Beautiful Enemy (The Enemies Trilogy Book 1)

by Piper Lawson

  I choose my next words carefully. “I’m a terrible tour guide. And I’m quite sure I have nothing else to offer your daughter.”

  “Are you seeing someone?”

  She’s back with a vengeance. The way she looks playing the booth at my club. How she flips both fingers in the air.

  How I want her not to sheathe her claws but bare them, to rake them over every inch of me.

  “Perhaps the woman you brought to my party?” Christian presses. “She was charming.”

  I gesture toward the television. “An American on holiday.”

  “Ahh. She’ll go back to her world, and you’ll be in yours.”

  The truth in his words makes me want to break the espresso cup.

  I hate the idea of her leaving. Once I arrange the purchase of La Mer, I’ll finish the season in Ibiza and return to… what exactly? Shuttling between properties in London and Tokyo? Eating expensive meals with socialites and models, doing deals on airplanes?

  Even if I wanted to get closer to Rae, her contract is almost up. She’ll be gone with the money she so shrewdly bargained for, and I’ll have a resurrected club in the form of Debajo.

  It seems a fair trade.

  But it doesn’t feel like it.

  “Harrison, I would like to finalize this deal as much as you would. I’m an old man with many things occupying my time until I can divest myself of them. However, I can’t focus on them when the most important one is beyond those doors.” He gestures toward the hallway, his eyes crinkling. “I’m asking you, as a friend, to take my daughter around town. She hasn’t told me she wants this, but I sense it in her. She would not ask for it. And alas, she does not want to be shown by her father.”

  I set the espresso on the table, untouched.

  “As long as you and she understand this is nothing more.”

  He lifts his hands. “I would not presume to meddle in matters of the heart. I am more interested in matters of finance.” Christian drains the last of his coffee before rising, indicating we’re done. “And soon, I will no longer be interested in those either.”

  “Does Toro know you’re waxing his car?”

  Rae’s voice from a few feet behind me later that afternoon makes me straighten from the fender of the Rolls-Royce.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I say, tossing the rag over my shoulder and wiping an arm across my brow as I turn. “He’ll have my head.”

  In the middle of my driveway, she’s a mirage. Her black shorts are trendy, her white top with wide straps that leave her shoulders bare clings to every curve, and her hair is down around her shoulders.

  She could pass for a local, and she’s stunning.

  Rae sidles closer, folding her arms and squinting into the sun to meet my gaze. “He told me he was the first staff you hired back after your parents died once you could afford to.”

  “A man needs a driver and a housekeeper.”

  “Did you have a house to keep?”

  “A rental at first,” I concede, returning to my task.

  “I didn’t know you owned a T-shirt.”

  “Only this one.” If I’d known a T-shirt would have this effect on her, maybe I would wear them more often. “When I need to clear my head, I try to do something… simple.”

  I’m still bothered by my meeting with Christian and not comfortable with where we landed. Part of my discomfort has to do with the woman next to me.

  Rae surveys the car and me. “Well, your head doesn’t seem clear, and the car’s shinier than the day it came out of the factory.”

  I arch a brow. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning let’s go.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re at the docks in town, walking amongst the tourists and those who’ve docked their yachts.

  She told me to wear the T-shirt and shorts, but I changed into a short-sleeved button-down.

  I might be grumpy, but I’m not a heathen.

  Rae frowns at the yachts. “These boats are ridiculous.”

  Her surprise makes me grin. “It’s Ibiza. The owners come here to play and to show off.”

  I nod toward the nearest vessel. “The Ariadne. She’s here every summer.”

  “What about that one? Dolce Vita,” she pronounces.

  “Usually not until later in the year.”

  My phone buzzes, and I frown, holding it away to read the screen.

  “You do need glasses,” Rae murmurs, and I scoff.

  “A sign of weakness.”

  “A sign you’re smart enough to know you can’t fucking see.” Her plain tone makes me press my lips together. “And I think they’d look good on you.”

  I pocket the phone, conflicted. A single word of praise from this woman turns me into a damn teenager.

  “You’ve never been on one?” I nod at the yachts. “They have all manner of toys. Saunas, pool, theaters, private chefs.”

  “Because there’s nothing like a meal from your private chef on a boat like that.” Her voice is dry, but there’s a hint of curiosity under the surface, as if she wants to know for sure.

  “There’s nothing like fucking on a boat like that. Conquering the ocean, feeling as if nature herself can’t help but tremble along with the person beneath you.”

  She turns toward me, and the expression on her face has my body heating in arousal as I think of the kiss last night.

  Unplanned.

  Disturbingly provocative.

  Like her.

  “You will play that club someday, Rae.”

  She didn’t need my belief in her last night, but she wanted it. I’ve told myself the past few weeks have been about repairing my business, that she was a tool to build Debajo back up to its prior profitability.

  The fact that I’ve immensely enjoyed watching her do it is natural. It is my club, after all.

  But perhaps it’s more than that.

  Perhaps it’s about her.

  My words have the opposite effect than the one I intend, making her frown rather than smile.

  A group of tourists shoves past us, and I reach out and tug her to my side.

