Ashton Scott

“Thank you,” I say and take a step in the direction of the café I passed earlier. This is an older area of Willow Street, still untouched by corporations who have swooped in and knocked down the buildings to erect shopping centres in their place. The café I saw looked quaint and welcoming, and I have a hunch they’ll know how to make good coffee rather than the shit pumped out at the coffee chains.

“Sorry there’re no shops left for you,” the woman says as I walk away.

“I don’t need a shop,” I call back over my shoulder. I just need the woman who owns the shops. I haven’t been able to get Lorelei out of my mind since I made that promise to her two days ago. And I meant every word I said—she will be mine. She’ll be the best sex I’ve ever had because sex you have to work for is a sweet victory.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in the corner of the café, drinking what is perhaps the best coffee in Sydney. Mental note—tell Jessica about this place. The owner is a lively Italian woman, probably about forty and possibly the mother to a challenging brood if her frazzled state is anything to go by. She reminds me of Alessandra in this respect. Either her business is giving her hell or her family is. The café is a cluttered mess of knick-knacks and tables pushed too close together, but the customers seem more than happy to be here. With coffee this good, I can see why.

“Lorelei! Bless you for coming,” the owner says loudly while I’m getting lost in my thoughts.

My head snaps up at that name, and my gut tightens when I catch sight of the stunning redhead I’m slowly losing my time to.

Fuck, can she get any more beautiful?

She’s wearing skin-tight leather pants that show off her long legs with a black biker jacket. Her feet are encased in stiletto boots. While I love the outfit, it’s her windswept hair and flushed face that pulses desire through my veins. It’s her lack of fake polish that screams at me. I inhabit a world of perfectly put-together women and I’m bored with the superficial perfection.

She swoops in and pulls the woman into a hug before kissing both her cheeks. “You know I’m here for you anytime, Francesca.”

Francesca hits her with a smile that communicates her extreme relief and happiness to see Lorelei. I watch as Lorelei moves to join the woman behind the counter. She grabs an apron and secures it around her waist, and then she gets to work helping serve customers.

The two women work hard for the next hour until a man joins them. I assume he’s Francesca’s husband by the way he kisses her and slips his arm around her waist. Then the three of them spend another half hour serving the remaining customers. This café is one of the busiest I’ve ever come across.

The couple thank Lorelei profusely before she slings her handbag over her sho

ulder and exits the café. I leave my table and follow her.

When I catch up, she’s waiting at a bus stop. Her gaze falls on me and she blinks her surprise. “Ashton.”

“Lorelei.”

Her brows furrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Honesty is my preference at all times.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“No.”

“Did you have a plan in place for when you found me?”

“Of course. I’m not the kind of man to act without a plan.”

She shifts her weight onto one foot and crosses her arms over her chest. “What does this plan involve?” As much as she’s trying to project indifference, I’m hearing enough interest in her voice to know she’s into this.

I move a little closer, invading her personal space just enough to fluster her. “It involves me taking you to lunch and getting to know you. It also involves me showing you I’m not the asshole you think I am.”

“What about your arrogance? Does your plan have a clause in there for dealing with that?”

“I’m known as a closer, Lorelei. Anything a deal needs to make it go ahead can be arranged.”

“Oh, I bet.” She uncrosses her arms and points her finger at me before resting her fingertip against my chest. “I have to say, I’m not a fan of the way you do business.”

My hand wraps around hers. I love the sudden breath she takes. “That’s because you don’t fully understand my way of doing business, but I can tell that you are more than intrigued by it. Give me an hour and I’ll show you how good business can be.”

She takes a moment. “If I give you an hour and decide I’d rather stick to my way of doing business, do you promise to leave me alone after that?”

Lorelei Winters is a tough negotiator, but just as she believes, I’m arrogant as hell. Letting her hand go, I nod. “I do.”

“Okay, your hour starts now,” she says.