Mr. Dirty (London Billionaire Book 3)

by Nana Malone

  Bizarrely, the only person she wanted to see at that moment was him, though she wasn't sure why. He had made her feel safe somehow, just by being willing to defend her.

  She searched the sea of faces before her, almost in desperation. But he was nowhere to be found.

  With an inexplicably heavy heart, she realized he must have left. It pinched when it dawned on her that he wouldn’t have left alone. Of course he wouldn't. It was stupid to even want to see him. It was pathetic to want the ... ego stroke. Yeah, ego ... That's what we'll call it.

  What do you care? she admonished herself. You can’t stand the guy and you full well know what he’s like. Why would he have waited around for her, with the amount of smoking hot women in here?

  Her mind’s attempt at rationalization was lackluster at best, but she refused to look any closer at her feelings. The night had already been shitty. She didn’t need to compound it with thinking about Mr. Dirty.

  Suddenly, a blanket of desperation and loneliness wrapped around her. She was sick to death of being let down. Even when deliberately choosing right, she still chose wrong. What the hell was the point?

  “I am literally the worst judge of character,” she laughed as she passed through the crowd, not entirely sure of the direction she was heading. She was grateful that the volume of the music drowned her out.

  After another painful two hours, the night ground slowly to a close. As the guests began filtering out, her impatience increased. Forcing a smile and a jovial mood was bloody tiring, especially when all she wanted to do was fling a duvet over her head and sob.

  Finally, once the client had again gushed her thank yous, Sophie was left alone but for the staff of the bar. Having had one of the most emotionally fraught evenings of her work life so far, she faked cheerful goodbyes to those left, and with a relief so great it made her shoulders sag, she mounted the stairs up to her flat, planning on shutting the door and hiding in there forever.

  So much for a great New Year’s Eve.

  Outside her door, however, was a sight she hadn't been expecting to see. Nathan leaning against her door … waiting.

  Her first thought, as was always her first thought when she saw him, was Goddamn. There was no way that she would ever get over being in front of someone who looked that good in real life. It was disconcerting. As always, she was drawn to his eyes first; that cerulean gaze hypnotized her like a stormy sea. Almost unconsciously, her gaze fell to his body.

  It was only then that she realized he was holding an expensive bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. She stopped dead on the top step, gawking at him, wondering what in the hell was going on. What is he doing? Was he having a party? She really couldn't deal with that right now. Frustrated, she tugged her hair our of the bun and shook it out.

  “Look, I'm not in the mood to be fucked with right now.”

  “I figured after the night you’ve just had, you might need a drink?” He held the bottle aloft. “Rooftop?”

  The look on Sophie’s face was a mixture of surprise and wariness. Not that he could blame her.

  “Why?”

  “Because you look like you need it.”

  He’d left quickly after she’d seen her boyfriend out. He didn’t know how long she’d be forced to stay and work, but he’d wanted to do something to make her feel better.

  Fuck him, he was going soft.

  After watching her deal with that, Nathan had developed a newfound admiration for uptight Sophie. But it wasn’t just that. Not if he was being completely honest. It was the way she’d handled herself. She was literally the soul of that party, making sure everyone had a good time. She did her job despite her mood. Would he have been able to do that? Probably not.

  She ran a hand through her hair and his brain tried to follow the thread of recognition, but it snapped in an instant.

  Sophie stuttered, clearly not quite sure what to make of his offer. He couldn’t help but laugh out loud when he heard her. “You don't even like me.”

  “Don’t look so suspicious. I’m only suggesting a drink. I know I usually go up there with my dates, but I promise you, I only want to cheer you up.”

  She barked a laugh. “I didn’t think that. I know I'm not your type.

  He frowned. “What's my type?”

  “Supermodel perfection.” She shook her head. “I’ve had a rough night and I’m tired … ”

  “Oh, come on. It’s only a drink. You fucking deserve it after tonight.” He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Regardless of their somewhat unfriendly history, he couldn’t bear the thought that she might sit in her flat alone and cry over that twat. He held her eyes with a steely gaze, not backing down.

