‘You’re not right for me,’ he says, and the conviction in his words hurts me, it does.
I toss my hair back. ‘You’re not right for me either, you self-righteous prick. But it is what it is, and you either want me or you don’t.’ There. I can’t be any clearer than that.
‘It’s not about what I want,’ he says slowly. ‘It’s about what is right.’
I slide my hand lower, over the front of that pristine cotton shirt that is just begging for a good smear of lipstick on the collar. His abs are rock-hard, curved bumps of muscle that tense against my palm. ‘Screw what is right. All that matters is that it gets you off.’
‘And did it get you off?’ His voice is low now, quiet. ‘Thinking about me when you were having sex with someone else?’
I want to throw out a smartarsed reply, something that will bring that flushed, angry look to his face, but I can’t seem to find one. And his mouth is just there, right there, a straight, serious line. I grab his tie, pull him down to me, and then I press my mouth against his. He stiffens.
And then he opens up to me.
He tastes of sweet coffee and angry confusion and god, I like it. I sink my hands into his hair and hold him to me as I explore him, loving the noise he makes when he discovers the little silver stud in my tongue. And then he kisses me back, with soft, sensual touches of his tongue on mine. I swear, if I’d known Scott Smithson could kiss like this, I’d have jumped him a long, long time ago. It hits me right there in the middle of my chest, and I press my tits against him, wanting to be closer.
But nothing perfect can last and this is no exception. Scott pushes me away, his hands strong and sure, and I’m left feeling like a complete tool as people hurry past us, pretending they’re not looking. ‘What the fuck was that?’ I don’t know why I’m asking. I kissed him after all, but I’m so full up with emotion that I have to let some of it out or I might explode.
‘That was me stopping you before you went too far.’
‘Too far? You wouldn’t know too far if it jumped up and bit you on the arse, Scott Smithson. I am the closest you’ve ever been to too far, and we haven’t even fucking done anything.’ I need to shut up now. I seriously need to shut up now.
His tie is pulled to one side, his hair is mussed and he’s got my lipstick all over his face. I’ve never seen him look so untidy, so far removed from his usual perfect self. I reach into my bag, refusing to let my hands shake. I pull out a tissue and clean up his face. I straighten his tie, but he stops me when I try to do something with his hair. ‘Stop it, Amber,’ he says. ‘Enough.’
That’s the problem. It isn’t enough. But this is Scott Smithson, my best friend’s twin brother, who I have happily disliked since I was thirteen years old and he lifted his head out of his maths textbook long enough to tell me my blouse was too small. And OK, he probably had a point, but he didn’t have to say it out loud. ‘Why?’ I ask him, glad to put someone else on the other end of that question. ‘Didn’t you like it?’
‘I liked it too much,’ he says, as he fastens his jacket and straightens his tie. ‘But this isn’t how I operate. I don’t jump into bed with someone without considering the consequences first.’
‘I do. I do it all the time. In fact, I wholeheartedly recommend it.’
‘Do you?’ he asks, his expression suddenly serious. ‘Do you think I should be sleeping with other women and thinking of you?’
I don’t have an answer to that. A lightning bolt of hot emotion scorches its way through me just at the thought of him with another woman. I’m done sharing my men. From now on, they’re with me and me only. ‘If it gets you off,’ I tell him.
‘I’m sure it would,’ he replies. He combs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into place and, just like that, it’s as if the past few minutes never happened. ‘But it isn’t what I want.’
‘Then what do you want, Scott? I wish you’d tell me, because I sure as hell can’t figure it out.’
‘There’s a work function on Friday night. I’d like you to come with me.’
‘A work function.’ It takes me a minute to get my head round that. ‘You’re asking me to go to a work do with you?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Is that so unthinkable? You wear a dress, I’ll wear a suit, we’ll mingle and we’ll talk. You’ll have to pretend you don’t hate me, though.’
