WATCHING HER DRIVE away was hard. Really. Hard. But I’d done the right thing, so why did it feel so wrong?
Because you want her. Like you’ve only ever wanted one other: Jess. And that’s why you need to get as far away from her as possible.
But, fuck, there’s something about her—that tantalising contrast of vulnerable, innocent do-gooder and hidden temptress.
Philip Lauren’s words come back to me full force: she’s no innocent and I want you to prove it.
Yes, I can prove it all right—but not to that bastard.
No, tonight I walk away from him, the job, her.
Definitely her.
She spells trouble. Messy, heart-screwing trouble.
I squeeze my temples with my thumbs and forefingers. With Jess I was young, foolish and naive. I wasn’t foolhardy enough to let it happen again. Nowhere close.
But Coco Lauren...
Damn it, I should have turned away the second my gut told me to. I swore I would never let anyone get close after Jess. My job has become my lifeline—it’s pulled me out of the darkness, given me the drive to move on. I’ll never forget, I’ll never forgive, but I won’t dwell on it either. And I sure as hell won’t let myself care about another woman again.
I take a breath and head for my car, reconsidering my choice of vehicle almost immediately. I need the motorbike. A hair-raising blast on two wheels to clear my head before I face off the other Lauren and put this madness behind me once and for all.
But the ride doesn’t work.
I’m still mentally delivering my walk-away mantra half an hour later, as I meet the man I’m unfortunate enough to call my client.
‘Seriously, Livingston...?’ Philip Lauren eyes my casual get-up with distaste and it only makes me grin.
We’re in a high-end bar—the kind that insists on a blazer—and the fact that my outfit has already pissed him off is a bonus. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lauren, I don’t expect to be stopping long.’
He visibly balks. His princely expression is pained. I swear even his blow-dried golden locks stand perfectly on end at my disrespect. But I don’t have time for it. Nor do I care.
‘Ah...’ His eyes spark now, as though he’s had some grand revelation. ‘So you have what I need, then?’
I lean back in the rock-hard Chesterfield armchair and raise my leg so my ankle rests over my knee, all casual and to him increasingly disrespectful, I’m sure.
‘Nope.’ I flick a hand at him. ‘There’s nothing to give.’
His eyes narrow, his cheeks streak. He’s angry. And my gut loves it.
‘Look, Mr Livingston, I’m paying you good money to dig this dirt.’
He lowers his voice on the last word, leaning in as he scans the nearby tables, not wanting to be overheard. But I don’t even flinch.
‘There’s no dirt to dig.’
He shakes his head fervently. ‘Like hell there isn’t.’
He’s so certain. Desperate, even. And not for the first time I wonder at his goal, the endgame, why he’s so eager to ruin his sister. What does it matter to him that Coco likes her sex on the wild side?
‘What makes you say that?’
‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots, and a whore like her definitely doesn’t.’
His words hit me like a slug to the stomach and I fight to keep my expression neutral. The slice of pain coming from my tightened right fist tells me I’m losing the battle, my nails piercing the skin of my palm. I unclench it slowly and rub my jaw, as though I’m considering his words and not staving off the need to kill him.
‘If you’re so sure, why do you need the proof?’
‘Because without proof I can’t get my hands on what I need.’
‘Which is...?’
‘None of your goddamn business.’
He quiets when he sees our drinks approaching and the waiter slipping me a questionable stare.
So I don’t fit into your la-di-da club? So sue me.
I happily stare the waiter down, and to my amusement he almost spills the drinks as he sets them down before scurrying off.
‘I don’t pay you to ask questions,’ Philip Lauren pipes up again. ‘I pay you to get evidence of her sexual proclivities.’
‘And I’m telling you there’s nothing to report. She’s above reproach.’
He laughs and leans back in his chair, whisky in hand. ‘You’re lying. What I can’t work out is why...’
I shift in my seat and take up my own drink for a swig. ‘What makes you so certain?’
He eyes the glass in his hand, all thoughtful. ‘She and my wife boarded together in their teens.’
‘They were friends?’
I want to know more; I can’t help it. I’m not one for digging into my clients’ reasoning. They give me a job and I deliver. But this case is different. I need to know.
‘To an extent.’
He lifts his eyes back to mine and they flash with an angry fire that tells me he isn’t letting this go—that, whatever his reasoning is, he will keep pushing until he has exactly what he needs. It wouldn’t be hard for another PI to retrace my steps. I followed her movements and discovered her visits to Blacks pretty quickly. A few enquiries in the right places and he’d soon have what he needed.
