He flicks over my clit again, but this time he doesn’t stop. It’s fierce, brutal, and yet my toes curl, my thighs tighten, and I know I’m going to come again.
‘Ash... Ash...’
He keeps up the pressure over my clit as he takes himself in his hand, probing inside the slit of my underwear.
‘I love these,’ he says. ‘White, so fucking innocent, and yet they’re so not.’
He rocks against me, the tip of his cock nudging at my opening. He does it again, teasing inside, his hiss of breath as erotic as the movement itself. And then he thrusts so hard, so deep, that he has to use both hands on my hips to stop me from collapsing over his bike.
My nipples brush the cold metal, the headlamp presses against my clit and his cock nudges my G spot. Such a multitude of sensation all at once that my head spins on it, my body hanging on the precipice of release.
His fingers bite into my hips, his tension vibrating through their lengths. His thrusts turn short and jagged and he growls low in his throat. He’s so close, but so am I. Every thrust of his body, treats my nipples, my clit, my G spot to a delicious jolt of friction.
My legs tense up and I stop breathing. I give myself over to the mind-obliterating power of it and then I hear him cry out, his release bringing my own.
Together we rock, the movement long, deep. His arms wrap around my middle, pulling me against him, holding me tight. The warmth of his body seeps through his shirt, heating my back as he trails a hand over my front, over the goosebumps now appearing.
‘Are you cold?’ he says against my ear.
I shake my head. I can’t even speak. I would have let him do anything, have anything, in the heat of what just went down. It should scare me. But I’m too content for fear.
I hook my hands behind his head once more, feel his buzz cut tickling my palms. ‘I’ll take that cocktail now.’
He presses a kiss into my neck. ‘I’ll take that talk too.’
A man who truly wants to talk—to me, about me...the real me...
The unfamiliar prospect should unsettle me, but with his arm around me, his hand worshipping my front, his back heating me through, I’m anything but unsettled.
CHAPTER SIX
I’M SURPRISED I can hold my hands steady as I craft her the perfect espresso martini. It’s a damn good job I could do it in my sleep. My hours as a mixologist in London’s high-end bars have taught me well. It was fun, even if the reason I was there wasn’t.
‘You really can mix a drink,’ she says as she leans on the industrial chunk of wood and aluminium that forms the centre island of my kitchen.
She looks too cute, her white shirt buttoned just enough to be decent but not so much that I can’t drink in her cleavage every time I look up. Her hair is delightfully ruffled from our antics, her eyes intense as she watches me work; her lips are worked clean of lipstick and they sport a dusky pink tone that reminds me of the inside of a strawberry. And just as tasty.
My cock twitches inside my jeans, gearing up anew, a reminder of just how ‘cute’ I find her.
I want to say that it’s my need to protect her making these feelings more intense—the same kind of protective instinct that had me seeking justice for my family all those years ago. But I’m not convinced.
After all these years I’ve spent avoiding her type, I’m now powerless to deny I want her in every which way I can have her. I want Coco.
Which is absolutely fine, I tell myself. You can have her and then walk away.
She’s in this for the sex, and I’m in it to help her, enjoying what she’s so willing to offer at the same time.
So why does it feel wrong?
Because you’re lying to her. You are becoming the kind of person you despise. The kind you seek to bring down.
I shake the drink. Hard. Fast. I don’t want to think about it any more. I just want to be—
‘And there I was thinking you were making it up—some corny chat-up line to get me to come home with you.’
Eyes alive with teasing, she takes up a handful of nuts from the bowl I put out earlier and pops one into her mouth.
I grip the shaker tighter. ‘I don’t make things up.’
Unless I’m on the job, which I am now...kind of...
I feel the brutal force of my confession wash over me, my skin prickling even though it’s warm in here.
You’ve not lied to her, my conscience tries to reason. You’ve merely omitted to tell her everything. That’s different.
I pour a little of the mix and then shake again... Pour, shake.
Concentrate on the drink.
‘So come on—tell me,’ she says. ‘How did you learn to do this?’
I almost breathe a sigh of relief, grateful for the question, even if it does mean talking about the past. It beats the internal moral debate and self-loathing that came before it. And, hell, I know everything about her—she deserves to know something of me.
The idea soothes my torment.
‘Jackson and I worked the bars together when we were younger. He was plotting his empire and I—well, I just needed to bring in some cash.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘It was.’
If I didn’t think about all the shit going down at home: my family’s assets being seized, our bank accounts frozen, my university degree forgotten since we had no money to pay for it.
She spins on the bar stool and takes a good look around the room, the high ceiling, the industrial-inspired lighting with black cabling and copper dome lights, the raw wood cupboards against exposed brick walls. It’s all designer, high-end, and I anticipate her question before she even asks.
‘Something tells me it’s not what you do now, though. So what is it, Ash? Software engineer? Financial genius? Entrepreneur?’
My neck prickles with the impending lie that I don’t want to tell. ‘This and that.’
‘This and that...?’ Her brow lifts as she mimics me. ‘How very specific... Hmm, let me think...’
