"He expects you to walk around in that?" Barrett waves his fingers up and down the length of my body.
"Of course not. He gave me a very generous clothing allowance. I got here at sixty-thirty in the morning. I'll swing by the shops when I leave here,” I explain. Okay, it’s more like I’m rambling, but in my defense, I didn’t expect to bump into my hotter-than-hell ex.
“I assume you weren’t alone,” Barrett asks.
Huh? “On the label’s private jet you mean?”
“At that club,” he replies, cocky smile firmly in place.
I see. “Since you put your career above everything else, it sounds like you haven’t been out in a while. Just as a reminder, there are always loads of people at a club.” Two can play at that game.
Barrett raises his eyebrows, challenging. “Charlotte, don’t be a smart ass.” Each word is a little clipped and there’s a warning in his gaze.
"I'm not," I quip.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Why should it matter to you, Barrett?”
“Your boyfriend must’ve been beating men back with a stick all night long.” He gives me another up and down eye swipe.
“What are you fishing for?”
“The obvious. Are you seeing someone? Is that why you’ve been dodging my calls?” No, Barrett isn’t one to beat around the bush. He’s frank and to the point. Blunt even.
“Why would you give a toss?”
“I’m just making conversation, Charlotte.”
"How’s Natasha?" I throw the ball back in his court.
"We’re no longer together."
"Oh.” I tilt my head to the side. “Pity it didn't work out with the beauty queen."
Yeah, you better believe it, there's a heaping dose of sarcasm in my voice.
"You sound so affected. Wounded even." Barrett can dish it out as well as I can.
"You two made such a beautiful couple. I'm sure you would’ve had loads of beautiful babies together."
Natasha Herron is a twenty-three-year-old former Miss Great Britain. A few years ago, she ended up the third runner up at Miss Universe.
Six months ago, after my last lapse of judgment where I allowed Barrett to seduce me and then pin me underneath him, I ended up breaking things off. Again. One minute he’s hot, the next he’s pulling away from me after a heated conversation with his best friend. A few months after that, he started seeing this Natasha chick.
You can imagine how one of the most eligible bachelors in the country dating a beauty queen would get the press buzzing.
And it did.
Every.
Fucking.
Day.
Multiple times a day.
And I had to endure it all because my profession requires that I monitor social media.
Barrett and Natasha here.
Barrett and Natasha there.
Barrett and Natasha every fucking where.
There were smiling photos of them on every platform. It was nauseating. They were the darlings of celebrity bloggers and soon became #NatBar. Jolly good times. Not! For several agonizing months #NatBar was all the rage and then, nothing.
"I could say the same about you. Things didn't quite work out with the footie star?" I roll my eyes. "Was that an answer, Charlotte? Owen and you looked like a match made in heaven. The pair of you stopped traffic. I had already predicted a very large family for the two of you.”
Bastard.
"Whatever."
Owen Leahy is a Premier League footballer. He's one of the highest paid in Britain. Women literally throw their knickers at him. For good reasons. He's gorgeous and built like a god. We met at a client function I was organizing a few weeks after this #NatBar rubbish went viral. We dated briefly. I guess I should say we fucked for a few months. End of story.
"So now you're single?" Barrett persists.
“That shouldn't be any of your concern,” I snap. “Just as your current love— Scratch that, you don’t have time for shit like that. It requires too much of you. And God knows you can only focus on a handful of things at a time.” I’m fully aware that my comment is dripping with contempt. He deserves it. “The firm is far too important and consumes you. All that to say that your current sex life is none of my business.” I almost added the word ‘kinky’ in there, but I refrained at the last second. The thought of Barrett doing the naughty things he used to do to me to another woman always makes me want to vomit. I know it’s crazy, since I’m the one who ended things, but I had my reasons to let him go.
“Is that your sneaky way to find out if I’m seeing anyone?” he grins.
You pretentious prick. “It’s not.” Is he involved with someone?
