“Yes.”
“Your ex? The guy that keeps coming in and out of your life like a bloody force of nature?"
Terry isn't exactly wrong.
"Can you believe it?" Sometimes playing coy is the only card you have left.
“No fucking way."
“I know, right?”
"Are you going to be okay?"
"Of course I am." Thank God this isn’t a video call.
“Do I need to fly down to play referee?” he asks.
“Oh, come on, Terry. It’s fine. I’m fine.” I hedge as best I can.
Please God, help me through this, I prey silently.
“Are you sure?” Terry presses.
"Of course I am," I lie again. "I'm a professional." I even laugh. "I can work with Barrett. No problem." Another lie.
Wow. Three lies in a row. I'm on a roll.
This performance is worthy of an Oscar.
"Okay.”
“Okay!” I parrot hoping we’ve put the topic of Barrett behind us.
“If you say so,” Terry persists.
“I do. I’m good.”
A few seconds trickle by before Terry adds, “I’m sure you’re almost convinced by your own lie. And that’s why I'm not going to remind you that the last time you said that—a little over six months ago—things didn't quite work out in your favor."
"Terry, this contract with the record company is a veritable cash cow for our firm. I'm not about to screw that up simply because they decided to hire my ex-boyfriend as their lawyer. I'm pretty sure it's equally lucrative for Barrett. We’ll make it work," I say with an imperviousness that surprises even me.
"Very well then."
I hate it when he says that.
CHAPTER 11
Barrett
Unwilling to risk the chance of bumping into Charlotte, I ordered room service and ate my dinner alone. I’m hoping this short respite will exorcise the woman from my system because clearly wanking and cold showers are doing a shit job of it.
I guess I can’t complain. The stunning view from my hotel room is the perfect setting to enjoy an outstanding seafood menu. The vintage Montrachet from Burgundy, France, washed it down beautifully. At four hundred and fifty euros a bottle, it’s one of the best Chardonnay wines on the market and one of my personal favorites.
After a faultless meal, I decide to do a few Google searches to find out more about Greek laws and Greek police procedures. I’m completely immersed in research when my phone rings. Immediately, my eyes dart to the screen.
“Blimey,” I mumble when I recognize the phone number.
Ready to face the music, I pick up.
“Mum. How are you?”
“Tate Barrett Matej Ascott.” Oh, no, it’s worse than I thought.
Matej is my Croatian name. It’s the Slovak form of Matthias and Mathew. When Mum uses it, I’m in trouble.
“Mum—”
“I had to call your secretary to find out that my only son had left the country without even a word to his mother. Thank God Felicity has a soft spot in her heart for me or else I would still be in the dark wondering if you were bleeding to death in a horrible accident somewhere with no means of reaching your mum for your final goodbyes.”
She can be so melodramatic.
“Mum—”
“What if something had happened to me?”
God, I hate the guilt trip.
“Mum—”
“Your father is no longer here to look after me, you know. I’m all alone in this huge house.”
“Mother!” I shout. “Have you checked the three text messages I left you?”
Silence.
“Oh,” she says.
"Is your phone sitting at the bottom of one of your designer handbags?” Again.
“It’s still not a habit for me, honey,” she explains.
I let out a sigh. She does this all the time. “Mum, I bought you a brand new iPhone fully pimped out so we can stay in touch, but it's worth shit if you never check it.”
"I promise to change my ways," she announces.
Sure.
“As for this fabricated story of you being alone and fragile, you know perfectly well that Deda Andrej would be turning in his grave if he heard you.”
My grandfather Andrej Ivan Mišura was a Special Forces Officer—military and SWAT. He was also a Veteran of the Croatian Homeland War, combat specialist, martial artist and warrior. He had six sons and one daughter. Deda Andrej never treated Mum any differently than his sons and that’s why at her age she can kick any teenager’s arse if she were ever attacked. The woman is a walking weapon.
