by JC Hawke
I still feel mortified about Saturday morning, although why I let my mother’s mistakes define my life is beyond me. Lucy was right when she said I am nothing like my mother. Apart from our appearance, we are the complete opposite of each other. But sometimes, I find myself judging my morals, fearing that they are a by-product of her.
I wish I’d been more prepared for him to turn up here. I would have made more of an effort, making him feel like an idiot for chasing me away with that mouth.
Now I’m thinking about his mouth, his full soft lips…
“Shit.”
Chancing a glance in the gym mirrors, I grimace. My hair is roughly pulled up on my head, my face bare of any makeup, and I’m wearing my yoga pants and a tank top. Yeah, I am definitely going out the back door tonight.
I’m just about to shut down the computer when I hear the door open and close. I know the last few members have not long left, so I sit with my head down, hoping it’s just them and they have forgotten something.
Wishful thinking.
The first tell is his smell. It smothers me, taking me straight back to Friday night. Memories of his lips on my neck as he whispered sweet promises in my ear—the feel of him between my legs as I practically begged him to touch me.
God, I’m such a loser.
“Nina,” his deep voice purrs from the other side of the desk.
I start to flick through the blank pieces of paper in front of me, double time, as if I am doing something important: anything to keep my hands busy and my eyes off him.
Why does he smell so damn good?
“Nina,” he says impatiently after a beat.
He doesn’t seem like the type of man who likes to be ignored. I quirk a brow at the thought. I’m going to enjoy this. He says nothing, but I can feel his eyes burning into my head.
“I came to apologise for the other morning. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
I roll my eyes.
Do better, asshole.
“You left so fast I didn’t get a chance to explain. I didn’t think Elliot paid you—”
My head snaps up, ready to fight as anger rips through me at his blatant lie, but my words die on my lips when I catch sight of him.
He looks fucking hot. Even hotter than Friday night. He is wearing a three-piece navy suit, his muscular shoulders filling it impeccably, and his hair sits in a perfect tousled mess on his stupidly handsome head.
He looks divine.
He smiles a cocky ‘I know I’m beautiful’ smile, and I avert my eyes again, composing myself.
“We are closed.” I push out from behind the desk, hoping he will take the hint and leave.
He watches me with amusement as I get my bag from the staff room and move to stand at the entrance, waiting for him to leave. He eventually follows, stopping when he is in front of me.
“Let me drive you home,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Please?”
I want to lean into his touch; he has a hold over me that makes me feel weak. I jerk back, slapping his hand away. “Are you mad? As if I’d go anywhere with you. Leave now! I need to lock up.”
“I’m not letting you walk home alone. It’s getting dark out.” His eyes keep dropping to my lips, and I decide to play with him a bit. I dart my tongue out, wetting them.
Nice. And. Slowly.
“You didn’t have an issue with me walking home on Saturday morning,” I remind him, folding my arms in front of me.
He steps in closer, his nostrils flaring as his solid chest bumps against my arms. “No, I didn’t get a chance to. You ran off like a child before I could even get dressed.” He stares down at me, accusing, intense.
“That’s a shame, isn’t it? Leave.” I shoulder past him out onto the street.
He follows behind, his annoyance at my brush-off blatant as he mutters profanity’s under his breath.
I’m sure he planned to come here tonight, apologise, and expected me to drop down at his feet. I mean, I can’t imagine he is used to rejection. The mans a stud. An annoyingly handsome, rude stud.
I lock the door and turn, not expecting him to be standing directly behind me. He leans forward, caging me in with his arms on either side of my head. He looks down his perfectly imperfect nose at me, and my resistance wilts under his stare.
“I’m driving you home,” he tells me in a no nonsense ‘you will do as I tell you’ tone.
But he has seriously underestimated me if he thinks he can make demands and expect me to bow down to them.
“What makes you think I’d do what you want?” I whisper, close enough to his lips that I can see the golden flecks in his eyes but not so close that they touch.
