Dirty Girl (Dirty Girl Duet #1)

by Meghan March

  I wait several beats for him to reply. Creighton is gathering his words, and maybe his patience.

  His voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “I’m sorry. I’m pissed. I’ve been saving up this fucking tirade for hours because you wouldn’t answer your phone, and I shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

  I hold the phone out and stare at it. Is that really my brother? Apologizing? Holly’s had more of an effect on him than I realized. My defensiveness slips a few notches.

  “I know; I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t think about all the repercussions. I was hammered. Wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “I figured that one out. And now we’re in a shitstorm that I’ll get sorted out, but I need you to promise me this was a one-off and you’re not following up with something bigger and better.”

  “Like a trip to Vegas and a wedding? No. My follow-up was handing in my resignation, and Ed is taking me home to become a hermit for the rest of my life.”

  “Resignation?” Creighton’s shock comes through the phone line loud and clear. “Did they ask for it?”

  I shake my head and then realize he can’t see me. “No. In fact, they made it very clear that the firm didn’t support my choice and I should make sure you understand that.”

  “Fuckers. I’ll find a new firm anyway, especially if they made you feel like shit about it.”

  I almost don’t say the words burning on my tongue, but I can’t hold them in. “Like you just did?”

  “I’m sorry, Greer. You deserve better than that.”

  “You’re forgiven. I’ll stay out of trouble, and you won’t have to worry about my actions killing your stock price, okay?”

  “You need me to come home? Circle the wagons? Kill anyone who looks at you the wrong way?”

  That would be a whole lot of dead bodies, if my experience at the office is anything to go by. But I don’t need my big brother to save me.

  “It’s okay. You need to be with Holly. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “All right, but fucking answer the phone when I call so I don’t lose my mind, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you, Greer.”

  “Love you, Crey.”

  I hang up the phone and hand it back to Ed, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thanks a lot.”

  “I was getting sick of answering his calls. He’s just worried about you, Ms. Karas.”

  “I know.”

  I slouch back into the leather seat, thinking about what Creighton said as the familiar noises of Manhattan surround me all the way home.

  The cushy tan leather recliners in the private jet I get to use as part of my FleetJet subscription are a hell of a lot different from the tiny seat I was crushed into in coach the day I flew to LA with all my shit in two duffel bags. I avoided New York for three years by only doing interviews on the West Coast, but now I’m riding back in style.

  The kind of style Greer Karas is accustomed to. I wonder absently if she has ever flown coach. Probably not.

  The last time I saw her, there was no way I could give her that kind of life. It’s funny how things change. But then again, some things never do. Like Greer and her balls to the wall style.

  I chuckle as I tip back my Crown and Coke, remembering the first time we ever spoke . . .

  The thick soles of my work boots sounded too loud on the marble floor, even with the nonstop chatter of the student coffee shop. These kids weren’t all that much younger than me, but damn if they didn’t make me feel old.

  Of course, I saw her before I got in line. Greer Karas, sister to the infamous billionaire. But that wasn’t why I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She was impossible to look away from. Beautiful in the kind of way that feels like a punch to the gut and a kick to the balls at the same time.

  I placed my order. Black coffee. None of that frou-frou latte shit the law-school punks drank. As soon as I had the cup in hand, my eyes went back to her. Thick dark hair, sparkling dark eyes, smooth olive skin, knockout body with a curvy ass and perfect tits. Pure class stamped all over her.

  She was also completely fucking oblivious ninety-nine percent of the time. The guys who stared at her ass went unnoticed, and so did the other chicks who sent her killing glares when their men couldn’t help but follow the sway of her hips as she walked by. Her laugh was louder than the other girls’, like she just didn’t give a fuck who heard it because there was nothing she was going to do to corral it. Great laugh.

  For three days, I’d spent more than I should have on this fancy coffee. I should have gone to the hole in the wall across the street where the rest of the maintenance crew and janitors went, but I couldn’t stay away. Three days until I became painfully aware of that one percent of the time Greer wasn’t totally oblivious.

  I settled into a chair at a tiny table in the corner, pulling out the newspaper I used as a distraction. When I looked up, I’d lost sight of her.

  But she hadn’t lost sight of me. Out of nowhere, she dropped into the chair across from me and spoke.

  “You going to perv on me for a few more days before you finally drum up the courage to talk to me?”

  Shocked, I sucked my coffee down the wrong pipe and hacked into my hand. My eyes watered as I took in her challenging and still curious grin. It wasn’t a combination I’d seen before, but on her, it came off sexier than it should have.

  “Excuse me?” I said when I could breathe again.

  “You’ve been watching me. I’ve been waiting for you to invite me to sit down and have coffee with you, but you haven’t. I gave you three days, and I’m sick of waiting.” She set her coffee cup down on the table between us. “So I decided to take the initiative and brought my own.”

  Is this chick for real?

  “I’m Greer.”

  I lowered my cup to the table. “You ever heard of letting the guy make the first move?”

  She shrugged, and her tits pressed against her shirt in a way that made me want to take her into the maintenance closet and strip her naked. It wasn’t the first time I’d had that thought. Or a whole fuck-ton of other thoughts about her. If she ever knew how bad I was twisted up over her . . .