“And I’m sure that Jagger and Jett would chew up any intruder. Never mind the ridiculously expensive security system I had installed in your house right after Dad died… and upgraded earlier this year.”
“Just because I keep fit, have two highly trained Dobermans and adequate security doesn’t mean I’m invincible,” she says with a pointed Croatian accent.
She makes me laugh.
Korina Sanja Mišura Ascott was born in Zagreb, Croatia. Although she left her homeland at seventeen to pursue a promising modeling career, she still has a slight accent, which is quite audible when she’s pissed off—like she is now.
I roll my eyes into the phone. “Right,” I chuckle. “Did you call to chastise me or is there something else?”
“Don’t use that hard-hitting lawyer’s tone with me, young man,” she says.
“Fair enough,” I laugh. “Mum, how can I help you?” I ask in a softer voice.
“That’s much better,” she approves. “I called because I was awarded the contract for the Namibian board of tourism.”
“That’s amazing news!”
“I know. I’m so excited. Since most Europeans are staying away from Turkey, Egypt and Morocco for obvious safety reasons, the Namibian government is hoping to lure rich Brits down to Africa for adventure-filled safaris. I’m the new face who will sell them on that fantasy!”
“I’m so proud of you, Mum,” I say.
“They’re spending a ton of money on the adverts and my pay will be stellar.”
“What are you going to do with all that money?” I tease.
“I’ll find something to spend it on. I always do,” she laughs.
She really doesn’t need to work. Dad left her a fortune and I’m here if she ever needs me. She works because she’d die of boredom if she didn’t. She’s always striving to reach another milestone.
“I have no doubt you will. Congratulations again.”
“Thank you, honey,” she gushes.
My birth put an end to Mum’s successful modeling career, but she’s back. She’s a darling of beauty and luxury brands. Her biggest coup was to appear last year inside the pages of Sports Illustrated at the tender age of fifty-six as the face—and body—of Réard Paris Swimwear. And no, I didn’t buy that issue. No way do I need to see my mother exposed like that. But, I’ve heard she aced it. Not surprising. She’s gorgeous. When the fashion world woke up to the older woman, my mum led the pack. She’s one of the rare models to have endured this unforgiving industry.
“Of course, I would much prefer to spend all of my money on my adorable little unuci, but God hasn’t blessed me yet. Alas.” Oh no, here we go again. Unuci is Croatian for grandbabies. “Did I tell you that Meredith’s son just had twins?” That’s her best friend. And yes, she’s only told me five hundred times.
“Right,” I say biting off a smile. “Are you leaving this week for Namibia?” I ask. Best to veer the conversation.
“I got the message loud and clear, Barrett. I’m done pestering you,” she says. Don’t worry, she’ll table the topic the next time we speak. “To answer your question, no, not yet. I still have three weeks to go, but since I was one of the top earners this past quarter, the agency is rewarding me by sending me to Tuscany. We’re talking about an all-inclusive week at the luxurious Borgo Santo Pietro spa. Italy here I come!”
“Th
at’s fantastic, Mum. Will you put Jagger and Jett in a pet hotel? Things are crazy for me right now. I might not be able to dog-sit,” I caution.
“Absolutely. None of my friends are gutsy enough to take on my two furry boys.”
“I can understand. I’m barely able to handle those two guard dogs,” I chuckle.
“Enough about me. Why are you in Greece?”
I guess Felicity told her.
“I’m Jason Belvedere’s lawyer. He’s—”
“That rebellious-child-wannabe-adult popstar everyone is talking about? He’s severely misguided if you ask me.”
I explode in laughter.
“That’s him.”
“My agent, Michaela, was just talking about him when she called me with the good news a few hours ago,” she says.
“It’s officially gone viral.”
“Perhaps you should refer him to that fantastic publicist who’s working with you to fend off all the rubbish those two clowns keep stirring up. What idiots,” Mum spits out.
