Filthy rich temptation, p.1
Filthy Rich Temptation, page 1
FILTHY RICH TEMPTATION
RACHAEL STEWART
For Parker, my little nephew and the spark behind Lottie. One day you’ll be old enough to read this, until then, your parents can share the PG highlights ;-) Love you, monkey!
Aunty Rachael xxx
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Thank you!
More from Rachael Stewart
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Rachael Stewart
Boldwood Ever After
About Boldwood Books
1
THEO
Something wakes me.
I’m not sure what.
I’m not sure I want to know.
It’s early. Too early. The kind of early only birds and bakers should see.
But now I’ve heard it, I can’t ignore it.
I roll onto my back and drag a hand down my face. How in the hell did it get to this? My life slowly being taken over by my best friend’s little sister, Sadie, and her hurricane of a three-year-old, Lottie.
One week. That’s all it’s been since they moved in. One!
And sure, I said they could stay for the summer. Long enough for Sadie to find her feet, get sorted, and move on. But now?
Now I’m not sure who’s going to surrender first – me, or them.
That’s if the tenants downstairs don’t file a noise complaint and force the issue first.
And I’m usually good at making decisions, sticking to them. But this one? This might be the one that breaks with tradition and breaks me in the process.
I stumble out of bed. Boxers. No shirt. Hair and glasses completely askew.
Dignity?
What’s that again?
All I want is coffee. Maybe survival after that.
I like my life neat. Orderly. Predictable.
The exact opposite of the scene I find unfolding in my open-plan living space.
I adjust my specs and squint against the sunrise spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Out there, London’s skyline is bathed in gold, the Thames glinting like something out of a film. Calm. Cinematic.
In here? Toddler-powered carnage. And a noise that keeps on giving: squeals, huffs, a ding-a-ling-ding from God knows what. Though I can’t see a soul – or a devil. Where on earth…?
I rake the hair from my eyes and pick my way through a graveyard of stuffed animals and plastic ponies, ignoring whatever’s been smeared on the wood in between and—
‘Shit!’ A plastic truck spears my foot.
‘OhmiGod!’
Sadie’s head pops above the sofa, her blonde hair wild, her blue eyes wide as they lock onto mine. One second. Two. Then they shift south…
Naked chest.
Boxers.
Legs.
Boxers.
Boxers.
Boxers.
Her mouth parts in a soft, stunned oh, and every exhausted cell in my body sits up and pays attention. A memory from seven years ago launches into the present. Those lips. My mouth. Her tongue. My—
Double shit.
Clothes, next time. Clothes!
I make a break for the kitchen, needing to put a counter between her and my misbehaving body stat, when a tiny, pink trainer sails past my face. It smacks the wall with a soft thud and lands in my untouched fern like a sad little flag of surrender.
My youngest new roomie appears alongside her mother in a riot of blonde curls, her suspiciously sticky hands shooting into the air as she lets out a victorious squeal.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Sadie says, clambering to her feet and hefting a nappy sack the size of an unexploded bomb into view. ‘She’s still adjusting.’
Adjusting? I scan the mountain of chaos that’s been building over the last week and shake my head. Penthouse Daycare, anyone?
And I thought living with my ex Katie was bad – she had more serums than a pharmacy, took over my closet one hanger at a time, and turned every room into a freaking candle orgy – but I’d take her measured madness over this trainer-flinging, couch-jumping dictator any day of the week. Probably. Maybe.
‘I thought you said a few things,’ I croak, stepping over a rogue juice carton as I make it to the kitchen unscathed-ish. ‘This is a full-scale invasion.’
She blows her hair off her flushed face, and I pretend not to notice the way her bottom lip juts out – full, thoughtless, stupidly inviting – or how her oversized sweatshirt slips off one creamy-white shoulder.
‘You said we could stay for the summer,’ she blurts, yanking my eyes back to hers. ‘You didn’t say anything about a baggage limit.’
I open my mouth, then close it again as Lottie clambers over my nubuck leather sofa with a delighted shriek, those suspiciously sticky hands everywhere all at once.
‘But if it’s a problem, we can find somewhere else,’ she says, tossing the bomb aside so she can snatch a psychedelic backpack from Lottie’s fresh grasp just before the kid can hurl it at the wall-mounted TV. ‘I told Taylor this was too much.’
Taylor’s her big sister – well, half-sister. Same shit dad, different mum.
Taylor’s also my best friend. Though the best-friend status might be coming under question. I’m not sure what’s worse: the whirling dervish of a child or the very unwelcome and entirely prohibited desire I have for her mother.
‘Too much?’ I repeat, trying to focus while in the background, Lottie giggles and bounces on my furniture like she’s auditioning for the toddler Olympics. ‘Not at all.’
I didn’t think having them move in would turn me into a liar too.
‘Look, I know it’s not easy having us around,’ she says, lifting Lottie into her arms and coming closer, ‘especially when you’re used to…’ She waves a weak hand around.
