Bad Mistake--A Scorching Hot Romance

by JC Harroway

  I’ve still got this. I’m still in command of myself.

  Right. That’s why you want to pull over in the nearest pitch-black alleyway and bury yourself inside her...

  Guilt laces every painful breath I take. I cast a sideways glance at Brooke. She’s staring out of the window. Her famous profile reflects the glow of the passing streetlights, so I can see her angelic face is blank. But she’s just a woman. A beautiful, complex, normal woman. Sometimes triumphant and sometimes lonely.

  Real.

  That’s what made me cross the line with her tonight.

  Brooke shifts, dragging me from my thoughts. ‘So, where are you taking me? I still want that nightcap,’ she says, glancing at the GPS display on the dashboard.

  ‘You have a five a.m. start tomorrow.’ I grip the wheel, battling the thick clouds of sexual tension filling the car. The memories of those throaty little whimpers she made as she came against her own fingers will likely stay with me until I die.

  Fuck, I need to get it the hell together. Just because the fascinating and addictive Lady Brooke Madden has a dark and daring side...just because she was turned on by watching and seems more real, more riveting...doesn’t mean she’s still not dangerous and out of my league. She still reminds me of Julia, the ex-girlfriend I abandoned and betrayed years ago in the worst way.

  Brooke’s still a mistake waiting to happen.

  That single touch of her wrist, her scent—feminine, seductive and expensive—and her soft body leaning on me as she touched herself was enough to confirm I’m in deep trouble.

  But I haven’t cracked yet.

  Her stare is hot on the side of my face. ‘I’m not sure what happened back there, but I need to process it––preferably with a Scotch in my hand.’

  ‘Can’t you just forget it?’ I snap, wishing I could erase the memory of her body undulating against mine while I tried to hold myself rigid and detached.

  I sense her outrage. ‘It’s not something forgettable. At least, not for me.’

  Nor for me, but I’ll die trying. I have to.

  ‘We’ll need to talk about it, Nick,’ she says. ‘Tonight.’

  Instead of commenting, I change direction with an internal groan of acceptance, heading for a bar housed in another of Milan’s classiest hotels. I’m certain Brooke would like to drink in the grandeur of a five-star establishment, and their security will likely be up to my standards.

  I keep my breaths slow and steady—I’ve got this. So I tempted her over to the dark side... She should have known better than to mess with a man like me. I have my own secrets. Surely she can tell just by looking at me that I’m definitely no angel?

  And yet she surrendered herself to my twisted nature.

  But my lust for this woman changes nothing. I won’t allow one raunchy little rich girl to decimate my hard-won discipline, something I’ve definitely mastered in the years since I believed I had a heart and foolishly thought myself safely in love. I’ve learned to curtail my own base instincts, denying my needs, controlling them, so I can live with myself after my mistake.

  But Julia’s returned affection was tested, shaken and eventually broken at my own hands. Yes, her loyalty was rocked by the whisperings of parents who, quite rightly, thought me beneath their daughter. Influential, powerful people just like those in Brooke’s sphere.

  But they’d been right. I proved that I wasn’t good enough.

  * * *

  Shoving those shameful memories aside is like scraping up broken glass with my bare hands, so I’m a little raw when I park and accompany Brooke into the hotel. Eager for a reason to take her back to her hotel and say goodnight, I scan the place for dirt bags who might recognise her or paps who happen to be in the right place at the right time. The last thing I want to do is talk about my momentary lapse of judgement, professional ethics and human decency, but this is my job.

  She’s my job.

  With a resigned sigh, I settle my focus on work. Brooke selects a booth and I slide in beside her on the leather seat. She orders a Scotch from our waiter and turns to me, her eyebrows raised in a question.

  ‘Water, please,’ I say to the man, who nods and moves away.

  ‘Water?’ she asks. ‘What’s it going to take for you to relax, Big Guy?’

