“So, want to tell me why you’re back on the sleeping pills?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.
Oh, here we fucking go.
After spending hours convincing Felix that I am not a drug addict, or perhaps just a temporary drug addict, I come home to find Milly wrapped in a duvet on the sofa, watching Snatch. Brad Pitt with an Irish accent—never gets old.
We’re staying in her parents flat in London. They live in Monaco most of the time but her father keeps a flat here for business. Needless to say, I’m not going back to my parents’ house. Milly’s parents love me, probably because they’re mostly drunk, but hey, they know how to have a good time.
I’ve barely put my bag down when there’s loud banging on the door. What now?
I open it and find my mother standing on the other side. “You couldn’t even have called to say you were coming back?” she snaps, pushing into the flat. She’s wearing her uniform, Chanel suit and heels, her hair pulled into a perfect French twist. If there is one thing Annabelle McQueen can be relied upon for, it’s her immaculate presentation and the stick that’s permanently shoved up her arse.
“Mother,” I grate.
“Hey, Annabelle. Um, I’ll just…go.” Milly hops up, retreating to her room with an apologetic glance my way.
“This is a PR nightmare!” she screeches. “And then your father sent the car for you, and you disrespect Charles in front of all those cameras!” She turns her piercing glare on me, and I instinctively want to shrink away from it, but I don’t.
“Nice to see you too, Mother. Now if you’d please, I have a hangover.” I actually don’t for once. I open the door and wait for her to leave.
She takes slow steps towards me, closing the space between us. “I gave you everything, Blake, and yet you continue to throw it all away. You’re a bitter disappointment.”
“I haven’t gotten pregnant, caught HIV, or got arrested yet.” I shrug.
Her face turns bright red as she steels her shoulders. “If you talk to the press...”
“Yes, yes, you’ll cut me off. You should really change the speech Mother, and honestly, we both know you won’t cut me off. You know I’ll have my tits out and my legs wrapped around a pole in about two point five seconds.” I smile.
“You’re an embarrassment to our family name,” she spits.
“Yep. Ship sailed. Now get out. The embarrassment needs to get ready to go out tonight.”
She huffs and leaves, slamming the door behind her.
“God, your Mum is a fucking bitch,” Milly says, coming back out of her room.
“Yep. What time are we going to Toby’s?” Toby is Felix’s older brother, his insane, hot, party animal older brother. He’d be my type if he weren't such a dick, but no one ever said that personality was required to throw a good party.
“You always end up on a two-day bender after you see that bitch.”
It’s true. My parents have this way of making me want to shove a giant middle finger in their face, preferably while face down in a puddle of tequila.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Do not get drunk and bone Toby. I cannot deal with you sobbing over that much lost dignity.”
“Nah,” I snort. “It’ll be fine.”
Toby’s home for the summer. He’s been doing some apprenticeship in Brazil, something to do with his father’s company. Who knows? The Knight boys have every opportunity afforded to them. Toby is probably studying the art of fucking Brazilian women knowing him while Felix was bought a strip club. Some people get all the luck.
The second I walk into the penthouse I feel the eyes on me. Why? Because I’m Blake McQueen. The London social scene is tight, and of course, I’m the bad girl, the rebel. I’m the girl they say ruined her life and tarnished her family name. Good. I’d take a shit on it if I could.
The trust fund babies pout and judge, and it makes me laugh.
I sway my hips a little more as I walk to a nearby table, grab a bottle of vodka, and swig straight from the bottle as I continue on my way. I watch them whisper behind their hands to each other and I smile as a couple of people snap pictures with their phones.
“Babe, you look great.” Felix brushes my hair off my neck and presses a kiss to my shoulder. I glance at him and smile, leaning back into his body. More pictures, more scandal. I love it, I thrive on it. Felix always says I live as a fuck you to my parents when the truth is I live as fuck you to everyone and everything.
8
Rhett
I watch Blake walk in, and every eye is on her. She moves through the room like she owns it, meeting the stares around her with that defiance of hers. Pausing, a mischievous smile plays over her lips before she picks up a nearby bottle and drinks straight from it as she continues on her path. She drips attitude with every movement. The first time I met her, she was just a pretty girl with a smart mouth that I wanted to sink my dick into. Now, though, now, she’s Blake McQueen. That name holds weight and consequences. It also makes her fuck-you-attitude hot. Whether she knows it or not, here, in this city, she’s Queen.
I’ve done my research, learned what I need to learn, and I can no longer just pass her off as a girl I want to fuck. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to fuck her, but I also have to catch opportunities where they arise.
Felix walks up behind her and brushes her hair off her shoulder before wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her shoulder. She smiles and leans back into his body.
Friends. You cannot be friends with a girl like Blake, but then you can’t keep a girl like her either. I can see it in her, clear as day. She’s wild, untamed. If you cage her, she’ll just break out. So you’re left with what I can see written all over his face. Longing.
I study her every move, trying to work her out, break her down.
She looks up and her gaze collides with mine as she ignores whatever Felix is saying to her. She tilts her head to the side and those mismatched eyes seem to penetrate right down to my very core. I turn away from her and run straight into some girl that’s been hassling me since I got here. She glances over my shoulder with a sneer. “That’s Blake McQueen. I wouldn’t even bother. She’s a whore.”