Peace. Tranquillity. Bachelorhood. All of the above.
‘It’s fine.’
She stares at me like she doesn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t believe me. But I’ve made my peace with the temporary situation. It’s bachelorhood out, toddler-geddon in. And I’m here for it. Honest.
It’s the least I can do for Taylor. The least I can do for Sadie too. After all the girl has endured at the hands of her no-good ex, she deserves a place to lie low and keep out of trouble. But who’s going to keep me out of trouble in return?
‘Is it safe to get coffee… or is today’s plan “death by flying rucksack”?’ I grin, making sure she knows I’m teasing.
She blinks, cheeks flaming, making the strip of freckles along the bridge of her nose stand out. Cute. And so not my thing. Meanwhile, my nose grows another inch. Bloody Pinocchio.
‘Coffee! Yes! Absolutely!’ Suddenly, she’s far more focused on adjusting the toddler trying to climb her like a deranged koala than on looking at me. ‘Very safe. No more projectiles. I don’t think.’
‘Great.’
She passes me a mug from an overhead cupboard – the glossy black door now sporting more fingerprints than a crime scene – and nods towards the pot. ‘There’s some ready for you. Extra strong, just how you like it.’
She sets Lottie down on a stool and moves to get the cereal next, rolling onto her toes to reach the top shelf, that damn sweatshirt lifting with her. The tiniest pair of shorts come into view, hugging the globes of her arse like a second skin, and my palms burn. Fuck.
Then I feel a very different kind of burn. The kind that comes from a pair of big, blue eyes at waist height, judging me. My eyes flit to Lottie – yeah, yeah, I know.
‘Coffee,’ I mutter, hurling myself at the machine and pouring a mugful. ‘You want a top up?’
‘No, I’m good, ta.’
I turn and lean back against the counter, take a grateful sip. Focus on the rich aroma, the satisfying taste… and not the way Sadie’s lips press together as her eyes linger on my chest instead of the cereal she’s supposed to be pouring.
Tiny wheat hoops make a break for it, scattering across the marble countertop much to Lottie’s high-pitched delight.
‘Messy mummy!’ she giggles, scoffing up the strays within reach.
And I give a soft laugh with her, because truth is, I’m getting a kick out of this mess too. Until I remember all the reasons why I shouldn’t.
She’s Taylor’s little sister. A woman who’s been through hell and back courtesy of a man. A woman who’s still going through hell because of him.
She needs stability and security. Not me, bloody well objectifying her.
One week. Has it really only been a week?
Because if the chaos doesn’t kill me, the temptation sure as hell might.
Sadie
I need to get a grip.
Like, immediately.
Because one more look at Theo Tanner – dark-blond hair a mess, semi-naked body a full-on study in temptation, coffee mug dwarfed by one big hand and those specs giving him a serious and oh-so sexy edge – and I’m going to do something monumentally stupid.
Something I swore I would never, ever do again.
Something that breaks the ultimate houseguest rule, and sets the worst possible example for Lottie.
But then…
I’ve been setting bad examples since the day she was born. Making bad decisions long before then too. It’s my forte. Why change now?
I shove some bread in the toaster – anything to keep my eyes off him – and take a breath. Remind myself that I’m trying to be better. That I want to be better.
For Lottie, as much as for myself.
‘Uncle Feo want some?’
From the corner of my eye, I spy her offer out a sticky palm full of cereal hoops and I wait for him to politely decline. This is Theo, after all. Billionaire bachelor Theo. He may have grown up above the corner chippy, feasting off scraps, but these days, he’s all about the cold-pressed juice and the caviar. I’m exaggerating, of course… I think.
Instead, he steps forward, his heady scent drifting towards me as he selects one hoop. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’
He pops it in his mouth and mine hangs open, his exaggerated chew-turned-hum reverberating through my over-sensitised body. Did he just… is he just…?
‘Mmm, that’s good.’
I think my ovaries just imploded.
Watching the man drink his coffee half-naked is hard enough. Watching him humour my daughter and share her cereal like it’s the best part of his morning… It’s not just my libido waking up, it’s my heart too.
He flicks me a conspiratorial wink before going back in for another and I’m just as spellbound as Lottie.
I swear he doesn’t even notice the way he looks, which only makes it worse.
Cocky-hot is one thing. Oblivious-hot is a whole new level of dangerous.
And he’s been like this for as long as I can remember. Hot. Unattainable. Taylor’s best friend, which means I’ve been relegated to ‘baby sister’ since forever… the hanger-on, the one you put up with but don’t really notice. Though I forced him to notice me – really notice me – seven years ago.
The most embarrassing moment of my life…
I bet he doesn’t even remember it, while I wish I could forget. The way my lips bumbled up against his, the heat of him kissing me back, then the searing shame as he leapt away like his life depended on it.
Hell, maybe it did. I certainly died a death that day, and so did the bond I thought we’d built after his dad passed away.
