This is going to make you cry again.
I shut my eyes, kissing him hungrily, trying to lose myself in the taste of him and the feel of his cock thrusting into me, trying to lose myself in the pleasure and not think about the ache in my chest that was building as much as the pleasure was.
An ache I didn’t understand.
Just sex, huh?
I shoved the thought from my mind. ‘Harder,’ I whispered against his mouth. ‘Fuck me harder, Mr Evans.’
He made another of those low, sexy rumbling sounds, his rhythm intensifying until the cabin was full of the sounds of his flesh hitting mine, my gasps of pleasure and his own rough groans as we came closer and closer to the edge.
I dug my heels into the taut muscle of his butt, my nails scratching him as lights began to burst behind my eyes.
He moved harder, deeper, and something began to shift inside me, beginning to crack under the weight of all that pleasure. I felt tears begin to start behind my eyes, pinpricks of emotion stabbing through me.
I fought it, fought the release instinctively, not wanting to give away anything, but it was too late. He shifted his hand between my thighs and found my clit, stroking me as he thrust until I cracked apart completely and all the pleasure came flooding out.
I screamed into his mouth as it hit, my whole body arching and going rigid against his, electrified.
His grip tightened, holding me together as I fell apart in his arms, before getting even tighter as he slammed into me, chasing his own release. His thrusts got wilder, falling out of rhythm, before he tore his mouth from mine and turned his face into my hair, giving one last hard thrust, his body going rigid as he came.
I shut my eyes, blinking furiously to hold back inexplicable tears as he shuddered against me, my name whispered in a rough, dark voice against my skin.
God, what was wrong with me? Why was I getting so emotional again? It didn’t make any sense.
I felt good, so good. I shouldn’t want to cry about it.
Swallowing hard, I managed to keep the tide of emotion at bay, content to let his big, hard body anchor me to the couch, his breath hot in my ear.
Eventually, though, he lifted his head and his blue gaze pinned me. ‘Petra booked us a suite with adjoining rooms in Dubai, but I’m telling you now that the moment we land, I’ll be wanting to take you into that suite, spread you out across that bed, and keep you there the entire bloody night.’ He paused, searching my face. ‘If you don’t want that, you need to tell me now.’
What could I say? I’d crossed the line and I didn’t want to go back, no matter the raw feeling that stuck in my chest.
I could ignore that. It was just sex, right?
‘I want it,’ I said without hesitation.
And hoped I didn’t regret it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ash
THE FUCKING LIMO felt too goddamn small.
Ellie was sitting beside me, dressed in a green gown that appeared to be constructed out of nothing but tissue. It had a neckline that plunged almost to her belly button and fitted like a glove around her hips and thighs, the skirt falling silkily to her ankles, and I wanted to rip it off her body, and bury myself inside her.
Again.
I thought I’d be satisfied after our first night in Dubai, screwing each other senseless in the suite Petra had booked for us as soon as we got off the plane. But apparently not.
Apparently screwing her only made me want to screw her more, and now I felt nothing but hungry and possessive and feral, all of which were a bad combination.
Especially since we were on our way to the club event where I was supposed to be talking Delaney out of his precious islands. I was going to need my focus for that and couldn’t afford to be distracted by my lovely chauffeur.
Except she didn’t look like a chauffeur tonight. She looked like one of my expensive socialites, with her brown hair lying gleaming and glossy over her shoulders, her face newly adorned with make-up.
It was strange seeing her like this, but not at all unwelcome.
She looked gorgeous and I’d already decided I liked her just as much in a gown as I did in her uniform, though the shorts won because they showed more skin.
However, she was obviously nervous because when she wasn’t tugging up the neckline of her gown, she was touching her hair or straightening the fabric of her skirt. Small gestures that betrayed her.
‘You don’t need to be nervous,’ I said into the silence. ‘You look beautiful.’
She gave me a quick glance. ‘And you look hot in that tux.’
I grimaced and tried not to pull on my tie; I hated wearing a suit.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I’m not nervous.’
‘Yes, you are. If you pull at your gown one more time, you’re going to rip it.’ I reached out and took her hand from where it was tugging at her neckline for a fourth time, threading my fingers through hers and drawing it away from the gown to lie on my thigh instead.
Touching her was probably a bloody stupid thing to do, especially when the chemistry between us was so volatile, but I thought my touch might reassure her.
She stared at our linked hands for a long moment, her fingers looking small and delicate compared to mine.
‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘Maybe I am. I’m not used to wearing dresses.’
‘Really? You don’t wear dresses at home?’
‘No. After Mum died I got out of the habit.’
There was a slight catch in her voice as she said the words and I found myself searching her face. ‘Why? You don’t like wearing them?’
‘Not really. But also I look like her.’ She hesitated. ‘Dad found that...difficult.’
Her father sounded like a piece of work—hell, he hadn’t protected his own daughter from someone who wanted to hurt her. But given her defensiveness about it in the plane yesterday, I kept that opinion to myself for now.
‘Difficult?’ I asked.
