Beg for Me

by Natalie Anderson

  “You speak such sharpness with such softness, Ms Jones.”

  If he ‘Ms Jonesed’ her once more, she was going to snap. She loathed her full name. One of her mom’s attempts at snobbishness, it was so pretentious. ‘Min’ wasn’t much better. She’d gotten the Minnie Mouse thing at school. Not to mention Minty—like toothpaste. Min it was. Minimum.

  “Please call me Min,” she said.

  “Only if you call me ‘Master’.”

  Min’s jaw dropped. She shut it with a snap and glared at him—wishing for the powers of Medusa so that the man would turn to a stone pillar.

  He suddenly laughed—a deep, wicked, appallingly inviting sound. “It was worth it for that look alone.”

  Anger made Min forget her breathiness—forget her speech at all. Only it wasn’t just anger. “Are you sexually harassing me, Mr Hughes?”

  “Probably,” he nodded. “But then you’re sexually harassing me.”

  “How so?” She queried. “My manner and conversation have been beyond reproach.” Apart from that one look, she’d been working hard to hide her base level interest—

  “Your mere presence is the problem.”

  A ball of heat exploded in her belly. Anger, not attraction. Definitely not arousal. The guy was a playboy—an utter shark. No, that was unfair to sharks. He was just a jerk.

  “Easily resolved.” She stood.

  He didn’t mean it. The guy just couldn’t resist trying it on with anything. And she guessed this meant he was over the tweet if he was more concerned about flirting inappropriately. “But even so,” she turned back to face him. Desperately ignoring the huge, wicked smile on the man’s face. “It’s not my p-p-presence but your reaction to it that’s at fault. It’s up to you to take yourself in hand.”

  His eyebrows shot up. Something sinful gleamed in the depths of his eyes.

  “You question my self-control, Ms Jones?” he asked softly.

  “Do you b-blame me? When you speak so inappropriately?”

  It wasn’t just his self-control at risk right now. Min was all but steaming.

  “Maybe I speak too honestly,” he replied. “Maybe that’s always been my problem.”

  “Not knowing when to keep your mouth shut?”

  “I bet you know when to keep your mouth shut. I bet you know all those proper rules.”

  Oh Logan was playing with an inferno here and he really shouldn’t. Even for him this was beyond bad. But he didn’t care, he’d fix the stupid tweet himself and pay her off if there really was a problem. It had been too much fun to resist provoking that reaction.

  For the first time in months he felt himself again. Excitement, adrenalin rippled through his veins. He did so like a challenge. He did enjoy a risk. And right now the payoff was perfect. He stood, took that step towards her, watched her chin lift again as she prepared for battle.

  “Mr Hughes—”

  “Call me Logan,” he said, deliberately peaceably.

  That earned him a startled look, quickly infused with a cynical narrowing of the eyes. Araminta Jones was no fool and if he wasn’t careful she’d be using his verbal lapse in judgment against him. Sadly, it was time to tidy the situation up. “Look—”

  He broke off at the rough rap on the door. It opened before he said anything. Ed stood in the frame, looking as concerned as Ed ever did. Tiny twin frown lines creased his brow.

  “Sorry Logan, Rocco’s on the line. He insisted I bring the phone to you.”

  A chilled finger pressed low on Logan’s spine. Ed’s frown wasn’t because he was scared of disturbing him. It was something else. Something Rocco had said?

  He took the phone with a nod and closed the door on Ed again. He turned to lean back against it, mainly to prevent Ms Jones from leaving. He didn’t trust that she wouldn’t do a runner, for all her defiant chin tilting. Because she was looking more anxious now he’d gone for the friendly approach.

  He held the phone to his ear but kept his eyes on her. “What is it?”

  “You know there’s a picture of her on the internet already.” Rocco said.

  Logan paused. “Picture of who?”

  “Aren’t you watching your own feed?”

  “What?” Logan quickly glanced at his computer but didn’t want to leave his position at the door.