I can’t help but smile. Does she know her nose wrinkles like a rabbit’s when she’s thinking?
I turn and open the cupboard in which I keep the coffee beans. Taking a couple out, I place one on top of each drink and offer her a glass.
She takes it from me with a cheeky grin. ‘It certainly looks the part.’
And then she sips it and I’m lost in the movement. I almost forget the tricky terrain she has hit with her questioning, but then her eyes are open again, pinning me with their inquisitive stare.
I look away and take up my own drink, needing the hit of alcohol, the confidence to navigate what’s coming.
‘If not for all this I’d say you were in the military—or the police, even...’ She tilts her head to one side and her shirt slips a little, stopping at the curve of her shoulder and teasing me with a hint of collarbone that I want to follow with my fingertips, my tongue.
‘What makes you say that?’ I ask, dragging my eyes back to hers.
‘There’s your physique for starters.’ She gives me a coy smile. ‘You’re too fit for a desk job.’
I give a short laugh. ‘I think there are plenty of businessmen who’d beg to differ.’
She waves a dismissive hand. ‘I’ve met plenty of businessmen and none of them are your Christian Grey variety.’
‘Christian Grey?’ I frown.
‘Fifty Shades? You know—Christian Grey, the sexy billionaire who’d have your knickers around your ankles and you tied to a bed quicker than you could beg for it.’
‘Well, I’m safe. Knickers aren’t part of my wardrobe.’
She rewards me with a laugh that has something inside my chest expanding so fast I can’t breathe and my ears straining to capture every last note.
‘I don’t think you’d be his type either,’ she murmurs, her eyes sparkling in the g
olden light of the kitchen. ‘But it’s not just that—you have this aura about you...a protective vibe. Like I told you earlier, it’s a security thing... Oh, my God, that’s it!’ Her eyes widen excitedly. ‘You’re a bodyguard!’
I laugh awkwardly. Christ, how I wish I was that right now. No secrets, no lies...
‘Not a bodyguard, then...’
She pouts at me, nose wrinkling anew.
‘I give up.’
‘You want me to tell you?’
She smiles and nods.
I’m not going to lie. I can’t. Truth is there’s actually no harm in me being honest. To an extent at least. She doesn’t need to know it all. Not yet.
Yes, and it’s all about protecting her, not yourself, from what it will do to her, to you, to your relationship.
Relationship? There is no fucking relationship.
‘I’m a private investigator.’ I say it over the internal rant, louder than it needs to be, and she chokes mid-sip of her drink, her eyes popping out of their sockets as goosebumps streak across my body.
‘You’re not.’
I swallow back the rising panic and the need to confess all, my guilt working its way to the surface. ‘What’s wrong with being a private investigator?’
I hate myself even as I say it.
‘Nothing.’ She straightens and wipes her lips with the back of her free hand. ‘I’m just surprised.’
‘I deal in property too,’ I add quickly, suddenly feeling inferior to Her Ladyship in front of me and foolish as fuck for telling her the truth. What does it matter that my job is beneath her? Why do I care?
‘So being a PI pays well, then?’ she asks, her eyes once again travelling over our surroundings.
‘Well enough—but it’s the property that really pays...the investment. I do the PI work to help people.’
‘See—I knew it.’
‘Knew what?’
‘That you helped people. Whatever it is you do, I knew there had to be an element of that in there.’
I smile then, my chest lifting and burying the fleeting sense of inferiority. I do help people. That’s why I became a PI and that’s why I still am one. There’s nothing wrong with my motives. I just misjudged this one case.
‘What got you into it?’
‘The PI work?’
‘Yes.’
She nods eagerly and my smile tightens, my chest falls with the memories I’d like to leave in the past.
‘You don’t have to talk about it—not if you don’t want to.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ I force myself to relax. If I want her to open up to me, the least I can do is the same in return. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘I have all night.’ She slips from the bar stool to stand before me, her fingers gentle as they stroke across my brow. ‘I want to know what makes your brow do that and take it away.’
I can’t breathe past her touch... A weird sensation is lifting inside me.
You’re supposed to be helping her, not the other way around.
I chained my demons down a long time ago. The last thing I expect is for them to rush to the surface on her command. But here they are—and more. She’s making me feel again...something I thought I was long past.
And if I feel, how can I be sure I’ll be ready to walk away when the time comes...when she no longer needs me... What if I find I need her instead? What then?
Fuck.
* * *
For the first time I see a crack in the solid exterior that is Ash and I’m not letting it go.
He’s exposed me in so many ways already, and to see that he’s not immune, to see that my playfulness has brought us to this point—I can’t let it lie even if I want to.
It’s disconcerting to feel this bond with someone I’ve only just met. I’d blame it on the fierce attraction still burning strong if not for the fact that I’ve been there, done that. This is something more. It’s deeper than sex. And if I understand him I stand more chance of understanding this. Because I’ve never dared love, never dared risk my heart before. I want nothing less than what my parents had.
Maybe I can find that here.
‘Let’s go and sit down,’ he says.
