Dirty Scandal

by Amelia Wilde

  I push into him when he wraps his hands around the side of my face, locking us together in a kiss so deep and fierce that it’s like we’re drowning and the only thing that can save us is to devour the other one’s mouth. He’s controlling, demanding, and I love it, but I press against those boundaries, take my turn exploring his lips, his tongue dancing with mine, backing him up against the door of the car. He can’t voice his arrogance when my lips are sealed over his.

  I’m an instant from hiking up my dress and straddling him when the car glides to a stop beside the curb. Jett doesn’t hesitate. He throws the door open and pulls me out behind him, not speaking a word to the driver, not a word to anyone.

  His arm is secured tightly around my waist, rushing us to the elevators, and it’s then, without his lips against mine, that I feel another wave of guilt.

  From what I learned over dinner, Jett is richer than sin, which explains why people like Charlie want to steal his information, take his money. A billionaire won’t miss a hundred thousand dollars. Jett is in charge of his family corporation, Brandon, Inc., and the man never wants for anything. I’ve always chosen men who were easygoing, who were humble, but Jett Brandon is neither of those things. He takes what he wants, and the first time we saw each other in that elevator, he decided he wanted me.

  He has no idea that I’m a complete fraud. I had no idea that by the end of tonight, I’d want more from him than access to his computer.

  That’s a lie. How could anyone look at a man that gorgeous and not want to rip his clothes off?

  I want to unbuckle his belt and slide his pants down over his legs, yank his shirt over his head, and I wish I could do it solely out of my own interest. I played the evening to perfection, letting him see me as a small-town girl making her way in the big city. I made absolutely certain that I didn’t get too hung up on his money. I asked him about his life, not his fortune, because I can imagine that a man like Jett has plenty of gold diggers clinging on to him everywhere he goes as it is. And above all, I made it abundantly clear that I wanted to sleep with him.

  He rushes us across the lobby toward the bank of elevators and jabs a finger into the call button, my purse dangling from my fingertips. It’s all I can do to calm my racing heart. This is sex. And sex is your ticket to freedom.

  That’s it. Somewhere, Charlie is waiting for my report, and if I fail, it’s my brother who suffers.

  Not to mention me.

  It’s a cold dose of reality, but then the elevator car arrives and we step inside it. It’s empty. The moment the doors close, Jett’s hands are on my waist, on the small of my back, pulling me in, and he kisses me again, a slow build that makes it impossible to think of anything dark, wrong. That kiss lasts until we’re inside his penthouse. I’m lost in my own lustful ache for him, for his body, to feel filled.

  It’s been too long.

  He’s moving us down a hallway, and at the end of it there is a door that opens into a massive bedroom, big enough for a king-size bed at one end, perfectly made up, and a living room at the other. Jett hesitates, choosing, then turns toward the bed.

  On the way across the room, he strips off his jacket and shirt, his pants fall to the floor, and then he’s undoing the clasp of my dress, reaching down, tugging it over my head, revealing the deep purple bra and panty set I bought yesterday for this occasion.

  He drinks in my exposed skin, then traces a finger over my collarbone, leaning down to kiss the skin of my neck. He takes my hair in his fist and undoes the clip holding it in place, and when it falls over my shoulders he brushes it back, gripping it lightly, and kisses me so hard that my knees go weak.

  But it’s not enough. It’s not enough for me. I pull back and drag my mouth down the front of his muscled chest, and then I go lower, leaving a trail of kisses down, down, down until I’m on my knees in front of him, tugging down his boxers to reveal his thick, steely, pulsing cock.

  I forget all about Charlie.

  I wrap one of my hands around the base of it and take him into my mouth. If he’s going to protest, it’s going to be now, but his hips come toward me a fraction of an inch and I start to work my tongue around the length of him, licking and swirling and sucking.

  Jett wraps his fingers through my hair, a gentle pressure forming on the back of my head, and it can’t be more than twenty seconds before he growls, deep and low, then steps away releasing himself from my mouth. He pulls me up to my feet and then scoops me effortlessly into his arms.

  “I want more of you,” he says in a hoarse whisper as he walks me across to the bed. He tears away my bra and panties and spreads me out across the duvet.

  “Take it,” I say, tilting my head back, raising my hips a little. “Take it.”

  8

  Jett

  I can’t keep my hands off Angelica.

  I don’t want to keep my hands off her.

  So I don’t.

  Fucking her is the only thing in the world I want to do. At least that’s the only thing I’m going to admit to wanting right now, even though, in the back of my mind, it occurs to me that I’d be fine if the only entertainment left on earth was looking into her eyes.

  Every second her lips are on mine magnifies the electric need I have for her, this woman I’ve known for only a total of four hours, and she meets my every move with more passion. I thought Emerald was the fieriest woman I’d ever met. Next to Angelica, she’s an extinguished candle.

  The one thing I know is that I can’t get attached. When morning comes, I’m going to dismiss how perfect it is to have my hands on Angelica’s curves, my mouth on her mouth, how she yields and attacks at exactly the right moments, how I have never kissed a woman like this, and I’ve never wanted for a woman like I want for Angelica.