  “Entering the building.” Rocco added. “She’s pretty cute. Amazing hair judging by the braid.”

  “You’re kidding.” Logan swore. “You can see her?”

  “I just told you, there’s a picture of her on the internet already.”

  Logan was momentarily robbed of speech. Some camera-clutching loon had been bored enough to stake out his apartment building? Surely there were more important things going on in the world? He closed his eyes, the cult of celebrity really was crazy.

  “They’re all saying she’s the fiancée. That right?” Speculation sped up Rocco’s usually leisurely speech.

  “I can’t see the feed right now. Describe her to me.” Though he already knew it was her, the braid reference gave it away. But Logan needed to understand what everyone was seeing. And saying.

  He looked again at Min, she was watching him, no hiding the wariness in her big green eyes.

  Damn. Disappointment stabbed him in the gut—the situation was rapidly worsening. He didn’t want her thrown to the wolves. He didn’t want anyone to go through that shit.

  “She kinda looks your type.” Rocco said like he was actually unsure of that. “Maybe dressed a bit casual.” Rocco stifled a laugh. “She’s all covered up.”

  Araminta—Min—wasn’t Logan’s type. Nothing like his usual high-maintenance models. She wasn’t dressed remotely stylishly. The tee-shirt was more crusty than cool, so she couldn’t even claim the vintage title. Certainly not with the weird stains on her fingertips. And she was barely made-up. There was no foundation to hide the dusting of freckles that many of his dates would hate. No eyeshadow to enhance the green of her eyes or mascara to thicken those long lashes. Zero artifice. Even her hair had been hurriedly scraped back. It truly was the thickest, longest braid he’d ever seen. Rapunzel all the way. Was she locked in her ivory tower typing meaningless tweets on her computer?

  Yet all of this apparently made her… perfect. His damn cock twitched.

  So not happening. Provocative joking aside, this was not happening.

  “What are they saying?” He frowned, trying to concentrate on what Rocco was implying.

  “Trying to make an ID but it’s pretty hard, picture is blurry. Just jeans and that hair. She’s labelled your mystery woman.”

  Mystery was right.

  There’d been a frisson of sexual awareness between them from the moment they’d locked angry looks. Hell, there’d been a time when there was a frisson of sexual awareness between him and any woman. But it had been a while since those hedonistic days. And Araminta here had tossed her head defiantly and blanked it. There’d been no coy ‘quick look away’ and flirt back at him. No small, inviting smile. Instead her soft mouth had firmed, her eyes had cooled. She’d blown it—him—off before they’d even spoken.

  Logan had been the target of a ‘treat him mean, keep him keen’ campaign more than once. But this was different. With her icy eyes and her come-to-bed voice Min was all sultry contradiction.

  Lust—long since banished by boredom—now roared. It taunted, sending images into his head, plans. He’d release her hair, strip her from the stained clothing and set about making her scream. He wanted her naked, freed and well satisfied—smiling at him, with none of that silent scorn.

  Yeah, the jaded sexual side of him stirred with a rippling, searing anticipation that had been missing for months. Hell, he’d been so bored he’d decided to try a two-for-one in an attempt to feel some real thrill. Look how that idea had turned out. Then, after a couple more unsatisfying—and ultimately unconsummated—encounters in which women only wanted a re-enactment of the edited highlights from that damn clip, he’d lost all interest.

 
But now?

  He took another look into those green eyes, peripherally aware of those pretty freckles and that glorious hair. On the surface, stains and all, she looked the cleanest cut woman he’d met in ages. Different and so-determinedly indifferent.

  But he shoved aside the wicked thoughts. So wrong in so many ways.

  The important question was whether she’d be indifferent to the trolls. He knew the kinds of things people said online, the way they could tear a person—dehumanize, destroy. Though she worked in social media, he doubted she’d had all that venom directed at her.

  And the threat wasn’t only online for little Ms Hipster. To be hounded by long lenses and crazies blocking the sidewalk—trying to provoke reactions for the money shot?

