Crave Me

by Geneva Lee

  Copyright © 2015 by Geneva Lee.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Geneva Lee/Westminster Press

  www.genevalee.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design © Date Book Designs.

  Cover Image ©2015 Perrywinkle Photography.

  Formatting by Caitlin Greer

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Crave Me/ Geneva Lee. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-0-9964398-1-7

  ALSO BY GENEVA LEE

  Command Me

  Conquer Me

  Crown Me

  Two Week Turnaround

  To my husband—birds of a feather.

  Westminster Bridge stretched into oblivion, lost in the fog sitting like smoke over the Thames. Tourists straggled across, taking photos beside clinging lovers as runners jogged. One by one the haze swallowed each of them.

  They disappeared from my sight, never to appear again—like people disappear from your life. There and gone.

  I pressed my hands to the balcony railing to steady myself. A city of a million souls, and I had never felt more isolated. The hollow ache in my stomach spread through me with each breath I took, reminding me I was empty. I was alone.

  An hour ago I hadn’t been. An hour ago I had a plan and a future—and him. But now that life was gone.

  “There you are.” Clara stepped onto the balcony and moved beside me. She rested a hand gently over mine.

  “I haven’t gone anywhere,” I said flatly. My whole future had, but I was still here. “Jilted fiancée sounds less glamorous than bride-to-be, don’t you think?”

  “Nobody is labeling you, and if they do they’ll only call you the woman who clocked Pepper Lockwood, which in my book makes you fabulous,” she said firmly.

  It had felt pretty good to finally hit that tart. The only thing that would have been better was if I’d been able to hit her and Philip. “I should have seen it coming. Philip’s been acting oddly for weeks.”

  “No one saw that coming,” Clara assured me. “And this is in no way your fault. Philip cheated on you. He ended things.”

  The diamond ring on my hand grew heavy, as if it were an anchor, tying me to a past that I needed to be freed from. I slipped it off my hand and held it to Clara. “At least that will fetch a pretty sum. Enough to live on for a bit.”

  “Don’t make snap decisions.” She took the ring, clenching it in her fist, but her forehead wrinkled in concern. She didn’t try to talk me out of selling it though. We both knew I would need the money while I looked for a job.

  A job.

  I told myself I had an excellent education—that I would have no trouble finding work. But I wasn’t sure how a year of planning for a wedding that wasn’t going to happen would look on a resume.

  “We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” Clara said in a comforting tone. She tugged me away from the railing as the terrace door slid open to reveal a handsome, curly-haired man. “I have procured all the liquor in the world,” Edward announced. The younger prince had proven himself a true friend and tonight, it seemed, would be no exception to that fact. “Literally. There is none left in the world. It’s all ours.”

  He reached over and placed an ice pack on my knuckles then held up a bottle. “For your right hook. And vodka for the rest of you.”

  I took one last look at the city below and turned to my friends. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get pissed.”

  London did not care that I had somewhere to be. That much was evident from the crowds herding themselves obliviously through Kensington. The few trees scattered along the busy thoroughfare had turned traitor, shifting from green into glorious shades of gold and rust, and it seemed every tourist in the city needed a picture of them. I pushed past a large group that had stopped for a photo op in front of Top Shop. Muttering an obligatory apology for ruining their shot, I dashed down a less crowded side street. I caught sight of a red-lacquered door that read Smith Price, Esq. on the other side of the street just as the alarm on my phone rang out to remind me I had an interview in five minutes. Jogging across as quickly as my impractical shoes would allow, I paused at the door and took a deep breath.

  I ran a hand over my hair, pleased to discover it was still laying straight after the mad dash I’d made from my flat. I’d recently opted out of the long, wavy locks that I’d been growing out for my wedding. New life. New look. The shoulder-length bob I’d chosen—complete with a thick fringe that fell over my forehead—was easier to style and apparently immune to the frantic chaos of London streets. Briefly I considered checking to make sure my red lipstick didn’t need freshening but thought better of it. There wasn’t the time. I was due in his office in one minute. I smoothed my black pencil skirt down, prayed I hadn’t snagged my stockings, and checked the top button of my fitted ivory blouse. I looked the part. Now all I had to do was land it. A steady job would be the final piece in getting my life back on track, and it might finally provide me with the extra money I needed for my own start-up company.

  Inside, everything changed. I’d stepped from one of London’s most sleek and modern streets into the past. The place dripped with rich mahogany and leather. Large bookshelves lined the walls of the small waiting room and behind an oak desk sat a very prim woman, guarding an office door. She pursed her lips and stared me down. Maybe I hadn’t dressed the part after all. I guessed her to be in her mid to late forties, but then again, the giant stick up her ass might have made her look older. I smiled sweetly and strode toward her.

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Price.”

  The disapproval on her face didn’t budge, even as she nodded. “Right on time, Miss…?”

