by Claire Raye
Beautiful Trouble
Dirty Hollywood: Book Two
Claire Raye
Copyright © 2020 by Claire Raye
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Editing by Kelly Brennan
Cover Design by Amy Queau of QDesign
Other books by Claire Raye
Rockport Beach Series
Coming Home to You: Book One
Finding Home with You: Book Two
Making Home with You: Book Three
Love and Wine Series
Always Yours: Prequel Novella
Finally Yours: Book One
Dirty Hollywood Series
Beautiful Secret: Book One
Prologue: Three months ago
Ava
Chapter One: Present Day
Lewis
Chapter Two
Ava
Chapter Three
Lewis
Chapter Four
Ava
Chapter Five
Lewis
Chapter Six
Ava
Chapter Seven
Lewis
Chapter Eight
Ava
Chapter Nine
Lewis
Chapter Ten
Ava
Chapter Eleven
Lewis
Chapter Twelve
Ava
Chapter Thirteen
Lewis
Chapter Fourteen
Ava
Chapter Fifteen
Lewis
Chapter Sixteen
Ava
Chapter Seventeen
Lewis
Chapter Eighteen
Ava
Chapter Nineteen
Lewis
Chapter Twenty
Ava
Chapter Twenty-One
Lewis
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ava
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lewis
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ava
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lewis
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ava
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lewis
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ava
Chapter Twenty-nine
Lewis
Chapter Thirty
Ava
Chapter Thirty-One
Lewis
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ava
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lewis
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ava
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lewis
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ava
Epilogue
Three weeks later
Lewis
Beautiful Lie Sneak Peek
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Three months ago
Ava
I walk into the bar despite the sign saying they’re closing in fifteen minutes, and unsurprisingly the place is empty. So empty in fact that there’s no one behind the bar either.
It’s old and worn down, but in that retro trendy way and I can’t figure out if it’s meant to look like this or if time has aged it. It’s clean despite its appearance and the dim lighting makes it feel like a person could find anonymity in here.
I pull out a stool, dragging it across the floor so it signals that I’m here and then I sit down, but there’s still no sign of anyone. I let out a long hard exhale almost growing annoyed with the bar’s lack of professionalism.
Where the hell is the bartender?
“Just getting off work, sweets?” a voice asks, and I huff out loud at the overtly sexual addition to his sentence and his attempt to gain my attention by using it.
I whip around to find the bartender now behind the bar and making his way over to me, and my mouth literally drops open. It couldn’t be more obvious that I’m checking him out, because he’s dirty hot, and so not my type with a sleeve of tattoos and stubble lining his chiseled jaw, disheveled hair and with the short sleeves of his well-worn t-shirt, I can see the outline of his muscled arms.
He leans down, resting his elbows on the bar, his hands folded in front of him until he’s practically face to face with me. He’s bold, and as much as someone in my personal space would normally make me cringe, I don’t move away.
He smells like bourbon and cedar, and I try not to bask in the smell of him so obviously, but I’m clearly failing because he smirks at me.
It’s the kind of smirk that makes panties drop, the kind that sends a girl’s life to hell in a hand basket, the kind of smirk that will get you pregnant.
“What?” I say as I suddenly remember he asked me a question earlier, but I can’t for the life of me even recall what it was.
“I asked if you’d just gotten off work?” His eyes rake over me and I look down at what I’m wearing. I’m still dressed from this morning when I met up with Julia and she sent me on my way for a day off in London.
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “I spent the day seeing London.”
“You spent the day trolling the streets of London in a dress and heels?” he asks, but his question is laced with judgment and he knits his brows together.
“How do you know I’m wearing heels?” I shoot back, my glare now turned accusing.
“I heard you clomping in here.”
“Wait, you heard me come in and you still left me sitting here?”
He looks around and then returns so he’s eye level with me again, and with his deep brown eyes focused on mine he says, “The place is dead. No reason to rush.”
I let out a loud perturbed huff and cross my arms over my chest, ready to battle with this guy.
“You’d think you’d be jumping to serve the one customer you have, because it doesn’t look like your business is booming.”
“It also doesn’t look like you’ve even tried to order a drink,” he comments back, and I want to walk out on him, but I find myself oddly attracted to this argumentative banter.
“You always this rude to customers?” I ask, and now it’s me who’s leaning closer to him, my elbows resting on the bar.
“You always this standoffish with someone who’s going to service you?”
I’m absolutely floored by his audacity and the fact that he thinks his sexual comments are going to get him anywhere with me. Although I’m finding myself a bit hot and bothered by it all or maybe it’s just the exhaustion of the day catching up with me.
