Never Say Never (Written in the Stars Book 2)

by Brittany Holland

  But I know all about secrets. I carry several of my own, plus a few more. For a price, they will stay buried. I tried to do the right thing, live an honorable life, but she never lets me forget.

  When the money ended, so did the silence.

  As if on cue, my mobile alerts me of an incoming call.

  “Yes?” I hiss out in a whisper, looking up to see Scarlett’s car pulling out of the car park.

  “What news do you have?” The pause in between her words lets me know she’s exhaling smoke.

  “Not much,” I lie, not ready to share what I found. I step out of the shadows and hail a cab.

  “Don’t play games, CJ.” My skin crawls with annoyance. I hate being reminded of my heritage.

  “I’m not. These things take time,” I remind her.

  “Well, tick tock. That’s not something we have time to play around with, is it?” she rasps out as she begins coughing loudly in my ear.

  “No,” I reply flatly as the black car approaches.

  “Then quit stalling and make a move. Or I’ll come do it myself.” The line goes dead.

  Time to move things along. Too bad. I was hoping to take my time with this. With her.

  Climbing in the back, I tell the cabbie, “Follow that black Audi.”

  The game begins.

  I follow her to his place and hold my breath, waiting to see if she goes in. She stops for a moment, and he opens the door and climbs out so quickly, I’m sure she must be going in. But he walks the path to his flat and she zooms back out on the road.

  It’s not long before she’s stopping at a nearby pub. She parks in the car park and slowly makes her way to the door. Never taking my eyes off her, I instruct the cabbie to drop me off down the block. Throwing enough bills in the front seat to cover my ride, he gruffly calls out thanks as I climb out and walk to the pub, careful to keep my distance.

  Once inside, I take a seat on a barstool with my back to her. This is a real pub, dark and smoky. Its wear shows it’s no fancy ladies’ club, nor a place to sip fruity drinks. This is the pace you come for a proper shot of whiskey or a pint to drown your sorrows in. Or desires.

  Keeping my eyes forward, I look in the aged mirror and find her in a corner booth in the back with half a pint already drained next to her.

  As the night passes, I sit, sipping my whiskey, and wait. She starts mixing shots with her pints, putting away the alcohol like a pro. Men come and go, hitting on her, and she bats them away like flies, and I can’t help but smile to myself at how she makes them work for it. I find myself wondering if she’d make me work for it. Not many people are immune to my dark charm, but I sense that same wickedness in her. A chill runs through me at the thought of what we’d be like together.

  Just as I’m about to call it a night, two men slide into her booth and order more drinks as one digs through her bag and pulls out a wad of cash. The other man scoots closer to her, getting a bit handsy.

  “Not so fast.” She slurs, trying to to brush his grabby hands away, but he’s not taking the hint. I decided to step in.

  “I think the lady said that would be enough.” I lean across the worn wood table and splay my hands-on top. He turns his hazy eyes toward me and gives me a scowl as his friend stands up, blocking the booth. Scarlett watches with wide eyes.

  “Is that what you heard, Lester?” He laughs over his shoulder.

  “Nah, Stanley. I think blondie here said she wants to buy us another round.” He tries to pull her against him and she struggles to break free, falling onto the seat, where she puts her head down and whimpers.

  “I really don’t think you want to do this.” I roll my sleeves and stand to my full height. He looks up, sizing up all six-foot-three of me before taking a step back.

  “Let’s go. It’s not worth it,” the smarter one says, and his mate climbs out of the booth, knocking her bag on the floor as he goes.

  “You can have her. She looks like damage goods anyway,” one of them says to the other, then they both laugh as they brush past me. Mouthy little wanker doesn’t know when to stop.

  My blood boils at his harsh assessment of this woman I don’t even know. But I respect women in general too much to let a comment like that go unpunished. Reaching out, I grab him by his throat and push him against the nearest wall.

  “Shut your fucking mouth,” I spit out.

  He shifts his beady eyes from side to side.

