And there were other images now, too—newer, fresher, brighter ones. The curve of her bottom in those black lace shorts. The way she’d indecently filled that acid-yellow dress. The sight of one raspberry-pink nipple playing peek-a-boo. The horrified look on her face when she’d realised.
Bloody hell. Flinging the twisted sheets aside, Josh levered himself out of bed, scrubbed his hands over his face and set about getting dressed. Might as well do something more productive with his time than lying in bed feeling both horny and guilty. He pulled on jeans, trainers and a hooded top, jogged downstairs and helped himself to a bottle of water from the fridge.
He needed to see Lottie, but he suspected that if he went to her flat now, she’d refuse to open the door. She’d made it perfectly clear last night that she had no intention of having sex with him again, which was fine, because intellectually he knew he didn’t want to have sex with someone he didn’t know if he could trust. But if he wanted to pin responsibility for the photo in Guilty Pleasures on Lottie, he had to nail responsibility for what had happened last night to himself.
He needed to catch her somewhere she would have to deal with him. The auction house would be perfect, though it left him with a couple of hours to kill. Might as well go and check on progress at the club. With only a month to go until it opened, there were bound to be problems there he could distract himself with. He grabbed his bike, bumped it down onto the pavement and forced himself in the direction of the club before the temptation to go to her flat anyway got the better of him.
Last night he’d behaved like an insensitive jerk. She’d clearly been upset about the whole nipple-flashing incident, and he’d made it into a joke. No wonder she’d slammed the door in his face.
Twenty minutes later, Josh skidded to a halt outside the club and got off his bike. He could probably get away without apologising. But that was the coward’s way out, and he wasn’t a coward. So he’d say he was sorry, and he’d make it up to her. Somehow.
He was still trying to work out the details of the somehow as he made his way inside. The workmen were already on site. He tucked his bike into what would be a ladies’ toilet and explored.
‘Hey, boss.’ The foreman, Mick, greeted him with a handshake and a grin. They went way back, though the other man was a good 10 years older, with a thick build and close-cropped hair. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here this early.’
‘Always pays to keep the staff on their toes as well as the payroll.’ Josh swept his gaze over the first of three levels. ‘Looks good. Sparks finished?’
‘Yup. Lighting and sound system are both done. Want a demo?’
Josh nodded, and Mick disappeared through a door at one side. A moment later, light painted the vast space. The DJ booth shimmered in silver, perfect for the Barbarella-meets-Tron look he’d envisioned. Caged dancers in full body paint would provide a focal point, and his bar staff dressed as futuristic warriors would look incredible. This was his 13th club, and he had a seriously lucky feeling about it.
He signalled his approval to Mick, who cut the lights and sound and strolled back towards him, looking mightily pleased with himself. ‘You’ve done a good job.’ Josh congratulated him with a pat on the back. ‘Tell the boys there’ll be a bonus in it for them if they finish early.’
‘Oh, she’ll be ready. Don’t you worry about that. Still going with the same name?’
‘Jane? Sure. This one is Barbarella all the way.’
Mick gave him the thumbs up, but didn’t catch his eye. ‘I’ll give the sign-writers confirmation.’
‘Okay.’ Josh folded his arms. ‘Out with it. Something’s up.’
Mick shoved out a breath, hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his overalls. ‘You might want to take a look at page three of the Mail, boss.’
Josh didn’t wait for further explanation. He dashed up to his office and powered-up the glossy black laptop that sat on his desk. As the machine hummed into life, he considered getting his house hooked up to the internet, then decided against it for the millionth time. No computer, no TV. When he shut the front door, he shut the outside world out.
Google popped up, and he tapped in his name. Far too many hits for comfort popped up, together with an instantly recognisable string of paparazzi shots. Lottie and her yellow dress were the stars of the show. He’d been bang on the money when he’d told her they’d get their exposure. Thanks to the power of the internet, her left breast already had its own fan sites. The press was so distracted his mother could probably shoplift on Oxford Street right now without anyone noticing.