‘When I say I look like her, I mean I’m the spitting image of her.’ There was a certain sadness in her eyes that made me tighten my grip on her hand. ‘Mum also loved dresses and make-up and all kinds of girly things, and after she died, he was so upset that I just...thought it was easier if I didn’t look so much like a girl.’
‘You wanted to protect him.’
She sighed again. ‘He was so lost without her and he doesn’t do emotion. He couldn’t deal with losing her and I wanted to help him.’
‘And what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Did anyone help you?’ I didn’t know what made me ask. Maybe it was that sadness in her eyes, or the way her fingers had tightened around mine. The sense that I knew the answer to that question already: no one had.
The lights from the city outside glided over her face, a flash of something raw in her eyes, and I felt my chest constrict. ‘No,’ I said, annoyed with myself. ‘Forget I said anything. You don’t have to answer.’
She gave me a long look, then said eventually, ‘I had my brothers. But they were all older than me. And Dad had no idea what to do with a seven-year-old girl. So...no. I guess I didn’t have anyone.’ She smiled, but I’d never seen anything so forced. ‘Anyway, it was fine. I coped.’
Of course she had. Because she was tough—at least on the surface. But underneath she was vulnerable, I could see it in her eyes. Hell, I’d seen it up in the plane yesterday, too.
I stroked the back of her hand with my thumb, trying not to give in to the anger I felt on her behalf. She was loyal to her family, but it made me wonder if they were as loyal to her.
Certainly there were issues with her dad and his handling of the harassment problem. I got the feeling that he blamed her for it, which was so wrong I wanted to hit something. Hard.
‘It wasn’t fine,’ I said roughly, not liking how sh
e dismissed herself and her own needs so easily. And with a smile that was in no way natural. ‘I’m sure you did cope, because you’re tough. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t need anyone to be there for you.’
Her forced smile faltered. ‘Dad didn’t like fusses. He didn’t know how to deal with them.’
‘Well, as you probably know by now, I don’t mind a fuss.’ With my free hand, I gently brushed a finger along her lower lip. ‘But what I really don’t like is pretence. You have a beautiful smile, pretty thing. You don’t need to fake it.’
She blinked and the smile slowly disappeared. Her hand tightened in mine. ‘What about you? Did you have anyone?’
I didn’t want to talk about me. But then, it was my own fault. I’d introduced the subject and this was where the conversation had ended up. And I couldn’t not tell her now, not after what she’d told me.
‘I had my mother,’ I said, somewhat reluctantly. ‘My father wasn’t part of my life in any way. He got rid of Mum once he found out she was pregnant and wouldn’t pay a cent towards helping her with anything. The only time was when she begged him to pay for my schooling.’ I stroked my thumb over Ellie’s skin. It was very soft against mine and very warm. ‘I tried once, when I was thirteen, to get something from him myself. Mum was having difficulty covering rent and I thought I might be able to convince him to help us. But...’ I didn’t know why I was telling her this story, not when it ended in nothing but humiliation. Nevertheless, I found myself going on. ‘I went and stood outside his house, and when someone eventually came to the door—I don’t know who it was, but not Dad—they told me he didn’t want to see me. That I wasn’t his problem.’ Even now, the anger of that moment burned inside me, no matter how many years went by. How I was dismissed. As if my mother and I meant nothing and were nothing to him.
The slight pressure of her fingers around mine made me realise that she was squeezing my hand. As if I was the one who needed reassurance this time.
It made me want to put some distance between us, but I couldn’t pull away. Not without hurting her and I didn’t want to hurt her.
‘It’s fine,’ I said brusquely. ‘It was a long time ago.’
She gave me a small, shy smile. ‘Now you sound like me.’
‘It’s not quite the same. You lost your mother. I still have mine.’
‘But you did lose your dad in a way, didn’t you?’
Something shifted inside me. An ache. I ignored it. ‘His loss. Anyway, you can’t lose something you never had.’
She gave me a searching look. ‘It’s the potential though, isn’t it? The potential for there to have been something more.’
The ache deepened into pain and I gritted my teeth hard. ‘There was never any potential for something more. I wasn’t good enough for Dad. I wasn’t his problem.’ The words sounded bitter, like something a petulant teenager would say, which was galling. ‘But like I said,’ I went on quickly, before she could say anything, ‘that was years ago. Anyway, we weren’t talking about me. We were talking about you.’
Ellie scowled. ‘I don’t want to talk about me. I’m bloody boring.’
The tight feeling in my chest eased at the grumpy expression on her face. ‘And now you sound like me,’ I said, amused.
That got a smile from her, an easy, natural one that seemed to light up the interior of the entire car.
‘That’s better, pretty thing,’ I murmured, watching her. ‘That’s the smile I’m talking about.’
She flushed. ‘How did you meet him?’
The question was so out of the blue that I didn’t quite understand what she was talking about for a second.
‘Him?’
‘Your half-brother. I mean, you didn’t have contact with your dad, so I’ve been wondering.’
My amusement vanished. Fuck. I didn’t want to talk about Dumont, either.
No, because then she’ll know what a petty bastard you are. How you destroyed the only friendship you had because you can’t let go of the past.