‘I’d rather go back to mine and fuck,’ I mutter, but even as I say it the idea intrigues me. For all that I’ve known Scott Smithson a long time, the past few days have shown me that I don’t really know him.
‘Wear a dress,’ he repeats. ‘We’ll talk.’ Then he turns and walks away from me, but he doesn’t get far before he stops. He spins around, so he’s facing me again. ‘I like the way you kiss,’ he says. He almost smiles. ‘Makes me wonder what else you can do.’
Chapter Seven
Friday rolls around more quickly than I expect, and before I know it I’m trapped listening to accountants talk about accounts and wondering if anyone will notice if I take a bottle of red from the table on the side and make a discreet exit.
Scott stands quietly next to me. His black suit is pristine, and he’s wearing another one of those starched white shirts, this time with a silver tie. He’s barely said a word since we got here. There’s a tension to him that tells me he is not enjoying this as much as he’s pretending to.
A month ago I’d have got a kick out of his discomfort. Now I’m finding it…uncomfortable. Ever since we got here, the women in the room have been circulating like a pack of hungry vultures. They move in close, wine glass in hand, and they can’t seem to stop themselves from touching him, even though I’m stood right next to him.
And through it all, he makes polite conversation as they paw him and drool. Even before I had that second glass of red it was starting to get to me. He’s mine, I think to myself as another one of them approaches. Except that Scott Smithson isn’t mine. And apart from that incident in his car and one badly timed snog, there’s nothing between us. But I feel like there is. I feel like there should be, and that feeling unnerves me. I tuck my clutch bag further under my arm and turn to him. ‘Why did you invite me to this?’
‘I wanted to spend time with you somewhere we couldn’t fight or grope each other.’
Except that fighting and groping is what we do. It’s all we seem to do. I don’t know how to handle this civilised version of us. I stumble to find things to say, as all the while I fight the urge to tell the vultures to fuck off. ‘Do you come to these things a lot?’
‘Every other month,’ he says. ‘It’s company policy. We entertain our clients.’
‘I don’t think you’re giving them the entertainment they want,’ I tell him. I take a sip of wine, lean closer. My dress is tight and low cut, and I know he has a perfect view of my cleavage, because the hunger is back in his eyes.
‘And what entertainment is that?’
I lean in even closer, close enough to whisper. ‘Your tongue in their mouth and your cock in their pussy. Some fun, casual fucking.’ I know how offensive I’m being, but I can’t seem to help myself. I want to get back to the fighting and groping. I understand that. I can handle it.
He flushes. ‘I’m not interested in casual sex.’
‘Then why are you hanging around with me?’ I ask him. ‘I’m the queen of casual sex. In fact, I’m quite in the mood for a good, hard screw tonight. I wonder if I can find someone to oblige me before I go home. You know, the guy behind the bar has been watching me all evening. I think I might ask him if he fancies spending his break with me sitting on his cock.’
Scott says nothing. He tucks a hand in his pocket and sinks his wine.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Act like a dick. Let all these women pinch your arse even though they’re married and you hate it. Let me talk about fucking other men when I’m here with you. Do nothing. See if I care.’ I drain my glass and walk away, in the direction of the bar. The barman catches my eye. He’s young and attractive, an
d doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s not looking at my tits.
I’ve got zero interest in him. In fact, the thought of going over there so he can flirt with me is making me feel faintly sick. God, please don’t let me get to the bar. I fix on a smile as I approach it, terrified that I’ve gone too far. Come on, Scott. Come on. Don’t make me do this. I wasn’t lying when I said I was in the mood for a good, hard screw. But I want Scott Smithson to be the one who gives it to me. Because even though what I said was awful, I didn’t say it because I wanted to start a fight with him. I said it because I want him to tell those other women to stop flirting with him. I want him to tell me to stop talking about screwing other men. I want him to say that he’s here with me. That we’re together.
How this happened, I don’t know. All I do know is that he does something to me, something that the others can’t. I get close enough to the bar to set my empty glass on it when I feel a touch on my shoulder. Relief makes my legs loose, and I set myself down on the nearest bar stool before it shows.
