Once A Bad Girl

by Jane O'Reilly

  She grabbed his hand and they left the dance floor, weaving their way through the crowd, dodging past the huddles of girls that dotted the space round the edge. The bar was four deep in bodies, every seating area crammed, staff crawling the place in their distinctive, robotic gear. He paused once, twice, to steer the staff in the direction of a couple of groups who were getting a little too happy.

  He was in his element here, she could see it. He didn’t miss a trick, saw everything, could judge the mood of the crowd perfectly. They hit the bottom of the stairs that ran up to the mezzanine level, a swerving run of clear Perspex filled with stars that glowed under the touch of the strobe. He stopped her halfway up to press his mouth to hers, and what started out fast and hot soon turned slow and deep. Standing one step up from him set their mouths level, the realisation that he normally only kissed her like this when they were horizontal making it thrillingly erotic.

  She wanted more, but somehow this was enough. Sinking into the kiss, curving her body to his, Lottie lost herself in him. How was she ever going to give this up?

  A sharp tap on her shoulder yanked her back to reality. Jerking her head back, she found herself staring straight at the last person she’d expected to see. ‘Barry!’

  ‘Lottie,’ he said with a nod of his head.

  She eyed him warily, acutely aware of the exact positioning of her hands on Josh’s body. She tried to pull away, but Josh held her firm. ‘How…how nice to see you.’

  ‘Likewise.’ Then he turned his attention to Josh. ‘I’d just like to let you know that we’ve already had quite a lot of interest in the painting. You have a good eye for art.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Josh replied. ‘And will it be getting display time in New York?’

  ‘Everything has been taken care of.’

  Lottie looked from Josh to Barry then back again, trying to work out what on earth was going on. ‘What painting?’

  ‘The one I bought at the gallery opening.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. She fiddled with her earring. ‘That one.’

  ‘He’s got a good eye,’ Barry informed her. ‘We’re expecting a six-figure selling price.’ He almost smiled. ‘Take care of yourself, Lottie. Josh.’

  And with that, he squeezed past the pair of them and continued down the stairs. Lottie watched until he disappeared into the crowd, then turned to Josh. ‘He’s selling the painting?’

  ‘Someone had to,’ he said. ‘Now where were we?’ He dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. ‘I remember. I wanted to show you something.’

  It took guts to hold out an olive branch to someone like Barry, Lottie thought. She’d never liked or respected Josh more than she did in that moment. ‘Lead the way, Mr Blakemore.’

  He winked, and her hormones did a little dance of happiness. ‘Well, I am the boss,’ he pointed out. ‘Whatever I say goes. Agreed?’

  Lottie touched a finger to her chin, tilted her head to one side and pretended to think about it. ‘Agreed.’

  He took her hand, linking his fingers possessively through hers, then urged her to the top of the stairs. She reached the top, started left in the direction of his office, but he held back. ‘Other way,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’

  Her heart sped up, her whole body unexpectedly tense. Surprises were unpredictable. She couldn’t plan for them, and she’d planned for tonight. How else could things be perfect?

  But he seemed to sense her reluctance. ‘Trust me.’ He tugged her forwards, leading her through into another room that led off the mezzanine. Video screens lined one wall, a bar nestled neatly in a corner, black leather seats dotted the floor, half of which were occupied.

  And at the far end, on a triangular podium edged with sapphire lights, a girl in a floaty white mini dress clutched a microphone and murdered ‘I will always love you.’

  ‘Oh my giddy aunt,’ Lottie said, swallowing down a laugh. ‘Karaoke.’

  Lottie was incredible. There was no other word for it. Leaning against the back wall of the room, Josh watched her perform. She was on her eighth number, with no sign of stopping and the room was packed tight. The bar staff, under his discreet command, had quickly spread the word that there was an amazing singer in the karaoke room.