  I could lose myself in Angelica.

  It would be a disaster if that happened. I see it now—Emerald was nothing more than a pretty distraction. I can’t afford to let this earth-shattering woman take control of my life, my world, because the house of cards I’ve built would come tumbling down. Emerald showed me how easy it can be to lose your grip. It won’t happen again.

  But that’s not something I can think about right now, not when Angelica’s delicious body is underneath my hands, sensuous and soft, not when it feels like my clothes are sandpaper against my skin, and not when she kneels down on the plush carpet of my bedroom and takes me into her mouth.

  I almost lose it when she expertly swirls her tongue around my rock-hard shaft, holding me in place with one hand. If I had forever with her, I’d let her do this for days, but all I’m guaranteed is tonight—and and I’m not going to let her suck me off right at the beginning.

  I force myself to step back, and her face tightens. “I want more of you,” I say, pulling her to her feet, pulling her into my arms. Her body relaxes into my strength. She might as well be weightless.

  I’m at the bed in four steps, perching her on the edge and tearing at the clasps of her bra, stripping her panties down her legs, and then I guide her head back until she’s completely open on the comforter, the sight of her lighting every one of my last nerves on fire, her lithe legs, the heated slickness between them, and her flat belly sloping down to her hips, which she raises toward me in offering.

  “Take it,” she says, her voice sultry and soft. “Take it.”

  So I do.

  I climb up over her and cover her mouth with mine, tasting her deeply, slowly, until she’s writhing underneath me, her hands tight on my shoulders, her breaths coming hard and fast.

  With one hand, I gather both her wrists and pin her arms above her head and she gasps, one sharp breath, as I leave a wet trail down the side of her neck to her collarbone, then lick it. Her skin is so sweet, so soft. With my knee, I knock her legs farther apart and she tests my grip on her wrists, smiling a little when I don’t ease up.

  “Beg.”

  “Please.”

  “I’m not convinced.”

  “Please.” Angelica bucks her hips a
gainst mine, tries to wrap one leg around my waist. Her wetness is hot against my skin.

  I lean down, whispering into her ear, “Please what, Angelica?”

  “Please. Fuck. Me.” An emphasis on every word, an ache in her voice—she’s not playing a game.

  “Only because you asked so nicely,” I tease, and then I line my cock up with her slit and slam it home.

  She’s soaking, ready, so there’s no resistance—I’m in to the hilt on the first stroke and she moans, her muscles clenching around me, tightening, tightening. I piston myself in and out, in and out. Angelica meets every thrust. Her hands are above her head, her breasts straining to make contact with my chest, and I let her struggle against me until she’s panting, gasping.

  The second her hands are free they’re on my shoulders and she throws her weight against my body. I don’t have to let her win but I do, and we roll over. Straddling me, she lines herself up and plunges down over my cock, her hips working in small circles.

  It drives me absolutely wild.

  I let her ride me until I can’t stand it and then I wrap my hands on either side of her hips and help drive her down even harder. Her head is thrown back, and her hair bounces with every thrust.

  “Please,” she pleads again, through gritted teeth.

  This time, I don’t make her beg.

  I wait three more thrusts and then remove one of my hands from her hips, sliding it around to the front, then trace my thumb from her belly button all the way down to her cleft.

  When my thumb makes contact with her clit, she comes with a cry of pure sexual satisfaction, her back arching, hands digging in so she doesn’t fall.

  Her muscles are still spasming powerfully around my cock when I follow her lead. It’s been months, years, since I came so hard. The release is so strong that my vision blurs and my heart skips a beat.

  When I come down again, Angelica folds forward, tucking her head against my shoulder, and I rub her back while her shuddering breaths grow calm and even.

  I never want her to leave.

  9

  Angelica

  I wake up with a start sometime in the middle of the night.

  For a few moments, I have no clue where I am. Whose bed is this? Whose arm is this, thrown protectively over my waist?

  Then I take in a deep breath and catch his scent.

  Jett Brandon.

  He’s sleeping deeply, peacefully, his breathing even and slow, but it doesn’t matter—heat rises to my cheeks as the memory of the unbelievable sex we had floods my mind.

  I suck in a breath and bite my lip. My first instinct is to press his arm down until his fingers reach my clit. What man could sleep through that? He’ll wake up knowing for certain that I want—

  But I can’t.

  The warmth in my belly is doused with ice. I still haven’t done what I came here to do.

  I didn’t come here to sleep with Jett Brandon—not really. I came here to install a program on his computer. To do what Charlie instructed me to do so that a few stitches is the worst thing that happens to my brother.

  Now is my chance, but Jett’s arm is curled tightly around me. If I try to move it, will he stir, pull me back into bed? It doesn’t matter. I’ll lie awake for the rest of the night, waiting for another opportunity to sneak away. To do this awful thing.

  I swallow hard. I don’t want him to wake up and catch me in the act. Because there’s a part of me that wants this to be more than a one-night stand, more than a fling that happened because he stopped that elevator and climbed on.

  Get a grip, Angelica.