‘Scott,’ I begin, then I look up. It’s not Scott. It’s my possibly former best friend and Scott’s sister, Ellie. And right behind her is the man she’s currently loved up with, Tom Hunt. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that they would be here. Tom works with Scott, after all. I’m suddenly struck by how awkward I feel. I’ve never had a problem dealing with anyone I’ve had sex with before. I’ve never seen what all the fuss is about, why people get so shamefaced and awkward, but god, this is awkward now, and when Scott comes strolling over, it’s even worse.
‘Amber!’ Ellie says excitedly, flinging her arms around me in a hug. She smells of the Marc Jacobs perfume I gave her for Christmas, so familiar. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’
‘Oh, I, er…’
‘She came with me,’ Scott says.
Ellie looks at me, then looks at Scott, then looks at Tom. ‘Really?’ she asks. There’s hurt in her voice. I wish I could fix things, make them how they used to be before I ruined everything, but I don’t know how. ‘Are you two seeing each other?’
I wait for Scott to say something, to say yes, but he doesn’t. He simply turns to the barman, orders another round of drinks for everyone. And Ellie’s question is still hanging there, unanswered.
I can’t stand any more of this. I don’t want any of these complications. I just want to play. Lucas isn’t complicated, I tell myself. He doesn’t make me feel any of this. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, as I get to my feet. ‘Nature calls.’
It’s not really calling, but it’s the first excuse that springs to mind, and I need air. I don’t know why I agreed to this. I should have called Lucas instead. And so what if I thought about Scott while I was shagging him? It didn’t have to mean anything.
I didn’t have to try and make it real.
I leave the room in a hurry, keep walking until I’m outside. The late evening air is cool and fresh, scented with honeysuckle, and I lean back against the wall and catch my breath. I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t have come.
For the first time in a very long time, I have the urge to cry. The back of my throat burns, but I’m wearing far too much black mascara to give in to it. Plus, I am not a crier. I am the fun girl, the thrill seeker. I am the one who wears her skirts too short and sleeps with her boss.
I need to get that girl back. Letting myself fall in love with Paul was my fatal mistake, and it’s one I have no intention of making again. I straighten up, open my bag and pull out my mirror. A quick check tells me that my mascara is still in place, as are my false eyelashes. I touch up my lipstick and check again. I still look like that girl, so why don’t I feel like her?
‘Amber.’ The voice is low and rough, and sends a prickle over the back of my neck that is more than familiar now.
‘Fuck off, Scott.’ I’m not strong enough to deal with him right now. I just want to be left alone. And in a couple of hours, when I’ve got myself together, I’ll call Lucas, and I’ll let him shag me, and I’ll be that girl again.
‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t think I will.’ He’s moved in closer, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body, to see the woven pattern of his perfectly knotted tie.
‘I don’t need this right now,’ I tell him. ‘So don’t give me any crap about my behaviour. Got it?’
‘Ellie is worried about you,’ he says.
‘Yes, well,’ I reply. ‘She’s got Tom to keep her company. She doesn’t need me hanging around, getting in the way.’
‘Why would you be in the way?’ He lifts one hand and carefully strokes the hair back from my face. The contact makes me tremble, and it takes everything I have not to turn my face into his hand. I don’t know why he affects me like this.
‘I’m always in the way,’ I reply. With Tom and Ellie, Paul and Victoria, with Scott, back in there, when I was watching all the women in that room flirt with him. I can’t hold in my temper. ‘Why didn’t you tell them we were together?’
‘Who?’
‘Tom and Ellie. And all the women back there. Why couldn’t you tell them you had a date for the evening, tell them to leave you alone?’
‘Their behaviour doesn’t bother me,’ he replies, so calm that I want to punch him. ‘I’m used to it. I know how women see me.’
‘And how is that?’
‘As a notch they want to add to their bedpost.’