  ‘I’m working,’ I say, ignoring her nickname. It’s not too late to reclaim our former professional boundaries after what happened backstage. If she thinks we can just fool around during work hours, she’s mistaken. I’m not a hired plaything.

  ‘You’re paying me to be on the clock twenty-four-seven.’ A hellish assignment I’m now regretting. Because I wanted to unleash my desires. I wanted to peel the skin-tight denim from her legs, lay her down, sling her long, toned thighs over my arms and put my mouth on her until we were both incoherent with this ferocious chemistry I battle.

  She narrows her eyes. ‘If I said you were off the clock now, if we left the car here and walked back to our hotel, would you have a drink? Loosen up a bit?’

  ‘I don’t drink.’

  ‘You don’t drink?’ Her eyes round as she takes sip of her speedily delivered Scotch. ‘That explains a lot.’

  Her insight would make me cringe if I wasn’t so mean and downright stubborn. ‘The occasional beer, perhaps.’ I shrug. ‘What does it explain?’

  She regards me for a few minutes. ‘Well, I assume it’s a control thing.’

  I rest back against the seat, sensing that she’s done pussyfooting around with polite enquiries and intends to go for the jugular. But I can handle one little case of inconvenient and misguided sexual attraction until the job’s done.

  ‘Alcohol lowers inhibitions and delays reaction times. I could hardly do my job if I was rolling around pissed.’ I harden my stare and hold her breathless attention captive. ‘Protecting you is my job.’

  Breath shudders out of her in an excited whoosh, perhaps at the idea of being my sole focus. Then she leans back, triumph glowing in her startling eyes. ‘So what happened backstage... Was that part of your job?’

  Oh, so we’re going there. ‘That was...an aberration. A temporary moment of indulgence.’

  I should have fled the minute I found her in that darkened doorway, the air thick with her arousal, but I’d been too turned on by her voyeuristic streak to think straight, let alone act normally.

  ‘It won’t happen again.’

  My blunder becomes apparent when she says, ‘What if I want it to happen again?’

  ‘What you want has no bearing on me. I work for you. I don’t cross that boundary.’

  Rather than looking dejected, she seems enthralled. ‘Yes, you do an excellent job, which is why I keep hiring you for my security needs. But tonight you did cross that boundary. You participated. Your body wasn’t withdrawn and evasive and work-focussed––even though you’re trying to return to that place now, presumably out of fear.’

  I grin, forcing that same body to relax despite her piercing intuitiveness.

  ‘What my body wants is immaterial.’ My jaw aches with the force of my clenched teeth because it’s growing harder and harder to deny myself one little taste of that delicious taunting mouth. Harder to deny her the concession she wants. Because she’s shown she can handle me calling the shots. She handed me control the way she handed over her trust.

  The dissatisfied ache in my balls returns, twice as fierce as when she shattered in my arms.

  ‘Just because I find you physically attractive doesn’t mean I intend on acting on that. I’m the one in charge, not my dick.’

  And I have specific tastes. Would Lady Madden be interested if she knew how very similar we are?

  ‘What makes you think you’re my type?’ I ask, remembering how besotted I’d been with Julia. A woman from a world that I didn’t understand. Another woman in possession of all the power in our relationship. Yes, I’d
been the one to ruin what Julia and I had, but I’d also fallen victim to that power when her love had come tumbling down. I’d been shut out at my lowest ebb and I can’t even blame her. But I won’t be that helpless again, no matter how tempting the inducement.

  And temptations don’t come more potent than the real Brooke.

  ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me.’ Her sensual voice chips at my resolve. ‘I felt your excitement. Neither of us can hide this attraction, Nick. You’re just putting up more of a fight. It’s got me wondering why...?’

  Of course she’d ask the million-dollar question. But, now I’ve seen that she’s not as angelic as she looks, perhaps I could have one little taste... But not like this. I’m not her gigolo.

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t do to ogle my wealthy, influential clients, now, would it? I’m a businessman with staff to pay. And this conversation could constitute sexual harassment.’