  Greer tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned forward on both elbows. “I told you, I gave you your chance. You waited too long. Patience isn’t one of my virtues.”

  I could imagine what some of her virtues were. Seizing an impulse, I held out my hand.

  “I’m Cav.”

  Without hesitation, she shook it. Her hand felt so small in mine, but not fragile. No, based on that handshake, I knew she’d be able to hold her own with the asshole lawyers who’d be her coworkers in the not-too-distant future.

  She released my grip and one dark eyebrow flew upward. Shit, she’s sexy.

  “That’s it? Just Cav?”

  “Ain’t that enough for you?” I kept my tone cocky on purpose.

  Her smile was quick and brilliant, the kind I felt below the belt. She turned my question around on me. “Is anything ever enough for a guy like you?”

  She was sassy, a spitfire, and I wanted more of her, even if a guy like me had no business anywhere near her. I couldn’t stop myself.

  “I have a feeling you’d be more than enough, baby girl.”

  Her laugh, one I’d overheard so many times lately, rang out between us. She put her whole body into it. Held nothing back. I had to wonder if she’d be like that when I got her under me.

  When? Fuck, I was screwed.

  And yet I couldn’t stop the image of me picking her up and fucking her against the wall from invading my brain. These pussy law school guys—her kind—couldn’t fuck her like a real man. My work uniform wasn’t going to hide the bulge in my pants for long. I needed to think about something else. Anything else.

  The smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth when the laughter quieted wasn’t helping the situation.

  “How many girls have you used that line on, smooth talker?”

 
I lifted my coffee to my mouth and took a drink, managing not to choke this time. “I don’t need lines. Hell, I don’t even need to make an offer.”

  She followed my lead and raised her cup as well. The move made me wonder how easily she’d follow my lead in other areas.

  “You’re cocky as hell, but for some reason, I actually like it. But I don’t dive right into bed with a guy. I deserve to be wooed first.”

  This time I did choke on my coffee again. “Wooed?”

  Greer nodded. “Yeah, that’s just the kind of girl I am, and lucky you—I’m giving you a shot at it.”

  Greer was every bit as cocky as me, even if she didn’t realize it. I wasn’t prepared to woo her then. But I am now.

  That ad she posted wasn’t as out of character for Greer Karas as the shocked world might imagine. It might have been a little bolder than her plopping down at my table in the coffee shop that day, but it was still the ballsy Greer I remembered.

  I glance out the window at the flyover states below. A couple more hours, and I’ll have the chance to reintroduce myself.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  Can you photoshop real life? Because that’s the only way I can possibly be seeing through my peephole what I’m seeing right now.

  Cavanaugh Westman. In the flesh. Outside my door.

  The knock stopped me mid-shuffle on the way to my coffeemaker. So that makes me an uncaffeinated, makeup-less, messy-bunned, legging-wearing couch surfer who hasn’t showered in the two days I’ve spent holed up in my apartment.

  He can’t see me like this.

  I’ve had so many fantasies of how it will go when I finally came face-to-face with Cav again. I’ll be wearing something sexy, yet classy. Perfect hair, makeup, eyebrows. I’ll adopt a casually disinterested mien. He’ll be devastated when he realizes what he missed out on by standing me up that night and disappearing without a word.

  There’s no way in hell I’m answering that door. Cav Westman can sit out in my hallway all day. Not opening it.

  But Cav reads my mind, the bastard.

  “Open the door, baby girl. Your message came through loud and clear with that ad.”

  A barely audible gasp escapes my lungs.

  “That’s right, I know you’re standing there. So, open the door, Greer.”

  His deep, gravelly voice stirs memories I thought I wiped out of my brain. Apparently not.

  I rush to the couch to grab my phone. I need to text Banner. Need to freak out with her and schedule an emergency spa day so I can be all the things I need to be before facing him again.

  My thoughts come to a screeching halt. I do not need to impress Cav Westman. He’s nothing to me. And I can prove it right now by opening the door. He’ll see exactly how much I don’t care about his opinion.

  Before I can change my mind, or look down at my shirt to make sure I’m not sporting any stains from yesterday’s coffee, I reach for the dead bolts and unlock them before I twist the doorknob and tug.

  As soon as the door is open, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  Through the peephole, he was marginally distorted. On the billboards and movie posters plastered to the sides of buses in the city, he looked like a total stranger. But Cav in the flesh?

  Devastating.

  I lose my grip on the door and it swings open.

  How does he not look older? No new lines bracket his mouth or crease the corners of his eyes. Instead, a new scar curves along his jaw, giving him a sexier, more dangerous look. His shoulders are impossibly broader, making his hips seem even narrower.

  His hazel eyes flash as he takes me in—at least they haven’t changed. Today they’re more tawny gold than gray or green. Guessing what color they would be was part of the game I played with myself before. His dark brown hair is sexy and disheveled, longer than the buzz cut he had before, but everything else is the same. Worn jeans, a plain T-shirt, and scuffed boots. Strong, bold features that many a man would find impossible to carry off, but are the reason millions of women would line up to have Cavanaugh Westman’s babies.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper, reminding myself that I no longer have some naive fantasy of being the one for Cav.

