Once A Bad Girl (9 page)

‘No! Shove off!’

A low, wicked chuckle made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. ‘If you’re not ready in five minutes, Lottie, I’m going to come in and dress you myself. And don’t even think about picking out something else.’

‘Big bully!’

He was right. They did need to talk. She would start by helping him with his understanding of the word ‘no’.

Before she could lose her nerve, she whipped off her bra and manoeuvred herself into the clinging acid-yellow dress. With sleeves to the wrists and skirt to the floor, it flirted with demure. With razor-sharp slashes across her back, her décolletage, her thighs, it committed to outrageous. Surely he’d take one look and agree it was totally unsuitable. Then she’d slip back into her black silk ruffles, and they could get on with their evening.

Decision made, Lottie picked out glittery silver heels then stormed out of the bedroom, swinging them like a weapon.

Josh sat on her sofa, taking up far too much space and looking far too gorgeous for comfort. He blew out a low, slow whistle, set the book he’d been thumbing through back on the shelf. ‘Now that’s more like it.’

Her mouth went dry as his gaze travelled south, stopping unashamedly on the swell of her unsupported breasts.

An image of him teasing a taut nipple with his mouth flashed into her mind and nearly derailed her, and she knew from the way his eyes had gone dark that he was thinking exactly the same thing. ‘You said we needed to talk. So talk.’

‘Later. We need to get going.’

‘What’s wrong with being fashionably late?’ Lottie plonked herself down on one arm of the sofa and set about tucking her feet into her shoes, trying not to make it obvious that the ugly sisters had more chance of fitting into the glass slipper.

‘Fashionably late implies that you had something more interesting to do, and I’ve seen your bed. It’s not up to it.’

‘Josh, we’re not sleeping together again. I don’t want to get tangled up with anyone right now, least of all you. And this is for the auction. That’s all. Once that’s done, we won’t be seeing each other again.’

A moment of silence. Then, ‘Agreed.’

Lottie forced the first shoe on. She could feel his gaze sliding over her skin, feel the impact of having him so close in every sensitive part of her body. Her nipples chafed against the fabric of her dress as she pressed her knees tightly together, capturing her fingers between her thighs. She felt utterly confused. He’d told her what she wanted to hear. There was no reason to feel disappointed. She patched herself up with a big dollop of common sense and a sideways glance at the neat row of self-help books sitting on the shelf. ‘That’s sorted then,’ she said brightly.

He held out one big hand, the slash of white cuff emphasising his tan. ‘Come on, the limo’s waiting. We need to get going.’

It would be nice if he at least tried to change her mind, though. Not that he could change it, obviously, but that wasn’t the point. Men were supposed to be sex mad, weren’t they? Lottie shook her head. Silly girl. Of course he wasn’t going to fight about it. He didn’t have to. There would be a million women willing and ready to slide into bed with him. He had it all; the looks, the money, the heritage, whereas she epitomised ordinary, with her tiny flat and normal, unglamorous life.

There had been a point in her life where she’d believed herself destined for something more, but those had been the dreams of a selfish adolescent who didn’t care who she hurt. Until her brother David had died, and she’d promised herself she’d never make that mistake again. He would never have been on the road that night if it wasn’t for her, and if he was still here and running the auction house like her parents had always wanted, they wouldn’t be in such a mess. David had been far too smart for that.

She had to remember that. She had to be strong. She would attend this premiere with a face-busting smile, and she would sell this non-relationship for all it was worth. The contract between Marlene and Spencer’s was almost finalised, so Josh had kept his promise, now she had to keep hers.

She let Josh lead her out to the limo and made what she hoped were all the right noises, gushing over the plush interior, the state-of-the-art sound system. When he flicked on the in-car TV and tuned it to some sort of extreme sport involving motorbikes and riders with a death wish, she took the hint and stopped talking.

He put a friendly distance between them, not too far away but not close either, and in no time at all they arrived at Leicester Square. This was it.

Lottie felt the scratch of anxiety as the driver opened the door and the sound of a thousand screaming girls crashed into the small space. She froze in her seat, heart pounding furiously as her eardrums threatened to burst.