Yeah, that’s one of Charlotte’s bones of contention. I couldn’t use her to help me deal with this nasty media smear campaign—conflict of interest. Huge conflict of interest.
“Jason’s record label has that covered, Mum.”
The less I reveal, the better.
“Well, that’s good because that boy will need a miracle to get him out of this mess.”
“His current publicist is more than qualified,” I offer.
“Speaking of drama and publicists, have you been in touch with Charlie lately or is she still avoiding your calls?”
Mum adores that woman and enquires about her nearly every time we speak.
Although they grew up in very different worlds, they’re both incredibly strong-willed. Just like my mum, when Charlotte sets her sights on something, she gets it. No wonder they got along so well. Mum was crushed when my ex walked away.
“Actually, Charlotte is Jason’s publicist. She’s down here and we’ll work diligently at getting him off the hook. She’s the best in the business,” I say as if my mum doesn’t already know.
There’s no way I would offer that kind of information freely, but I’m not about to lie to my own mother.
There’s a long stretch of silence between us.
I can hear Mum breathing on the other end and I do nothing to break the awkwardness.
After a few long seconds, she finally speaks. “Honey, I know I’ve said this so many times before, but you should’ve told her—”
“You already know my response to that, Mum.”
CHAPTER 12
Charlie
“Thank you so much, Marietta for bringing this up to my room,” I say, grabbing the garment bag from the hotel employee. “As much as I would’ve preferred to come down to the boutique myself, as you can see, it’s just not possible,” I lament, pulling at the white robe I’m still wearing.
I sent the clothes I arrived with to the cleaning service and I’m holding my ground—I’m not going to wear anything Barrett bought me.
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Wentworth. If there’s anything else, please let me know. I’m here until eight,” Marietta says.
“Thank you, but I think we got it right the third time around,” I smile.
“I think we did,” Marietta smiles back. “Have a good night, miss.”
“You too.”
I close the door behind Marietta and head with a skip in my step towards the wardrobe.
“Two can play at this game,” I declare right before letting out an evil laugh. “Barrett isn’t the boss of me.”
After tucking the bag away, I stroll to the bathroom shaking my hips to a catchy deep house mix seeping into the room from the speakers of my Mac Book Pro laptop.
I run a bath, so hot steam billows from the top of the tub before pouring a copious amount of the Italian rose-scented gel into the water. I strip out of the white robe and step into the deep tub.
Sinking into a nearly scalding hot bubble bath, I welcome the heat against my body.
I so needed this.
Content to the point of bliss, I release a sharp breath. “Ahhh. Just how I like it.”
Inhaling and exhaling deep long calming breaths through my nostrils, I let go of the day.
This is living.
“I can absolutely shut him out,” I keep repeating over and over again in my head, hoping the words rid me of the spell I’m under.
After a few diligent minutes of prayer, I have to face reality.
My mantra doesn’t help.
Fuck.
Despite my resolve and the hot water, my skin breaks out into goose bumps. Just thinking of Barrett does that to me. Argh!
The simple act of closing my eyes only makes me think of him more.
Unwillingly, I flash back to our sauna episode and Barrett’s incessant and raunchy dirty-talking. A hot shiver races over my skin that has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
No, no, no. I can't keep thinking about him like this.
Bollocks.
Time for plan B.
Lifting my Kindle Oasis resting on the wooden bench near the tub, I turn it on and proceed to lose myself in my latest fave mystery novel. I’m hoping the suspenseful thriller will help me push away the swirling thoughts of my hot-as-sin ex from my mind.
Does it work?
Not at all.
Why?
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m still haunted by the memory of his mouth on my body. God.
After twenty minutes of struggle to get into the story, I’m failing miserably. I keep rereading the same chapter over and over again.
Time to abandon ship.
Defeated, I stand up, drain the water and take a quick shower to rinse off. Once I’m done, I step from the tub and towel off.
“If I can’t enjoy a soothing bath, I might as well get some work done,” I mumble grudgingly.
