Rebel

by Lauren Lovell

  I try not to laugh. “Sorry, who?”

  “Have you become so cheap that you don’t even know the names of the men you drag into bathrooms now?” Uh, yeah.

  “Yeah, I’m actually thinking I should just charge for it. I don’t see what hookers are complaining about to be honest.”

  He sighs. “You will not see him again, Blake.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m wondering whether you’re just trying on principle, or if you actually think I’ll listen, because if it’s the latter, then that’s cute.”

  “I over look your wild antics, Blake, but I’m not saying this as a politician. I say this as your father. He’s not a good man.” And then he hangs up, and I’m left staring at the phone, completely lost for words because for a split second there it actually sounded like he cared.

  13

  Rhett

  “Well fancy seeing you here, hot stuff.”

  The chair across from me screeches over the wooden floor, and I glance over the top of my laptop just as Blake drops into the chair. She’s wearing massive sunglasses, a fur coat, pink and white spotted pajama bottoms and high heels.

  “Wow, that is…that is a look, right there.” Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail and when she takes her sunglasses off, she looks like she’s still wearing last night’s makeup—half way down her face. It makes me smile. Her absolute inability to give a shit is a strange kind of turn on, even if she does look like a mad cat woman.

  She picks up my cup and takes a sip of coffee. “Shit, I think I might need to be hooked up to a drip.”

  “You know you could order your own coffee.”

  She glances at the line and smiles. “Yes, or I could steal yours.”

  I nod at one of the waitresses moving around the room and she hurries over, an eager smile on her face. “Could you get my friend a coffee, please?” I ask.

  “Irish,” Blake adds.

  “Uh, and something to eat,” I add. The waitress disappears and Blake scowls. “You smell like a brewery and you want more alcohol?” I ask.

  She looks at me like I’m stupid. “If you had a category five hang over, you’d want hair of the dog too,” she says. “I find the best way to avoid hangovers is to permanently keep a little bit of alcohol in your bloodstream. But I woke up late and now…category five.” She shrugs, and I’d like to think she’s joking, but I don’t think she is.

  “You have a hangover on a Wednesday?”

  She raises her eyebrows like I’m an idiot for asking. “Anyway, why are you in my coffee shop?”

  I close my laptop and push it to the side. “You own the place?” I ask, lifting my coffee cup to my lips and taking a sip.

  “Sure, I own Starbucks. Why not?”

  “Good investment.”

  She shrugs, a small smile on those perfect fucking lips of hers. “I thought so.”

  “I actually have a meeting across the street in half an hour. Which is why I’m in your coffee shop.”

  She holds a finger up, halting me as she takes her phone out of her pocket to type something out. “Okay, continue.” The waitress brings Blake’s coffee and a muffin over. As soon as the cup is set in front of her, she grabs it and takes a heavy gulp.

  “Did you just silently shush me?” I ask.

  She cocks an eyebrow and smirks. Honestly, it makes me want to fuck the attitude out of her. “What business are you in?” she asks.

  “Property, mainly.” Mainly. I watch her pinch a piece of the muffin off. She slides her thumb and index finger into her mouth, licking the chocolate from her finger tip.

  “Okay, I’m bored already.” She huffs.

  “And what about you, Duchess? What kind of business are you in?”

  She tosses her head back and laughs before dropping her eyes to the table. “I have no business, I’m merely a scorned trust fund baby. Don’t you read the papers?”

  I can hear the disdain dripping from her voice and it confuses me. From what I have seen, read, and heard about Blake McQueen she lives and breathes rebellion and certainly has no shame about her very public lifestyle. “The newspapers are not what I would consider accurate text.”

  She laughs. “True, but a picture says a thousand words.” She takes another piece of muffin. “Particularly when it’s of your vag.”

  I brace my elbows on the table, leaning closer to her. Her eyes lock with mine as I reach across the table to slowly swipe a tiny crumb from her bottom lip, letting my thumb linger on her mouth longer than necessary.

