Dirty Desires
Both. In different ways.
Family is hard. The words Mom and Dad make me cringe. I lack the ability to smile and say thank you, I so appreciate what you’re doing for my sister.
I’m too busy looking at the cracks. Wondering when shit is going to finally hit the fan.
Is it an affair? Drug addiction? Drug overdose? Suspicious circumstance surrounding a death?
I know it’s something.
There’s always something.
It must be true for him too. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is far too, well, handsome.
Too rich.
Too successful.
Too enticing.
The way he issues dirty demands—
There must be women everywhere ready to fall to their knees.
Fuck knows I am. Even though I have no idea what comes next. Yes, I know the general concept. I have a few articles with, ahem, tips. Instructions even. But there’s nothing like practical experience.
And I’m lacking there.
But if that’s what he really likes about me…
There’s got to be a catch. Something wrong with him. Something behind the cool expression and the soulful eyes.
What is it?
What is he hiding?
And why am I so ready to throw the question away and jump into his bed?
I can give him my body. Even though I’m scared, I can handle that.
But what if that’s not enough for him?
What if he wants my mind? My heart?
My everything?
– Eve
Chapter Fifteen
Ian
All day, I struggle to concentrate. Nothing helps. Not tea, running, diving into an enemy’s secrets, re-reading Eve’s last entry.
My body stays electric. My limbs stay light. My thoughts stay dirty.
How am I supposed to find the place this CEO has hidden his stolen money with images of Eve in my head?
They refuse to budge.
Her black nails against my back.
Her berry lips parting with a groan.
Her soft body splayed out over the bed.
And other images. Sweet, romantic ones.
Her eyes lighting up as she launches into a discussion of her favorite book.
Her lips curling into a smile.
Her laugh filling the room as she twirls on her heel, showing off some gorgeous black dress.
It’s bad news. And, worse, I’m too far gone to care. This is it. Four hours until I sign the papers.
Four hours until she’s mine.
For thirty days.
That’s all I get.
Right now, it’s unfathomable.
How can thirty days ever be enough? How can anything be enough?
I need everything.
Forever.
Which is why I need the strict end point. Thirty days isn’t enough time to ruin me.
No open hearts or wedding rings or divorce papers.
No one gets hurt.
It’s for the best. No matter how little I like it.
The day ticks by.
Three hours.
Two.
One.
Twenty minutes.
I shut down my computer. Ready my paperwork. Check the office.
It’s emptying, but it’s far from empty. Half a dozen assistants. Plus a few executives.
Shepard in the kitchen, chatting with a new associate.
Shep catches me watching. Shakes his head sad to see a man who’s fallen so far. Dismisses the man he’s talking to. Motions for me to come here.
He waits until the associate is out of earshot. “Someone put extra honey in your tea.”
“Is that a metaphor?”
“I’m trying something new.”
“It doesn’t suit you.”
“Neither does the attempt at playing cool.” He takes a long sip of his coffee. Studies me with that Shep-like stare. I’ll find your weak point and exploit it. “Is it today? Are you finally breaking your rule?”
“Nice to see you too.”
Shep holds up his espresso cup. “Should I hand this straight to you so we can get it over with?”
“Absolutely.”
He chuckles as he hands me the espresso.
I take a sip. “Rubbish. As always.”
He shakes his head. Takes the cup. Places it in the sink. Starts fixing another. “What’s the arrangement this time?”
“Thirty days.”
“And her virginity?”
“Not technically.”
“Of course. Not… technically.” Shep fills the electric kettle. Turns it to boil. “Do you believe that?”
“What’s to believe? Technically, I’m paying for her time. She can say no at any point. I’ll still pay her.”
“What if she does?”
“I’ll be incredibly disappointed.”
He half-smiles. “You’re nervous.”
I shrug like I don’t know what he means.
“Should I grab the gin instead.”
“Maybe. I’ll need to toast soon.”
He raises a brow. “What did it cost?”
“I would have paid more.”
The espresso machine hisses. Then it’s the drip, drip, drip. One of those pod machines. Not the best for the best. Mediocrity. Compromise. “Do I hear embarrassment in Ian Hunt’s voice?”
“No.”
“Apprehension?”
“Never.”
“Then what is it? I’ve never known you to shy away from sharing a good deal.”
“Since when do you want illicit details?” I ask. “You usually complain you’re not interested in my dalliances.”
“My wife is rooting for you.”
“Call Jasmine. I’ll tell her.”
“She’s at an acting class.” He pulls out his cell. “But I can leave a message.” He pretends as if he’s leaving a voice mail for his wife. “Princess, you won’t believe the gossip I have from Ian. The object of his obsession is about to be his for thirty days. The usual deal. Only this time, he’s paying for the privilege.” He looks to me and raises a brow.