by T L Swan
Daniel screws his face up in disgust. “You would actually rather have blah rebound sex with Heath, than hot and steamy with sex god Elliot Miles?”
“He’s my boss,” I scoff.
“All the better. Ask for a raise while you’re giving him head. Get a two-for-one bonus.”
We all giggle.
Rebecca’s eyes flick up from my phone as she reads. “Did you really look at his dick?”
“No,” I scoff again. “He’s dreaming. I’ve got better things to do at work than look at his stupid trouser snake.”
Daniel and Rebecca burst out laughing.
“Where do you come up with these analogies, Kate?”
“Growing up with my brother, Brad.” I shrug. “I know every name there is for a dick. Lizard, schlong, rhythm stick,” I mutter dryly as I sip my wine. “You name it, I’ve heard it.”
“Hit me with your rhythm stick,” Daniel sings. “Isn’t that a great song; they need to bring that shit back. Why isn’t someone remixing this? I swear I should be a record producer.”
“Do they even have record producers anymore?” says Beck. “I mean there are no records, so what’s that job called now?”
“Good question,” I agree.
“Here you are.” The waitress smiles as she arrives with our meals and places them down in front of us.
“Thank you.”
She makes her way to the back room and we all begin to eat.
“Oh, and on Saturday night we’re going out.” Daniel cuts into his steak.
“Where to?” Rebecca asks.
“Club 55 are having an opening at their new venue. I’ve got four VIP tickets.”
“Four tickets? Can I bring Brett?” Beck asks.
“Yeah, sure, why not,” Daniel says as he chews his food. “Don’t forget we’re going work-clothes shopping tomorrow, Kate.”
“We just got new stuff on the weekend?” I say.
“Yes, but now the ante has been raised, your hot boss wants to fuck you. We need to make his balls so blue that they fall off . . . until he’s begging.”
“He’s not going to beg.”
“Oh yes, he is.”
I roll my eyes as I bite the food from my fork. “Great. The way you’re spending my money I really do need to earn a bonus.”
“Do it on your knees,” Daniel says with a raise of his glass. “Earn that dirty money, girlfriend. Tell him you’ll swallow for a company car.”
“Stop.” I laugh. “Will you shut up?”
“Just saying.” He shrugs.
I try to hide my smile as I chew my food.
I’d swallow for free.
I sit in the café and stare across the street at the black Bentley parked out front of the Miles Media building. It’s just six-thirty, and from the way that the driver is out of the car and leaning on the side as if on standby, I know he must be leaving soon.
I sip my coffee as my mind runs away with itself.
Does he always have a driver?
“Is this seat taken?” somebody asks as they pat the stool next to me.
“Oh, no.” I smile. “That’s fine, take it.”
My attention goes back to the building—I wonder where he lives? I take out my phone and for the first time ever, I type “Elliot Miles” into Google.
Elliot Miles is the third son of media mogul George Miles and his wife Elizabeth.
Listed along with his three brothers in the USA rich list, he has an estimated wealth of seven hundred million dollars.
“What?” I whisper.
No stranger to publicity, and true to family tradition, Elliot Miles has been linked to some of the most beautiful women in the world.
Affectionately nicknamed Casanova Miles by the press due to his apparent ability to get women to do anything he wants, he’s previously been linked to Emmaline Howser, the renowned pianist, Heather Moretti, the acclaimed art director for US Vogue, and more recently, Clarissa Mulholland, the human rights lawyer for the United Nations.
He likes his women intelligent and interesting, beauty a very close but obvious third.
I click on images, and rows and rows of pictures come up with him and women—black-tie events, yachts, nightclubs, opening nights.
He’s like a fucking rock star.
I bite my lip and raise an unimpressed eyebrow. Ugh, Casanova Miles . . . give me a fucking break.
Who cares. I click out of images and go back to the main page.
I read on.
His art collection is one of the best in the world, estimated to be worth over two hundred million dollars, and is housed in a private gallery in New York. It is understood that his most intimate pieces are kept in his London home.
I screw my face up.
“Private art gallery, you are kidding me?” I mutter under my breath.
I look up at the Bentley, completely rattled.
What the ever-loving fuck?
Elliot’s words come back to me from the other night. He isn’t looking for hot.
He’s looking for extraordinary.
I bite my thumbnail as I think about what that means.
Given all of the beautiful women from around the world that he’s dated.
Extraordinary.
Even that choice of word is strange.
And when I meet her, I will know.
I go back over our conversation.
I believe in love at first sight, when our eyes meet. We will both know.
I bite my lip to stifle my smile.
The doors open and I see Elliot stride out, every step purposeful.
Briefcase in hand. Back ramrod-straight. He doesn’t have to assert power, it comes naturally. Down to his bones, Elliot Miles is a born leader.
He nods and says something to his driver as he gets into the backseat. The door closes.
The car pulls out into the traffic and I watch as it drives away.
When our eyes meet. We’ll both know.
I smile softly.
Elliot Miles still believes in magic.
And I know it’s not me that he’s waiting to meet.