It was even better than he’d planned. So why did he feel like he wanted to personally sue every single site with a picture of Lottie posted on it? Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he propped his feet up on the desk and folded his arms. The thought of the rest of the world seeing such an intimate, private part of her sent angry heat surging through him, as every muscle snapped tight. The thought of Barry the Perve being able to see those pictures made him want to punch a hole in the newly painted wall of the office.
Which was totally stupid. They’d had one night together, that was all. What had she said? Scratching an itch. He bit down the anger, only to find it replaced by something else. Something worse.
Why did he feel so damn…guilty? It wasn’t like he’d tugged her dress down and popped that nipple out. She was the one who’d bought it, together with all those other spray-on numbers. A woman was responsible for what sat in her wardrobe.
But he had pushed her into wearing it. Josh swore, loudly and colourfully. He had to see Lottie now. He couldn’t hang around any longer.
He swung his feet off the desk, snagged his keys and checked his watch—8.45. Would she be at the auction house yet? He had to see her before she found the pictures of herself on the internet. Forewarned was forearmed, after all, and for some reason he couldn’t figure out, it was vitally important that he be the one to tell her that the pictures were already live.
It took him 30 minutes of hard riding to reach the auction house, winding his way through snarling, angry traffic, the early-morning sun massaging his shoulders. Overhead, the sky was already a perfect, cloudless blue. It was the kind of day on which outside was the only place to be.
Bouncing up onto the kerb, he swung himself off his bike and chained it to the nearest lamppost. The entrance to the red-brick building was clogged with bodies.
Bodies with cameras. Dammit. Where was his brain at the moment? He should have predicted this. Reaching for his pocket, he contemplated ringing Lottie and getting her to meet him somewhere, but dismissed that idea almost as soon as he’d thought of it. He didn’t want her walking out through that pack of animals on her own. They’d eat her alive.
So there was only one thing for it. He had to get rid of them. Setting his shoulders straight, Josh took off his sunglasses, hooked them into the neck of his tee and strolled towards the door.
‘Morning, fellas.’
Cameras started to flash before he’d even got the words out of his mouth. He held up a hand to stop them. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I appreciate that you want your shots. But this isn’t the place to get them.’
‘Why not?’
‘She’s at work, for Christ’s sake.’
A camera swung up into his face. ‘But you’re not. And it’s a free country. We can take pics wherever we want.’
‘I’m asking you not to.’
‘Can I quote you on that?’
Shaking his head, Josh elbowed the nearest body out of the way, yanked open the door, and strode into the entrance. The receptionist blushed as he gave her a nod and asked for directions to Lottie’s office. He took the stairs two at time, ignoring the woman’s plea that he sign in and wear a name badge.
The unmistakeable stink of damp assaulted his nostrils as he jogged into the bowels of the building. What the hell was she doing down here? The walls were bare, the magnolia paint peeling in patches, his trainers squeaking on the scarred black-and-white tiles that covere
d the floor. He rounded the corner, took the final three steps. A soft female voice drifted along the corridor and captured him like a siren’s song.
Was that Lottie? That soulful, exquisite voice stroked a bluesy melody. Every inch of him went tight, as it seemed to reach out and intimately caress him. Christ. If that was Lottie, she wouldn’t be impressed if he walked into her office with a hard on. And if it wasn’t her, that would be even worse.
A loud, electronic trill smacked the air and killed the music stone dead. Josh stopped, leaned back against the wall as the sound of a phone being picked up filtered through and whoever was in there started to speak.
Relief washed over him, together with a weird sense of discomfort. Yes. That was Lottie. He’d recognise those sweet tones anywhere. Who’d have thought she had the pipes of a sultry nightclub diva? He held his breath, trying to get a handle on her mood. Definitely better than it had been at three in the morning, that was for sure. He couldn’t tell what she was saying, but in his head it was pure filth. He pushed those thoughts away, moved closer, faked a cough.
