Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

His head drops heavily to the side to look at me. And we stare. And then he smiles. And I smile right back. ‘It was inevitable,’ he sighs, returning his focus to the ceiling.

‘Becker . . .’

‘Shhhh.’ His index finger comes up to his mouth and shushes me. It’s sexy as hell, even as a warning, but I still ignore it.

‘A conscience you thought you never had?’ I murmur.

His head falls to the side again. ‘Dorothy and Gramps love having you around,’ he says quietly. ‘I’ve been told not to fuck it up. You know that.’ He laughs sardonically under his breath as he removes the condom and leans over to drop it in the bin beside my bed. ‘I fucking tried.’

‘You didn’t try very—’

‘Shhhh.’ That finger rests sexily on his lips again, interrupting me. ‘Trust me, I did.’ His eyes fall to mine, soft but doubtful, as he reaches for me and encourages me on to my side, facing away from him. I go with ease until he’s curled around me. ‘Good fucking night, princess.’ He kisses my neck and constricts his arms, tugging me in closer.

Spooning. Isn’t this a little too far?

I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know it’s nice. Becker Hunt is good at spooning, and my eyes quickly become heavy. ‘Good night, beast.’

I drift off with every inch of his front spread across my back.Chapter 15I bolt upright in my bed, sweating and disorientated, my heart thundering. My eyes are darting around my flat. ‘Becker.’ His name leaves my lips on a rush of air before my brain has engaged, and my eyes fall to the mass of sheets tangled around my naked body. On closer inspection, I see certain sections are folded neatly under here and there. Like someone has tucked me in.

Casting my gaze to my right, I find an empty space beside me and, ridiculously, my heart sinks. He’s gone. Of course he’s gone. What did I expect? To wake with him lovingly wrapped around me? I shake my head, angry with my stray, unreasonable thoughts.

My head falls into my hands in despair and shame. We just fucked. Nothing more. That was raw, carnal screwing, rough and dirty, and that’s a good thing. We both had an itch to scratch. Done. I’m no different from the other women at all. I need to see it as a leaving present from my boss, because, essentially, that’s exactly what it was. I’m no longer an employee, therefore fair game. There’s only a little piece of me that’s sorry at this particular moment in time, where I’m deliciously sore between my thighs. Tomorrow is another day, though. Tomorrow, I am jobless, and any remote possibility or hope I had of walking back into The Haven to resume my duties have been colossally ruined in the haze of a mind-blowing orgasm . . . delivered by a hunk of a man who proved just too irresistible. I made my choice. And I’m living with it.

My muscles are just about to loosen and send me plummeting back to the mattress when a collection of loud bangs and clatters freezes them into position again. My spine uncurls, my brain now fully awake and listening carefully for the source of the noise.

‘Eleanor.’ My name is shrieked, and then what I can only describe as something that sounds like a battering ram hits my door. ‘Eleanor!’

I’m up in a flash and grabbing my dressing gown from the couch as I hotfoot it to the door. The wood visibly vibrates before my eyes with all the banging, and when I swing it open, Lucy falls into my arms. ‘Oh thank God,’ she cries, throwing her arms around me. ‘I thought you were dead.’

‘What?’ I hold her up, trying to wrestle her into a steady standing position.

‘I’ve been calling you since you left the club. You were supposed to text me to let me know you were bloody home.’ She pulls back, and I finally get a good look at her. She looks surprisingly sober in comparison to the last time I saw her.

‘What time is it?’ I ask.

‘Two in the morning. Where’s your phone?’ She marches past me in a huff, leaving me to follow her path, as guilt creeps up on me.

‘I think I must have left it in the taxi.’ I wince as the night’s events storm into my mind in vivid detail, all of it – the row with Becker, the massacre of my phone, the ride home with Brent . . . the filthy sex. ‘I’m sorry.’ There’s just enough room amid my remorse to feel bad for Lucy’s worry.

She swings around, all dramatic, and throws her hands into the air. ‘I was so worr—’ Her mouth snaps shut, her attention cemented to the floor, and wondering what’s caught her sharp interest, my eyes drop to the floor, too. My face begins to burn as her accusing finger points to the offending object and her stunned eyes land on my flaming face. ‘What’s that?’ she asks, her head tilting.