I’m not extraordinary.
We didn’t have that breathtaking eye-lock moment and we most definitely don’t get along.
This isn’t a grand love story.
I’m just an ordinary girl and his crush is horizontal.
I lean my chin on my hand as I stare out of the window.
But that’s okay.
One day a man is going to walk in here and sweep me off my feet and we’ll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.
I smile wistfully. I guess Elliot Miles and I do have one thing in common.
I believe in magic too.
We climb out of the car as cameras flash, and Daniel grabs my hand and pulls me in through the fancy black doors. “See.” He smiles proudly. “This is why you have to look good at all times. The paps are here.”
I tip my head back and laugh out loud at his delusion. “They aren’t here to get us, you idiot, they’re here to snap the actual celebrities. And please don’t say the word paps, you sound ridiculous.”
It’s Saturday night and we are at the opening of some swanky club.
Daniel flashes a broad smile as he adjusts the straps on my dress. “Hey, we are on the guest list.”
“You’re on the guest list, I’m just the slummy sidekick.”
“And don’t you look fabulous.”
I smile nervously as I run my hands down my thighs. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?”
He links my arm through his as we progress in the line. “Darling, there’s no such thing as too much.”
I giggle as I glance down at myself: I’m wearing a hot pink, fitted minidress with little capped sleeves and nude strappy stilettos. My hair is out and tucked strategically behind one ear, and for the first time ever, I’m wearing pink lipstick. It kind of looks like I just stepped out of a high-fashion sixties magazine, and I hate to admit it, but I do look good.
&n
bsp; We arrive at the front of the line and Daniel hands over our tickets. “Pity Rebecca didn’t come.”
“I know, she’s in such a rut lately. She won’t go anywhere,” I reply.
Daniel scrunches his nose up. “This is why I’m not falling in love any time soon.” He leads me into the club.
“Why, because you’re not boring?” I ask.
“Precisely.” He chuckles.
My eyes widen as I look around. “Oh wow.”
The ceilings are so high that I can’t even see the roof; it’s dark and glamorous, with staircases around the edges that lead to the upper levels.
“Now this. Is a club.” Daniel smiles. “Let’s go for a walk and check it out.”
Hand in hand we walk around the bottom level. There’s a dance floor and tables and chairs. Huge leather couches are placed around a fireplace area. We walk up to the next level to find a swanky cocktail bar where the music is demure, and just wow at the people there.
“Everyone is so beautiful,” I whisper, feeling very out of place.
“I know,” Daniel replies. “I don’t know who to look at first, I’m going cross-eyed, it’s like a fucking smorgasbord.”
I giggle as we walk up the stairs to the next level, which has a completely different feel. This has a whisky bar and an outdoor terrace with large, comfy chairs and fairy lights. “Oh, this is my favorite floor.” I smile as I look out at the terrace. “Can we sit there?”
“Yes, let’s check out the top level and we’ll come back down to have a cocktail here.”
“Okay.”
He leads me up the crowded stairs, and when we get to the top I am completely flabbergasted.
A huge dance floor, filled with beautiful women in hardly any clothes.
“This must be the model floor.” Daniel smirks as he watches them.
I tug the hem of my dress down, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Jeez.
“Okay, back downstairs,” I say.
Daniel’s eyes stay fixed to the girls. “Can we not stay here for a while?”
“I’m not drunk enough for this floor.” I grab his hand and lead him back down the stairs.
“We’re coming back here as soon as possible.”
“Fine. Cocktails first though.”
The stairs are busy and a group of men are coming up, and I lock eyes with Elliot and flick Daniel’s hand away like a hot potato.
“Kate.” He tries to hide his smile and fails miserably. “What are you doing here?”
“Cooking lessons,” I reply, to try and be witty.
His eyes drop down to my toes and then back up to my face. “And I can see that you’ve got that stove smoking hot.”
Oh . . .
My eyes go to Daniel and he smiles broadly. “I would say on fire.”
Elliot’s eyes flick back to Daniel. “What was your name again?”
“Daniel.”
“Daniel who?”
Daniel smiles. “Daniel who lives with Kate, that’s all you need to know.”
Elliot stares at Daniel; his face is emotionless but he’s clearly unimpressed with that answer.
I look from one to the other. Oh . . . jeez, awkward.
“Um, we should go. It was nice seeing you.” I smile as we continue walking down the stairs.
“Goodbye,” Elliot says as he continues walking up.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Daniel who lives with Kate . . . what the hell was that?”
“He wants to google me.”
I screw up my face in confusion. “Why would he want to do that?”
“To see if I’m a threat.”
“What?”
“I’m telling you this guy has got it for you. The other night when you were out of it, he nearly didn’t leave.” We approach the bar on level three. “Can I have two margaritas please?” he asks.
“Sure thing.” The waitress turns to make them.
I stare at Daniel. “Why?”
“Said that he didn’t know if he should leave because I might take advantage of you.”
“Elliot?” I frown.
“Yes.”
“He actually said that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He didn’t want to leave you with me. Why not?”