  Her body relented before she spoke, moving toward him despite her obvious reservations. “Okay. Thanks. I really bloody need a drink.”

  It was the first time they’d ever had a pleasant exchange.

  He grinned at her, thinking how nice she looked when she smiled. He still thought she was uptight, but he could begin to see the chinks of the person beneath that wound tight veneer.

  Up on the roof, he pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit down,” he instructed, pouring champagne into both of the glasses. Sophie downed it straight away and then exhaled deeply, puffing her cheeks out.

  “I have to tell you, I was disappointed you didn’t let me knock that wanker the fuck out. I hope you gave him what for before he left.”

  Sophie shook her head sadly. “Honestly? I’d love to tell you I did, but pathetically, I just told him to go.” She turned to look at him. “I think all the fight’s gone out of me now. I’m fucked off with men. I’m fucked off with being led on. I just want one goddamn bloke to actually be who he says he is, not sell me some lie about commitment.” Her head dropped and she stared at the floor. “I’m so done with it all.”

  Nathan sipped his drink. “Don’t let that wanker get the best of you. You're looking at this all wrong.”

  Sophie glanced up at him, her brow furrowing.

  “Being done can be a good thing,” he said. “Go out, meet people, have your fun and engage in nothing emotionally. You can put your focus on other things, if you want, but you don’t have to become the Virgin Mary. It just means that you don't have to put up with other people’s bullshit anymore." He laughed at her expression.

  She was beautiful on another level from the women who he usually spent his time with. They were usually carbon copies of empty perfection. Sophie was much less polished, less put together, but there was a natural prettiness that seemed to shine from her. She didn't cover her freckles or freak out that she wasn't perfect. She was real.

  “Nathan. Are you trying to convince me that if I became the female version of you I'd be happier?”

  He noticed that she always had a lilt in her tone, like everything she was saying had sarcastic undertones. It made her sound sharp and sassy. He liked it.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. I'm happy. I have lots of company, I get lots of sex … ”

  “Don’t I bloody know it,” Sophie said, snorting.

  “I’m trying to help you here.” He swiveled in the chair so that he was facing her. “I can show you. I can be like your guide in the quest for … ”

  “For an STD?” She laughed.

  The laugh sputtered out of him. It was that very sauciness that he found utterly compelling. She wasn’t into any bullshit; she just said things as they were. It was refreshing.

  “I was going to say for emotional freedom.” He cringed at the phrase as soon as it was out of his mouth. “All right, that sounds crap. But there’s a skill—it can’t be cold, emotionless encounters. Shagging people like they don’t matter is going to make you feel more shit. It’s about controlling your emotions, being in control and most importantly … ” He paused for dramatic effect, wanting to make his point. “ … being honest.”

  Sophie blinked at him for a couple of seconds before shaking her head with a
smile. “You know what, I am too tired and drained to argue with you on this, so while you’ve got me at my most vulnerable, I’m just going to say okay. You’re on. Show me your ways, oh Sex Yoda.”

  Fuck, she was so sharp and switched on, and … sexy. She had some sort of spark about her that he was enjoying being on the receiving end of. She was challenging and bright. Intriguing. And with her hair wild and flowing around her, he was once again struck by the sense of familiarity.

  He fought the pull. He didn't want this. He’d invited her for a drink out because he felt bad for her. She wasn't even his type. But you want her. And here he was now.

  He shook the thought. “Right. We start tomorrow night. Your first lesson, young student.” Nathan clinked the side of her glass.

  “So enough about me now. What about you? I know exactly nothing about you, other than from your public shagging tendencies. And in one night you’ve already learned my job and both my relationship status and relationship goals. You have to tell me at least something, so that it’s even.”