  She caught his gaze, couldn’t hold back a smile, and he felt the whole room shift ever so slightly. God, she was sexy. He could stand here all day and let that voice caress him. It hummed in his blood, in the tingling awareness that sat heavy in his groin. He wasn’t wondering whether they’d have sex tonight. He knew they would. And the knowing didn’t diminish the excitement, the tension. It made it hotter. Because now he could take his time. Every glance was foreplay. They didn’t even need to touch, the connection between them was so strong. He’d made the conscious decision not to check the tabloids that morning. Lottie was not going to tell anyone about Marlene’s drinking. He knew that now. She was his soul mate. His secret keeper. His everything.

  ‘Isn’t she that bird from the papers? Cor, she’s a stunner, isn’t she?’

  Josh turned. A stranger stood next to him, a stranger with a beer in his hand and desire in his eyes. ‘No,’ he lied, deciding not to punch the man. ‘Looks a bit like her though.’

  ‘Wonder if she’s with anyone.’

  ‘She’s with me.’

  The man held out a hand. If he recognised Josh, it didn’t show. ‘Well done, mate. Well done.’

  Josh shook his hand. ‘Cheers.’

  Shucking his hands in his pockets, he wandered behind the bar and helped himself to a bottle of water from one of the fridges, feeling all of a sudden both protective and guilty. He’d put Lottie up on that stage, and now all he wanted to do was take her off it.

  Lottie was his woman. He didn’t know how he hadn’t realised it before. But Lottie didn’t know it yet, and he wasn’t sure how she’d take the news. He’d have to break it to her gently. Make her realise that this was something to accept, not something to fight.

  Because she would fight. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the conversation he’d had with her dad in the pub, when Lottie had nipped to the loo and the conversation had steered straight round in her direction.

  ‘She’s punishing herself,’ Fred told him, taking a sip from his pint. ‘She’s been punishing herself since David died. We can’t get through to her, though we’ve tried. She seems to think she’s to blame, somehow.’

  ‘Why does she think that?’, Josh asked him. ‘She didn’t have anything to do with the accident.’

  ‘David went to pick her up from a party.’

  ‘She was in the car?’

  Fred nodded, sadness gleaming in his pale grey eyes. He took his wife’s hand. ‘Thing is,’ he said heavily, ‘I told David to go get her. Lottie was grounded that night. I’d really lost my temper with her, and I still hadn’t calmed down. So when David told us she’d called, I told him to go and get her. I didn’t want to deal with her.’

  ‘And then the accident happened.’ Josh pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘And she’s never forgiven herself for any of it.’

  ‘She needs you.’

  ‘I won’t let her down. Trust me.’

  He’d been even more determined then to push her into letting go, into opening up and being herself. Because when she was in the moment, really in it, like when he was inside her and she gave herself up to the pleasure, she was amazing. And she blew him away. Just as she was doing right now.

  Draining the bottle, Josh rounded the bar again and threw it into the bin then served a couple of waiting customers but his attention stayed firmly fixed on Lottie as she eased her way through ‘Back to Black’.

  No, he thought. He wouldn’t let her keep punishing herself for something that wasn’t her fault. She winked at him, the cheeky little minx, and he found himself grinning like an idiot.

  She’d snuck up on him somehow, got under his skin without him even noticing, taken that trust that had been broken and rebuilt it. It should be scaring the bejeezus o
ut of him, except it didn’t. He felt like a little boy waking up on Christmas day to find out he’d been given the remote-control car he’d always wanted. Actually, he felt better than that. She made him forget that that he was the son of a film star. She made him feel normal for the first time in his life. With her, he was just Josh. Or ‘Oh god, Josh!’

  The auction was little more than a day away, and after that there would be no more crazy dates. No more photo calls, no more film premieres or gallery openings or perfume launches. He couldn’t wait. But he wouldn’t accept that there would be no more Lottie. They weren’t done yet, not by a long stretch.

  The crowd groaned as the song ended, and Josh nipped out from behind the bar and across to the stage before she could start another one. ‘You’ve given them enough, babe,’ he murmured in her ear.

  ‘I haven’t! I want to carry on!’ she protested, one arm winding its way around his neck.

  Josh teased the corner of her mouth with his own. ‘Are you going to come quietly?’