“The answer is, no, Charlotte.” Sweet! I mean, I don’t give a damn. “I’m not. And before you jump to conclusions, that's not the reason I was trying to get in touch with you. I genuinely wanted to know how you were doing."
"Oh." I didn't see that coming. Now I feel like a total bitch.
"As for my sex life, you’re right, the firm and a few other unavoidable things take permanent residence inside my head. And you know how I get when I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. Sex has been the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Oh,” I say again. I’m really surprised he’d willingly share that.
“Listen, we have a past together—a complicated one that spans over a decade—I can’t help but want what’s best for you, Charlotte… even if it isn’t me.” I really don't know how to answer that and I'm grateful he keeps talking. “If you’re seeing a bloke and if he makes you happy, that’s all that matters.”
“I’m in a good place right now,” I say. It’s not a lie and more importantly, I don’t divulge my relationship status. He doesn’t need to know.
Barrett opens his mouth to say something, but he changes his mind. Instead, he gives me another eye-sweep. It’s as if his eyes were caressing my skin in a languorous and seductive touch. When his eyes lock onto mine, my breath catches. A smile touches those unforgettable green gem-like eyes and I already know I’m in big trouble.
He takes a long step forward. My mind rings an alarm bell, pushing me to flee, but my feet don't seem to want to go anywhere.
Barrett leans in and whispers, “I wish I was the one on the receiving end of your sexy as fuck outfit.” His hot breath fans my cheek, and I shiver despite myself. I can’t help but inhale his familiar scent—an aphrodisiacal combination of über-alpha and expensive cologne. My cheeks flush hotly and I pull my shorts down a little in a ridiculous attempt to cover up. My gaze shifts up to meet his blazing eyes. Dear God. They’re so smoldering it’s almost as if it were his soft fingertips grazing my bare skin. I won’t lie, blood rushes to my cheeks, and to certain other parts of my body that have been heavily neglected lately. He takes a small step back and lowers his gaze to my feet for a beat. I do the same. When he looks back up, my eyes shift up to his gorgeous face. “Hmm,” he pulls up his lips in a smile. Why is it that even his murmur is freaking sexy? I’m so distracted by his mouth that his next words knock me right off my feet. “Who holds the key to the gold lockets dangling from your ankles?" he asks. When I just blink at him wordlessly, he adds. “Your new boyfriend?" These Louboutin heels were a great idea when I bought them, but now I'm not so sure. "Come on," he cajoles. "We’re old friends, you can tell me if you’re seeing someone," he says.
“No,” I whisper so low I'm surprised he hears me.
I really didn’t mean to reveal that, but it’s like I’m under his spell.
“So, no boyfriend? No one serious?”
I shake my head. I already let the cat out of the bag. It’s not as if I can backtrack.
"I see.” He lets a very long pause pass between us and I do nothing to fill it. I know I could walk away—run away—from this man, but I don’t. I just bore my eyes into his. “As I was saying,” he smiles. “Those look so fucking good on you, I'd be willing to break open the lockets with my teeth just to find out what y
ou're hiding inside of them."
Mother of God.
My brain seems to have taken a leave of absence, and I fight to find my words.
“Barrett,” I finally manage.
“It’s a compliment. The outfit looks amazing on you,” he says. His eyes drift to my mouth and I can’t think straight. Unwillingly, my gaze drops to his mouth too—his utterly sinful mouth. Jesus, why is it so fucking hot in here? “The only thing that brings me comfort is that given the still intact make-up and perfectly coifed hair, I assume any bastard at that club who thought he had a chance of getting lucky was never able to lay his dirty paws on you.” His comment drips with self-assuredness.
This cannot be happening. I need to take control.
“Clearly, you’re delusional, Barrett.” I roll my eyes. “Either that or your stringent work ethics are effecting your ability to think like a rational person. Just because I don't have a steady boyfriend doesn't mean I'm not… involved… even casually.”
