Sweet Temptation
Page 15
“Hey.” He closed the space between them, placing a single finger beneath her chin to lift her head. “I’m going to be gone for three months. I can’t ask you to wait for me, but I... I just wanted you to know.”
“Ask me anyway.” These emotional ups and downs were making her dizzy. “Ask me to wait.”
“Will you wait for me?” She could barely hear him, he spoke so softly. “I have no right to ask that, but I will.”
“You idiot.” She lunged at him. He laughed as she monkeyed her way up his body until her arms were around his shoulders and her legs around his waist.
“Three months is nothing. Of course I’ll wait.”
EPILOGUE
Three and a half months later
“DO I WANT to eat something that combines coffee and rutabagas?” Jo eyed the platter of appetizers that Meg shoved across the island in her rented kitchen. “You usually make soup or pasta.”
“The whole point of this dinner is for you guys to test my menu for the celebrity party,” she reminded her sister before retrieving another platter from the counter. “Now, eat this charcoal-sesame bread, plebeian.”
“I’m not eating black bread,” her sister informed her. “That’s just weird.”
“I ate black cheese last week,” Amy informed them as she strolled over to the island. “It was delicious.”
“And that’s why you’re my favorite sister.” Meg winked at Amy as Jo snorted with indignation. “But I’ll keep you, too, Jo, even if you’re a peasant.”
“Gee, thanks.” Jo eyed the jet-black bread before tentatively nibbling off a corner. “Should I attribute your generosity to the fact that John will be back soon and you’ll finally get laid?”
“Do you know what day he’s getting in yet?” Amy plucked the bun from Jo’s hand and stuffed it in her mouth, mumbling around it, “This is really good.”
“Sometime in the next two weeks.” Meg couldn’t stop the bolt of nerves that shot through her at the question. “He couldn’t pinpoint the exact date.”
Theo’s snort sounded from across the kitchen. Meg looked at Jo in time to see her shaking her head at him.
“What?” She narrowed her eyes at Theo.
“I’m gone for over three months, and not a thing has changed.” A male voice spoke behind her, a voice she’d only heard over the phone for the last few months, unless she counted hearing it in the dirty dreams from which she woke up empty and aching.
She whirled to find him leaning against the island. He winked at her as he popped one of her appetizers in his mouth. “I taste...coffee? So good.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were back today?” Her shriek echoed off the high ceiling. Love, excitement, lust—so many feelings flooded her, overwhelmed her, and before she could even think about what she was doing, she was on him, arms around his shoulders, drawing his head down for a kiss.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her mouth as she plastered her lips against his. She’d always let him take control of their kisses, but now her tongue flicked out, traced the seam of his mouth, demanding entrance. He sank into her, fisting his hands in her hair as they tasted each other for the first time in months.
“Let’s go to the storage room,” she mumbled against his lips with a grin. “Dinner will wait, and I bought a lock for the door.”
He groaned against her, crushing her to him before pulling back. They were both out of breath, barely aware of Amy’s wolf whistle as they stared at each other, cornflower blue eyes into the icy green.
“I’m two weeks late because I was waiting to pick up something I ordered,” he started, reaching into his pocket.
“You’re doing this right now?” This time it was Theo who whistled. “You don’t waste time, my man.”
“It’s been long enough.” John looked sideways at Theo, who grinned and clapped his hands together. “If I may have your attention, everyone! Gather around.”
“What’s going on?” Meg spoke slowly, but a terrible hope was building inside her. She’d gotten through the last few months on coffee and nerves, worried that every time she saw John’s face on her phone screen, he would tell her he’d changed his mind, that he couldn’t leave his old life.
* * *
John waited until Jo, Theo, Beth, Ford, Amy and Mamesie had gathered around. Even Jada and Ava were there, and the latter caught his eye and winked—he’d gotten her opinion on what was in his pocket.
Pulling out the small velvet box, he dropped to one knee, and Meg made a choking sound.
“I know most people are together for a lot longer than we’ve been before they get engaged,” he started, and Meg made another sound, pressing a hand to her mouth. “But I think we both know. We’ve known since the first time we saw each other that this is it.”
Ava sighed when John cracked the box open to reveal a vintage diamond ring. He thought he saw Amy brush hands with her out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t focus on anything besides Meg.
“I’ve been looking for the right ring since I left, pretty much.” He took it from the box, tossing the box aside. “I wanted something that made me think of you. I found this little vintage shop in San Jose, and when the salesperson told me it was a pear-shaped diamond, I knew it was right.”