  In an instant, he decided.

  “Yeah, that’s her,” Logan said to Rocco. “She’s the one.”

  “Really?” Rocco choked over the words. “This is for real?”

  “Absolutely,” Logan said enthusiastically, warming to the idea. He could keep an eye on things this way. “She said yes.”

  “Fuck me,” Rocco breathed. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Why not?” Logan asked, a spurt of irritation stabbing in his chest.

  “Because…” Rocco didn’t say anything more.

  Yeah, he didn’t need to. No one could ever believe Logan Hughes would ever settle down. Too wild. Too reckless. In that instant Logan truly hated the judgment of the world.

  Then the old temptation to shock surged in. Irresistible.

  “It’s real. She’s the one. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  Logan hung up and took a split-second to believe what he’d just said. Should he feel bad?

  He glanced at her. Nope. Not when he saw the way she was holding her hands to hide the slight trembling, not when he’d heard her slight stutter. She was worried and honestly, he was worried for her. She was a little freaking lost lamb in the big bad city.

  The phone buzzed in his hand and he checked the screen. Connor was trying to get him—via his security guard’s phone? Yeah, the troops were desperate.

  Well, so was Logan. He knew what he was going to hear in Connor’s voice. The edge of disappointment that his brother would try to hide because he was loyal despite Logan letting him down time and time again.

  Connor didn’t need any more controversy. He deserved better than repeatedly trying to ‘rescue’ a brother who’d dragged the family name through scandalous press. Too reckless. Too lusty.

  Perhaps this was the perfect temporary plan. He’d go off the market and into hiding with the hermit here. Lie low until some other guy stepped up to take the ‘most outrageous’ title. They’d be so boring any interest would die a sudden death. Some new thing would take the online world by storm in a less than a day.

  Plus—and it was a big plus—she was the perfect excuse not to have to participate fully in the upcoming weekend. He’d take her with him. On so many levels she could be the perfect distraction.

  Logan switched the phone off. Connor didn’t need to know everything—he had enough on. In fact no one needed to know everything. Tyler knew some, but he’d be reliable. Plus his baby was due soon and he was already pre-occupied. Hunter, who’d arranged the personnel check, was always discreet.

  The stage was set.

  This would be win-win for both him and Ms Jones. If he were to retract the tweet and blame his management team, she’d lose clients. And he wasn’t sure how many clients she had. So he was doing her a favor. Saving her business.

  It was the faintly antagonistic look in her eye that settled it. Because this would be the last thing she wanted and damned if that didn’t delight him.

  In Logan, the wicked ideas always won.

  Chapter Four

  #MostRidiculousQuestionEver

  Min watched Logan throw the phone onto the sofa. He looked at her, but she didn’t trust the resigned expression he had on his face.

  “We have a problem,” he said.

  Well, she did. The man was blocking the doorway and right now her ‘flight’ instinct was screaming at her. She didn’t like the little she’d grasped of that phone call.

  ‘She said yes’, and ‘what does she look like’?

  If she could sprout wings and fly away she would. Not that she wanted to let him see how much he’d gotten to her. But the longer she spent in his company, the more seduced she became.

  It wasn’t just his looks, it was that indefinable something. Charisma, X-factor, whatever. He had too much of it. And he was so shamelessly outrageous, for a second he’d made her want to laugh. It wasn’t going to happen. Because if she laughed, then she’d soon end up lying on her back for him to lick her.

  Like she ever wanted to do that within five minutes of meeting someone? Never had she felt such a spark from a half second staring at someone. Pure sexual temptation.

  Lust at first sight.

  But she knew what a player he was. And this was her job. The only answer was to turn away.

  “We can figure out a good way to explain the tweet,” she said. “If I could just—”

  “Someone took a photo of you arriving here.”

  She spun back to face him.

  “That picture is now all over the internet.”

  “A picture of me. Arriving here.” She glanced down at her outfit.