  Her chin juts in outrage. ‘That might be true if you hadn’t touched me first, hadn’t held me against your chest while I made myself come under your direction.’ She knocks back the rest of her drink in a single swallow and slaps the empty glass on the table in challenge. ‘So you’re in charge of this thing between us—great, but be honest about it. I was.’

  New respect for her floods through me, each wave stronger than the last. I need to get a handle on my attraction before my control frays and I do something stupid. But maybe that’s the answer—screw her and walk. I’m a one-time guy. I ensure that the one time is as safe as it can be and avoid emotional entanglement. That’s how I control the impulsive streak inside me and prevent history repeating itself.

  Maximum protection against feeling.

  ‘Look, this situation doesn’t work for me.’ I should have shut down this conversation at the start. ‘As my client, you inherently hold all the power. And, while that works in a professional capacity, I don’t roll that way when it comes to fucking.’

  She gawps, delighted that I’m opening up this way. ‘I... I agree––there is an imbalance in our working relationship––although I’m at risk too. I’ve stopped dating because I’ve had lovers betray me, sell little titbits to the highest bidder. But I feel safe with you.’ She leans her elbow on the table and lowers her voice. ‘I don’t want all the power. It’s just sex.’

  I barely hold in my snort of disbelief. Just sex...? One of the most powerful and, if not carefully managed, destructive forces in the world. Strong enough to create life. To tear the heart right out of a person’s chest. To bring a grown man to his knees if he’s unable to handle the emotional fallout.

  My twisted arse controls sex more fiercely than all other areas of my life combined. But she’s right—there is a way to redress the power imbalance. A way to have her on my terms. Her little show earlier proved she’s open to a little sexual exploration. So why not...?

  I take in every facet of her exquisite face—her crystal-blue eyes bright with excitement, her parted pouty lips plump and inviting, the slope of her neck exposed by her tilted head.

  ‘You really want to play, Lady Madden?’

  Her nod is instant. Eager.

  Ah, baby... So much to learn.

  ‘Sure you can handle me?’ If she wants a little tour of the wild side, to play by my rules, who am I to deny her?

  Heat flares in her eyes, turning her from beautiful to incandescent. ‘I think I’m up to the task, as long as you can let go of a little of your control and blur the line...’

  ‘If you want anything beyond my professional services, there’ll be a whole lot more control, not less. Still think this is what you want?’

  She nods, her determined chin lifting.

  ‘Well, you can start by doing something for me.’ Now that I’ve seen how open she is to exploring her kinky, voyeuristic side, I can risk exposing a fraction of my own darkness.

  For the right incentive. ‘Fine.’ Her voice carries that breathy quality I heard just before she came on her own fingers earlier, fingers I wanted to lick so I could taste all that sweetness I’ve imagined between her thighs. ‘What do you want?’

  I sit back. Grin. Such an open-ended invitation... But I’m not going to sell her secrets like those creeps of her past she just mentioned. I’m bound by more than our professional contract, presumably the reason she feels safe enough to flirt with this chemistry despite her past betrayals.

  ‘I want you to start taking your own protection seriously. If I say wait for me, you wait for me. No going anywhere alone. Not even the hotel pool.’

  Her eyes narrow with momentary irritation. I think she’s going to call the whole thing off. My chest thumps with a mix of relief and unexpected hollowness.

  ‘Okay. You say jump and I’ll ask how high.’ She props her elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand. ‘Anything else?’

  Oh, she’s playing with fire.

  ‘That’s a dangerous offer for a man like me... I like the sound of it. So since you asked so nicely––you want my touch, it comes with conditions. And it happens after hours, outside of our working relationship. Because, where sex between us is concerned, I want all the power, understand?’

  She lifts her chin. ‘Why? What will I get?’

  Good question. I fucking love that she challenges me. That she’s determined to get hers.

  ‘Pleasure,’ I say, my dick stirring at the glazed look already transforming her eyes.