‘But that was years ago. Maybe she’s changed, maybe she’s saving herself for marriage or destined to become a nun—who knows?’
He laughs again. ‘You’re funny, Livingston. I’ll give you that.’
I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to put him off—to bring an end to this mission he’s so determined to see through. I don’t want to care. I don’t want to protect her. But I can’t stand by while her brother desecrates her reputation for his own gain.
‘There’s no way she could have changed,’ he says, sobering, and his voice is so serious I wonder if he’s trying to convince himself of that fact—if his need for her to be as he suspects far outweighs whether he considers it true or not. ‘She’s just being very careful about it.’
‘Doesn’t matter how careful she’s being. If she was at it—’ I hate the words as they form, feel acid riding high in my throat. There’s guilt at my lie, at my part in her potential downfall, as well as anger at his conviction. ‘I would know. I’d have the evidence.’
‘Or maybe you’re not as good as everyone says—yourself included.’
He gives me a shit-eating grin and I want to swing for him. He’s fucking lucky we’re in public. I take a breath instead, flexing the fist that is so determined to ball up, and ask the other question that’s itching to be answered.
‘Tell me, why is it you want to ruin your sister’s reputation so much? I mean, I have a brother—I get how annoying siblings can be—but this...’
‘Again, it’s none of your business.’
‘There’s clearly no love lost between you...not on your part at least.’ I see the flash of something—possibly guilt—and jump on it. ‘So, tell me, does she really deserve this?’
He downs his whisky in one. His eyes water at the hit of booze and lines mar his face, ageing his perfect veneer.
‘I don’t have to sit here and listen to you question my reasoning, Livingston. I’m paying you to get me evidence, and if you can’t do that, then I’ll find someone else who can.’
My neck prickles. So much for hoping he would let it go.
But why is it your problem what he does after you’re gone? Just walk away and forget you ever met him. Met her.
‘Suit yourself.’ I start to rise, to leave, to get the hell away, but he shoots up, halting me halfway to standing.
‘Wait—just hear me out.’
I look at his pleading gaze. Is he going to open up? Do I really want him to if it means I have to stick around? But what if it means understanding his intentions towards Coco?
I’m already dropping back into my seat, my inner messed-up stance driving my decision.
He lowers himself once more and forks his fingers together on the table, leaning in again. ‘Truth is there’s no one better than you at this. I know that. You know that. And I need this. Believe me, it’ll be worth your while.’
‘I charge a flat fee. We’ve—’
‘Double. I’ll pay you double.’
I don’t react visibly, but inside the adrenalin rush has my every sense on high alert. My fee is already substantial—to double it would be laughable. No amount of information is worth that.
Questions hammer ever more acutely through me. What does he hope to achieve? How low will he sink? How much danger is Coco in?
‘I mean it, Livingston—man to man now,’ he insists.
I swallow back the rising bile. In my mind he lost his man status the second he showed his true nature.
‘You get me that evidence and I’ll pay you double—maybe more if it’s juicy enough and you can deliver it in the next two weeks.’
I have to swallow again and force my hands to relax their death-grip hold over the arms of my chair. ‘Why the rush?’
‘Time’s running out.’
‘Why?’
‘You need to stop asking so many questions.’
‘And you need to try answering some.’
‘I’ll tell you what you need to know and no more.’ He reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulls out a folded piece of paper, which he slides across to me. ‘Try this place. I hear she’s a regular...’
I take the sheet and bite back a curse. I know what I’m going to see before I even unfold it. But seeing Blacks in scrawled handwriting has my gut in knots.
I throw back my drink and pocket the piece of paper.
‘Well?’ he presses.
I get to my feet and look down at him just long enough to say, ‘Consider it done.’
Then I walk away, recounting what I know now.
Time isn’t on Philip Lauren’s side and he won’t stop until he has what he needs. And if he knows about her presence at Blacks then he already has contacts who, with the right persuasion, will give up what he’s asking for. Hell, he might even try to gain access himself—not that Jackson will let him anywhere near the place once I’ve spoken to him.
I’m Coco’s last hope. So long as I’m on the job and he’s not going elsewhere I can ride this out.
And if he does decide to employ another PI, they will fail, because I’ll see to it she stays out of trouble.
And what about you?
Seems I’m destined to walk straight back into trouble...