  Her eyes flashed fire. ‘Never.’

  ‘I see.’ He bent his knees, slid an arm behind her thighs and scooped her up. She rewarded him with an almighty squeal that almost burst his eardrum. ‘I’m flashing the whole room my knickers!’

  ‘Could be worse,’ he pointed out, taking her to the back of the room and kicking open the fire door. ‘At least you’re wearing knickers.’

  The door swung closed behind them, enclosing them in darkness for a second before the automatic lights flicked on and he set her back on her feet. ‘Why is it, whenever I’m with you, I manage to make a complete fool of myself?’

  ‘Do you feel foolish?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I feel hot and sexy and tingly and wonderful.’

  ‘Stay with me.’ The words came out on impulse, fast and furious, and Josh felt his chest go tight. His heart raced as he waited for her to push back, to flee. He hadn’t realised how badly he wanted it till that moment.

  ‘Tonight?’ She leaned back against the wall, leaned away from him.

  Josh swallowed down the concrete in his throat. ‘Yeah, tonight.’ And always. He hooked one hand round the back of her knee and pulled it up over his hip, felt the softness of her skin, how warm she was, how willing, how happy. What if he told her what he’d been thinking back there in the bar, and she really did fight him? What if she walked away? She was already planning to do it once the auction was over, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d been hounded by photographers, tagged on Facebook, criticised on blogs and in magazine articles. Being with him would not be easy for any woman, but it wasn’t easy to know that he’d inflicted the crazy that was his life on someone as precious as Lottie.

  He’d make it up to her, he decided. Tonight. Hours and hours of his hands on her hips, her breasts, her skin, touching her in all the ways that made her lose it.

  ‘Your place or mine?’ she asked, a wicked twinkle in her violet eyes.

  Josh thought about her flat, with its cosy little bed. He thought about his house, with that vast king-sized monstrosity that refused to give up and break, no matter how hard they tried. ‘Yours,’ he decided.

  Because in a bed that small, he’d be touching her all night.

  Lottie woke with a start. Her mouth was dry, and she was hot. Too hot. Probably something to do with the Josh-sized hot water bottle draped all over her. One large hairy thigh pinned hers in place, one heavy arm was slung over her stomach, one big hand curved protectively over her left breast.

  She could hear him breathing, slow and deep, and the sound of it was oddly reassuring. She lay there for a moment, listening. Then she carefully extricated herself. Nature was calling, and she was parched. She knew just how to wriggle away now, how to escape without waking him.

  The room smelled of sex, and hot, satisfied male but she barely noticed. She picked up an empty condom packet, tossed it into the bin, grabbed his discarded t-shirt from the floor and started to pull it on.

  And froze. When had this become normal?

  The t-shirt fell from her hand. She snatched her robe from the back of the door instead, bundling herself into it and rushing into her tiny kitchen. She flicked on the kettle and leaned back against the counter, chewing at the polish on her thumbnail, her heart pounding too loud.

  She’d got used to him. And that was a million shades of wrong. The auction was tomorrow, for god’s sake, and then he’d be off, to Barcelona or Miami or Paris or some other sexy, exciting place, and she’d be back at her desk and things would be back to normal. The real normal, not this pretend version of normal.

  Abandoning the tea, Lottie staggered into the bathroom, turned on her pathetic excuse for a shower and stepped under the spray. Cold water rushed into her hair, freezing her scalp and then running in a solid river from the ends of her hair down her bottom and the back of her legs.

  She dumped shampoo on her hair and thought about damage limitation. She’d go out. Alone. She wouldn’t think about Josh. She’d buy herself a new suit for the auction. Something sensible, that she could get plenty of wear out of.

  She’d remind herself what normal was. And it wasn’t Josh Blakemore in her bed, warm and naked and so squirmingly good in the morning, when the alarm would blare out and he’d turn it off and tease her into submission, as if she had all the time in the world and didn’t need to get to work.

  How many times had she turned up late? Lottie shoved her head back under the spray and rinsed. Enough that that too had become normal. Well, it was time to put a stop to it. Just thinking about returning to the way things had been was a strange sort of agony. But that’s what was going to happen, whether she liked it or not. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. It was better she started setting things back on track now.

