One Night Wife (The Confidence Game 1)

“I don’t want to share you with anyone today,” he said, whisker prickle on her cheek.

“And tomorrow?” What would they be tomorrow? “You’re winding up the Everlasting deal.” She left the rest unsaid, that in terms of their partnership, he no longer needed the favor of a One Night Wife.

“Monday. I have to work.”

Oh, this shouldn’t hurt so much. It was the best sex she’d ever had, but it was just sex and oh, dammit, he’d been clear he liked her, wanted her, but he didn’t see a future for them, and he’d know she was upset if she didn’t rein it in. He’d know because he always knew how to read the secret clues she gave him as if he had the script of her heart.

“You want to get a burger with me tomorrow night?”

She could slap his handsome face with its sexy scruff for that. That was the way he was going to tell her they could be more. “Maybe. My underwear drawer is overdue for a tidy.”

“I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of you having tidy underwear. It’s totally fine by me if you give up wearing it.”

She reached up to scratch her nails lightly across his stubble. “Is that you telling me you want to see me again?”

He tugged on her towel and turned her to face him. “Are you under any illusion last night was a trivial thing for me?” He had hold of the towel on each side of her; it bracketed her back. He pulled on it until she was forced to brace her hands on his chest. “Are you, for one second, questioning the fact I’ve broken all my rules for you and despite being a no-good schemer, a terrible fuck, and an awful liar, I want to be with you outside of our business arrangement?” He dropped one end of the towel and slapped a hand on her damp ass, making her jump. “Because if you’re harboring the false impression I’m going to go back to touching you like you’re the sainted maiden aunt I never had, then I really am a terrible fuck and you should take pity on me and teach me the error of my ways.”

She composed herself, knowing she’d already shown her amazement but not able to resist teasing him because he was entirely serious, despite the joking tone. “I’m not sure you take instruction well. I don’t want to waste my time if you’re not going to commit.”

“Get naked, and you can instruct me all you want.” He squeezed her ass. “How fast, how hard, how long, how many.” He kissed her, pulling away to say, “A little to the left,” and all her jaunty comebacks died.

She’d graduated from One Night Wife to something more mundane. Girlfriend. And he’d said it couldn’t, wouldn’t happen. Salty kisses said it was on the agenda.

Back at the pool house, they collected last night’s clothing, showered off the beach, enjoyed each other again, and packed. Cal wanted to clear out before they got caught in more party activities. But when they got back to the car it was to discover four flat tires.

“A going away present from Alex,” he said. He didn’t seem shocked, only annoyed, but Fin could feel their day alone disappearing. They’d need to hang about and wait for a tow, fuss with the car.

“Come on.” He led her through a door that went to the garage where a dozen luxury cars were parked. They gleamed as if this was a museum of the Astor family’s wealth.

“I fancy that Lamborghini, but the classic roadster will be easier to hotwire,” he said.

She put her bag down on a floor so clean you could eat a meal off it. “You’re going to boost a car.” She’d snarked at herself about stealing a golf getaway cart, but he wasn’t joking.

“Borrow, without explicit permission,” he said. “It’s either that, or we lose a day messing about.”

“You know how to do that?”

“Wild and obnoxiously disreputable youth, remember?” He pointed at a panel on the wall. “Go see if you can open the garage door.”

“You want me to be an accessory to car theft?”

He stopped his investigation of a red BMW. “Alex expects this to inconvenience us. It doesn’t have to. He’ll get back whatever we take.”

She looked at the panel. She looked at Cal. They could be gone before the rest of the guests finished dressing for breakfast. It wasn’t like any of the Astors would be without a ride, but it didn’t seem right.

“The rich are different. Alex didn’t let the air out, he slashed the tires.”

Alex was an entitled asshole who’d assaulted her. She pressed a button on the panel and the door began rolling open.

“That’s my girl,” he said. He laughed when the door of a navy-blue Bugatti opened, and in a few seconds, he had the engine running. The keys had been left in it. Then, he stowed their bags and they drove out onto the forecourt, through the main gates, and onto the road.

“We just stole a car.” She’d once shoplifted a T-shirt, and she’d essentially stolen from Win when she drank on his bar tab, but this was a much bigger deal. “What’s this car worth?”

“Less than the Lamborghini. A couple of mill. Google Bugatti Veyron. This is a limited edition.”

She dug out her phone and googled. Up it came. Three point four million. The T-shirt she’d stolen was probably worth a twenty. She’d only stolen it because the store wouldn’t give her a refund on a pair of cargoes that shrank in the wash. She’d never run up a tab of more than fifty dollars at a time on Win and not more than a couple of hundred overall. The amount sh

e felt he owed her for the clothes left at his place she never got back. She’d just helped Cal steal a three-point-four-million-dollar car.