  Her curves fit to my body, the ripeness of her breasts, the soft give between her thighs.

  We could be any couple on vacation taking a break from devouring one another to enjoy the sights.

  Her lips part as she feels how her closeness affects me.

  “Ash said something to me—“

  “Fuck my brother.” I thread my fingers in the hair at the base of her neck, caressing her skin. “It’s not my brother you get off to. It’s not Ash you lay in bed thinking of while you make yourself come.”

  Rae’s eyes darken.

  I want to lay a hand over her heart and see if it’s hammering like mine.

  But when the group has passed, she pulls away.

  “You don’t have to like me to want me,” I say as I fall into step next to her, pretending the rejection doesn’t sting.

  “I don’t sleep with rich, entitled assholes.”

  I shove both hands in my pockets, hard, and squint into the sun. “Then you’ll have to continue to get yourself off.”

  “Or I’ll have to decide you’re a good man.”

  Surprise has me jerking my head to look at her.

  “You can be,” she goes on. “I’ve seen it. When you stop being so consumed with conquering the world and you take a moment to appreciate what’s in it.”

  She sweeps her hair off her shoulders, revealing a faint sheen of sweat glistening on her neck.

  My next step falters. I’m glad we’re not still touching, because she’d feel my heart kick beneath my ribs.

  Because I want her body.

  But Christ, I might want her approval even more.

  15

  Rae

  “Well, well. What is all this?” Ash calls from the front door.

  I jump up from where I’m working on a track on the couch, headphones around my ears.

  Ash already has the case open on the dining table, lifting one of the two doze
n items inside.

  He fumbles it, nearly dropping it on the floor. “Ah, bollocks.”

  “I thought you were an athlete. What happened to hand-eye coordination?”

  “Footballer. Foot-eye coordination. This a new part of your costume?” he asks as I trail a finger over the pairs of glasses.

  “They’re not for me.”

  “Ahh.” His eyes soften, and I hate how transparent I feel. “You know, the moment you flipped him off at Debajo the first night, I told him if he wasn’t going to make a move, I would.”

  “But you haven’t,” I point out, pushing the attention back onto him. “It’s never been like that with us, even at the start.”

  He frowns at the lenses in his hands, but I press.

  “What is your type, Ash?“

  Before he can answer, the door opens and Harrison walks in.

  The room gets smaller the instant he steps inside, and it’s not because of his size or the tailored suit clinging to every inch of his hard body. It’s the way his attention finds me in a heartbeat.

  “It’s not Ash you lay in bed thinking of while you make yourself come.”

  The only thing hotter than imagining his filthy mouth on me while I touch myself, the tight-woven sheets smooth on my damp back, is imagining him down the hall knowing I’m imagining it.

  It’s making it harder to remember I’m here to work for him for less than two more weeks.

  Three shows, to be exact.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi.”

  There’s a beat of awkward silence before he continues.

  “I spoke to Leni about moving your last show. You’ll still play Thursday and next Monday, but instead of closing Thursday next week, you’ll finish Saturday. I trust that’s acceptable to you.”

  Surprise works through me. He’s offering to have me finish on the biggest night of the week. More exposure, and per our deal, more money. I should be irritated he didn’t ask me, but there’s another aspect of this proposal I’m focused on.

  “You want me to stay here two more nights?”

  He cocks his head, parsing my response. “Echo will cover any fees to change your travel plans. But you deserve to close on a weekend.”

  I feel myself nod.

  “Well?” Ash slides a pair of glasses onto his nose and turns to face his brother.

  Harrison’s attention slides to his brother. “You look like a banker.”

  “Fortunately, I don’t need glasses. You do.” Ash pulls them off and tosses them at Harrison.

  “See? Hand-eye coordination,” I mutter as he catches them.

  Ash snorts as he heads for the kitchen.

  Harrison crosses to me and scans the table. He looks taken aback, as if the designer case sprouted legs and began scuttling over the floor.

  “A mix of designers,” I say, pressing my fingers together behind my back as self-consciousness kicks in. “I figured you were a ‘don’t fuck with the classics’ kind of guy. Since you won’t see an optometrist, they sent options. You can keep the ones you want, send the rest back.”

  With a moment’s hesitation, he slides a pair up his nose and lifts a brow at me.

  I’m thoroughly unprepared for how hot he is. Like a barely tamed beast of a man.

  “Um, yeah. Those ones.”

  “I thought he’s supposed to be able to read with them,” Ash comments helpfully from the kitchen.

  I grab my phone and pull up my social media feed, handing it over so Harrison can test the strength of the glasses.

  “These seem very effective.” But he’s no longer looking at the phone as he backs me into the table with slow, deliberate steps.

  I’m aware of him and the fact that his brother is a dozen steps away.

  “You failed to disclose something important about this weekend,” he says softly. I wait for a beat, then two. “It’s your birthday.”

  Dammit. I press both hands to my eyes. “Who do I have to kill?”

  “Toro.”

  “It had to be the old guy with kids.” I curse and blink my eyes open as he smirks.

  “Don’t make plans.”