  His gaze returns to my face, and I know his inspection of me can’t be nearly as flattering as mine of him.

  I’m waiting for him to say something . . . anything. Like an apology or an explanation for disappearing three years ago, but instead I get something completely different.

  His hands drop to the button of his jeans. “Based on your ad, the inspection isn’t quite complete.”

  If my jaw could drop to the floor like a cartoon character’s, it would.

  Oh. My. God. I never saw what he was packing before, only a grazing handful the one night I finally got bold, but he put me off, promising me a night that never happened.

  I stand like a slack-jawed moron and force my gaze to his face.

  “What are you doing?”

  His wicked grin—one he uses so rarely, even in the movies of his I’ll never admit I’ve seen—wipes away the three years between our past and present.

  The hiss of the zipper comes next.

  I keep my gaze on his face as his eyes dare me. To look or to stop him, I’m not sure which.

  “Apparently you’ve changed your requirements for wooing, baby girl.”

  The endearment on his lips brings back another wave of memories, but the flex of his bicep against the sleeve of his T-shirt steals my attention.

  Oh. My. God.

  He’s gripping his cock, stroking it, isn’t he? All I have to do is look down, and I’ll have more than one question answered.

  “You know you wanna look.”

  The dare is there again. And he’s right. I want to look. So I do.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Oh. My. Hell.

  Well, let’s just say Cav knocked that requirement out of the park. The sight of his long, thick cock in his big, capable hand sends heat rushing south through my body, pooling between my thighs. My nipples, sans bra, strain against the material of my shirt. Cav’s gaze drops as well—to my chest.

  The room pulses with a desperate intensity. Hanging between us is the night we never had. The one he walked away from.

  I have two choices. Take what I want, what I asked for, or hold on to the rejection he dealt me three years ago.

  My brain short-circuits on one thought—life is short, and you never know if you’ll get a second chance.

  So I step forward, wrap one hand around his neck and the other around his cock, and kiss him for everything I’m worth.

  I groan into Greer’s mouth as she grips my cock just above my hand. Taking charge of the kiss, I cup her jaw with my free hand and tilt her head for better access.

  Perfect.

  God, she’s never looked more beautiful than she did the moment she opened the door. Totally and completely Greer. Real, not like the fake women I constantly meet in Hollywood. None of them compare to her. It ain’t like you can compare a Chevy to a Ferrari.

  And speaking of sweet curves . . . I release my hold on my dick and run my free hand up her side.

  Mine. The taste of Greer on my lips and her body in my hands unleashes a wave of primal possessiveness. She’s not the girl who got away; she’s the one I walked away from. Life doesn’t always give us second chances, but this one is mine and I’m taking it. And her.

  I groan into her mouth again. The heat and lash of her tongue drag the sound from me. Fuck. I need more. Now.

  Apparently I’m not the only one.

  “My bedroom. Now.”

  Greer’s voice is husky, and my cock is still wrapped by her hand as she jacks it. God, I’ve been dreaming about this moment for years.

  “Fuck the bedroom. We’re doing this right here.”

  I reach for her shirt and yank it over her head. She loses her grip on my cock for only a second, but it’s long enough for me to toss the shirt and get my hands on her tits. She moans as I cup them.
<
br />   “Goddamn, Greer. You were made for my hands.”

  I roll her nipples between my thumbs and fingers, and she arches toward me. Once she’s moaning into my mouth, I release both handfuls and reach for the waistband of her pants, tugging them off just as quickly. Thank God for easy-to-remove clothing. One lift and I’ve got her ass in my hands as I turn toward the wall and press her back against it, exactly like I dreamed of doing that day in the coffee shop.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist, baby.”

  She follows my direction, and I slide one hand between her legs.

  Fuuck. She’s soaked. Dripping for me.

  Three years ago, I told myself I’d never feel the tight, sweet heat of her pussy. Three years ago, I told myself a lot of bullshit. Today, everything changes.

  “Hurry,” Greer whispers, her eyes closed as she rubs her pussy on my rock-hard cock. “I need it.”

  “Open your eyes, Greer,” I say as I lift her and nudge the head against her opening.

  She reaches down and helps guide my dick into place.

  “Hurry,” she says again.

  “Look at me.” In my commanding tone, it can’t be interpreted as anything but an order.

  Her dark eyes snap to mine, and I thrust.

  Fucking. Perfection.

  Holding her pinned to the wall, I fuck her like a man possessed, like a man with something to prove. And I do have something to prove. I’m fucking that piece-of-shit ex right out of her memory and burning myself in his place.

  I can tell when I hit her sweet spot because Greer’s nails dig into my shoulders and her keening moan fills my ears.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  Never slowing my pace, I pound into her body as she grips me tighter and tighter, and finally yells my name as she comes.

  The sound of my name on her lips unleashes my own orgasm. It pours out of me . . . directly into her.

  Fuck. No condom. What the hell was I thinking? Oh, that’s right. I wasn’t thinking about anything but getting inside Greer after all these years.