Inside, I tell myself it’s to see how far I can push him, but I also wonder what I’d do if he closed the distance between us. Just an inch closer, and we’d touch.
My heart thumps against my chest as his eyes dart all over my face, his lips parting.
I turn my head away before he can close the distance between us, and he quickly dips his head, finding my eyes. Our gazes lock, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my entire body. His eyes are almost black now, his brows drawn low, making him look almost troubled. He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever met.
“I have good word from a solid source that you are likely to fulfil my wants and needs.” He pops a brow, and I drop my head back to the door, needing the distance it creates.
“Oh, really, and who is this solid source?” I mutter, lost in his eyes.
He smirks, and I curse myself for taking the bait. “My cock.”
Shaking my head, I smile sweetly up at him. “I’m afraid that’s a rather unimpressive source, Mr Lowell.”
Before he can see it coming, I duck under his arm, flinging my bag onto my back as I take off on a run, knowing he isn’t wearing the footwear to chase me.
I make it a couple hundred yards down the street before I see his Bentley out the corner of my eye.
“Get in the car,” he growls through the open window.
I look at him, frowning. What kind of fool thinks that attitude will work? I up my pace.
“You’re acting like a child. Let me drive you home, and I won’t bother you again.”
“You promise? Although, you aren’t all that good at keeping those,” I tease, continuing to make him mad.
Running was my escape growing up. I could keep this up all night.
“Last chance,” he warns, a white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel.
“I like my chances Bossman, I wouldn’t be so sure of yours.” I sass before darting off down a side street. I hear his tyres screech to a halt, then his car door being thrown open. I sprint down the cobbled path as car horns blare from the road.
I turn my head back to look at him, but he isn’t chasing me. He’s at a standstill, staring after me with a perplexed look on his face and absolutely no regard for the traffic jam he is causing.
A laugh escapes me as I reach the end of the path, feeling like victory is mine. I give him a wink before turning to continue my commute home, only to crash into a solid body.
Strong hands land on my shoulders to steady me, and I look up promptly, ready to apologise. The man is in his late forties early fifties judging by his black hair that’s turning silver around the edges, and wearing a black suit and tie. He removes his hands from my shoulders as quickly as he put them there but doesn’t move to allow me to pass. I look back to Mason. He is smiling at us, and it’s knowing, cocky, victorious. My gaze swings back to the man blocking my exit, instantly narrowing when I catch him giving Mason a nod.
The man looks down at me with amusement in his eyes. “Hello, I’m Vinny.” He offers me his hand. “I’ll be driving you home today.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I tell him, annoyed at his statement. “I’m happy walking. Thank you.”
I try to remember my manners and reluctantly shake his hand whilst it’s still outstretched. This isn’t his fault, after all.
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“Nina, please, it’s either I drive you home or him.” He raises a bushy brow, tipping his head over my shoulder, but I refuse to look back at him. “It really isn’t safe for you to be out on your own at night,” he says with genuine concern.
I huff as I feel my resolve starting to slip. “It’s not safe for me to be out alone this late, but it’s safe to get into a car with a man I’ve never met, who somehow knows my name?” I question, ever defensive.
“As I said, it’s either me or him,” he states, horns blaring in the distance. The sound vibrates off the alleyway’s walls. It’s like the angry motorists are screaming at me to get into the car. It makes it hard to think.
“Well, I’m definitely not going with that asshole.” I sulk, crossing my arms as I give in.
He turns and opens the door to the Audi that’s sat at the curb. “I wouldn’t either.” He winks, giving me a warm smile.
Okay, maybe I like this guy.
I slide into the car and fasten my belt, refusing to look to my right, knowing Mason will likely be watching me.
Thankfully, Vinny doesn’t say a word on the way home. We arrive at my building without me having to direct him, which only frustrates me more. Who is this man, and why does he know so much about me? Mason knew where I worked, too, although I think I mentioned it to Charlie and Elliot on Friday night. Maybe he asked them.