“Here you go.” The waitress hands over our drinks.
“Thanks.” We clink glasses.
“Obviously he doesn’t like his stuff being touched.”
I square my shoulders. “Well, that’s ridiculous, I’m not his stuff.”
Daniel chuckles. “Baby, I think we both know that he’s circling. I mean . . . he told you so himself.”
“That was Edgar. He didn’t know that was me and maybe he’ll never do anything about his horizontal crush. Thinking it, and actually doing it, are two completely different things.”
Daniel’s eyes hold mine. “Have you ever known Elliot Miles not to go after what he wants?”
My eyes hold his.
“Prepare for his onslaught baby, we both know it’s coming. I can feel it in my waters.”
I sip my drink as nerves flutter deep in my stomach. I hate to admit it but so can I.
Fuck.
Four hours later, Daniel throws his head back and laughs out loud and I smile into my drink: he’s sitting opposite me on one of the couches out on the terrace. He’s in the middle of a couple, a guy and a girl, and the three of them are talking, and the thing is, I have no idea which one he is actually flirting with.
But I think both.
They are bouncing off each other and the chemistry between the three of them is palpable.
What happens in these kinds of situations? Does he go home with them and the guy watches while he fucks his wife, or does he fuck the guy too?
God . . . I’m so vanilla.
“I’ve been looking for you,” a deep voice says.
I turn to see Elliot sit down beside me. He hands me a red fancy-looking cocktail.
He’s here.
Act. Cool.
“Oh, hi.” I smile as I take the drink from him. “What’s this?” I gesture to the drink.
“Ring My Bell. Recently become a personal favorite.”
I smile and take a sip. “Oh . . . it’s strong.”
He watches me wince. “I like things to taste strong.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention: the way he said that was decidedly sexual. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“We’re going to dance,” Daniel says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Okay,” I stammer.
Shit . . . don’t leave me with him. My eyes turn back to Elliot.
“Tell me.” He sips his drink and his finger traces a circle on my shoulder. “How have you been moonlighting as a boring IT specialist for seven years?”
I smile. “I’m still a boring IT specialist.”
“You’re like Clark fucking Kent.”
I giggle at his analogy; the feeling of his finger on my skin is doing things to me. “And what are you under the disguise?” I whisper.
His dark eyes hold mine. “Hungry.”
The air crackles between us.
He picks up my necklace and straightens it around my neck, and puts the pendant to the front.
He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear as he stares at me.
I can’t breathe.
He leans down and puts his lips to my ear. “I want you, Kate.” He softly bites my ear and goosebumps scatter up my arm.
“I want you underneath me.”
Chapter 7
ELLIOT
My teeth graze her ear and all of my senses are heightened.
I run my hand up her arm to feel goosebumps.
Fuck.
She’s hot.
It’s dark and I take her face in my hands and kiss her softly; she smiles against me and kisses me back.
Arousal begins to pump hard through my body and my cock hardens in my pants.
Her tongue dances with mine and I frown.
Fucking hell . . .
She’s really fucking hot.
Yes.
Yes.
Our tongues dance seductively as I begin to lose control. I lean into her.
My grip on her face tightens as my body begins to throb. She pulls back from me and licks her lips as she stares at me.
I reach for her and she holds her hand up as if to stop me.
“What are you doing?” I pant.
“I’ve had enough.” She sits up and takes her lipstick from her purse, totally unaffected.
My eyebrows rise in surprise. Huh?
She opens a compact mirror and begins to put her bright pink lipstick on.
I lean in and nibble her neck and goosebumps scatter up her arms once more. She smiles.
“Don’t bother with the lipstick; it will rub off on my dick,” I breathe into her ear.
She turns her head and seductively licks my lips; I almost blow on the spot.
“I’m going,” she whispers.
I smile darkly as I sit up to leave. “Yes . . . we are.”
She rolls her lipstick on. “Sit down, you’re not coming.”
“What?”
“Sorry.” She shrugs. “I guess I’m just not that into you.”
What does she mean?
She puts her mouth to my ear. “And for the record, you would be underneath me.”
I smirk. I like this game.
She bites my ear hard and I grab her head and hold it to mine.
For a moment, we stay close, bathing in the electricity between us.
And holy fuck, there’s a lot of it.
“What am I supposed to do about this?” I take her hand and place it over my hard cock.
Her eyes darken and she leans forward and kisses me again. “Go upstairs and fuck a model,” she breathes into my mouth.
I jerk back from her, unimpressed with her tone. “Careful,” I warn her.
She stands, steps over me, and with her long legs straight and on either side of mine, she leans down to me one more time. “Elliot,” she whispers.
I run my hands up her long legs. “Fuck off, we’re going home now.” I sit forward and she pushes me back in my chair. “My cock won’t go down,” I whisper up at her.
She kisses me as she reaches for something on the table and then I feel her hand at my crotch.
Hell . . . what must we look like?
Who fucking cares?
She kisses me once more and I smile against her lips as she undoes my fly.