  Jett Brandon is not the kind of man who’s going to want to get into a relationship with a woman like me. It takes five seconds of realism to see that the end game is a disaster. What, a billionaire is going to come home with me to the single-wide trailer I grew up in and meet my mother, who still lives there? Who still works at the convenience store at the intersection of two highways, fifteen miles out of town?

  There’s no point in even considering it.

  As for Charlie’s instructions, it’s now or never.

  I take a deep, steadying breath and slide one arm under Jett’s, gently pushing it off to the side. His breathing changes when his hand hits the sheets, but I lie perfectly still as he rolls over. It can’t be more than a minute before he’s sleeping deeply again.

  Now for phase two.

  As carefully as possible, I inch my way to the side of the bed, then guide my legs over the side. When I stand up, my toes sink into the plush carpeting, but I don’t move.

  He’s still sleeping.

  Once my heart settles a little bit, I pad across the room. His bedroom door is open—he didn’t shut it when we came in and I’m the first one out of bed.

  The hallway outside is illuminated with running lights along the trim that activate when I step out, and my heart pounds at the sight of it. Then I realize this is exactly what they’re meant for—to give enough light in the middle of the night without blinding you. It takes no time for my eyes to adjust.

  Of course, now there’s literally a lighted trail following me down the hall.

  Going to the bathroom, I think. If he catches you, you were trying to find the bathroom. I’m not stupid enough to think that a billionaire would have settled for a bathroom outside of his master suite, but people do strange things when they’ve woken in the middle of the night in a strange place. That will explain it.

  My purse is on the floor outside Jett’s bedroom door, right where I dropped it on the way in. I bend down and move things aside until my fingers close around the smooth plastic cover of the thumb drive. I leave the purse on the floor. It would be stupid to move it now and then have him wonder what I was doing.

  Especially if I want any chance with him after this.

  I shove that ridiculous thought out of my mind.

  Now to find his office. I’m assuming that’s where he keeps his computer.

  His office turns out to be behind the third door on the left, and I let out a sigh of relief when I find it. At least it’s not all the way across the penthouse. I have no idea how huge this place is, but there’s only so far the bathroom excuse will take me if he wakes up and finds that I’m not in bed.

  There’s ambient city light coming in through the window of the office, so I don’t reach for a switch.

  My heart sinks.

  There’s no computer.

  I giggle, a weird, nervous sound. Of course there’s no desktop computer. Jett Brandon probably takes his essential tech everywhere he goes.

  It’s an Apple laptop, the case shiny and smooth, and it’s right in the center of his desk.

  I hurry over and open it. The screen illuminates immediately. He hasn’t powered it off. Thank Christ. I don’t know how to stop the chime from sounding when the computer starts up, so it’s a good thing this can be soundless and I’m several rooms down the hall from the bedroom.

  For good measure, I hit the key on the keyboard that mutes the volume, then I slide the thumb drive into one of the USB ports.

  Charlie said this wouldn’t require me to log in, and he was right. Within seconds, a status bar appears in the lower left hand corner of the screen.

  10%.

  20%.

  50%.

  70%.

  The whirring of the computer’s internal fan seems ridiculously loud, and I strain to hear over it. Were those footsteps in the hall?

  80%.

  90%.

  As soon as the indicator reaches 100% and notifies me that installation was successful, I snatch the thumb drive and shut the cover of the computer. If he doesn’t decide to work within the next ten minutes, he’ll never be the wiser.

  I move silently back down the hall, dropping the thumb drive into my purse before pausing at the door.

  Jett hasn’t moved.

  The sweet warmth of relief floods my body.

  Followed by a guilty lump in my throat, so sharp it takes my breath away.

  Be
cause I want more of him, too.

  10

  Jett

  Friday at the office is an exercise in torture.

  Angelica left early in the morning. We didn’t speak much as she gathered her things, but outside the elevator she stopped, grabbed a fistful of my shirt, and pulled me down for a kiss. It might have turned into another round in bed if she hadn’t stepped back at the last moment, putting her fingers to her lips.

  “That was something else, Jett Brandon,” she said with a wicked little smile, and then climbed into the elevator without a backward glance.

  I spent the next hour at the gym across the street, lifting weights and sprinting on the treadmill until my muscles burned. I tried to convince myself that I was relieved there would be no drama, not with Angelica. We hadn’t discussed next steps, and she hadn’t dropped any hints about seeing me again.

  I know several women who would have dismissed the “one night” stipulation out of hand, kept pushing, pressing for more time together. Not Angelica. She seems to have a perfect understanding that a one night stand was the only offer on the table. In fact, she seemed to delight in it.

  A woman after my own heart.

  I’d hoped throwing myself into a workout would sharpen my mind for the office, but things start to come apart at the seams almost as soon as I walk in the door. It takes every ounce of my self-control to pay attention to what other people are saying in meetings. Connor has more updates on the merger, but he can tell I’m fighting to stay interested.

  This is exactly the kind of distraction I need to avoid.

  “Late night?” Connor says, leaning toward me a little, a conspiratorial grin on his face.

  I try to keep these conversations out of the office—for obvious reasons—but I’m still coming down from the incredible high of being with Angelica.