I lean over to open the door, but Vinny stops me, his voice commanding that I listen. “He means well, love. He’s not a bad bloke.”
Our eyes lock in the rearview mirror, my hand frozen on the handle. Maybe Mason isn’t a bad bloke. Perhaps it was an unfortunate choice of words on his part—that I can believe. But it doesn’t take back the hurt those words caused.
“Thank you for the lift home,” I say as I push open the door. Vinny nods his head, not saying any more as I exit the car.
It’s easier to forget him than the words he spoke to me. They seemed to penetrate me deeper—stuck quicker.
The girls are already seated at The Elm when I arrive. It’s a quirky little café on Oxford Street. We try to meet when our lunch breaks allow it, but with our ever-changing schedules, it’s hard. Lucy is a fashion designer, and Megan is a columnist for a women’s magazine.
Sliding into the bench seat, I grin as I watch the girls speak animatedly between one another. I only catch the tail end of what Megan is saying, but her words have my eyes bugging out in surprise. “A picture of his damn cock!” she exclaims as she stares super close to the phone in her hand.
“Oh, Jesus, what now?” I groan, my shoulder dropping. “I don’t know if I can deal with any more penis this week.”
“Hugh thinks he’s huge,” Megan roars with laughter, thrusting the phone out at me. Stupidly, I take it, peeking down at the screen.
I lean my shoulder into Lucy, a hand grasping my chest. “He did not send you a dick picture!” I can’t control the laughter that leaves me.
“Uh-huh, he thinks what? That I will be sad I’m missing out on.” She screws her face up in disgust at the phone. “That?!”
Megan wipes the corner of her eyes with a napkin, trying to recover from her laughing fit, as she asks, “Why is he even messaging you? He ended it.”
“He’s been messaging since Sunday evening. He says he wants to meet.”
“You’re not considering it, are you?”
She looks at me as if I’m crazy, but I already know she will give him every opportunity to be ‘Mr Right’.
“No! Of course not. He can do one. I’m so over him!” she states, resolute.
“Good, you’re too good for the likes of Hugh,” I tell her, plucking the menu from between the salt and pepper pots.
Megan stands to get the coffees when the barista signals they’re ready, and I’m thankful that the girls have already ordered for me. Flattening my hands to the steaming mug, I bring my hot chocolate to my lips and take a sip of the sugary liquid.
“So, Erin called today. She is coming home in a few weeks,” I tell them, licking my lips.
“I didn’t think she could leave her mum?” Lucy questions, her brows drawing downward in a frown.
Hmm, I didn’t think about that. “Yeah, I’m presuming she has someone to help her whilst she is here.” I shrug. “She wants to use the studio office. I thought we could plan a night out whilst she is here.”
“Do you even need to ask?” Megan grins.
“Will she be up for it? She didn’t seem like the type to hit the clubs when we met her,” Lucy asks.
“She said she wanted to. And she had just found out about her mum when we met her. Having to leave everything behind here to go look after her can’t have been easy.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think about that. It will be nice to see her! I bet she could use the break,” Lucy says into her coffee.
I hear my phone ringing in my bag and lean down to dig around for it, pushing all the crap inside about to find it.
Shit.
I cringe at the screen when I see who it is. “It’s Joey,” I tell the girls. I stupidly gave him my number the first night I met him. He seemed like a cute guy at the time, and I didn’t know he would be a clinger.
I let it ring out, missing the call.
“The note that managed to crawl out of the bin,” I pin them both with a pointed glare. “it was from Joey. The flowers, they weren’t from Mason.”
“What? Ugh, damn Joey.” Megan waves her hand dismissively.
“But then Mason turned up at the gym last night. I was covering Henry and didn’t have anyone for backup.”
“No?!” Lucy places her hand on her chest dramatically, hanging off my every word. “How did he know where you work?”