  To buy myself an inch of breathing room, I shift up so I’m sitting on the table.

  “I’ll have to prepare for my final two shows. Especially since one is next Saturday. Besides, I thought you were spending every second convincing Christian to sell you La Mer.”

  His gaze flickers. “I decided to leave him time to sleep, and eat, and fuck his wife.”

  “How charitable,” I tease.

  I realize my mistake immediately as he steps between my knees, forcing my legs apart.

  There are mere inches between us, and my heart is racing.

  Keeping my voice level is an impossible task. “I don’t celebrate my birthday.” I lift the glasses from his face, folding them and tucking them into the breast pocket of his jacket. “It’s cursed.”

  He snorts. “How do you figure?”

  “It’s a long story. And you should be warned… everyone has a birthday. I might get you back on yours.”

  Blue eyes darken to a flinty gray. “You’d have to stick around.”

  Surprise has me straightening even as footsteps from upstairs interrupt. Natalia.

  Harrison leans across me to close the case of glasses, near enough his scent invades my senses.

  “Two extra days is one thing, but I can’t imagine staying longer,” I murmur, though suddenly I’m wondering what it would be like. “For one, there’s the small issue of you hating me.”

  “I never hated you. I wanted you to fix the damage your words caused.”

  “You wanted to punish me,” I challenge. “I got up in your business and dared to ask questions about the inimitable Harrison King, and you didn’t like it.”

  His gaze roams my face, then lower. Harrison moves my hair behind my shoulder before wrapping it around his hand like a rope. He tugs on it, forcing my head back, and leans in, his mouth grazing my ear. “I still want to punish you.”

  His hips press closer, near enough that I feel his hard length between my thighs.

  With one jerk of his hands, he could have me on my back.

  But when his phone goes off, he shifts away. I resist the urge to wipe my forehead and see if it’s damp as the rest of me.

  “Don’t bother arguing about the birthday,” he says when he pockets the device again. “You’ll need to pack a couple of bags for our outing.”

  “I only have one. What kinds of activities are we doing?”

  He turns for the door.

  “Drinking? Walking? Swimming?” I demand.

  “Yes.”

  I exhale, irritated by the lack of specificity. “Are there sharks?”

  He turns back, his heated gaze sweeping my body. “Count on it.”

  I think about those words.

  As I try to work on my set for the night, then as I meet up with Leni to talk through new ideas for next weekend.

  We hit a high of more than sixteen hundred people, and the bar staff makes me do shots until I trip out of the VIP room high-fiving everyone along the way.

  The next day, I head down to a café I like, wearing my wig and sunglasses to meet the interviewer I agreed to see from social media.

  The costume helps me feel protected, like this is part of my onstage persona and not edging into my personal life. It reminds me I’m still Little Queen here, not Rae Madani.

  “How did you get into producing? You’re notoriously tight-lipped about that,” she asks when we’re seated at a table.

  “Just caught the bug as a teenager. Helped when I got a computer and a synth.”

  “Did your parents buy them for you?”

  I flex my hands under the table. “My first one, yeah.”

  She laughs. “Guess that gave you something to channel your angst. What do they think of your career now?”

  Tension climbs up my spine, settles into my shoulders. “We don’t talk about it a lot.”

  “Y
ou’re one of the only women playing the White Isle this summer. You’ve stood up for women’s rights even when it cost you.”

  This is why I hate live interviews. It’s impossible to filter out these kinds of things. “It’s important to speak up for the people who can’t protect themselves.”

  Despite the fact that she’s recording, she makes a note. I force myself not to lean over the table to see what she’s writing.

  “Harrison King is lying low thanks to you,” she comments, and the right turn has me straightening. “Have you heard from him?”

  It’s not common knowledge that Harrison owns Debajo. He doesn’t advertise the fact, and she clearly hasn’t put it together. I’m not going to do it for her.

  “I’d rather focus on the future.”

  I manage to steer the conversation away from me and toward my music.

  As she rises to head to the door, I ask, “When are you expecting to finalize the article?”

  “Soon. I’m pulling in more sources, and I’ll come by Debajo to take some photos.”

  “Sure thing. I’m actually closing next Saturday.”

  There’s a wave of nerves as I watch her leave. Playing a show is high stakes, but you get immediate feedback. With the media, you never know what they’ll come up with until it’s served up to the public on a platter.

  I shake myself before dropping back into my seat to review some logistics for the upcoming shows.

  Press is good. It’ll help Debajo, and my career.

  My phone rings immediately after.

  “Greetings, cousin. You’re unreal,” Callie declares.

  “Um. Thanks?”

  “Truly. With the money you sent, I’ve been able to cover payroll for another two weeks.”

  “More will come after the last show,” I promise.

  “I’ll pay you back every cent. I swear.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  I can almost hear her roll her eyes.

  “How’s your mysterious, infuriating hottie?”

  I turn it over. “Still hot. Still infuriating.”

  “So, why do you sound as if you’ve softened?”

  “He’s planning something for my birthday.”

  I haven’t been able to get details out of Harrison about the birthday outing, though God knows I’ve been trying.