  ‘Room in there for me?’

  She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice and tried not to notice how naked he was. ‘Not really.’

  He rubbed his hands over his head and yawned. ‘I guess I’ll just have to watch then.’

  Sticking out one arm, Lottie located a towel, switched off the water and hastily dried herself. ‘All done,’ she said, stepping over the edge of the tub, taking care not to slip, and making doubly sure she didn’t look at him. ‘I’m going to pop out for a bit.’

  ‘Where?’ He followed her through into the living room.

  ‘Oh, I thought I’d go get myself something new to wear for the auction. It’s been ages since I bought a new suit.’

  ‘That’s because suits are dull. Buy lacy knickers instead. I like lacy knickers.’

  He moved over to the tiny kitchen, and Lottie escaped into the bedroom. She tugged on underwear and dragged a comb through her hair. It jammed in the knots. She gave up and pulled on crop trousers and a random t-shirt. She could hear the roar of the kettle, the clink of mugs as he set about making the tea that she’d bottled out of brewing.

  Toeing on a pair of sandals, she tried to relax, but it was impossible. She rushed back into the tiny living room. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, snatching her bag from the sofa and edging towards the door.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘We’ll hit Selfridges. Bond Street. My treat.’

  For a moment, a long, painful moment, she was tempted. Not by the offer, but by the thought of going out with Josh. A lazy Sunday morning. They’d be just like every other couple, wandering around hand in hand, looking at everything, looking at nothing, seeing only each other.

  Way too dangerous. A woman could get ideas from something like that. ‘No.’ She shook her head until her brain rattled. ‘You go on home. I’ll see you later.’

  She blew him a kiss and scarpered. Outside, the sun was shining, and the world was bright and shiny and relaxed. She passed a couple of joggers, who made her think of Josh and his inability to keep still. She ducked into a coffee shop, bought a skinny latte and a low-fat muffin, and felt both better and worse.

  By the time she’d made it to the tube, she could barely work out which way was up.
At least she’d made the break, she told herself firmly, clinging onto the rail as the train shot forwards, giving her a face full of armpit.

  She could manage a couple of hours without him. It wouldn’t kill her. The train pulled into her station and she swung off and then headed for the escalator, forcing herself to stand still rather than jog up it. Josh always jogged up it. But she wasn’t thinking about Josh.

  Out on Oxford Street, she headed straight for the department stores, avoiding the lure of Top Shop. Her mind shot straight back to the first time she’d seen Josh, and the conversation they’d had about bad suits and sexy dresses. The first time his mouth had met hers. The first time she’d seen him naked. Her face heated uncontrollably. Anyone walking past would think she was mad, walking down Oxford Street, blushing like a lunatic.

  She needed help much more than she needed a suit. Turning on her heel, she started off in the opposite direction, dodging past clumps of tourists, clutching her bag tightly and trying not to look at anyone. By the time she got to the bookshop, her lungs were burning and sweat had glued her t-shirt to her back. Ignoring the ground floor with its endless shelves of fiction and brightly coloured children’s corner, she trotted upstairs and homed in on the self-help section.

  There was bound to be something here that would be useful. She pulled out a couple of promising looking titles—Relationship Closure for Beginners and The Expert’s Guide to Breakups, then sat cross-legged on the floor and started to read. She was so engrossed in Maslow’s theories about sex being as necessary as food that she didn’t notice the small group of people slowly gathering at the shelf behind her.

  She heard the sound of someone taking a picture with a phone but ignored it, wondering whether to buy this one or keep looking. Then she heard the sound again. And again. She glanced up, wondering what could possibly be so interesting in the nonfiction section that someone had to take photos of it.

  Oh, god. Lottie scrambled to her feet, nearly dropping the books in the process. Everyone in the place was staring at her, their phones pointed at her like weapons, poking each other and whispering. ‘What are you doing?’ she managed, finding it hard to get air. ‘Why…who…’