  “It’s a very nice vag,” I say, lifting a brow.

  She tilts her head, a small smile playing over her lips. “You would know,” she whispers.

  Three days. It’s been three days since I had my dick inside her and I can’t get the girl out of my head. Women come and go like the wind, and believe me, I’ve fucked my way through most of them. Blake McQueen is different though. There’s something about her. She makes me forget anything that isn’t this, right here, right this second, because that’s her. I know very little about her, but she lives as if the world might end tomorrow. It’s infectious, it’s brilliant, it’s …Blake McQueen.

  We talk until I have to go to my meeting. She stands up and I laugh again at how ridiculous she looks. I’m so focused on her that I’m completely caught off guard by a photographer waiting just outside the door. He shoves his camera is Blake’s face until she can barely step outside. Glaring, I make a move towards him, but Blake entwines her hand with mine, pulling me away.

  “Come now, hot stuff. No starting fights in the middle of the street.” She walks with me a little way down the road, ignoring the photographer who follows.

  “Says the girl who wanted to kill a photographer.”

  She drops her sunglasses down over her eyes and shrugs. “Plausible deniability. One photographer in a party of a hundred people who will back me. Out here, there are too many witnesses for pap bashing.”

  I stop outside the building I’m meeting my buyer in.

  “Nice seeing you again, Rhett.” She steps close to me, and grips the front of my jacket, brushing her lips across my cheek, but she doesn’t pull away. Her lips linger, grazing the corner of my mouth.

  Before she can move, I shove my hand in her hair and slam my lips over hers. She moans into my mouth and thrusts her tongue against mine. The taste of Bailey’s and coffee with the faintest trace of smoke caresses my tongue. She nips at my bottom lip before pulling away with a smug smile, and then, she turns and walks away without a backward glance, leaving me alone with my cock plastered against the front of my pants.

  Trust me, it’s been a long time since that happened.

  14

  Blake

  “Have you seen this shit?” Milly drops a copy of This Magazine on the table and slides into the booth next to me, yanking the hair tie out of her hair. Dark hair spills around her shoulders like something out of a bloody shampoo advert. If I do that, I look like a mental patient on the escape.

  “Babe, if I read all that shit I’d have no life.”

  “You have no life anyway.”

  “Correction, my entire life is having a life.”

  She frowns and shakes her head. “What?”

  I ignore her. “Okay, what is it this week? Am I banging a gay guy again?”

  She opens the magazine and shoves it in front of me, stabbing her finger on the page. “Apparently, Rhett is your new man.”

  There’s a picture of Rhett and I lip-locked outside the coffee shop yesterday morning, with the caption: ‘Blake McQueen and Rhett Torres, perfect match?’

  “What I want to know is how, at no point in that article, they mention your attire.”

  I pick up my Mojito and take a sip. “I’m a trend setter. Which makes whatever I wear okay.”

  “Trend setter.” She snorts. “You’re fucking lazy is what you are.”

  “Meh, tomato-tomato. You need to start drinking bitch, I’m on my third already.” I shoo her out of the booth. “Order me another
while you’re there.”

  We come here every Thursday for the lunchtime happy hour. It’s our traditional kick start to the weekend. From here until Monday morning, I will be drunk.

  She sighs, digging in her handbag for her purse. “I am not carrying your drunk arse home.”

  I wave her off. “It’s okay, I’ll flash a nip at someone and get them to give me a piggyback.” Works every time.

  “Uh-huh. I think you should note that happy hour is not a challenge.”

  “You know the only thing I like better than daytime drinking is cheap daytime drinking.”

  “You have money to burn.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s the principle.”

  She sighs and heads for the bar. “I give up.” I don’t know why she ever tries in the first place.

  I look over the magazine article again, focusing on the picture of Rhett and I. Damn, that man is fine. And I am totally working the pajamas and heels.