  “Stuart,” I offered, suspecting she already knew that. A woman had confirmed my interview time, and she was the only one here. It wasn’t worth it to point this out, however, given that I’d spent the last six months bouncing between interviews and temporary jobs. Instead I swallowed my pride and waited. I’d gotten rather good at that since I’d caught my fiancé cheating on me. Perhaps I should consider listing the skill on my resume.

  “Mr. Price is expecting you,” she said as she stood and gestured for me to follow her through the door she guarded.

  I stepped into his office and stopped dead in my tracks. I’d googled Smith Price yesterday, but it had never occurred to me to look up pictures of him. Considering the long list of accomplishments and the caliber of clients associated with his firm, I’d expected someone older. Much older. But the man sitting at the desk in front of me, looking like God’s gift to three-piece suits, couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. His dark hair had been combed carefully but couldn’t quite hide a slight wave that cried out to be pulled. Dark lashes framed eyes that were stunningly bright green, even from this distance. But it was his jawline, smooth and strong, and his broad shoulders that oozed a primal masculinity. He was leaning back in a leather chair, his hand resting thoughtfully on a shapely set of lips. Something stirred inside of me, beating against the wall I’d built to protect myse
lf from men, especially men like this. I squared my shoulders and forced a professional, and disinterested, smile onto my face.

  Price didn’t stand as his secretary led me into the room. He simply watched, his eyes traveling slowly up my body. The intensity of the gaze burned across my skin, sending a flush of heat over my cheeks. For one brief moment, I thought my knees were going to buckle, and it took all the composure I could muster to stay upright in my Louboutins. Thank God I’d gone with the more responsible heel, or I would have found myself arse over tits on his office floor. His eyes stopped on my mouth, and I suddenly regretted wearing such a suggestive shade of red. But I hadn’t expected Smith Price to look like—well, a sex god. His own lips twitched, as if he guessed what I was thinking, but then his face returned to a stony mask. Completely unreadable. Completely disarming.

  And worst of all, completely sexy.

  This is not good! the high-pitched voice in my head shrieked in warning. You need this job and you’ll never get it if you can’t show you have a few brain cells. Speak up! I opened my mouth and took a deep breath. If he wasn’t going to introduce himself, I needed to do the honors. But more than anything, I needed to refrain from sounding desperate. No vulnerability. I’d spent one whole minute in Price’s presence, but I already knew what would happen if I showed any weakness. I’d be in his bed and out of a job.

  “Mr. Price, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said in a smooth voice—too smooth and way too sexy.

  Keep your knickers on your arse and off the floor, I commanded myself silently.

  His fingers shifted to rest on his chin, revealing those chiseled lips that I couldn’t tear my eyes from. This interview was going nowhere if we couldn’t stop staring at each other’s mouths.

  “Smith.” The simple correction was enough to break the spell, and my eyes flashed up, finally meeting his. The look was long and hard. The kind of look you share with someone you’ve known a long time—someone you’ve known intimately. His eyes weren’t guarded like the rest of him, and I knew without a doubt that this was purposeful. He wanted me to see what he was thinking. I could drown in the green pools of his irises—lost to the turmoil reflected there. It mirrored my own. My belly constricted as desire wound itself tightly in my core. One pluck and it would unravel. I would unravel.

  “Sit, Miss Stuart,” he ordered, turning his attention to his desk. I seized the opportunity to look away and regain a bit of control as I slid into the chair opposite his. When our eyes met again, a curtain had descended, concealing his thoughts. “I suppose you have questions about the position.”

  I didn’t actually. I’d expected to walk in here and be grilled. Fumbling to find my voice, I finally managed to force out the first one that came to mind. “What exactly are the expectations…for the position?”

  It seemed silly to tack on the last bit, but Smith struck me as the type of man that needed clear boundaries and definitions.

  “My private assistant.”

  He didn’t elaborate further. Apparently, he was going to make me work for each shred of information.

  “Here?” I asked, gesturing to the office around us. “Will I be assisting with cases?”

  I wasn’t certain I could actually help him with legal work, but I sure as hell could fake it until I figured out what I was doing.

  “Do you have a legal background I’m unaware of?” His tone was low and cold.

  I fought the urge to shrink back in my seat. Instead I squared my shoulders. At least if he was going to be an ass, it would cure me of my initial attraction to him. His head tilted, waiting for my answer. He stroked the slight five o’clock shadow peppering the strong curve of his jaw. What would it be like to have that hand on me? How would it feel when his stubble scratched along my thigh?

  Maybe I wasn’t cured after all.

  “I don’t,” I said, adopting a similarly cool attitude. “That’s just as well, because my private assistant does not

  assist with casework.” He smirked as he spoke. He actually fucking smirked.

  What kind of grown man smirked during a job interview?

  The kind that knows exactly what you really want from him.

  I ignored the voice, losing patience with myself as much as I was with him. “Then what do you want me to do?”