“Excuse me?”
“Bar service?” he says, his voice going up slightly at the end as if he’s clarifying his comment and then he winks at me. “What were you thinking?”
I tug my bottom lip into my mouth with my teeth and take in a deep breath before I reply with, “I’ll have a Bulleit on the rocks.”
“A whisky girl, huh? But you’re in the UK and I’m not serving you an American whiskey.”
“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘the customer’s always right’?” I ask, and his smirk is back, and this time it does practically make me drop my panties. He’s good, really good.
“In this case, I’m right and you’re going to thank me for it.”
As I wal
ked out of Julia’s trailer earlier today, with her joking about finding a hot bartender, I didn’t think it would really happen and maybe I’m a little rusty, but it feels like this guy’s hitting on me. Or is that just what bartenders do?
“Well, then, give me your best shot,” I hit back, again trying to keep this playful banter going.
He pulls out two glasses, setting them down on the bar with a forceful thud, and without taking his eyes off me, he serves up our drinks. There’s something so insanely sexy about the way he watches me, about the way he works, about his demeanor and dare I say, his tattooed skin.
He slides my glass toward me and when I reach out to wrap my hand around it, his fingers brush the length of mine, making a shudder run through my body.
I watch him lift his glass, and I do the same as he says, “To uptight American girls who walk into my pub.”
Before I can object to his toast, he taps his glass against mine and takes a drink, and I follow suit.
It’s smooth and goes down easily, probably too easily given the sexual tension that’s currently filling the room.
“Your bar, huh?” I ask, looking around the room and taking it all in. “You pick the name Public House?”
“Nah, my granddad did. I took over a while back, but never changed a thing.” But he quickly changes the subject asking, “How’s the whisky?” His eyes flicking to my nearly empty glass and back to my face. His eyes trail to my lips as the tip of my tongue pokes out to wet them.
“It’s good, and I guess you were right. Drinking American whiskey in London doesn’t really go with the vibe in here.”
“You don’t really go with the vibe here,” he says, but his voice takes on a teasing quality and I like it.
He’s right though and I’m now questioning why I didn’t go back to the hotel and change my clothes. I hook the heels of my shoes through the footrest on the stool and give him a smile.
“Yeah, I don’t get out much,” I say, teasing him right back.
“What’s your name?” he asks, but the playfulness is gone and he’s back to leaning forward and drawing me in with his soulful eyes.
“Ava. What’s yours?”
“Lewis,” he replies and then says, “Tell me what you’re doing in my pub in the middle of the night dressed like that, Ava.” And the way he says my name makes my stomach flutter in response. He says it like I’m the only name to have ever fallen from his lips, like I’m the only girl in the world.
All of this is a terrible, terrible thing.
“I have no idea. This whole day was sorta a bucket list kind of thing,” I admit, my cheeks flushing as I quickly look away from him. “This isn’t where I’d normally find myself at the end of the night.”
“Where would you normally find yourself at this hour?”
“In bed…” I start but trail off when I see his eyes widen and his lips tug up at the corners. I’ve set him up perfectly for another reason to hit on me and my heart begins to thump loudly in my chest in response.
“I’ve got a bed,” Lewis says, winking at me as he motions toward a flight of stairs near the back of the bar. “Maybe you could add me to your bucket list.”
I shake my head even though a part of me is insanely turned on by all this. But I’m not that type of girl and he’s absolutely not my type of guy.
“You’re not my type,” I deadpan, as I try to control my urge to say fuck it and lean over the bar and kiss him.
“Isn’t that the entire point of a bucket list?” he asks, pushing the conversation a little further and proving he’s not just right about the whisky.
“Maybe,” I reply, knowing my response is weak and my resolve is waning.
“Well, why don’t we give you a story to take back to America with you?” he murmurs, as he leans over the bar and slips his hand around my neck. With our mouths nearly touching, he adds, “What do you say, Ava?”
And that’s all the convincing I need because in that moment his lips press to mine and when I run my tongue along his bottom lip, he slips his into my mouth. His grip on my neck tightens, pulling me closer until I’m standing, my entire torso leaning over the bar, and it’s then that I make an impulsive decision.
Climbing over the bar so I’m sitting on top of it, Lewis settles himself between my legs and continues his assault on my mouth. It feels like his mouth is a direct line to every part of my body, even my brain feels like it’s buzzing.
What the hell am I doing?