He winked at her, and she blushed.
“Meg Marchande, I don’t know what our futures hold. And as of this moment, I’m unemployed, so understand when I ask this that you’re about to be my sugar mama.” He grinned up at her as he winked again, and she burst into laughter, bouncing on her toes. A timer went off, and he naturally looked toward the source of the sound. She placed a palm on his cheek and drew him back to her.
“Hurry up! I have steaks in the oven.”
He laughed again but did as she asked.
“Marry me, Meg.” He slid the ring onto her finger. “As soon as possible. Tomorrow, even. Let’s make it official.”
She made a sound that was a half sob, half gasp.
“Yes,” she choked out. “But not tomorrow. Next week, so I have time to cook food for the reception.”
He felt a tingling at the soles of his feet, in his gut, traveling out to encompass his entire body. Had she... Had she just said yes?
He’d achieved a lot in his life, but this...this was probably the best thing he’d ever done.
“Was the ring what you were waiting for?” Meg looked at the diamond on her finger as though she couldn’t believe it was real. She turned her hand back and forth, catching the sparkle of it in the fluorescent light.
“Nope.” He waited until he had her attention again, then reached into his pocket once more. This time he drew out a small silver key ring, with a brass key dangling from it.
“What’s that?” Ha. She’d known what he was going to do from the second he’d pulled out the velvet box, but this—this would be a surprise. And, he hoped, a gesture that showed her he meant what he said.
He wanted to marry her—tomorrow, next week or whenever. And this...this proved that he wanted to stay.
“Does the address 44 Faraday Court ring any bells?” Elation swept through him as her eyes widened. He laughed when she grabbed at the key.
“Are you kidding me?” She slid the key ring over her pointer finger and lifted it into the light. “How the hell did you know about the house? I was crushed when I got the Aronson deal and then found out it had been sold.”
“It was sold to me.” Unable to resist, he dipped his head for a kiss. “Of course, your name is on the title. I figured that was fair, since you’re my sugar mama now.”
He couldn’t quite identify the feeling when she barreled into his arms again. The house had been Jada’s suggestion—she’d found Meg’s computer printout and looked him up, telling him that if he really wanted to impress his woman, he’d buy her the house.
As Meg wrapped her arms around him, he
felt the puzzle pieces of his life clicking into place. He buried his face in her hair.
“I love you.” He’d never said the words to anyone else.
“I love you, too.” She pressed a kiss to his neck, then looked up at him with a mischievous grin. “You know, one of the bedrooms in our new house is already done up as a nursery.”
His mind stuttered, blanked out for a moment, then jerked to life again.
A baby? A baby with his skin and hair and Meg’s smile and eyes?
He’d never thought about it, but he wanted it. He wanted it so bad.
“Whenever you’re ready, kitten.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, completely undone. “I’m yours.”
* * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Dirty Devil by Jackie Ashenden.
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Dirty Devil
by Jackie Ashenden
CHAPTER ONE
Thea
I ALWAYS KNEW that breaking into the skyscraper apartment of Damian Blackwood, one of richest men in Hong Kong, would be a risky move. But he had something I wanted, so I had no choice.
His security was insane, though, and the only time I’d been able to get into his apartment unnoticed was during one of his infamous parties, when he himself would be distracted and there would be too many guests wandering around for security staff to discover that there was at least one person in attendance who shouldn’t be there.
Privately, I was pleased with myself that I’d even managed it, since the parties were notoriously difficult to get into, even impossible, for those not in the know. Blackwood liked to keep his parties very, very private and very, very exclusive.
I was not exclusive. I was an unremarkable woman of indeterminate parentage, ordinary in every way. I was someone you wouldn’t look at twice, which was what made me so good at what I did. You couldn’t be a good thief if you were memorable. Or, at least, you didn’t last long if you were.
Still, a lack of invitation hadn’t stopped me from going where I wanted before, and it didn’t stop me now. I’d managed to get hold of an ID and uniform for the catering company dealing with the event, and had distracted security from looking too closely at their staff lists by undoing an extra button on said uniform and bending to grab the pen I’d ‘accidentally’ dropped.
It had worked like a charm. Mr Chen had always told me to use whatever I could to my advantage when it came to jobs, so I did. Being a woman was sometimes a pain, but it came in handy every so often.
Especially because men were idiots.