He moves closer leaving an intimate space between us. He skewers me with a stern, intimidating stare before speaking again. “We both know I’m right, Charlotte.” His tone is dangerously low. “You usually look a lot less…” He pauses. “well put together, once you’re satiated,” he says low enough just for me to hear. I swallow hard. Fuck him for knowing me so well. "I guess I should speak for myself. I always managed to unravel you. Who knows if other blokes are able to rise to the challenge. And I mean that both figuratively and literally."
It’s like a bloody sauna in Athens and the semi-functional air conditioning system in this building isn’t helping one bit, but suddenly, it’s like my entire body is ablaze. Damn you, Tate Barrett Ascott.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“I bet your ass is simply juicy in those shorts. Good enough to spank and bite,” he murmurs. I nearly choke.
Jesus Christ.
That sounded positively dirty.
Oh, yes, please.
A host of tingles climbs up my spine and neck before shooting straight down to my pussy like a meteor shower.
No, no, no.
Charlie, get a bloody grip!
“Barrister Ascott, I think this is highly inappropriate,” I hiss with a forced frown.
I know I'm swinging the pendulum way to the other side, but in my defense, I need a barrier between us before I melt in a puddle right here in the middle of this precinct. Iciness is my only recourse.
“Right.” His side grin speaks volumes.
“How can you look this polished and have such a filthy mouth?” I manage, even though my head is still spinning dizzily at his words.
Barrett releases a deep laugh that rumbles up his chest. “You like my filthy mouth, Charlotte... especially when you're sitting on it.” Fuck. “My careful diction turns you on. Remember?” His words send another wave of pure, unadulterated lust throughout my body. I wish I could say he was lying, but he's not. His filthy mouth is my undoing.
I clear my throat in an attempt to buy some time and rein my galloping pulse. “Jason Belvedere.” Focus, Charlie. “We’re both here to get our client out of this royal mess.” I veer the conversation because at this rate, he’ll soon have me pinned against one of these walls, driving his meaty cock in and out of my needy pussy. And I won’t even put up a fight. “We should keep it professional. We’re just colleagues. It’s best that way,” I state. Honestly, it’s more of a prayer than anything else. “For the client’s sake,” I quickly add.
Our eyes hold like two adversaries in a battle for power. My abrupt change of subject catches him off guard, but it’s Barrett we’re talking about here so of course, he recovers at lightning speed. His beautiful mouth turns down a notch, and I can tell he’s thinking. Processing. Several seconds tick away as we both stand our ground. I don't have to look around to know that we have an audience.
Just when I think I could lose myself in those emerald eyes, he finally speaks. “Right.” That comes out as a sneer. “Let’s put the client first. After all, we’re at our best when we focus on…” He pauses. “Work.” Bastard.
This man— Scratch that. This demigod, is the only bloke in the world that unnerves me and rattles me this way. The worst part, he knows it. Calm down, girl. I coax myself, but that does little to slow the infernal pounding of my heart against my chest. Damn. I open my mouth to speak, but a voice beats me to it.
“Oh, Barrett, there you are,” a woman with a Greek accent says. My eyes shoot to the left as I take in a tall and attractive curvaceous brunette striding our way. “I thought I had lost you. Bad boy." She playfully swats his arm. Whatever. "There’s a call for you on my phone,” the woman adds.
Everything about that sentence sounds annoyingly intimate.
I don’t know her and already, I hate her.
“Who is it, Dialina?” Barrett snaps.
“The hotel…” she pauses and narrows her eyes at me. "with your special request.” She says that with a touch of smugness.
Barrett’s eyes are still locked onto mine as he extends his hand for the mobile Dialina is waving. He grabs the phone and brings it to his ear.
“The battery on my iPhone died. God knows where I left my USB cable. It could still be in London for all I know. And of course, my assistant, Derek, has a bloody Samsung," Barrett explains.
He can be so forgetful for little things, but unwaveringly sharp for things that matter. I can't remember how many cables I bought him when we were together. Honestly, near the end of our relationship, I was ready to beg Apple for a subscription.
"Right," I nod.
"If you’ll excuse me. I have to take this,” he says curtly.