  A throat clearing gets my attention as the barman lets us know to break it up. So much for keeping a low profile.

  “It’s your lucky night.” I release him with a shove, and head back to the booth when I hear Scarlett moaning.

  “Let’s get you home.” I lean down to pick up her bag, and all the contents, which are now spilled over the scuffed wood floor. As I’m collecting her things, something catches my eye. It looks like a little black book. I bet that holds lots of secrets.

  She groans, so I remind myself to take a closer look later. Dumping everything into her bag, I stand and reach to lift her from her curled position in the booth. When I do, she lurches forward and empties her stomach on my boots. Shit!

  I try to jump back, but the damage is done. I grab some napkins and take her face in my hands, trying to at least clean her mouth off. Her hair and clothes seem to be fine, my shoes having caught the brunt of it.

  “Home,” she croaks out. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhh. I’ve got you,” I whisper as I sit her up.

  “Did Teddy send you?” she slurs.

  “Who’s Teddy?”

  “He said he couldn’t come. He was busy. He’s always busy. They all are,” she mumbles before passing out again.

  Who the fuck is Teddy? And why don’t I know about him?

  The barman hollers over, “Get her out of here, will ya?”

  Sure, send a drunk lady home with a strange man. What kind of establishment is this? What would she do if I weren’t here? Probably be out in a back alley while Lester and Stanley take turns having a go. Anger boils in my veins again. Those bastards got lucky.

  I shake off my boots the best I can before walking up to the bar and laying cash out to settle my tab. The barman appears with a mop and bucket, eyeing me warily as I move back toward the booth and slip her bag over my shoulder before lifting her up and carrying her out, cradled in my arms. So now he’s suspicious?

  “I’m a friend,” I call out over my shoulder. With a nod, he goes about mopping up the vomit. Imbecile.

  The cool night air hits me, and the light drizzle coats us in its hazy wetness. The coolness makes me that much more aware of the heat of her body pressed tightly against me. I like the feel of her in my arms.

  I shouldn’t. I can’t. I try to rid my mind of thoughts that shouldn’t be swirling in there like a damn tornado.

  When we arrive at her car, I try to gently set her down to dig for her keys, but she sways from side to side. Leaning her against the hood of her shiny black sports car, I stand with her between my legs to hold her in place and fish her keys from the endless depths of her bottomless bag.

  She squirms between my thighs and look up to find her laying back on the hood, her dark, prim and proper skirt riding dangerously high, exposing her milky white skin. My cock, straining against my trousers, a result of the friction. She’s like a bloody fantasy, all long legs and inviting pouty lips…her back arched off the hood of a sexy as hell car.

  A light sheen of mist covers her skin, the dip between her breasts on full display from this angle. Setting the bag down beside her head, I hold her hip with one hand while tracing a single finger down the swell of her breast. The heat from her skin mingled with the cool mistI wipe away has me thinking of other places I’d like to touch. Instead, I bring my finger to my lips and lick the moisture away. No more. One touch. That’s all I allow myself.

  It shouldn’t be this hard. I shouldn’t want her this much. It wouldn’t take anything at all for me to raise that skirt I little higher and pull away the tiny shred of lac
e that no doubt covers a perfectly manicured pussy. But I don’t. I can’t.

  I might be an asshole, but I’m not that guy.

  Pulling her to a standing position, I walk her to the passenger side of the car and unlock it with a beep, the sound echoing in the quiet night air. Once she’s properly fastened in, I fold myself into the driver’s side and adjust the seat, careful not to get the mess from my boots onto the spotless beige leather.

  The car purrs to life, and a dark, pulsing beat fills the speakers. We drive to her flat in silence, except for the sad, seductive song playing. She leans against the door and closes her eyes. After a few minutes, her gentle snoring lets me know she’s fallen asleep. Hopefully I can get her safely home before she wakes. She probably wouldn’t understand why I’m doing this. Hell I don’t understand it.

  Lucky for her, I know where she lives, thanks to my expert investigative skills.