Josh winked at her, then unfolded himself from the car. He turned round and beckoned. ‘Moment of truth.’

Lottie grabbed the edge of her seat with both hands and held on for dear life. ‘What is that racket?’

‘By the looks of it, the teenage female population of London has turned into a hysterical mob and has descended on Leicester Square, hungry for flesh.’

‘What?’

‘Are you chicken, Lottie?’

Her insides twisted and turned, as panic warred with excitement. She was a step away from walking the red carpet at a film premiere. She’d be mingling with the stars. When would she ever get an opportunity like this again? The memory of the last time she’d had that thought threatened to resurface, but she shoved it right back down. No-one was getting naked. No-one was going to get hurt. ‘No,’ she snapped out. ‘I’m just waiting for the right moment.’

Which, hopefully, would be along any minute now. She was still gathering her courage when Josh reached across, locked strong fingers round her wrist and tugged. She zoomed forward and fell out of the limo.

Straight into his arms.

A roar went up from the crowd. Those big hands clamped round her waist and held her steady, his fingertips grazing over sensitive slivers of bare flesh. She shivered. ‘Remember,’ he murmured, dark brows flicking up, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, ‘as far as everyone here is concerned, we’re together. Very together.’ He slid one hand up from her waist, stroking past the curve of her breast, then lifted her hair back over her shoulder. ‘We want them to think we can’t keep our hands off each other.’

Each caress lit a fire inside her, made the noise around them dial down a little more. Lifting her hands, Lottie set them on his wide shoulders. He smelled warm and clean, just as a man should, and she couldn’t stop her hormonally charged body from curving into him. But it was okay, she told herself. She was
selling it
. As long as she didn’t sell it in private, she was doing nothing wrong.

‘Perfect,’ he said, flashing a wicked grin that made her legs wobble. ‘Now, we’re going to walk the red carpet. We’ll do a 30-second photo call at the far end.

‘We should probably kiss for that,’ Lottie heard herself say. ‘I think if we’re going to do this, we should really sell it.’

He slid his hand back down her arm then linked his fingers through hers. ‘Oh, absolutely.’

Every part of her brain told her this was a bad, bad idea but her body was ready to sprint to the finish line to get a taste of him. This is for the crowd, she told herself firmly, as they strolled along the carpet. This is what you agreed to. It would be a quick peck, nothing more. What could go wrong?

Cameras flashed, as shouts of ‘this way!’ and ‘over here!’ battered her senseless. Josh tucked her tightly into his side as they approached the end of the runway. Moment of truth, she told herself firmly. Sell it, Lottie. Tipping her head back, she gazed up at him.

He was smiling at the crowd, but something about it was off. Maybe it was the way his dark lashes were half lowered. Maybe it was the way his jaw was set a little too hard. Maybe it was her imagination, but she didn’t think so.

‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘You ready?’

Just for the cameras, she told herself, as she lifted onto her tiptoes, remembering the hot slide of his tongue against hers, how shameless his desire for her had been. How good he had tasted. Her mouth hovered inches away from his. Everyone was watching, waiting, expectation heavy in the air. It would be easy. So why was her heart hammering so hard?

One large hand curved over her backside and squeezed. ‘Breathe,’ he murmured, dipping his head.

He was going to kiss her. Here, in front of all these people. Lottie dropped her heels to the ground and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘Inside. Now.’

The hand gripping her backside slid round to her hip, and she half-walked, half stumbled as he shepherded her inside, her chest heaving inside the too-tight dress. She couldn’t cross that line. She couldn’t tarnish the private, intimate things they’d done a week ago with meaningless play acting. Some things, she thought, should not be for sale.

Her vision blurred as he led her up a flight of stairs and into the VIP-packed foyer of the cinema. He spun her into a corner, his big body blocking her view of the room. She could practically feel the tension radiating off him. ‘What the hell was that?’

He was crowding her in, and she should have hated it, but it felt hot and sexy, and that, she realised, was the crux of the problem. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I panicked. It won’t happen again.’

Long fingers touched her chin and gently tipped her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. He searched her face, those bright blue eyes fierce with what she could have sworn was concern. ‘You scared me for a minute there. Don’t do that again.’

