as everyone here is concerned, we’re together. Very together.’ He slid one hand up from her waist, stroking past the curve of her breast, then lifted her hair back over her shoulder. ‘We want them to think we can’t keep our hands off each other.’

Each caress lit a fire inside her, made the noise around them dial down a little more. Lifting her hands, Lottie set them on his wide shoulders. He smelled warm and clean, just as a man should, and she couldn’t stop her hormonally charged body from curving into him. But it was okay, she told herself. She was selling it. As long as she didn’t sell it in private, she was doing nothing wrong.

‘Perfect,’ he said, flashing a wicked grin that made her legs wobble. ‘Now, we’re going to walk the red carpet. We’ll do a 30-second photo call at the far end.

‘We should probably kiss for that,’ Lottie heard herself say. ‘I think if we’re going to do this, we should really sell it.’

He slid his hand back down her arm then linked his fingers through hers. ‘Oh, absolutely.’

Every part of her brain told her this was a bad, bad idea but her body was ready to sprint to the finish line to get a taste of him. This is for the crowd, she told herself firmly, as they strolled along the carpet. This is what you agreed to. It would be a quick peck, nothing more. What could go wrong?

Cameras flashed, as shouts of ‘this way!’ and ‘over here!’ battered her senseless. Josh tucked her tightly into his side as they approached the end of the runway. Moment of truth, she told herself firmly. Sell it, Lottie. Tipping her head back, she gazed up at him.

He was smiling at the crowd, but something about it was off. Maybe it was the way his dark lashes were half lowered. Maybe it was the way his jaw was set a little too hard. Maybe it was her imagination, but she didn’t think so.

‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘You ready?’

Just for the cameras, she told herself, as she lifted onto her tiptoes, remembering the hot slide of his tongue against hers, how shameless his desire for her had been. How good he had tasted. Her mouth hovered inches away from his. Everyone was watching, waiting, expectation heavy in the air. It would be easy. So why was her heart hammering so hard?

One large hand curved over her backside and squeezed. ‘Breathe,’ he murmured, dipping his head.

He was going to kiss her. Here, in front of all these people. Lottie dropped her heels to the ground and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘Inside. Now.’

The hand gripping her backside slid round to her hip, and she half-walked, half stumbled as he shepherded her inside, her chest heaving inside the too-tight dress. She couldn’t cross that line. She couldn’t tarnish the private, intimate things they’d done a week ago with meaningless play acting. Some things, she thought, should not be for sale.

Her vision blurred as he led her up a flight of stairs and into the VIP-packed foyer of the cinema. He spun her into a corner, his big body blocking her view of the room. She could practically feel the tension radiating off him. ‘What the hell was that?’

He was crowding her in, and she should have hated it, but it felt hot and sexy, and that, she realised, was the crux of the problem. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I panicked. It won’t happen again.’

Long fingers touched her chin and gently tipped her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. He searched her face, those bright blue eyes fierce with what she could have sworn was concern. ‘You scared me for a minute there. Don’t do that again.’

‘I won’t,’ she promised, twisting her fingers together so that she wouldn’t shove them into the hair curling over his collar, haul him against her, and kiss him senseless. ‘I’m sorry, Josh. I really am. It was our big opportunity, and I ruined it. They didn’t get their picture.’

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took a step back, and she felt the loss of his closeness instantly. Then the edge of his mouth curved up, and one dark brow shot skywards. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ll be all over the gossip mags this week, Lottie. I guarantee it.’

‘What do you mean?’

Leaning forward, he hooked his finger into the slash that journeyed from waist to collarbone at a sharp 45-degree angle. The back of his hand grazed her left nipple.

Her bare left nipple. ‘Oh my god.’ Spinning round, Lottie hastily tucked the offending body part back inside her dress, her entire body on fire. If the floor wanted to open up and swallow her or the ceiling to cave in, now would be a good time. ‘This is not funny,’ she snapped, as he set his hands to her shoulders and turned her slowly back round to face him.

Her eyes felt like they were strapped to the red flecks that patterned the black carpet, and she wanted to run home, lock her front door, dive headfirst into a tub of mint-choc-chip ice cream and stay there for a month.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s brilliant.’

‘For you, maybe. But not for me. It’s hardly the image Spencer’s wants to promote. I hate you for making me wear this bloody dress. If I’d worn the black, this would never have happened.’

He pulled in a deep breath, let it out. ‘Seriously. It’s not the end of the world. And given that you have spectacular breasts, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.’

Lottie fought the urge to punch him. ‘That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t just lose your dignity in public.’

‘Goes with the territory, I’m afraid.’

‘Do you really think anyone noticed?’ Maybe it had happened as she’d been walking up the stairs. Surely she’d have noticed if it had happened outside. Wouldn’t someone have said? ‘I mean, it probably wasn’t that obvious.’

He took her hand, squeezed it. ‘Probably not. Come on. Let’s grab some popcorn and annoy some film stars.’

‘How do you annoy film stars?’

‘By throwing popcorn at them. You’ll love it. It’s even more fun than making out in the back row.’

Lottie pulled her hand free from his and folded her arms across her chest, furious at the image he’d just implanted in her head. Why would he talk about making out when they’d both agreed this was just pretend? ‘Sounds great,’ she snapped. And stormed off in search of popcorn.