But in my case, who said trouble couldn’t be fun? If keeping her safe means sharing more of what she asked me for earlier this evening, out of the public eye—or, more specifically, out of her brother’s eye—then where was the harm?
Yeah, you just tell yourself that...
I slam open the door before the doorman can do it for me.
I just need to keep a lid on it for a little bit longer. I’ve done it for ten years; I can do it for umpteen more. And once the danger has passed I’ll walk away with a clear conscience. I will have kept her safe, and that’s all that matters.
I pull out my phone and fire off messages to my researchers. I want to know all there is to know about Philip Lauren. I want to get to the root of his desperation and understand the exact timescale I’m working to. I should have done it sooner, but I had no cause to investigate Philip Lauren when he first came to me.
I see Coco in my mind’s eye, see those bright green eyes, too generous by far—too generous and too vulnerable and getting to me more than they should.
Shit.
But I can’t walk away—not yet.
In fact, I’ll start with her. There must be so much she can tell me herself, if I can coax her into talking a little. And as for Jackson’s potential membership leak...that needs flagging now.
First Blacks—then Coco.
‘Come on—spill.’
Cait elbows me as she says it.
‘You’re not jealous that I went off with Ricky, are you?’
She laughs, knowing she’s way off the mark. We don’t have that kind of relationship. We’re more friends than lovers—have been since we went to boarding school together. Our messing around came more from being shafted by the opposite sex than anything else. Sex with each other is safe, fun companionship. She’s hot. And she doesn’t kiss and tell. Neither do I. It works.
She also knows me better than anyone. And she knows my mind is on six feet, two inches of dark, broody hotness.
‘Have you seen Jackson tonight?’ I ask. I want to quiz him about Ash. I want to understand him better...try to make sense of his rejection.
‘Not the question I expected...’ She sips at her espresso martini—tonight’s drink of choice—as she looks to the bar and nods. ‘Jackson was here earlier, doing his thing. I think he teases us on purpose—all that macho muscle and daring cheek.’
She winks at me.
‘I’m telling you, I would so be on him if he’d shake off that no-dating-the-clients rule. It’s criminal, really.’
She frowns into her drink and then her eyes light up as she looks back to me.
‘Don’t tell me you’re after him as well as Tall, Dark and Sexy... What was his name again?’
‘Ash,’ I supply swiftly, and her grin is back, her brow hitting the roof.
‘Ah, yes, Ash,’ she drawls. ‘Now, that’s the man I expected you to be talking about.’
I shake my head. ‘Nothing to tell. He bailed when I offered a repeat.’
‘Really?’ She pins me with her astute blue gaze. ‘Then the man’s a fool and—’ Her eyes leave me and widen. ‘Well, speak of the devil—or rather devils...’
Every nerve ending pricks up. ‘What?’ I ask. Even though I know.
‘They’ve just stepped in and... Oh, yes, he’s spied us...or rather you.’
She gives a flirtatious little flutter of her fingers in their direction.
‘Cait.’
‘Oh, hush—you need to get laid and I need to see the spark back in your eye. That guy can do both.’
Heat creeps into my cheeks. ‘Cait, I—’
‘Ladies...pardon my intrusion, but I believe I owe this one a date.’
Ash is so close I can feel his body heat penetrate my left-hand side. Cait is now staring in wide-eyed amusement. I don’t know whether to turn and smile or blank him entirely. The latter is what I should do, for refusing me earlier, but my body has a mind of its own and it turns to him. My eyes are quick to follow as they rise to his... Warm, friendly, apologetic, even.
‘You do?’
He smiles and my blasted insides soar, uncaring that he patronised and humiliated me earlier this evening. ‘I do. Can we start over?’
I look back to Cait. Her eyes are still wide.
‘Hey, don’t be looking at me—this is up to you... Not that I mind sticking around, though, if you like...’
She looks him up and down, blatantly happy with what she sees, and I kick her beneath the table. The move earns me a grin as she scoots over, glass in hand, and rises out of the booth.
‘Didn’t think so. She’s all yours, Ash.’
But as she straightens, she fixes him with a glare, her free hand reaching out to poke him in the chest.
‘Mark my words, though, buster: mess with her and it’s me you’ll answer to. I may be small, but believe me, I can bite.’ She punctuates the last three words with a jab of her finger and then turns and walks away.
Ash watches her go, clearly bemused, and it frees me to look at him—really look at him.