  The change in direction had his grin stiffening. He’d spent most of his life trying to keep things light. Nothing too deep. But she was right. She needed a quid pro quo. He cleared his throat, wondering where on earth to start. When was the last time he'd had a revealing conversation about himself?

  He was silent too long because she gave him a sad smile and an easy out. “Look, I’m shattered,” Sophie said, putting down her glass and throwing the blanket from her lap. “Why don’t you save your story to tell me during ‘class’ tomorrow?”

  It was obvious that Sophie had noticed the shift in him and had decided to change the subject. While relieved, a part of him want to share something.

  It wasn’t that he was hiding who he was exactly, but he liked this version of Sophie. And he knew how people changed the moment they heard his last name. For now, for as long as he could, he wanted Sophie to just judge him on what she knew. Are you sure about that? Like she had before when they’d done nothing but argue.

  As uncomfortable and irritating as that may have been, at least he knew it was real.

  10

  Sophie

  When her feet hit the landing, Sophie knew that as soon as she said goodbye to him her mind would be reeling with everything that had happened that night. She felt like she’d been awake for a week and so far, she hadn’t had even a second to process any of it.

  “Do you want to keep the champagne?” Nathan asked, offering her what was left of the bottle.

  Sophie stared at it for a second, thinking. She only had one measly beer in her fridge. Hard to drink herself to sleep with just a beer. She didn't even like beer.

  “Yeah, why not?” She reached out for the bottle to take it from him. Her hand brushed against his in the exchange and, she didn’t know if it was her exhaustion or what, but the accidental touch made her body mutiny.

  A spark shot through her, so powerful that it almost made her jump. Heat crept up her neck and to her cheeks, and she knew damn well that she would be an obvious, beetroot red. Her breath quickened, even as her clearly confused nipples hardened into tight, little points. Shit. The last thing she needed tonight was an attack of the lady bits.

  She'd been so down earlier that she’d hadn't cared about what he thought. But she was hyperaware of him now, feeling flustered and unable to look him in the eye. “Thanks,” she whispered, cursing herself for turning to mush. Cursing him for having that effect on her. You touched his hand. For crying out loud, get a grip.

  She snatched the bottle out of his hand far too quickly. And it flew out of her grasp and up into the air.

  Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Sophie and Nathan watched as the bottle spun above her head, showering them both in sticky liquid, before plummeting back down toward the ground.

  Nathan moved like lightning, practically lifting a frozen-in-shock Sophie up, and moving her to the side, just as the bottle crashed at their feet and smashed into pieces.

  There was a pause as they both silently looked at the carnage beneath them and then simultaneously, up at each other.

  The hysterical laugh bubble up uncontrollably at the sight of the perfect man in front of her dripping with remnants of champagne.

  And then she humiliated herself and began to cry. Because it wasn't already shitty enough. It was as though all her emotions were just pouring out; she was powerless to stop them. Between sobs she laughed, not quite sure whether she was coming or going.

  That smashed bottle, the smell of fizz in her hair—it was just the cherry on the top of her fucking cake tonight.

  Nathan didn’t hesitate. He put his hand on her arm. His touch was firm and reassuring. “Hey. Hey,” he said softly. “There’s no point in crying over spilled champagne.”

  Sophie laughed again, once, before more tears came. I’m going fucking mad, she thought, completely unable to control herself. Then, Nathan ran his fingers down the side of her cheek, brushing away some of the splashes.

  Both her hysterics and sobbing abruptly stopped. Hello again, lady bits.

  His touch was softer than she had anticipated. If she had been in her right mind, she would have even described it as tender. But she was definitely not in her right mind. She looked up at him, feeling overwhelmed and confused.

  He trailed a path down her cheek to her chin, where his fingers rested lightly. Sophie forgot how to breathe. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes.

  There were no need for words. Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me.

  Amidst all that had happened, as soon as the intention behind his look became obvious to her, her insides began to melt. A swarm of butterflies burst in her belly as they continued to gaze at each other.