‘Is that how you think I see you?’
He stares down at me for a long moment. ‘No,’ he says. ‘You hate me.’
‘I do not hate you!’
‘Then why did you tell me you were going to have sex with the barman?’
‘I would never have gone through with it and you know it,’ I snap back at him. ‘I was just trying to piss you off.’ I can’t meet his gaze. I’m a little ashamed of how I behaved in there. I’m ashamed of a lot of things, if I’m honest. It’s not a pleasant feeling. He didn’t tell anyone we were together, but then I didn’t tell them either.
‘Ah,’ he says, and his tone tells me he understands, or at least he thinks he does.
I put my hands on his chest, either side of his tie, then I slide them up to his shoulders. He’s so broad, so strong. It sends a shiver of lust rushing through me, and I like the way it feels. Lust, I can deal with. Anger, I can deal with. But not anything else. ‘If I asked you to take me home, what would you say?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why don’t you know?’
‘Because you haven’t asked me.’
I slide one hand to the back of his neck, over his collar, to the close-cropped hair at his nape. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if he’s savouring the touch. ‘Take me home, Scott,’ I say. I lean forward, press my lips to his jaw. His skin is smooth, firm, as if he shaved before he came out. As if he did it for me. ‘I really need a fuck tonight.’ His breath rushes out, warm against my cheek. His hands move to my waist, stroke down over my hips, then slide round to cup my backside. Heat rushes through me, a river of it. ‘Oblige me,’ I say.
He opens his eyes. ‘You make me want to not say no.’
‘Then say yes.’
The drive to his place seems to take forever, even though his flat isn’t far from mine, in an old 1920s building opposite the park. Neither of us says a word. He parks his pristine BMW in the little car park round the back, then kills the engine. We sit in silence until I’m sure that he’s going to change his mind, then he opens his door and gets out of the car. I follow suit and we walk together across the car park.
Inside his flat is tidy and modern but only one room is of any interest to me, and I find it quickly. His bed is vast, with a huge pile of pillows. Books clutter the side table and ties litter the bed, as if he’d struggled to decide which one to wear. I pick one up, run the length of silk between my fingers.
Scott stands in the doorway and watches me. ‘Make yourself at home,’ he says.
‘Oh, I will.’ I drape the tie around my neck, and then I sit on the side of the b
ed and go to ease off my shoes.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Keep them on.’
‘You like the heels?’
He stares straight at me. ‘Yes.’
‘So what can I take off?’ I find myself enjoying his approval, probably because I’ve only ever had his disapproval before.
‘Your dress,’ he says. ‘Take off your dress.’
This game I understand. This game I can play. I set my hands to the hem of my dress and draw it up slowly, inch by measured inch, until my thighs are exposed. Dark lace circles each one, nestling high against the matching dark lace of my thong. His gaze lingers there, just as I knew it would. ‘Take it off,’ he says again.
Bossy, this one. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s always liked telling me what to do. I’ve just never wanted to listen before. I watch him intently, tracing every part of his reaction as I lift my dress higher, over the resistant weight of my breasts. I drop it onto the floor; clasp my hands in my lap. ‘Anything else?’
‘Stand up,’ he says.
I obey without question, curious to see what he’ll do.
‘Come here.’ Two little words, so easy to follow, and I do, my hips swaying as I move towards him. I run my hands over my body, over my hips and up, pushing the curves of my breasts even higher.
A flush hits his cheeks. So tits and heels are his drug. Nothing new or outrageous but on him, sexy as hell. I stop in front of him, close enough for him to touch if he wants. He takes my hands, linking his fingers through mine, a chaste contact. ‘Tell me what you like, Amber.’
This is not how the game is played. I sway a little, but his hands keep me steady. ‘Tell me what you want,’ he says.
‘I want you out of this suit.’
He raises an eyebrow.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘You want to turn the lights out first? I’ve seen you in Lycra, Scott. I know what you’re packing.’
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