  More like stalker skills.

  A harsh reminder I’m not just some guy driving a friend home who’s had a few to many. She’s a means to an end. That’s all. Nothing more. I lose myself in the music for the remainder of the ride and avoid the dark cloud of truth hanging over me.

  Chapter Five

  Cohen

  When we make it to her place, she’s still asleep, I take a risk and attempt to wake her. She is still half asleep when I carefully help her from the car while looking around to make sure none of her neighbors are watching. I set her down to walk just in case. I’ve made it this far without being caught, and I’m hoping she doesn’t remember any of this.

  She stumbles up the walk, tripping over her heels, so I wrap my hand securely around her waist. It takes me three tries before I find the right key. In that time, she manages to straddle one of my legs, and is now quite awake and very cheeky, but still very pissed.

  “Your place?” she questions as I fumble with the door.

  “Hmmm?” I reply, not following.

  “Your place? Is this your place? I know it’s not a hotel…I’m not that drunk,” she hiccups, still drunk enough to not realize it’s her place.

  “It’s your place,” I explain as I open the door.

  “I can’t—we can’t. Not here,” she mumbles before falling against me again. Scooping her up in my arms, I close the door behind us, setting her bag and keys on an entry table.

  “Shhh,” I whisper against her platinum hair, breathing in. She smells sweet, like cotton candy…and spice maybe. Focus!

  Pulling my head away, I look around. Her flat is different than I expected. I anticipated sharp angles and ultra-mod, but it’s an odd mix of those with something more…sensual, feminine. A lot like her, I’m guessing. Thankfully, she left on a lamp. It makes it easier to see as I maneuver my way around. Setting her down on a plush linen sofa, I carefully slip her heels off and lay them on the rug. I grab a throw over the back and gently cover her up before searching for the toilet so I can attempt to clean my boots.

  I take a chance on the first door to the left and hit pay dirt. I clean myself up the best I can with wet tissues and a spare towel I find next to clawfoot tub. Exiting, there are two other doorways and a staircase. I pause in the hall, contemplating if I should take a look while I’m here, not knowing when I might be back, but I decided against it for now. I’ve probably done more than I should. Not wanting to take any more risks, I head for the door.

  As I’m walking through the living room, movement on the couch startles me. Scarlett is sitting up and appears to be wide awake. I’m frozen in place as she stares, unblinking.

  She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Unsure of how to handle the situation, I follow her lead and remain silent.

  “I don’t usually bring men back to my place, you know?” Her voice is raspy and seductive, and my dick twitches. I keep staring, my heartrate increasing. She’s seen my face now.

  “There must be something special about you,” she continues. I’m not sure where this is going, but quickly figure it out when she stands and starts unbuttoning her blouse

  “How did we get here?” she asks, taking another step forward.

  “In your car.”

  “Where did we meet?” She continues the questioning, not seeming the least bit alarmed to be in a room with a stranger—in her home, no less.

  “At a pub,” I answer again with honesty. These are truths I can tell.

  “I see.” She makes a little sound in the back of her throat and steps toward me as her shirt falls from her fingertips to the floor. Her perfect breasts are on display, barely contained in a black lace corset style bra.

  “Scarlett, that’s not what I am here for.” I try to get a handle on this situation.

  “You know my name?” she asks, slightly panicked. Her breathing picks up, causing her chest to strain against the lacey fabric.

  “Yes.” I slowly drag my eyes back up to hers. Of all the things, she most concerned I know her name?

  “I never tell them my real name,” she confesses, and I put that information away for later.

  There’s still a slight slur to her words, and I’m hoping she won’t remember this exchange.

  “I was just going—” I point behind me to the door.

  “What’s the matter? Decide you don’t want me after all?” she pouts, continuing her seductive dance toward me as I back away toward the door.

  “No, that’s not it at all.” She’s like a red flag, dangling in front of me, and I’m the bull…but I can’t give in. Not tonight.