I don’t climb over bars. I don’t kiss random dirty hot strangers. And I definitely don’t go to bed with them. But today seems like it’s breaking all the rules. I blame my boss Julia for this whole mess. Had she not given me the day off, had she not planted the ideas in my head, none of this would be happening.
I moan into his mouth when he knots his fingers in my hair and tugs. Exposing my neck, he moves his lips down, sucking and biting at me as I wrap my legs around his waist.
“What are we doing here, Ava?” he groans, as I shift my hips against him, feeling how much this is affecting him.
“Making out,” I say, and I feel his lips curve into a smile.
“You going to add the British bartender to your bucket list?”
“I think I just might,” I say, as Lewis lifts me off the bar, my legs tangling around his waist as he walks up the back stairs.
Chapter One
Present Day
Lewis
“You gonna put it in?” I whisper, my mouth at her ear as I stand behind her body, which is currently bent over the table.
“Uh huh,” she murmurs.
I grin. “Gentle now, stroke it nice and soft.”
Victoria laughs, shaking her head as she says, “You realize this is pool, right, not a porno?”
I chuckle, standing and nudging her arse with my hip before moving to the side of the table. “Whatever, you love it,” I tell her. “Hurry up and take your shot.”
V hits the cue ball and sends it hurtling toward the black one, completely ignoring my advice to hit it gently. Regardless, the black ball coasts into the pocket and V drops her cue on the table, raising her hands in the air and walking toward me.
“Nice one,” I say, sliding my arms around her waist and picking her up.
She squeals in delight, because she loves it when we take on the locals and win. When I put her down, she smiles up at me, her hands resting on my chest. The pub is dead; it’s Monday night, which is why we’re playing. V, two regulars, and me, the only people in this place.
“You realize this means you owe me a drink?” she says, grinning still.
I chuckle. “Of course I do, though it’s pretty busy,” I say, casting my eyes around. “I might…”
The rest of my words are cut off the second they land on the set of eyes watching me on the other side of the front window.
I know those eyes. I’ve been lost in those eyes, drowning in their blue depths as I buried myself in the woman they belonged to.
“Fuck,” I growl, as Ava stares back at me, those eyes I remember so well, having clearly just taken in V and me and our victory hug. God knows what else before that.
But then I remember how it was her who disappeared, her who just left without so much as a good bye or a thanks for the ride or see ya round.
Our eyes meet and I watch as she swallows hard, lifting her hand in a wave. And as pissed as I was that she did leave; as pissed as I still am, I can’t deny the fire that now burns inside me from just seeing her.
I pull away from V and stride to the door, reaching it quickly and walking outside to where she stands.
“Ava,” I murmur, stopping in front of her. My hands itch to pull her into my arms, to take her upstairs and pull the clothes from her body. But not yet. Not when I need answers. “You’re back?”
She nods her head, her eyes flicking to the window again before turning back to me.
“Why’d you just leave?” I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets because I’m two seconds away from saying
fuck it and just pulling her closer. “You didn’t even say good bye,” I add. “Didn’t even mention you were leaving.”
“I know,” she murmurs, her bottom lip between her teeth.
I pause, confused about what’s going on. Ava stares up at me, her eyes wide. “No phone call,” I continue. “No, see ya later. You just…disappeared?”
She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t give me anything.
“Ava,” I murmur, the word low.
God, it’s been three months since I’ve seen her. Three long months since I’ve buried myself inside her and lost myself in the beautiful blue eyes currently staring up at me.
And as pissed off as I’ve been in that time, I’ve also missed her. More than I ever thought I would, more than I’m prepared to admit.
I can already feel my dick hardening from the proximity of her body, the intoxicating smell of her skin and the way her eyes watch me.
Ever since the night this woman walked into my bar, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. She’d been an unexpected bonus to the end of a long shift, her playful flirting irresistible and inevitably leading to me taking her upstairs to my flat.
To me fucking her senseless all night long.
She’d disappeared early the next morning, claiming work, which she was going into completely sleep deprived. She hadn’t left her number, but she had come back. Many times in the weeks and months after that first time. Slinking into my pub late in the evening and then following me upstairs after everyone had gone.
I’d made her come many times in return though, but then that had always felt like a win for both of us. I wasn’t ever sure what it was exactly, this secret thing we had going on. We never met each other’s friends, never really talked about our families or our lives and we never discussed what this thing between us actually was. Including the fact that it apparently had an end date.
I’d enjoyed it though. A hell of a lot. So much so, that right now, I was willing to forgive her disappearing act if only I could have another taste of her.
But I don’t, pressing the issue as I ask, “Where did you go?”