  ‘Okay. I agree. No more unaccompanied movements.’ Her voice is breathy, making my blood pump harder. ‘After hours, you’re in charge. And in return...’ I practically hear her mind whirring with possibilities now she thinks she’s getting what she wants. ‘I want the kiss that you denied me backstage.’

  I laugh, a mean sound devoid of humour. ‘This isn’t going to go the way you want. I’m not some expensive pedigree lap dog you can make jump to your bidding.’

  She huffs, batting away my objection. ‘Good. I want a sexual partner who isn’t going to run to the media with tales of my private life, not a pet.’

  ‘If and when I touch you, I’ll absolutely be off the clock. I’ll be the one calling the shots.’ I let my comments settle for a beat. ‘And, seeing as you were honest about your desires, I’ll be honest too.’

  I lean closer, catch the scent of her warm skin, a tickle of her arousal. She’ll either love or hate what she’s about to hear. Either agree to my rules or fire my perverted arse.

  ‘Just like you did tonight, I like to watch. Up for a little game of exhibitionism?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Brooke

  THE AIR IN the hotel lift seems to pulse with pheromones, every beat jolting my body. I ache between my legs, so turned on by the promise in his sexy voice and the slightly tortured look on his face when he said the words, I like to watch.

  The thrill of victory buzzes through my nervous system, but now it’s clear that this won’t be the straightforward and frenzied coupling I’ve fantasised about.

  Still, good things come to those who wait...

  The questions in my head deafen me to the thundering of my own heart. Why does he like to watch? Will he touch me? Is his kink a cause or an effect of that control he needs?

  I shudder out a sigh. I’m out of my depth but also sick with longing. In a public life where I make all the decisions and calculate all the risks, I welcome that rush of freedom I felt earlier with Nick. There’s something so liberating about conceding a little control in this one area of my life—sex. An area sorely neglected thanks to the betrayal and humiliation I felt after Dave and the sex scandal, which killed my last hopes that I could have any sort of normal dating life. I hadn’t even known he’d taken the nudes of me he’d sold along with his tawdry little kiss-and-tell exposé. My legal team were on it in a heartbeat, but the pictures are still out there. Nothing is ever gone forever on the Internet.

  For a solid month my home had
been besieged by media. Pictures of my serious, conservative father––who’d been considering a controversial and well-publicised bill in the House––had filled the front pages next to my blurred-out nudes. My mother had just finished a critically acclaimed West End play and had been about to start her breast cancer chemotherapy, but people had only wanted to cover my juicy gossip.

  Prickles of dread race over me like acupuncture needles. What if I’m wrong about Nick? I’ve been wrong before. Shamed, attacked and professionally renounced, thanks to the intimate photos Dave made public. Not only had I had to face my friends and family, I’d lost lucrative and prestigious endorsement deals, despite my publicity team’s best efforts to quash the scandal. My mistake had cost me my trust and dignity, and had damaged my brand.

  Growing up, I’d watched my parents have no private life. I’ve had caution, discretion and secrecy drummed into me until it’s the first thing I consider before any action or decision—public or private. Mum in particular cites her own mistakes—trusting the wrong agents, being too candid in interviews, her initial naivety with regard to nudity—as examples of how not to do it. And I respect her advice. She’s my role model to emulate, both as a parent and a professional.

  My parents understand the impact of fame and notoriety and have always tried to protect me and my sister from the worst elements.

  That’s why the shock of Dave’s betrayal hit me so hard.

  I let myself down, but I let my parents down harder.

  Panic sinks in its claws. I turn to Nick, urgency in my voice. ‘You won’t photograph me, will you? I don’t want that.’ I flush at not having already asked this vital question. I trust him, but I need to be certain. I’m not free to take those kinds of risks when it affects my loved ones.

  Nick’s jaw clenches, the fiery flicker of anger in his dark stare. ‘No. I’d never do that. What kind of man do you think I am?’