  “Am I not desirable?” she asks, reaching behind her. The sound of her zipper sliding down has me groaning. I’m not usually at a loss for words, but this is not how I anticipated things working out.

  “Am I not what you would choose…if given a choice?” She lets her skirt fall to the floor. When she steps out of the puddle of black fabric, my eyes go lower, noticing she’s wearing her fuck me heels again.

  “No. You’ve got it all wrong,” I try to reason with her as I drag my gaze slowly up her body, growing harder by the second. I need to get out of here before she completely wakes up.

  “Am I not fuckable?” she whispers breathlessly as my gaze lands between her thighs. She is, in fact, covered in black lace. The naughty ones always are.

  She stands before me in lingerie and those heels, begging for validation. I may not be able to give her what she wants, but I’ll not leave here having her thinking she’s unwanted. Because I want her. Without. A. Doubt.

  “You’re completely fuckable,” I tell her, adjusting myself and using every ounce of willpower I have not to grab her, bend her over that sofa, and show her just how fuckable she is.

  “Then what’s the problem?” She takes another step, then another, until she’s standing in front of me, her sweet and spicy smell invading my senses.

  “Don’t you want to play?” She reaches for my trousers, stroking me through the heavy cotton. My eyes squeeze shut as I pull away with a hiss. “Oh, you want to play all right.”

  “Scarlett. Stop,” I grit out, hating myself for saying the words.

  “Oh, wait, I get it…there’s someone else. There’s always someone else. It’s never me.” She turns away, her shoulders shaking.

  I lean in closer as her gentle whimpers turn to sobs. She mumbles incoherently, and I can only assume this has something to do with Piers. Figures.

  I gently take her in my arms, placing a kiss against her bare shoulder. It’s meant to comfort, but her head falls back against my chest, shifting so her slender neck is mine for the taking.

  “Come on. Let’s get you to bed,” I murmur into her hair.

  “Now we’re talking,” she purrs, turning in my arms, reaching her hands behind my head. Before I can push her away, she places a kiss on my Adam’s apple, then trails her tongue down my neck.

  Oh, bloody hell. This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

  “You taste so good.” Her breath is hot on my skin, heavy with alcohol, reminding me she’s still very much inebriated.


  “Come on, Scarlett.” I pull her hands down and take a step back. There’s a trail of black under her eyes, dark streaks from her tears.

  “Please,” she pleads.

  “When I take you, you will remember it. I won’t be a blur.” I know what it’s like to want to use someone to get lost in. To need a warm body lying next to you to ward off the chill inside. A connection, anything to feel something. I’ve been there, done that. I won’t be her escape. Not tonight.

  She backs away, brushing her fingertips under her eyes. She looks down at her hands, the residue of her makeup and evidence of her tears, smudged on her skin. She looks as if she seen a ghost.

  “No. No…the mess.” She sinks down to the floor, wraps her arms around her knees, and rocks herself. This is definitely not a situation I’m used to being in. I’m usually the one leaving them in tears not trying to console them.

  Uncharted waters is an understatement. Not knowing what else to do, I grab the blanket off the couch and bring it around her shoulders before heading back to the toilet to find a damp towel to clean up under her eyes, some aspirin, and a cup of water.

  “Shhh. It’s just makeup,” I whisper as I wipe away the black salty streaks.

  “Here, take these. And drink.” She does as she’s told, swallowing the pills before downing the water. I watch a stray drop escape and slide down her neck, but look away before it goes lower.

  When the tears subside and she’s nearly asleep from wearing herself out, I lift her up to the couch.

  Unable to help myself, I brush her hair out of her eyes and look at her makeup-free face. A long slender nose, thick black lashes hiding gorgeous blue eyes that are nearly violet, and creamy pale skin. Even sound asleep with tearstains, she’s stunning. This girl may be damaged, but so am I.

  I turn to go, then turn back around when she mumbles incoherently in her sleep. She hugs a pillow tight to her chest, and I place a hand on her cheek to comfort her—one last touch that’s as much for me as for her.