“I’m presuming Elliot and Charlie told him.”
“Really? I don’t think they would have remembered. I can barely remember anything past the second round of tequila,” she says, wincing at the memory.
“Well, he knew. He apologised for Saturday and then wanted to drive me home. I refused.”
“Why? I thought you said this guy is hot,” Megan asks.
“He is. Trust me, girls. He is beyond hot! But he demanded that he was driving me home, and he called me a child for running out on him on Saturday morning.”
“Oh, dickhead comment.” Megan shakes her head, dropping back to the seat as Lucy’s face drops in disappointment.
“Yep,” I mutter, staring into my cup. “I’m not going to fall at his feet. Again. I need to put aside his looks and keep my wits about me. He needs to understand who’s in charge here.” I smirk. “Also, I think he made his driver come for me so I wouldn’t walk home alone when I refused to go with him.”
“You went with his driver?” Lucy asks.
“Yeah, Mason must have called him. I thought he was a better option than Mason’s car.”
“You’re an idiot,” Megan sighs.
“What? Why?”
My phone starts to dance across the table again. Joey. I go to pick up the phone.
“Don’t answer that.” Megan smacks my hand in a rush, sending the phone to the ground and causing her coffee to spill over the table.
I bend to snatch it up off the floor before someone stands on it. My accusing eyes meet hers. The screen has smashed into a million pieces. “What did you do that for, you tit!”
“Sorry!” She shrinks in the seat. “I will replace it, but you cannot seriously be willing to talk to Joey when you have Mason actively seeking you out, following you home, making sure you’re safe,” she points out, and Lucy all but swoons in her seat.
“I was only going to check if he is okay.” I look down at my phone. “You’ve completely killed it,” I sigh.
Lucy tries to hold in her hopeful smile. “I’m with Megs. Sorry. Team Mase all the way.”
They high-five as I look back and forth at the pair of idiots, trying to hold back my own smile.
I am not team Mase.
I don’t want to be team Mase.
I am so fucking
screwed.
5
Mase
It has been four days since Nina ran out on me, and I can’t seem to shake her off. Nothing works. Not my work. Not the gym. She’s stirred something deep inside me that I don’t recognise, and I have no idea why.
The fact that she doesn’t listen to a fucking word I say turns me on just as much as it pisses me off.
Like her running from me yesterday, I enjoy the chase as much as the next man, but fuck, is it worth it?
I haven’t felt this off-centre since Cara. Just thinking about that woman gives me chills—a perfect example of why I don’t bring women into my home. You’d have thought I would have learnt after past mistakes.
It’s why I know it shouldn’t have felt so right having Nina in my home and in my bed. It’s stupid, but I can’t help but want to let the light back in again, and she seems to shine brighter than the dazzling lights of London. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut and slept with her when I had the chance.
The image of her knelt beside me on the bed invades me, her warm mouth wrapped around my cock as she took me to the back of her throat.
My thighs strain in my trousers, and I—
“Lowell, you massive prick!” Elliot throws open my office doors, interrupting my dirty thoughts.
I quickly roll my chair under the desk, effectively hiding my semi under the hardwood—pun not intended.
“Can you fucking knock?” I snap, pretending to look at something on my monitor.
He stops short, halfway to my desk. “You’re not watching porn, are you?” His face morphs into a knowing smirk. “You are, aren’t you!”
“Fuck off Elliot. What do you want?”
“Why did you fire my PA?” His face turns serious as he places his hands on his hips.
Emma, Elliot’s personal assistant, decided she’d had enough of his reluctance to do anything more than sleep with her. I found his office completely trashed on Friday morning, and the words ‘whore’ sprayed in red on the entire glass wall for the rest of the office to see. If Elliot turned up to work more than three days a week, he would have known this. I’ve fired all five of his previous PAs after they’ve either ended up going batshit crazy on him or damaged property that doesn’t belong to them.