No. Maybe she should know what a petty bastard I was. I’d told her how Seb had lost my money, but I hadn’t told her how I’d spent the last twelve years competing for his business. Or how I’d preferred my anger to all the olive branches he’d tried to hold out.
‘I met him at school,’ I said at last. ‘My mother finally got Dad to pay for my schooling at a private prep school and I met him there.’ A memory floated through my head, of how I’d been shunned by the other boys, because I was poor, because at that stage I was skinny and short and I didn’t belong with them. Of how they all drew away from me as I sat that first day in the ancient hall where they ate. And how one lanky kid had dropped onto the bench opposite me and had given me a grin. ‘Hey,’ he’d said. ‘This seat taken?’
I’d glowered at him, wanting him to go away and leave me alone.
But he hadn’t. He’d simply stuck out his hand and introduced himself. Then he’d said, ‘Brothers have to stick together, right?’
‘He didn’t care that I didn’t belong,’ I said aloud. ‘He didn’t give a single shit where I’d come from. We were brothers and as far as he was concerned that was all he needed to know to be my friend.’
Ellie squeezed my hand again. ‘No wonder you were so angry with him when he lost your money,’ she murmured. ‘He broke your trust.’
She saw through me. She saw through me too well.
‘And so I went after his business.’ My voice was rough and I made no effort to hide it. ‘He tried to mend fences, but since he’d ignored me, I ignored him.’ I bared my teeth at her. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m totally the wronged party here, pretty thing. I’m a petty bastard and I’m fully aware of that fact.’
She gave me a long look. ‘Is that supposed to be a warning?’
‘No. Just the truth.’
Her hazel gaze turned intent. ‘You’re very uncompromising about certain things. Why is that?’
Something shot down my spine, a bolt of heat. ‘Because I don’t apologise for who I am and I don’t hide it, either. You take me as I am or not at all. Understand?’ I didn’t know why it felt important to say to her. Perhaps because I didn’t want her thinking I was something I wasn’t.
Like, someone better?
I ignored that thought, holding her hazel gaze instead.
And slowly she gave me a nod. ‘I understand.’
I hoped she did. Because if she wanted me to be someone else, she was out of luck.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ellie
IT WAS STRANGE being a passenger in a limo. Even stranger for the limo to pull up outside the venue we were going to and for the door to be held open for me the way I usually did for other people.
We’d pulled up outside some hotel that was the very epitome of an Arabian Nights fantasy, all arches and domes and gardens. The space in front of the entrance was full of other limos dropping off expensively clad guests, ladies in couture gowns and men in tuxes.
Mr Evans—no, Ash—had surprised me by wearing a tux tonight and I found it surprisingly difficult to look at him in it.
Because if he was gorgeous in jeans and a T-shirt, in a tux he was absolutely mesmerising.
With his height and his broad build, his scarred face and the electric blue of his eyes, the formality of the clothing seemed only to enhance the raw masculinity of him, a kind of untamed earthy energy that had made my breath catch the moment I’d seen him in it.
He held out his hand to me now as I got out of the limo, the warmth of his fingers closing around mine as I took it. The reassurance of that warmth made something I hadn’t realised was nervous inside me settle.
Back at the hotel, we’d talked a little about what our cover story as a couple would be and had decided that we’d go with meeting at a charity event a couple of months ago and keeping our relationship on the down-lo
w to avoid any media nonsense. No, we hadn’t been dating long, but we already knew that it was going to be something that would last. Yes, we were contemplating marriage, and kids were a definite possibility.
His gaze was intense on mine as I stepped from the car, attention turning to us, the paparazzi already gathering.
Except I wasn’t thinking about the paparazzi. I was thinking about what he’d said earlier, about his father and Dumont, and about how he was a petty bastard. He’d flung that at me almost like a challenge, daring me to contradict him, and I’d wanted to.
Because the man who’d reached out and held my hand, who’d talked to me about how I should have had someone when my mother had died, who’d told me my father should have protected me against Mark, wasn’t petty in the slightest.
But I knew he’d argue if I tried to contradict him and it wasn’t the right moment for an argument. I didn’t understand what made me want to convince him he was wrong, anyway. After all, why did I care whether he thought he was a petty bastard or not?
He was certainly a grumpy one, that was for sure, though his temper didn’t bother me. It only made me curious as to why he was like that. Because he struck me very much like a bear with a sore paw, swiping at people who came too close.
Do you want to get close?
Maybe I did. I was curious about the bitterness in his voice when he’d mentioned his father. The throwaway line about him not being good enough.
But it wasn’t a throwaway line, was it? And it kind of explained why he was so driven to succeed and why he was so uncompromising that people had to take him as he was. Why he was so bluntly honest about himself.
He really was afraid he wasn’t good enough.
But I didn’t like that thought and I didn’t like how it hurt him, because it did hurt him. He just covered that hurt with anger.
It made me want to help him in some way, though how I didn’t know. It wasn’t my place to do so anyway.
Well, you are supposed to be his girlfriend, so...maybe it is tonight?
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