  “Ah, fuck.” I say, flopping back on the sofa. I’m too drunk for this shit.

  I read over the message inviting me to the annual Primrose Charity Gala, which raises money for orphans. Touching isn’t it? These functions are just business shit. Though, with the amount of unnecessary money that gets thrown around, they might as well all just come armed with a ruler so they can start the dick measuring from the off.

  “What?” Milly’s lying on the rug next to the sofa.

  I thrust my phone in her face. “My dad emailed and said he demands my presence. Demands.”

  She squints at the screen. “The Primrose Gala.” She laughs. “Is that the one we crashed last year?”

  “Yep. But you know what ‘demands’ means.”

  “Oh, you have to go or they’ll cut you off,” she says, sitting up. “Sucks to be you, doll.”

  Yes, yes, it does. I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than attend that shit, but I don’t like to poke the bear too much with the ‘we will cut you off’ thing.

  “When is it?”

  “Um…” I read the invite again. “Ah, shit, this was sent two days ago. It’s tonight.” Fuck me. I am not going to this shower of shit on my own.

  I pick up my phone and call Felix. He answers on the second ring.

  “B, how are you?”

  “I’m good, drunk, but good. I need a favour.”

  “Do I even want to know?”

  “I need Rhett’s number.” I hear his deep sigh, somewhere between disappointment and resignation “Look, I just need to ask him for a favour.”

  “A favour? That’s what you’re calling it nowadays?” He laughs.

  “Shush, just help me out.”

  “You and Rhett Torres. There’s a combination that screams trouble.”

  I grin. “Exactly.”

  I’m standing in my underwear putting my makeup on when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

  “Come in!” I shout over the music.

  I’m fully expecting it to be Milly, so when all six and a half foot of Rhett suddenly takes up my bathroom doorway, I get a bit flustered.

  “You’re early.” I watch in the mirror as a slow smile pulls at his lips, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body. Damn him. My skin bursts into goose bumps whilst over-heating at the same time.

  “I see I can add creeper to your list of flaws,” I mumble.

  “I prefer the term appreciative.” He smiles and I’m pretty sure I just felt an ovary twinge. “And as for flaws…perfection is so boring.” Uh, he looks pretty perfect to me. He makes that tuxedo look like art.

  “Well, thanks for coming. I appreciate it.” Oh, god. What if he thinks this is a date? I mean, we fucked, and it was good, but damn I hate those needy, clingy bitches that screw a guy and think they’re dating or something. “But this is not a date,” I blurt.

  He smiles. “Duchess…”

  “And if anyone asks, we’re acquaintances…”

  “Duchess…”

  “I mean, neither confirm or deny, allow them to speculate. But you know better. You’re hot and everything, but I don’t really date, it’s bad for my reputation…”

  “Blake!”

  I stop. “What?”

  He holds out a small piece of paper. “I was already going.” I skim over the invitation with his name written in perfect calligraphy. “It’s not a date,” he says.

  “Oh, okay. Well good.” I turn away from him and focus on my reflection as I put my earring in. He chuckles and slides up behind me, placing his hands on my bare hips and bringing his lips so close to my neck that I can feel his steady breath on my skin. “You’re cute,” he says quietly, the roughness of his voice making me shiver. “And just so you know, there’s no one worse for a reputation than me.”

  Which makes him perfect. Taking a deep breath, I turn around, but he doesn’t move. Slowly, I lift my eyes to his and immediately feel weak, imprisoned under his gaze. His fingers flex, digging into my hips as he pulls me flush to his body. I can feel his hard dick pressing against my stomach, his breath on my face, the heat of his body through his shirt.

  There’s this pull between us that seems to crackle to life, and then, my hand is on his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart under my palm. The look in his eyes becomes so intense I feel like I can’t breathe. All I can hear is the hammering of my own heart beat in my ears, a background beat to his. I want him to kiss me and dominate and own me. I crave it.