I laugh. “Ah, but those are always the best ones.”
She frowns. “She’s ruined. Her family disowned her.” My ears prick up at that. “They were so ashamed of her they sent her away, but now she’s back.” She glances at Blake again and I can see the jealously threatening to eat her alive. “I heard that her father has refused to even see her.”
Surely a father wouldn’t turn his back on his own daughter? But then the question is, would Miles McQueen turn his back on his party animal, rock star fucking daughter? He is, after all, the Minister of Justice. For a man in his position, her antics are more than just a rebellious daughter, they’re his shattered public image.
I walk away from the girl and head for Felix. I need to know everything there is to know about Blake, because well, what is it they say? Knowledge is power and preparation is key. “Felix, do you have a minute?” I ask.
“Rhett, you made it.” Felix smiles, and then glances between Blake and me. Her eyes lock with mine, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been to one of Toby’s parties.” My father and Felix’s were good friends. Our families used to hang out when they were in New York, or we were in London.
Felix is one of the few people who knows my story, the whole story, the real story.
9
Blake
Rhett. The beautiful stranger. Or at least, he was, but now he’s here, in London. The way he’s looking at me makes me want to know every single inch of him, preferably with my tongue. He flashes me that sexy smirk, those gold eyes tracing over my body, making me feel stripped and dirty and sexy. Damn, he’s good. Underneath the looks though is something else, something hard and cold, and dangerous. I didn’t notice it when I was running from his bed, but now… now I see it, I sense it. Rhett is not a London t
rust fund boy, and that edge of danger sings to me on every thrill seeking level. When he looks at me, he instils a savage lust with just a thread of fear that has me clenching my thighs together.
He’s a walking contradiction, a blade wrapped in silk.
“You wanted to talk to me, Rhett?” Felix asks him, pulling him away.
“Yes, I do.” His eyes hold mine for a beat longer. “Duchess.” That sexy smirk makes an appearance before he turns from me and disappears into the party with Felix.
“Who the fuck is that?” Milly hisses when he leaves, death gripping my arm.
“Oh, that… is hot guy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Way to point out the obvious.”
I sigh and turn to face her scrutiny. She’s barely five two, but with her arms crossed over her chest and a glare on her face, Milly reminds me of a terrier. “Hot guy, as in New York a few weeks ago. We did that shoot.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “I was wearing his shirt.”
“Oh, my god. The guy with the sexy voice. Yes.” She glances at his retreating back over my shoulder. “Well damn, I wouldn’t have kicked him out of bed for any photo shoot. You’re a good friend.”
“I know, I really am. And before you ask, no recollection.”
“Nothing? Not even a kiss?”
“Well, he kissed me before I left in the morning. Does that count?”
“Your brain is fried from too much tequila,” she grumbles.
“I resent that comment.”
She takes my hand, leading me towards the bar. “He seems to recall perfectly well though, so much so that he already calls you by a pet name,” she says smugly.
“Nope. Already implies this is ongoing, and it’s not.”
“Oh, please. I can practically feel the condensation coming off your knickers from here.” She snorts.
“You’re disgusting.”
“And right.”
“Crass. Your mother would be mortified,” I retort.
She laughs. Her mother would cheer her on, whilst necking her bucket of wine. I take a swig from my vodka bottle.
“I’m going to find Toby. Try and remain conscious until I get back,” she says sardonically, eyeing my bottle.
“Well, you’re no fun.”
She rolls her eyes and turns away. “I’ll be back soon, then you can comatose yourself.” She throws over her shoulder.
“Sweet.”
She shakes her head. Like she’s any better. I used to be good once upon a time. It was her and Felix who corrupted me. Granted I don’t think they knew quite what they were unleashing, but still.
I check my watch. It’s eleven o’ clock and I had to face my mother today for the first time in over a year. I should be blind drunk by now, but I’m not, and that’s just fucking tragic.
I down half the bottle of vodka and head for a group of people in the middle of the room who are dancing. I don’t know any of them. I don’t care. Clutching my bottle, I start dancing, allowing the music to sweep me up until nothing else registers, not the people around me and certainly not my mother. Hands land on my hips and a body presses into my back, moving in time with the music.
Swaying my hips, I drag my hand through my hair and turn to face him. His eyes trace over my barely-there dress, which hikes further up my thighs as I lift my arms. Two semi-circles are cut out of the material, leaving enormous patches of bare skin that span from my ribs to my hips. His fingers play over my exposed skin. Sex. Lust. Love. They are the most potent of human reactions because they are wild, uncontrollable, animal. These are the emotions that drive us. These are life’s natural highs.
I glance across the room and lock eyes with Rhett, as though I’m magnetically, inexplicably drawn to him. I look up and there he is.
The guy’s lips brush my neck before he whispers in my ear. “Come home with me.” It’s not really even a question so much as a demand. I roll my eyes and an amused smirk touches Rhett’s lips.