  “Is it only now you’re worried about what you’re wearing?” He looked sardonic. “You didn’t think you might like to dress up for me?”

  “I have n-no interest in dressing up for you,” she snapped.

  “Even though I’m one of your fee-paying clients?”

  Min froze. Fair point. She should have stalled the security guy a few minutes and made more of an effort.

  “Your face is all over the internet. Walking into my apartment building with one of my assistants. The world currently believes that you are my fiancée.”

  “That’s r-ridiculous.” She inhaled sharply, nervous, but she’d avoided a serious stutter.

  His expression tightened. “Of course.” He walked towards her. “But that’s what we’re going to go with. That’s the explanation.”

  She stared at him. Couldn’t speak at all.

  His lips quirked. “The internet world believes that ‘she said yes’,” he said slowly. “They then see a picture of you and in the internet world the weirdest things add up. So now the Twitterverse thinks you’re my fiancée and who are we to argue with them? There’s no taking on the internet and winning. This engagement is going to stand.”

  Min gaped. “You’re k-kidding.”

  “No.”

  “And you expect me to agree?”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “Yes I do,” she said sharply. “And I say no.”

  The man might be blindingly sexy, but he was also totally crazy.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen in the next few hours? Any idea?” He turned away. His hands curled into fists and pressed to his hips. His biceps bunched and suddenly he turned back to face her. “You know a couple of public words from me could easily screw your business. What would you do then? You have college debt, you have rent to pay. You have to eat.”

  “I…”

  His sudden vehemence short-circuited her brain. How did he know she had debt?

  “You wouldn’t.” She licked her lips nervously. He wouldn’t destroy her business completely, would he?

  “Why wouldn’t I? You made a mistake, you ought to own it,” he said coolly. “But…” He seemed to relent. “I want to avoid any scandal or negative press at the moment. It would be better for my family.”

  Logan Hughes wanted to avoid scandal?

  “But this isn’t scandalous.” This was the guy who’d been seen cavorting all over the internet. Like anyone was going to pay any attention to one dumb tweet? Hell, most of the world wouldn’t have even seen it.
“This is just… a j-j-joke. No one is g-going to notice.” She shook her head. “No one could care less.”

  “They’ve already noticed.” He grabbed her wrist and walked her to his desk and his massive computer screen.

  She flicked her hand to shake him off. He released her right away.

  But it was still too late. Her temperature spiked. She could feel where his fingers had gripped her, like burn marks. Sizzling.

  Irritated, she took in the minimalist desk and massive computer screen. No random pieces of paper. It was smooth and polished. Only the computer sat on it. There were no family photos, no stress squeezy balls or Feng shui miniature sand gardens with rakes. Not even a vase with a flower. It was the epitome of minimalist style. Empty.

  Like him?

  She glanced up. On the wall there was a ginormous media screen and on either side, the only pictures in the room. Large photographs of desert scenes that made her feel even hotter. They were beautiful. But again, impersonal.

  “Read it, Min,” he said sharply.

  As unbelievable as this was, she knew he was serious. At the mention of his family his face had actually paled.

  Reluctantly she looked down at the screen and stared at the twitter feed. They’d even started a hashtag. He really was a trending freaking topic in New York. It was madness.

  “This isn’t going to go away overnight,” he said.

  “Of course it is. It’s only the internet.” She tried to minimise it.

  “Things on the internet are there forever,” he said grimly. “You can take it from someone who knows that fact. Intimately.”

  As she turned, she met his eyes. Cool, blue, burning.

  Inappropriate images dominated her brain again. Logan Hughes, the incarnation of sensual temptation. So dangerous.

  She felt the blush fan up her face, a blaze of heat and mortification.

  His eyebrow quirked upward. “Any other time I’d laugh it off. I can’t laugh it off this week. Unfortunately you have bad timing Ms Jones. Really bad timing.”

  She was hyper aware of his seriousness. His sensuality. Her throat closed over.