  I blink and try to focus on anything but him. “We…I need to get ready.”

  He flashes me a small smile and steps away. I suck in a deep breath and it’s like I’ve been under water, almost suffocating.

  “Do you?”

  Do I? I could just stay here and screw him all night. That sounds much more appealing. Wait, what? I called him here for a reason and it wasn’t a booty call.

  “Right, that’s it.” I scowl and slap him on the chest. “Out. You are not helpful to the getting dressed situation.”

  He laughs, tracing a finger along the edge of my bra, just above my nipple. I feel like a damn pendulum around him. I find some resolve, he touches me, and I’m drawn right back in. His finger hooks under my bra strap, slipping it off my shoulder.

  “Agent Provocateur. Doesn’t get better dressed than that.” He smirks, his eyes daring me.

  What kind of guy has an in depth knowledge of women’s underwear? Oh, wait, the one who looks like he was put on this earth for the single purpose of getting them out of said underwear. “Creeper,” I say. “I swear to god if my knickers start going missing, I’m coming for you.” He laughs again. “Out.”

  He strolls out of the bathroom. “I’ll be in here, going through your knicker drawer, and Duchess…remember to wear floor length.” He winks. “Not that I don’t like to see your ass cheeks making an appearance every time you bend over.”

  I roll my eyes and close the door so I can finish getting ready. I’m going to use him to piss off my father, and if he uses me a little in the process, I can’t say I’ll be disappointed.

  15

  Blake

  I step into the hotel and immediately want to turn around and walk back out. I can pretty much smell the pretentious bullshit before I’ve even spoken to anyone.

  “I changed my mind,” I say. Rhett wraps his fingers around my arm, squeezing and forcing me to keep walking.

  “It’s just a party, Duchess. I know you love a party.”

  “Correction. I like the kind of parties where stripping and public sex are very real possibilities.”

  He laughs. “Well, I might be able to make at least one of those happen, but unlike you, I actually need to come to this. You know the upper class social scene better than most, so rub shoulders.” He slaps my arse and I squeak. “And maybe you’ll get your public sex.”

  Oh, promises, promises.

  A waiter passes us with a tray of champagne glasses. I grab two and down them in quick succession. He raises his eyebrows and I glare at him. “Sobriety gives me hives,” I say.
/>
  I was happily trashed before I found out I had to come to this shit, and now I’m riding the fine line between drunk and hung over.

  Rhett drags me through the party, stopping to talk to people. They smile and nod, the women touch him at every available opportunity while the men stare at my tits. It’s a fucking joy. I’m pretending to listen to some old dude and about ready to go and face plant a bottle of vodka when I spot my mother and father across the room. Smiling, I tighten my hold on Rhett’s arm.

  I push up on tip toes until my lips are at his ear. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

  He stops mid conversation and glances down at me with a cocked eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a romance kind of girl.”

  I roll my eyes. “Trust me, I’m not, and I didn’t mean a polite peck on the lips. Kiss me like you’re about to fuck me, I’ll throw in a little dry humping.” He shrugs, a sexy smile fixed on his lips as he locks one hand around the back of my neck. Golden eyes meet mine, sparking violently before he slams his lips over mine.

  Cupping his face, I drag my nails over the short stubble of his jaw as his mouth moves against mine in a kiss so violent my lips already feel bruised. He literally steals my breath, and my heart slams against my ribs as my lungs scream for oxygen. Everything falls away until we’re the only people in the room. I barely know this man and yet, right here with his lips on mine, I don’t care about anything that isn’t him touching me.

  His tongue swipes over my bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth, and then releases me. I’m panting like I just ran a marathon. I’ll give it to the guy, he twists me up.

  I glance past him to where my parents were standing. My father is gone, but my mother is staring at me, shaking her head in disgust. Smiling, I wink at her. I’d give her the middle finger, but well, that’s just too obvious, and she did teach me to always be stealthy in your insults.