  The smirk shifted into a crooked grin that vanished in seconds. “You will assist me in my private affairs. Obviously my secretary handles my schedules and court appearances. You will oversee my personal life as well as my personal relationships with clients. I’m a busy man, Miss Stuart—”

  “Belle,” I interrupted him, relishing the chance to correct him.

  “Miss Stuart,” he repeated. “I’m a busy man. I don’t remember birthdays. I do not shop for wedding presents. And I never dine alone.”

  “I’m supposed to have dinner with you?” I choked out. This was starting to sound a lot like marriage without the benefit of his bank account—or orgasms.

  “Not at all times,” he continued. “I often have dinner plans. On nights that I do not—or on the occasion that my plans require an escort—you will be present.”

  “I had no idea this was going to be a lifestyle.” The glib remark was out of my mouth before I’d thought it through.

  Smith’s jaw tensed but he didn’t speak, which only made the air in the room feel heavier. This job was pressure. The question was whether or not doing the job would be more pressure than finding another opportunity. Despite my pedigree and education, I’d yet to receive a call back after an interview. But I couldn’t let the feeling of inferiority those snubs elicited force me into making a mistake.

  “May I ask you a question?” The time for being blunt was now—before I got in over my head.

  “You already have,” he pointed out, “and I didn’t bite.”

  His answer sent my eyes to his lips, and my mind to fantasizing about what it would be like if he did bite. I had a sinking suspicion I wouldn’t mind it if Smith Price bit me.

  Now would be a really good time to run.

  But I didn’t want to. I felt locked to the chair, locked to this room and this man. I told myself it was the possibilities that the job offered, even though I knew it was more than that. He had already wormed his way under my skin. I could feel him there—an itch that I desperately wanted to scratch. Staying meant I’d have to fight that urge, but leaving felt impossible.

  “Assuming you select me for the position”—I paused, wondering if he was going to call me out on my conjecture— “why would you choose me?”

  “There are a number of reasons why you’d make an excellent candidate.” He settled back in his chair, raising his arms to rest casually behind his head as he regarded me. “Your education, for starters.”

  I nodded, even though an Oxford education seemed wasted on running errands and being a dinner date.

  “From the look in your eyes, you disagree.”

  “No, I—”

  “Allow me to finish.” The words he chose were considerate, but his tone was full of expectation. He expected my silence. He expected to speak uninterrupted. And I suspected that he expected me to agree with whatever he was about to say. “Your education will benefit me. I prefer a companion with which I can hold a conversation. I also prefer a well-bred escort for business affairs. Not all of my business associates share the same predilections.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Predilections is a strong word.”

  “Not all whores stand on the street corners, Miss Stuart.

  Most of them simply find a man willing to purchase their favor in exchange for their pussies. While I’m certain it’s comforting to have something to stick your cock in at home, such relationships are a liability that often end in embarrassment or blackmail,” he finished.

  He had a point, even if he’d ratcheted himself up on my knobhead meter. “But as you said, I’m educated. I’d be much more likely to understand what is and isn’t blackmail worthy.” “You will have signed a nondisclosure agreemen
t,” he informed me, shifting in his seat so that his face fell into shadow. “And I promise you will find yourself very much

  bound to it—as well as bound to me.”

  The lump in my throat slid ominously as I swallowed this. Bound. Did I want to be bound to him? Legally, at least. It was difficult to consider, given the thoughts his choice of words had conjured. I wasn’t going to need a drink after this. I was going to need the whole bloody bottle.

  “There are other reasons,” he continued. “It wasn’t until I ran a background check on you that I discovered you were best friends with our new Queen. I found it quite impressive that you managed to stay out of the press. You must have some knack for flying under the radar.”

  “Or I’m really boring,” I countered.

  “I doubt that,” he said in a low voice that sent a tingle rippling up my spine. “My business requires privacy. I need a person who comprehends that. You are intimately familiar with that obligation.”

  “I was friends with Clara long before she met Alexander.” “It’s a compliment.” Smith waited for me to challenge

  this interpretation. When I didn’t, he continued, “And of course, you look the part.”

  “I look the part?” I repeated. Surely he didn’t mean what it sounded like he meant.

  “You are a beautiful woman. There’s no need to pretend otherwise.”

  I tried to keep my cool and failed miserably. “That’s dangerously close to harassment.”

  Smith Price was an enigma. Or maybe he wasn’t. All he wanted was a pretty girl who wasn’t dumb to attend to his every whim. When I actually thought about it, it was what all men really wanted. Only he was willing to pay for it—without the expectation of sex in return. The realizations should have neither shocked nor disappointed me, and somehow it still did on both counts.

  “Companies employ attractive individuals every day. It’s hardly illegal when it’s requisite to the position.” Smith shrugged and leaned forward to rest his palms on his desk. His hands didn’t move. His fingers didn’t tap impatiently. He was completely in control of himself and this situation. That’s what scared me.