‘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.