Her head popped round the doorway, phone pressed to her ear, long ponytail swinging. For someone who’d had almost no sleep, she looked incredibly fresh, her skin glowing, long, silky lashes framing bright eyes without a hint of darkness underneath.
She held up a hand and beckoned him forwards, all the while chattering into the phone. ‘Of course, Mr Watts. I’ll have a copy of our brochure in the post to you today. Yes, it was lovely to speak to you too. Pardon?’ Her face went a strange shade of pale. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t handle the sales personally. No.’ She paused, twirling the end of her ponytail round her index finger. ‘Absolutely. Goodbye.’
Josh took the receiver from her hand and hit the end call button. She was wearing knee-length tailored shorts and a sleeveless white blouse, her feet bare apart from a series of crisscrossed plasters which didn’t match her bright purple toenails. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I got here. And you should see the state of my inbox.’
The guilt that had been lingering in the pit of his stomach exploded with nuclear force. Obviously she hadn’t seen the pictures on the internet. She was far too perky, too happy for that. He didn’t want to be the one to burst her bubble, but it had to be done. Glancing over her shoulder, he saw a very basic office. She had a swivel chair, a filing cabinet, and a window so small a bumble bee would have trouble getting through it.
Placing a hand in the small of her back, Josh propelled her forwards, ignoring the way her bottom curved out so deliciously and refusing to assess the possibility of getting her naked on the desk. Which he hadn’t noticed was the ideal height, if she was flat on her back and he was on his knees with his head between her legs.
‘Lottie,’ he said, trying to sound calm, ‘we’ve got a bit of a problem.’
‘No we haven’t. Everything is going brilliantly.’ She gave him a cute little smile, her nose wrinkling. ‘I can’t remember the place ever being this busy. Do you know, our website has already crashed four times this morning?’
‘I’m not interested in your damn website!’ Josh backed her up against the desk. ‘Will you just stop talking and listen to me for one minute.’
He took her waist, hoisted her up onto the desk. She shuffled backwards, eyes wide and wary. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
Josh planted one hand at her side, the other under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze and hold it. He swallowed down the concrete block in his throat. ‘The pictures of you in that yellow dress are all over the internet.’
‘I know. I checked. You did tell me it would happen, so it wasn’t a total shock.’
That was not the response he’d been expecting. ‘Aren’t you bothered?’
The tip of her tongue swept across her bottom lip, and her face flushed. ‘I was a bit, at first. But then I got to work, and I saw all the emails, all the messages on my answering machine.’
‘Most of which will be from creeps and weirdos,’ Josh interrupted. He pulled away from her, threw himself down on her ancient chair. He needed to move, to work off the frustration barrelling through him, but this damn shoebox was only three strides square, and he needed a lot more room than that.
‘There have been a few…odd messages,’ she admitted, sliding forwards until her bare feet met the floor. ‘But there are also a few genuine ones in there.’
‘Why aren’t you mad? You’re supposed to be mad. This isn’t what you wanted, Lottie.’
She tilted her head to one side, her hair sliding over her shoulder. ‘No. It’s better.’
‘But it’s humiliating!’ Why wasn’t she raging at him? Why didn’t she scream and shout and punch him? Or better still, grab the pot plant perched on the narrow little window sill and throw it at his head?
‘Why are you so bothered?’
‘I’m not bothered. You are the one who should be bothered. Your breasts are all over the internet, Lottie. People are looking at them.’
‘Not my breasts. My nipple. And not even all of it.’ Pushing herself off the desk, she moved right in front of him. ‘You wanted exposure, Josh, and now you’ve got it. So stop complaining.’ The phone started to ring again, but she made no move to answer it. Instead, she folded her arms, pushing up those full, soft curves, and glared at him. ‘Did you actually want anything? Or did you just come here to whinge?’
Josh had had enough. He couldn’t breathe in this prison cell, couldn’t think. His head hurt, and his empty stomach had started to growl, and he couldn’t tear his attention away from her plump bottom lip. ‘I came to ask you out to brunch,’ he said, inspiration swooping in. ‘Picnic in the park. We need to plan our next date.’