Now I stood on the huge rooftop terrace of Blackwood’s Central District apartment, trying to balance a tray of glasses and bottles of Cristal in my sweaty palms.
Music drifted in the air, a hard, driving beat, while beautiful and very famous people dressed in high-end couture talked, danced, drank and laughed. Through the heaving crowd partying on the terrace, wait staff like myself moved, dressed in black, distributing eye-wateringly expensive drinks and tiny, exquisite canapés that would satisfy exactly no one’s appetite.
Over by the deep blue of the infinity pool came a splash as some idiot pushed another idiot in, followed by screams of laugher and shrieks. A third idiot—some famous actress in a white cocktail frock, probably worth more than my tiny Mongkok apartment—jumped in too. Then, after a lot of splashing, she held a ball of white fabric overhead to much cheering.
Clearly we’d reached the naked part of the evening.
I’d spent quite a bit of time researching Blackwood’s parties beforehand and apparently anything went. Nakedness. Public sex. Blatant social climbing. Line dancing. It was all out there for anyone to see and join in.
Rich people... They were a whole thing.
Mr Chen, my mentor, had once told me to expect anything when dealing with the very wealthy; that the old saying about absolute power corrupting absolutely was true and that it applied to wealth as well; that you couldn’t trust them as far as you could throw them. Which wasn’t very far.
Not that I needed those lessons he’d drilled into me. There were only two people I trusted in the entire world and one was dead. The other was myself.
I might not be the world’s most beautiful woman, but there was one thing about which I was confident: my ability to slip into a place unnoticed and steal whatever I found there. Though ‘steal’ was kind of a strong word to use for what I did.
Mr Chen called it ‘reacquisition’ and it was his ‘reacquisition’ business that he’d passed on to me after he’d died.
Basically, it involved ‘reacquiring’ stolen or missing items from people who shouldn’t have them and returning them to their rightful owners. It wasn’t technically stealing, as the items had been stolen to start with. You might say that was a job for the police rather than us. But some people didn’t like to involve the law for one reason or another; they preferred a third party. Hence the nice little ‘find and return’ business Mr Chen had worked hard to build up and in which he had trained me.
His last wish before he’d died was for me to keep that business running, his legacy to the world, and as he was the one who’d pulled me off the streets, given me a home and a job, I felt I owed him.
So that was why I was here. On a job. A request had come through via the third party who acted as our intermediary for a necklace called the Red Queen. It had been stolen some twenty years ago and now had miraculously turned up in Damian Blackwood’s possession. Its previous owners wanted it back and they didn’t much care how that happened. Hence hiring me.
Ignoring the shenanigans beside the pool, I glanced once more at the man from whom I was to ‘reacquire’ the piece in order to make sure of his location.
He was sitting in the corner of the terrace, where a number of couches had been arranged, in the centre of a group of stunningly beautiful, incredibly attentive women, all hanging on his every word.
I wrinkled my nose and tried to be my usual cynical self as I surveyed him. But it was difficult to be my usual cynical self. Because, despite my own good judgement—not to mention my common sense—and no matter that it was a really bad move professionally, I’d somehow developed a bit of a...crush on him.
Embarrassing, yes, and I didn’t like to acknowledge it to myself. And maybe it wasn’t any wonder, given what a very fine specimen of manhood he was—certainly there was a reason why all those women couldn’t take their eyes off him. But still. I should know better than to get all starry-eyed over a good-looking man. Or indeed any man.
Mr Chen had been clear that involvement with anyone in our line of work was out of the question and that had never bothered me. Being an unwanted kid, I was used to being alone, and I’d never met anyone worth wanting to get to know better anyway. And as for sex, well... There was a reason humanity had invented vibrators.
Still, knowing all of that didn’t stop me from being transfixed by the reality of Damian Blackwood himself.
I’d done my usual research, immersing myself in the history of Black and White Enterprises, and Blackwood’s background in particular, studying news articles, looking at photos, watching interviews, the works.
He and his two co-owners, Ulysses White and Everett Calhoun, a Brit and an American respectively, had made huge amounts of money in crypto-currency speculation, initially starting Black and White as an online vault that boasted better security than the banks in Switzerland. They’d enjoyed phenomenal success with it and from there had gone on to build a billion-dollar empire that encompassed finance, import-export, luxury hotels, construction, security and God knew what else. They had their fingers in so many pies even they probably didn’t know which was which.