I was the shoulder he cried on. The one person he could be real with. He didn’t have to be Theo Tanner: the strong, dependable one. The trader people trusted with their hard-earned cash. The loving son holding it together for his mother. The best friend with all the answers. He was just Theo. The man.
And I loved him for it. More fool me.
Like I said, bad decisions, bad examples – they’re my forte. And they all have one thing in common: men.
First Theo, then Danny.
Though saying their names in the same breath feels wrong on every level.
My ex was an abusive prick. Theo… well, Theo just knew better than to want me.
And I should know better than to want him now. Which I do. Honest.
He takes another hoop from Lottie, who’s now doing her favourite ‘one for you, one for me’ and I give a flustered laugh. ‘You want some milk with those?’
‘Nah.’ He grins. ‘Coffee is perfect.’
‘I want coffee!’ Lottie declares and Theo chuckles, the sound as invigorating as his hum. More so as his eyes light on mine in question. Does he seriously think I’m about to feed my toddler coffee?
Better than him thinking you’re ogling the boxers off him!
‘I think you already have enough beans in you, kiddo,’ he says.
Lottie wrinkles her nose. ‘I don’t have beans.’
‘You do have juice, though,’ I say, hunting out the carton I gave her earlier and finding it, complete with juicy puddle on his fancy kitchen floor.
Balls. I swear this place was spotless not ten minutes ago. I made it so. Every surface wiped back to glossy perfection. Every stretch of varnished floor gleaming. Sofa cushions, plumped. Filter coffee set to go.
Then I suggested a nappy change and all hell broke loose. Or rather, Lottie did.
We started potty training back in Ireland, but with the chaos of the past few weeks, it’s fallen by the wayside. Now she’s out of routine and proudly refusing to wear pull-ups, like she’s outgrown them entirely.
Which would be great… if I wasn’t watching her climb all over his terrifyingly expensive designer sofa with the bladder control of a fruit fly and a glint of rebellion in her eye.
I thrust the carton at her and reach for the cloth at the sink just as Theo moves to refill his coffee, and bam! We collide. Chest to chest. Or, more accurately, my forehead to his bare chest. Holy smoking…
Lottie gives a timely, ‘Uh-oh!’
‘I’m so sorry!’ I blurt, jolting back so fast, I slide on the spilled juice and would have perfected the splits if not for Theo’s arm shooting around me. He pulls me up against him, saving both me and his coffee that I almost upend in the process.
‘You good?’ He growls it out, his green eyes as hot as his body pressing into mine.
‘Yup.’ It’s virtually a squeak. Because I’m not. Not even a little.
Not when every bit of me is on high alert, humming like I’ve licked a battery and his mouth is so close, all I can think about is licking it. Which would make my seven-year-old mistake look like a PG blunder.
‘Great!’ He drops me like a hot potato, which is pretty much how I feel, and goes back to pouring his coffee. Staring at the rich, dark liquid like it holds the answer to his biggest problem. Which, let’s be honest, is us.
Meanwhile, Lottie’s busy making her juice carton burp.
Thank God someone’s keeping it classy around here.
I try to act normal, wipe up the spill and pour milk on Lottie’s cereal, but nothing about me is normal. Nothing about this situation is normal. Nothing about my life is normal.
Six years ago, I had it sussed. I met Danny. A guy who made me stop fantasising about the impossible with the man behind me. A guy who loved me and wanted me and whisked me right off my young and naive feet. Fast forward to now, I’m bruised and battered, inside and out, running from one toxic relationship into the home of the man I’d run from in the first place. How’s that for a twisted life story?
Taylor would never have suggested I come here if she knew, of course.
My big sis is blissfully unaware of my feelings for Theo. Hell, I wish I was blissfully unaware…
‘Are you trying to wear a hole in my floor?’
The bemused murmur comes from just over my shoulder and I die a thousand deaths. Get a grip, Mercedes!
I force an easy smile and stand. ‘Don’t want to leave a sticky residue behind.’
‘Tell that to my hallway.’
‘Oh God,’ I groan. ‘Did she get there too?’
‘It’s no bother, Maggie will see it gone today.’
I frown, swiping a hand through my wild, blonde mop. ‘Maggie?’
‘My cleaner. She comes every Saturday morning. She’s gonna love Lottie.’
I puff. ‘You’re being sarcastic…’
‘I’m not. She’ll be torn between work and play. Maggie that is, not Lottie.’
‘She shouldn’t have to clean up after us. I’ll take care of it.’
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ He glances at the view beyond the glass. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a great day. Why don’t you get out, take Lottie to the park?’
I chew on my lip, my eyes drifting to the glorious blue sky stretching over London, and my tummy twists. ‘Maybe.’
I won’t, but he doesn’t need to know that.
The toast pops and I jump in sync, dashing for it while my nerves stay strung up to the ceiling…
Theo
Sadie plucks the bread from the toaster like she’s afraid the thing is still on, and I add another dash of coffee to my very full mug, desperate for something to focus on that isn’t her.