  Nathan dipped his head slightly before stopping and scanning over her face as if checking for permission. Involuntarily, Sophie’s lips parted.

  She was close enough to see the shining gold of the dark stubble covering his jawline. He smelled like musk and ocean her wildest fantasy.

  God, please kiss me. Every heartbeat sent a violent throb between her legs as the anticipation of having Nathan Windsor this close to her began to take over her most primal instincts.

  Finally, Nathan tilted her chin upwards and, with his gaze unfaltering, met her lips with his.

  His mouth was hot, unbelievably soft and slightly sticky from the champagne. He gently flicked his tongue along her bottom lip teasingly slowly, before kissing her harder, his mouth firmly and passionately on hers.

  Sliding both hands around the small of her back, he tugged her into him. Her body pressed hard up against the firmness of his and she couldn’t help but push in further, wanting every single part of her sliding against him, wanting every part of him touching her.

  If he hadn’t been holding her so strongly, she was sure that her knees would have buckled and she would have fallen to the floor. There was not one single point in her life where she could remember ever feeling like she wanted someone this badly. Her head was swimming.

  “Jesus, you are so damn sexy. Why do you taste so good?” Nathan murmured, his words vibrating against her lips, his breath hot against her lips. It felt naughty and sensual.

  Hearing him say that she was turning him on made her moan softly. Instinctively, she canted her pelvis against him, her body moving independently of her mind. She needed him so bad.

  Nathan’s hand slid to her hips, tightening, and he groaned low as he pulled her against the length of his pulsing erection. The impact of her pelvic bone hitting his thigh lit a firework in her clitoris. She felt it pulse and begin to swell.

  He moved his mouth to the edge of her earlobe. “I really want to know what you taste like everywhere. Right here in your neck. On your belly. Right behind your knee. And Jesus, I really want to know what your pussy tastes like,” he whispered. This time, Sophie’s knees did buckle, though Nathan’s grip was tight enough to steady her.

  His voice seemed to travel directly to her clit, each word massaging th
e growing ball of heat gathering there. He bit her earlobe and she erupted in pleasurable goose bumps, the sweet pain tickling down her spine like an electric current.

  What the fuck was happening here? Sophie was just about ready to rip her clothes off and scream at him to take her when a seed of self-doubt trickled in.

  What the hell is he doing kissing me? I’m not a supermodel; I’m not his normal type. Goddamn, am I about to be a pity fuck?

  She swallowed and stilled. Once the thought had been let loose her buzz immediately died. Nathan could have the pick of any girl he wanted. He was the fittest man she’d ever seen. Ever. He was self-assured and intimidatingly confident. Why on earth was he kissing her?

  Sensing her stiffness, Nathan pulled away and held her at arm’s length. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

  She shuffled, horny to the point of desperation and instantly regretting the thoughts in her head. Straight away, she wanted him to kiss her again. She needed him to touch her. But there was no way she was getting a pity fuck. Even at this point, so turned on she might explode, she had some self-respect. Yeah right. Is that why you want to rub up against him like an alley cat?

  “It’s not that ... I mean...I want to ... ” She tried to get the words out and failed. She wanted to tell him that she wanted him to fuck her like she’d never wanted anything before, but she was too terrified. The words wouldn’t come out.

  Nathan shrugged, like it was no bother to him. Like nothing ever was. What must it feel like to have absolutely no worries? Sophie pondered.

  “You want to come into mine?” he offered casually. Sophie’s heart began racing again.

  “No. Thanks, I’d better … ” What? What are you doing? she screamed inside. This total GOD is inviting you in to possibly give you the fuck of your entire life, and you’re having self-esteem issues?

  “Your call. Guess it’s a cold shower for me, then.”

  Of course that only drew her attention to his massive erection. Sophie’s gaze drifted down his body and watched with hunger as the bulge behind his jeans pulsed. Oh hell. She licked her lips, wondering if she would regret this moment for the rest of her life.