You’d think after all we’ve shared I’d be immune to him by now. Instead my eyes rake hungrily over him, taking in the same clothes he wore earlier, only now his sleeves are rolled back, his forearms deliciously bare, flexing muscle exposed and worthy of salivating over. My mouth does just that.
What the hell is wrong with you? my wounded pride mentally admonishes. Do you really want to go another round with him?
‘Got your fill?’
Shit. Caught staring. A great start at keeping your cool.
I pride myself for my front—it’s never let me down before. I depend on it to get me through each day, to be the perfect Coco Lauren. But it’s nowhere now. It’s taking a fucking holiday. Maybe that’s what I should be doing—hitting a deserted island until I can get this craziness under control.
Or you could go for the far less extreme coping strategy of not giving a fuck?
I smile to hide my mental roller coaster and decide to adopt my trademark Coco Lauren tone—the one I’ve perfected—and I’m sure as hell going to wheel it out now if it kills me.
‘Yes, you can leave now.’
I take my barely touched martini and sip it, the bittersweetness sliding smoothly down my throat as I fix my sights on Cait, now sidling up to the bar.
‘Okay, I deserved that.’
I don’t react. I keep my eyes on Cait and count to ten.
One, two, three...
‘Can I get you another drink?’
Four, five, six...
‘An espresso martini?’
Seven, eight, nine...
‘Coco, please...’
I don’t know whether it’s the gentle way he says my name or the fact that he has the gumption to slide into the booth that makes me look at him.
‘I don’t need another, thank you.’
He scans the bar, smoothing his hand over his hair. He looks nervous now. I like him nervous. It creates a shift in power that I can work with.
‘Why are you here, Ash?’
His blue gaze returns to me, all soft and alluring. And, God help me, my clit pulses—instant, acute. I exhale over it, crossing my legs beneath the table and clamping my thighs tightly together. Behave. He doesn’t need to know the effect he has on me.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ I raise my brow, arrogant and assured.
No, I’m not going to turn into a hot, gooey mass inside. I’m not.
He runs his teeth over his bottom lip—definitely nervous—and I definitely like it.
‘I came to see you...to apologise for earlier and to...’ he opens his palms out to me ‘...talk.’
I take a small, steadying breath as I smile over my glass. ‘Talk?’
His gaze falls to my mouth as I take a sip and I purposely sweep away the remnants with my tongue. If I’m going down, I’m taking him with me.
‘Just...talk?’
‘To begin with, yeah...’
I’m rewarded with a flash of perfect white teeth and a grin that makes my belly flip, upping the low, incessant ache inside me.
‘What can I say? I’m an old-fashioned guy.’
The door to the club opens and his grin stills, his eyes flicking in its direction.
‘Waiting for someone?’ I ask, turning to see a couple walk in.
‘No.’ He’s looking at me when I turn back, but then his eyes flit to the bar, where I can see Jackson talking to his staff.
‘You been here all evening?’ he asks me, but his eyes don’t leave the bar.
‘Since leaving your place?’ He nods and I frown. This feels like some strange interrogation all of sudden. ‘Yeah, is that okay, Mother?’
His eyes come back to me, sharp at first, but they soften as he smiles. ‘Sorry, I was momentarily distracted.’
He leans forward on his elbows, giving me his full attention now—a fact my hyped-up body positively purrs over and is more than willing to forgive the little interruption for.
‘How about we take this conversation back to my place?’
I laugh, surprised, delighted, confused. ‘Is that your best chat-up line?’
He laughs too, the sound deep and husky and so fucking erotic he might as well have strummed his fingers over my clit.
‘You answer my question and then I’ll tell you whether it is or not.’
My laugh is real and easy now, and my fingers run through my bob as my body loosens up. I don’t understand his power over me, this dizzying attraction coupled with his ability to put me at ease so readily, but I’m happy to go with it if he gives me a little truth first.
‘What’s changed?’ I ask.
‘Since earlier?’
Like he needs to ask... ‘Yes.’
‘Let’s just say I’ve had a few hours to consider my options.’
‘Options?’
He shifts in his seat and leans even closer, all serious now, and I’m completely hooked, barely aware of the glass in my hand.
‘I can walk away from you—abstain from all the delights the gorgeous Coco Lauren has to offer...’ He draws his words out, slow, thoughtful, and his eyes are doing their thing again, penetrating my very soul and projecting the heat of such delights.
Then he leans back, and his severity morphs into playfulness as he gives me a cocky grin.