‘I won’t,’ she promised, twisting her fingers together so that she wouldn’t shove them into the hair curling over his collar, haul him against her, and kiss him senseless. ‘I’m sorry, Josh. I really am. It was our big opportunity, and I ruined it. They didn’t get their picture.’

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took a step back, and she felt the loss of his closeness instantly. Then the edge of his mouth curved up, and one dark brow shot skywards. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ll be all over the gossip mags this week, Lottie. I guarantee it.’

‘What do you mean?’

Leaning forward, he hooked his finger into the slash that journeyed from waist to collarbone at a sharp 45-degree angle. The back of his hand grazed her left nipple.

Her bare left nipple. ‘Oh my god.’ Spinning round, Lottie hastily tucked the offending body part back inside her dress, her entire body on fire. If the floor wanted to open up and swallow her or the ceiling to cave in, now would be a good time. ‘This is not funny,’ she snapped, as he set his hands to her shoulders and turned her slowly back round to face him.

Her eyes felt like they were strapped to the red flecks that patterned the black carpet, and she wanted to run home, lock her front door, dive headfirst into a tub of mint-choc-chip ice cream and stay there for a month.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s brilliant.’

‘For you, maybe. But not for me. It’s hardly the image Spencer’s wants to promote. I hate you for making me wear this bloody dress. If I’d worn the black, this would never have happened.’

He pulled in a deep breath, let it out. ‘Seriously. It’s not the end of the world. And given that you have spectacular breasts, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.’

Lottie fought the urge to punch him. ‘That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t just lose your dignity in public.’

‘Goes with the territory, I’m afraid.’

‘Do you really think anyone noticed?’ Maybe it had happened as she’d been walking up the stairs. Surely she’d have noticed if it had happened outside. Wouldn’t someone have said? ‘I mean, it probably wasn’t that obvious.’

He took her hand, squeezed it. ‘Probably not. Come on. Let’s grab some popcorn and annoy some film stars.’

‘How do you annoy film stars?’

‘By throwing popcorn at them. You’ll love it. It’s even more fun than making out in the back row.’

Lottie pulled her hand free from his and folded her arms across her chest, furious at the image he’d just implanted in her head. Why would he talk about making out when they’d both agreed this was just pretend? ‘Sounds great,’ she snapped. And stormed off in search of popcorn.

Josh pummelled his pillow for a good 30 seconds before dropping his head onto it. Damn thing still felt like a brick. He kicked at the sheets that clung to his legs, but only succeeded in tangling himself up even more. Outside, the birds had started their usual early-morning sing song.

He wished somebody would shoot them. He’d quite happily volunteer. He punched his pillow again, harder this time, then threw it on the floor. The film premiere had kept him out until 3am. He’d seen Lottie safely back to her flat, had her door firmly slammed in his face, then come home and spent the last three hours trying to sleep.

Except that he couldn’t sleep, because every time he spread himself out on the sheets, all he could think about was Lottie. He didn’t want to be attracted to her, but he’d never met anyone who turned him on like she did and he was horny as hell. He’d stripped the bed twice in the past week, had even bought new stuff for it, but he swore he could still smell her scent on the pillows.

And there were other images now, too—newer, fresher, brighter ones. The curve of her bottom in those black lace shorts. The way she’d indecently filled that acid-yellow dress. The sight of one raspberry-pink nipple playing peek-a-boo. The horrified look on her face when she’d realised.

Bloody hell. Flinging the twisted sheets aside, Josh levered himself out of bed, scrubbed his hands over his face and set about getting dressed. Might as well do something more productive with his time than lying in bed feeling both horny and guilty. He pulled on jeans, trainers and a hooded top, jogged downstairs and helped himself to a bottle of water from the fridge.

He needed to see Lottie, but he suspected that if he went to her flat now, she’d refuse to open the door. She’d made it perfectly clear last night that she had no intention of having sex with him again, which was fine, because intellectually he knew he didn’t want to have sex with someone he didn’t know if he could trust. But if he wanted to pin responsibility for the photo in
Guilty Pleasures
on Lottie, he had to nail responsibility for what had happened last night to himself.