Thank you very much, Barrett Ascott.
Needless to say, that I stayed in my room instead of going down to the restaurant for dinner. I need to clear my head so I can show up at tomorrow’s meeting fresh and collected. I also need to do a little more digging on the subject of prostitution in Greece. The conversation with Terry left me tense and on edge. There’s nothing amusing about waiting for the other shoe to drop... and every nerve in my body tells me that it will.
On a heavy sigh I step out of the bathroom. As I walk back into the room, I smile wide as I catch the music playing in the background. The club remix of U2’s ‘With or Without You’, speaks volumes.
With a grin still planted on my face, my eyes shift and fall on the Aerakis Luxury Lingerie bags. Again. It’s been an obsession since I first saw it. I’ve been fighting it, but now my curiosity is getting the better of me.
Slowly, I approach the bed and hover over the bags. I cross my arms over my naked chest and tap my chin with my index finger.
What to do? What to do?
“One peek won’t hurt,” I finally decide.
I throw caution to the wind and start rummaging through the other bags I never dared to open.
One by one, I pull out the luxurious lingerie. Every piece is breathtaking. The colors are rich and incredibly flattering.
Damn you, Barrett.
The last bag is the big surprise.
I gasp when I take in the beautiful dusty rose combo—lace push-up bra, barely-there thong, garter belt and gorgeous silk robe.
“The man has impeccable taste.”
Oh, well.
Now that I’ve satisfied my itch, I ready myself to put the stunning lingerie back in the bag, when a wicked thought crosses my mind.
“I’ll try them on quickly. Obviously, I’m not keeping them.”
To the tune of Beyoncé’s sultry hit, ‘Drunk in Love’, I slip into three of the dusty rose pieces. When I approach the tall mirror in the room, I’m in awe of my appearance.
“These are absolutely gorgeous,” I marvel caressing the s
oft fabric.
“He absolutely didn't buy these for me," I laugh.
He’d love me in these. He'd rip them off with his teeth.
And just like that, I’m back in that sauna. I'm sure the sexy song doesn’t help one bit.
A rush of goosebumps breaks out over my skin as I think of Barrett’s brooding sexuality.
That feral expression on his face as he described what he wanted to do to me had me hot and bothered. His eyes were veiled with intense desire. They were a deep shade of green, much darker than I’ve ever seen before, more alluring. Dangerous even.
Mother of God!
There’s always a heart-thumping rush of excitement when I’m around Barrett.
What am I talking about?
There’s a heart-thumping rush just thinking about him.
I don’t know when or how one hand travels down my stomach while the other one gropes at my right breast, but just like that I’m drenched.
“God,” I hiss.
The next thing I know, I’m lowering my body to the carpet until my ass hits the floor. Without wasting any time, my hand travels slowly down to my hungry pussy until I reach my needy clit.
“Jesus,” I moan, remembering how well my body responds to Barrett’s sensual touch.
With my other hand, I pull down the bra, releasing my nipples. I flick at my peaks and I groan, surprised by how sensitive my nipples feel.
Needing something rougher, I pinch both nipples so hard I gasp as a sharp electric current travels straight to my clit.
“Yes.”
The last month has been so harrowing and hectic I’ve barely had time to indulge in solo sex.
I slide my fingers underneath the panties and follow the sleek trail until my middle finger is lodged deeply inside my wetness.
“Oh yeah,” I grunt.
I allow my head to loll back and I close my eyes.
Immediately, I flash back to Barrett—to his smoldering eyes, the broad set of his naked shoulders, the chiseled muscles in his firm chest glistening with sweat, and his well-defined biceps. Damn. I must say I'm quite partial to the scruff that lines his strong jaw—it's a new look for him and he wears it well.
My fingers work my clit with more fervor as I remember how he was taking me in when our bodies were covered with nothing more than a towel—like he wanted to devour me.
You're All I Think About_Second Chance Romance Page 8