‘Which, let’s face it, would keep your heart in one piece and avoid the devastating heartache that’s sure to ensue when I up and leave you.’
I laugh derisively. ‘Oh, believe me, there’s no risk of that. My heart is not up for grabs.’
His eyes drop to my lips, the playfulness gone as quickly as it came. ‘So you say. In which case, how about we get out of here and stop wasting time?’
‘And I thought you wanted to talk?’
‘Oh, I still want that, princess. I like to know who I’m letting share my bed.’
My laugh turns awkward. ‘I’m sure you know enough already, thanks to the Great British press.’
He’s quiet for a long moment, like he’s waiting for me to say something more—but what? It’s true. Not a month goes by without me featuring in some article or other.
‘Is that really all there is to know about you?’ he asks quietly.
The worry mounts, the hairs pricking at the back of my neck.
‘What about the person beneath the public image? Your family? Your dreams? What does the great Coco Lauren want aside from “peace, love and harmony”?’
He’s quoting me, from an article published in a gossip magazine last month, and I cringe inwardly. It was a family photo shoot, taken before Granny got too sick to perform for the camera. In it, my pristine white dress is respectable, to the knee and chosen by Granny especially. The string of pearls around my neck was a gift from her. A sedate French manicure, simple white heels and a silky-smooth bob. All just so. The picture of Lauren perfection.
And a total contrast to the girl sitting here now.
My cheeks blaze at the falsity of it, of me, and a sudden spark of anger hits—how dare he make me feel like this?
‘What’s your point, Ash?’ My tone is like ice and his eyes narrow.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘No? Just like you “didn’t mean to” earlier this evening?’
‘Hell, no.’
He reaches out, combing his fingers through my hair and holding me there as he leans in. I want to break out of his hold, but already desire is drowning out the anger, more potent the closer he gets.
‘I just want to know the real you.’
The real me...
My breath flutters over my parted lips, and then he’s there, working them further apart, his tongue gently probing.
‘I find you fascinating...’
He sweeps inside, his nose nudging mine as he encourages me to angle my head so he can delve in further.
‘I want to get to know you better...’
My heart sings at his words, and my mouth is quick to follow his bidding. People don’t usually want to know me. They want what I can give them. Money, status, connections.
And what if he’s just trying to get you into bed?
A giggle erupts and he breaks away to frown at me. I can’t help it. I’m heady on his words and the ridiculous mental argument they’ve sparked. What does it matter whether or not he means it? I only want him for sex, for distraction. There’s no getting hurt here. No feelings—just fun.
‘Are you trying to wound my ego?’ he grumbles.
I laugh a little more. ‘I think your ego is impenetrable.’
‘Believe me, no ego survives a girl erupting into giggles when you kiss her.’
‘Then let me make it all better...’ I say softly, leaning in to do just that.
The door opens again behind me and his body instantly tenses, his eyes dart.
It’s my turn to frown at him. ‘What—’
‘Hold that thought,’ he says, ‘and let’s get out of here.’
I’m about to ask what the rush is but he’s already out of the booth, his attention on Jackson at the bar. The guy gives him a nod and then Ash offers his hand to me.
‘But I haven’t finished my drink.’
I’m used to doing things on my terms, whether I’m doing it for the public or for me. I’m the one in control. And the fact that I’m losing it more and more in Ash’s company is freaking me out.
Admit it—don’t you like it...just a little?
‘I’ll make you another,’ he says.
My eyes narrow as I take a leisurely sip of my drink, making him wait. He really is itching to leave. I’d like to think it’s because he wants me that badly, but I’m not convinced.
‘Are you going to promise me one as good as this?’
‘Better.’
I give a soft laugh, loving his confidence. ‘Very well.’ I slip my hand into his and feel my entire palm come alive at the contact. ‘You have a deal.’
I rise up, hooking my bag over my shoulder as I make for the main entrance, but instead he tugs me the opposite way and I frown at him in surprise.
‘My car’s in the basement.’
‘I didn’t realise there was parking here.’
‘It’s Jackson’s private garage.’
‘Oh.’
I follow him, giving Cait a little wave as I go. Her grin is all-knowing, and then her attention goes back to the bar and more specifically to Jackson. I watch them for a second longer, their easy conversation evident from across the room and I shake my head. The poor guy is going to get eaten alive one of these days.
‘You laughing at me again?’
‘Your ego suffering again?’
Now he laughs and I follow him out, his husky rumble working its magic over me.