I'm stunned by the sudden coldness in his voice. I guess, I’m the one who asked to keep it professional.
“Of course,” I babble.
“Hello,” he answers, his gaze remaining fixed on me.
I stand there and watch as bimbo Dialina places a possessive hand against Barrett’s arm. She shoots me a look that could kill. Her toothy grin screams, Step away from the hot lawyer. I was here first. She’s staking her claim on a man she has no business wanting.
Whoa!
Earth to Charlie.
He isn’t yours anymore.
Barrett takes a step forward, breaking Dialina’s claim on him. I give myself an internal high-five when he waves her off. I can’t help but smirk. Take that, bitch. She flashes me an icy stare before she swishes away, swinging her wide hips from left to right. Fuck, those heels are so trashy. Don’t get me started on how that blouse stretches across her ample breasts. Talk about tight fit. Just as I’m silently cursing her, Barrett turns around and gives me a seductive onceover. Instantly, I’m reminded that my outfit is less than desirable in letting the world know I’m at the top of my game.
“Did Groove Renegade book you at the Rhodes Royal Olympia Hotel?” he asks strutting back towards me.
“Yes."
"Good. Have you been to the hotel yet?"
"No."
As if this situation wasn't troubling enough, we’re staying at the same hotel. Brilliant.
“Do you already have a Greek number?”
“Yes.”
“I left my phone with my Greek number at the hotel. I'll leave it for you with the front desk."
“Okay.”
"Shoot me a text when you have it programmed in your phone. We should have a way to keep in touch."
"Sure."
Yup, I just went from an eloquent and highly educated award-winning twenty-six-year-old publicist to a bumbling idiot who can only muster monosyllables. Thank you, Tate Barrett Ascott. Thank you very much.
“Do you want a lift?” he asks.
I gulp, trying not to let him see how much he affects me. “I’m fine, Barrett. It’s best if we keep this professional,” I remind him.
He cocks his left eyebrow and curls up the side of his lip. It’s almost like it’s in slow motion. “You’ve already made that abundantly clear.”
He gazes at me for another long second with a clenched jaw. “And I agreed. It’s true that I didn’t expect to see you here, but I’ve been known to work with just about anyone.” That’s a dig. “I offered you a lift. Not an afternoon romp. If I wanted more, I would’ve spelled it out.” He pauses. “In no uncertain terms.” Another pause. “So there’s no confusion.”
How the hell do I respond to that?
I just gape at him like an utter and complete fool.
“I’m...” The word sorry dies on my lips because he interrupts me.
“So, do you want that lift or not?”
“Thanks for the offer, Barrett,” I say in a softer tone. “Mr. Raines has made arrangements. I have a driver waiting outside and my translator should be back any moment now with a decent cup of coffee.”
He heaves out a sharp exhale. “It’s settled then. You can make your way back to the hotel like a big girl."
I nod. “I can.”
“Hmph.” A grunt. But God is it ever laced with so many unspoken words. “Once again, it seems like we’ll be working very closely together.”
“It seems so.”
“Don’t look so afflicted, Charlotte.” His lips begin tugging at the corner.
“You think too highly of yourself, Barrett,” I retort in a snippy tone. That’s so not what I wanted to say.
He doesn’t answer immediately. He considers me with seriousness. I know that look. He’s preparing his retort. “Make sure to text me so you know where to meet for tomorrow’s working session. There’s no time to waste. We need to hit the ground running… for the client’s sake, of course.” He doesn’t wait for my reply. He simply turns on his heel and struts down the corridor to the exit. “I’ll see you back at the hotel, Charlotte,” he throws over his shoulder not once breaking his stride.
Bollocks.
I stand there watching him leave and hating how hard my heart is pounding.
CHAPTER 5
Barrett
The latest sex scandals I’ve had to clean up for my roster of high-profile clients have been a major distraction from my own sex life, prompting me to keep my focus more on work and less on my cock.
You're All I Think About_Second Chance Romance Page 3