She glanced back at her desk, then turned back to him. ‘I’ve got a ton of stuff to do.’
‘You’ve had minimal sleep. You have to eat.’
‘I have to work.’
His patience expired. Bending his knees, Josh put his shoulder to her middle, slung an arm round the back of her legs, and hoisted her up. ‘We’re going out for brunch. Got it?’
She swore with an expertise he hadn’t expected, and smacked him hard on the bum.
‘Careful now,’ Josh said, feeling more than pleased with himself as he collected her shoes then strode out into the corridor. ‘It’s narrow out here. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.’
‘Then bloody well put me down!’
‘Not until you promise to be good.’ He spotted a door marked fire exit and walked towards it, his furious cargo spitting like a cornered cat. It led out into a narrow alleyway. Must be round the side of the building, he figured as he lowered her to the ground and handed her the sandals he’d grabbed on the way out.
Bracing herself against the wall, she slotted them on. ‘This is kidnapping.’
‘Yes.’ He leaned in close, couldn’t resist. ‘But it’s fun, don’t you think?’
Those violet eyes glittered, then her mouth twisted into a grin. ‘Maybe a little.’
Turning round, she pulled the door closed. ‘Picnic, you say?’
The light filtering through the lime tree played dappled patterns on the ground, sheltering Lottie from the sun which danced high and bright overhead. It was too early for the lunchtime rush to be in full swing, but there were still plenty of people around, hiding under the trees with paperbacks and newspapers, or kicking footballs to toddlers. Slurping up noodle soup from a big paper cup, she pretended not to watch Josh doing push ups out in the sun. The man couldn’t keep still for a second.
She’d waited in the alleyway while he went and collected his bike, and the two of them had dodged the photographers waiting round the front, then weaved their way precariously along the bank of the Thames, peppering the air with laughter. They’d garnered the odd funny look, but she very much doubted that anyone would connect her, in her plain work garb, with the super vixen on the internet and in the papers.
And the weird thing was, after the i
nitial horror of nipplegate had passed, those pictures hadn’t made her feel nearly as uncomfortable as she thought they would. Mostly because she couldn’t take her eyes off Josh. She’d poured over the endless shots of him, filling out that tuxedo like he was born to wear one, seducing the camera without even trying. His impact was phenomenal. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what Marlene must be like in the flesh, but with Josh to look at she was hard pushed to care.
In the end, she’d enjoyed the film premiere tremendously. More than anything, she’d enjoyed Josh. The easy way he circulated the room and talked to everyone, without ever making her feel left out or left behind. The way he’d let her clutch at his hand during the scary bits and passed her a handkerchief when her eyes filled up at the end. Obviously he hadn’t made a move on her, but in some ways that was a good thing. It had given her the opportunity to get to know him a bit better, and she’d liked what she’d seen. She’d also had the satisfaction of closing the door in his face at the end of the night, knowing that she’d resisted the urge to invite him in.
But then there was this phobia she’d developed about kissing him in public. What was she supposed to do if she froze again? Flash her knickers? There were bound to be other events over the next few weeks where she’d be expected to perform, and no-one was going to buy them as a couple if they never kissed. She couldn’t screw up again. And a not so little part of her wanted to know if the heat that had flashed between them a week ago had been real. Had the sex really been as good as she remembered?
Problem was, she didn’t want him to know she was curious. He’d already made it clear that he wasn’t interested in a repeat performance. This mustn’t go further than kissing, and that had to be only when strictly necessary. She’d have to tread carefully.
She put down her cup and pushed the lid back on. She took a mouthful of juice and swiped her tongue over her teeth. ‘Josh,’ she called. ‘Would you come here a minute?’
He paused in mid-push. ‘What’s up?’
Lottie hesitated. ‘Sit next to me?’
He stood up, held his arms over his head and pushed each elbow inwards in some sort of stretch. The veins travelling along each powerful forearm were pumped thick with blood, though he’d barely broken a sweat.
Once A Bad Girl Page 8