He doesn’t balk from my touch, but he doesn’t smile at it either. He’s all serious and unreadable, but I feel his acceptance, know that I’m about to get what I pressed for.
I lean into him as he curves an arm around my back and leads me into the living area. It has two floor-to-ceiling glass windows made up of square panes and to the left hangs a painting of a dreamscape, its style very familiar.
‘Is that... Is that a Cleveland?’
His lips quirk at my obvious appreciation. Or is he just happy that we’re off-topic temporarily?
‘He’s a friend of mine.’
‘No way—he can’t be.’
He grins now. ‘Don’t ever say that in front of him. He already has an epic ego and he’ll never let me live it down.’
‘Wow...’ I look back to the painting, to the mixture of reds and blues swirling to create stunning shadows and light, shapes that could be trees, clouds, cliffs, water—whatever you want them to be.
‘It’s called Illusion.’
His voice has turned gruff and I feel his eyes on me. My cheeks warm under his attention. ‘It’s glorious.’
He doesn’t shift focus, and his appreciation is very much on me as I continue to study the piece of art and try to keep at bay the heat simmering just beneath the surface. It would be so easy to roll with it, to get down and naked right here before the masterpiece, but I’d be no closer to understanding what makes this man tick, why my body feels instinctively drawn to him, appreciated and protected by him.
‘I’ll be sure to pass that on when we next meet.’ He reaches out to stroke my hair behind my ear and my lips part just enough for me to breathe.
I turn to look at him, at the heat in his gaze, and swallow. ‘Shall we sit?’
He cocks his brow. ‘Not what I was thinking.’
I roll my eyes to break the mood. ‘You have a one-track mind.’
‘Judging by your colour, I’m not the only one.’
He’s not wrong, and I laugh, but I make my legs obey and head for the sofa, knowing he’ll follow.
I sink down into the dark cushioned softness, its deep back inviting me in further, and I feel my muscles practically sigh at the comfort. Christ, when did I last just sit, relax, do nothing, think of nothing? I close my eyes, only for a second, and I enjoy it.
The sofa shifts with the arrival of his weight and when I open my eyes he’s watching me.
‘Don’t get to sit down much, hey?’
I give him a small smile, but my head stays resting on the sofa back as I tilt it to face him. ‘Such is the life of a busy socialite.’
He doesn’t smile. Instead his mouth thins, his eyes narrow. ‘Is that all you think you are?’
I shrug softly. ‘It’s what I am, and I do what good I can with it. My grandmother was—is—the same. She saw it as a great privilege to have inherited the Dukedom. It was no small feat for my great grandfather to get the patent amended to allow his solitary heir, Granny, to inherit, heaven forbid a woman, a non-Royal at that, should be a duchess in her own right.’
‘It’s about time that whole nonsense changed anyway.’
I nod, relieved that he sees the rules of succession within the peerage as outdated and sexist as I do. ‘True, but it’s rarity meant extra press exposure and greater interest from the public, which Granny was able to work in her favour to help the causes close to her heart. She has done so much with her role and paid her dues thrice over.’
‘And now you want to do the same? Even though your brother will be the one to inherit the title?’
‘Yes. Just because he will be the Duke of Rushford it doesn’t
mean I can’t continue the work that I do. Our private fortune is to be split equally and I’ll carry on using it to help others.’
‘But don’t you want more? For you?’
My blood fires with irritation, sending my back ramrod straight, the peaceful moment gone. ‘What are you trying to say?’
He riled me when he touched on my public persona back at the bar, so I’m surprised he’s dared to go there again.
‘Nothing—I don’t mean to upset you.’
There’s the apology again, and I can see he means it, his eyes turning soft with concern, but my hackles are up and the need to defend myself is riding high.
‘I’m just trying to understand what it is you do...what you want to do in the future. What drives you?’
‘I want to help people, and with my family’s money and connections I can do that. I don’t have a degree, a career, a fancy job title. I’m me. Just me.’
He nods. ‘I get that—totally. And, yes, you do a lot of good. I know you have your charities and your fundraising efforts. I just meant what do you want for you, personally?’
‘Oh...’ My temper flares, his question poking at an age-old nerve. ‘I get it. You think someone my age must want to get married, have children, settle down. Is that it?’
His brow lifts. ‘Perhaps...’
I shake my head. I’ve had this conversation a thousand times over. With Granny, with Cait and, more frequently, with the press. I usually give my well-rehearsed answer, that I haven’t yet met the right man to sweep me off my feet. I don’t add the truth, that I’ve met enough to know he doesn’t exist.
Although now, staring into Ash’s eyes, I find that resolve wavers. Maybe it’s that realisation that has me blurting, ‘I want the impossible.’
He frowns. ‘The impossible?’
‘I want what my parents shared—a whirlwind passion and the love that stems from it.’ I look into my glass at the frothy topping and smile even as my cheeks burn with my confession. ‘You can laugh... It’s fine.’
‘I’m not laughing.’
No, he’s not. He sounds so goddamn sincere I can almost believe that he thinks the same and is feeling the same—it encourages me to explain.
Getting Dirty Page 7