High (9 page)

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

I read over the message which is 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.”

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

Yes, yes, it fucking 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, they can go fuck themselves. 

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

“B, how are you?”

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

“I’m out of blow until tonight.” He interrupts.

“Okay, firstly, what kind of dealer are you? You never. Ever. Run out of blow. Secondly, I’m not after any. I need Rhett’s number.” He sighs. “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.” He sighs.

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 fucking perfect to me. He makes that tuxedo look good, really fucking good. Let’s just say it’s clinging to all the right places.

“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 fuck a guy and think they’re dating or some shit. “But I need to put it out there that 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 mumbles, the roughness of his voice making me shiver. “And just so you know, there’s no one worse for a reputation than me.”

Oh, god. Which makes him perfect.
I take a deep breath and turn around, but he doesn’t move. I slowly 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. He doesn’t move, but 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 and feel the steady thrum of his. I want him to kiss me and fuck me, dominate and own me. I fucking 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 and just come up for air. What the fuck is that shit he does?

“Do you?”

Do I? I could just stay here and fuck 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 fucking 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 turns and slowly 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 without the risk of slipping over in my own fucking juices. 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.

I look in the mirror at my finished product. The dress is perfect.

The floor length skirt is a dove-grey lace with a slit all the way up the thigh, stopping at the edge of the ‘other’ skirt which just covers mid-thigh. It also shows a lot of cleavage and my entire back, including the enormous phoenix tattooed across the width of my shoulder blades—all covered by lace, of course. Black tie is all about semantics.

Rhett will want to fuck me senseless and my father will shit himself. Winning.

I swipe some bright red lipstick across my lips and I’m done. It’s slut chic.

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, Blake. I know you love a party.”

“Correction. I like the kind of parties where hallucinations, 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 yelp. “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 fucking trashed before I found out I had to come to this shit, and now I’m riding the fine line between drunk and high. You get too drunk, you take a little cocaine to sober back up, but not so much that you’re off your face. I’ve counter balanced myself back to sober, I think, and I hate sober.

He drags me through the fucking 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 bag of blow when I spot my mother and father across the room. I smile as I tighten my hold on Rhett’s arm.

I stand 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. “Didn’t take you for the 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 grabs my wrist, pulling me against him and locking one hand around the back of my neck. His golden eyes meet mine, sparking violently before he slams his lips over mine.

I cup his face, dragging 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 fucks my shit 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. I smile and 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.

“Blake, a word, please.” I look over Rhett’s shoulder to see my father standing there, red faced. I know him well enough to know that he’s about two point five seconds away from going postal. Of course, it’s all a load of shit. He flaps and huffs, but bottom line, he has no idea how to handle me and don’t I just love to test him on that.