Getting Dirty

‘No one?’

‘No. Anything like that demands public attention, and it’s hard enough working out whether a relationship is going places without having press scrutiny on top. Besides, every guy I’ve ever met has shown his true colours eventually.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘They want what I can give them—money, title, the works. They’re not interested in me.’

‘I don’t think that’s fair.’

She laughs against me. ‘Don’t judge people by your standards—you’re an exception.’

‘I am?’ It’s so quiet, my own surprise at her knee-jerk remark takes my breath away.

And then she looks up at me again, her eyes narrowed as she considers me.

‘I think so. The second you met me, you told me I wasn’t your type.’

My lips lift. ‘And you’re taking that to be a good thing?’

She reaches up to cup my jaw, her thumb brushing over my lower lip, her eyes tracing the move. ‘Yes. You meant it when you said it. I get the feeling you don’t go in for people like me; you like life a little less complicated.’

‘And what about you? What do you—’

She cuts me off with her lips, my question answered before I even ask it. She wants me. And, Christ, I want her.

I know I have to come clean and tell her the truth—it’s too big a lie...a secret. But not yet—not until I’m sure of the facts. Not until I’m sure she can’t get hurt, sure that her reputation is safe and her brother is dealt with for good. Then I can confess. Then she can face off Philip and deal with him.

And then she can face off you too...

My blood runs cold—fear, guilt, what ifs plaguing my mind—and I kiss her all the more, pushing them away. Her fingers slip beneath my shirt, her exploration rough, hungry, desperate. I return it all twice as hard, twice as needy.

She moans against my lips and I stand, taking her with me.

‘Where are we going?’ she asks as I pull her along.

‘Bed.’

I want her to know how special she is. Not because of her money, her family name—none of it. Only because of her.

I turn the lights on low when we reach the bedroom and stop before the bed. I turn her to face me, my eyes locking with hers, and silently I undress her. My fingers are soft and unhurried as I take my time over her and I love it that she lets me.

Her shirt floats to the floor, her bra too. I unfasten her jeans and slip my hands beneath her knickers, smoothing them down her legs, her soft calves, her dainty feet with those delicate red-tipped toes. She steps out, her fingers soft on my shoulder for support, and then I toss them aside and rise back up. She stares up at me...so trusting, so beautiful.

‘Let me show you how special you are,’ I say into her eyes, and I pull my own shirt over my head, letting it fall to join hers. ‘Let me show you it’s about you.’

I dip to taste her lips, a sweep of my tongue against hers parting her lips further and taking the whimper that she utters.

‘It’s not about your name...’

I stroke my hands up her sides, my palms gentle as they cup her breasts, my thumbs rolling over the peaks already tightening against my touch.

‘It’s not about your status...’

I whisper a path along her jawline to her ear.

‘Your money...’ I scrape my teeth over her earlobe and she shudders into me. ‘Your title...’

I lift her up and she wraps her legs around me.