I turn and face him, placing a hand on his chest. “A few minutes of dirty dancing and you think I want to fuck you?” He says nothing and I lean closer to his ear. “Sweetheart, I’m Blake McQueen. I grind on everyone. Don’t take it personally.” I smile and pat his shoulder as I walk away. I find myself seeking out Rhett but he’s gone.
A sheen of sweat clings to my skin and I scoop my hair off the back of my neck. God, I need some air and a cigarette.
Stepping outside onto the balcony, I inhale the cool spring air. There’s no one else out here, and it’s almost peaceful. The wind whips my hair away from my face and blocks out the sound of the party behind me. I look out over the London skyline, the lights below like a thousand scattered stars. My fingers grip the glass railing as I lean over it slightly. The world feels so open up here, and as I look down at the massive drop to the ground adrenaline pumps through my veins. I wonder what it would be like to jump? To free fall through the air? It must be a rush.
I take out a cigarette and press it to my lips, holding it there as I search for my lighter. My fingers brush over every fucking item in my bag except the damn lighter. Why is it a tiny clutch suddenly feels like Mary Poppin’s bag when you’re looking for something? I sigh in frustration when I can’t find it. “Motherfucker.”
I jump when I hear a low rumble of laughter to my left. There’s a small alcove set into the side of the building, sheltered from the wind. Cloaked in shadows with his back to the wall is a guy, a stream of smoke billowing around him.
I narrow my eyes, watching as he straightens to his full height and turns to face me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. He inhales on the smoke, and the end glows a bright red, illuminating his face slightly. In the low light, I see those honey gold eyes flash and then disappear as the burn dims. I can just make out the dark stubble covering his jaw, and lips that are almost too perfect to belong to a guy. Rhett lowers the cigarette and that sexy wry smile pulls at his lips, a stream of smoke passing through them. There’s something about his quiet presence, the way I’m almost scared to be alone with him, that makes my pulse quicken as well as other things.
“Rhett,” I breathe.
“Need a light?” he asks in that deep American accent.
“Yeah.” I step forward, and the closer I get to him, the faster my pulse thrums. I come to a stop right in front of his enormous frame. Towering over me, he holds out a lighter, cupping the flame with his hand as he brings it to my face. My eyes lock with his as the flame kisses the end of the cigarette. He watches me carefully, a small smile touching his lips and sinking a dimple into an otherwise hard face. My usual bravado seems to be absent all of a sudden.
“Thanks,” I whisper, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
His eyes flick down my body, and the man might as well have doused me in petrol and thrown a match. I want him, and that rush, that pure animal magnetism, it’s alluring.
He says nothing, just watches me watching him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white shirt, open at the collar. I catch a glimpse of his muscular chest, and never mind licking it, I want to wipe my vagina all over him. Damn.
Strolling over to the railing, he rests his elbows on it. I take up position next to him, quietly smoking my cigarette.
“So, what’s your story, Duchess?” he asks, glancing sideways at me.
“I’m Blake McQueen. You want the story, read the papers. And what is with this Duchess thing?”
He lets out a throaty chuckle that makes my skin prickle. His eyes meet mine, amusement twinkling in them. “Call it irony.” I decide to ignore his cryptic bullshit.
His lips purse around the cigarette, drawing my eyes to his mouth. He really is the hottest guy I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve fucked the best of them.
“You would think I’d remember fucking you,” I blurt.
He smirks, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re right.” His eyes flick over my body. “You would.”
10
Rhett
Her eyes narrow. “Wait, so we didn’t
fuck?”
I cock a brow. “You really can’t remember anything?”
She shrugs. “Don’t take it personally.”
“Huh, well I like my women coherent and consenting.”
She bites her bottom lip and blatantly drops her eyes to my crotch. “Pretty sure I would have consented,” she mumbles under her breath.
I laugh. “Oh, I know.”
“So, you didn’t fuck me because I was drunk? Even though I was undoubtedly throwing myself at you.” She eyes me up and down.
“No, I didn’t.”
Holding one finger up, she opens her bag. “I’m sorry, I think I might have a tissue somewhere in here, you know, so you can go and wipe your vagina.”
I shake my head and laugh. Harder than I’ve laughed in a long time. “Call it an egotistical preference.”
She drops her cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her designer shoe. “Well, drunk Blake is a whore, so I’ll apologise for any dry humping or licking that may have taken place.” She laughs. “Or indeed face sitting. That uh, that happens. Sometimes.” The thought of her pussy on my tongue and her thighs wrapped around my face has my cock pressing against my fly uncomfortably. “Though really you’d only have yourself to blame. Has no one told you? Chivalry is dead.”
It is when you’re dealing with women like her. That dress is clinging to every curve and her hair has that just fucked thing going on, exactly the same as the night I met her. The second she opened her mouth I had a hard-on for her accent. She sounds like the Queen of England, and yet she drinks like a fish, swears like a sailor, and dances like a stripper. It’s quite a combination.
She slowly raises her gaze to mine, and for the second time in the last five minutes, her eyes focus on my lips. I smirk because I have her where I want her, where I need her. But she also has me by the balls because damn do I want to fuck her. Moving closer, she presses her hand against my chest, scratching her nails over the material of my shirt. And then she tilts her face up until her lips are so fucking close to mine.
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