Filthy rich temptation, p.9
Filthy Rich Temptation, page 9
With a groan, I get up and stagger to the bathroom, step into my shower and slam it to cold. Fuck. I suck in a breath, my whole body recoiling as my head all but explodes, while my cock… better, much better.
It’s what it deserves. What I deserve.
Pressing my palms to the tile, my forehead to the cool wall, I let the iced water pummel my back. I close my eyes. Try to focus on breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Water creeps over my front, teasing the goosebumps already rising. Each rivulet a hypersensitive path that leads straight to my disobedient dick…
I shiver, but it’s not the cold.
It’s her.
She lingers – behind my eyes, under my ribs. Warm. Hot. Forbidden.
My hand moves before I can stop it, sliding down to wrap around my length. One tug and my head falls back, breath scraping out of me.
Yeah.
I give a slow, dragging stroke and my thighs tremble, my jaw locks.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not now. Not with Sadie—
My grip tightens, and I groan through my teeth.
Fuck.
Sadie.
The need rises, hitting harder than the headache ever did.
I see her again – last night – unfurling from my sofa like something out of a dream, another life, an alternate reality where she’s mine to come home to. Bare legs, sleepy eyes, soft curves, and open arms.
But it’s not last night that tips me over. That fucks me up. It’s before… seven years before.
When I should have known better. Hell, maybe I did – until that kiss. One moment. One mistake. One that lit me up in places I didn’t know could burn, had me clawing for what was right when all I wanted was wrong.
But now – God, if I reached for her again… how would she respond?
Would she still melt into my mouth? Would she moan like she did back then?
I pump myself harder. Faster. Slick with water. Slick with need. My stomach tightens…
What if she walked in right now? Dropped to her knees on the wet tile. Took me in hand. Mouth open and ready. Those big, blue eyes locked on mine, hungry to ruin me.
And I’d let her.
I’d fucking beg her for it.
Argh!
I come hard, muscles locking, hand still pumping as it crashes out of me. Loud. Messy. Shameful in the best fucking way.
Over a week of tension – seven years even – ripped free in one frenzied release. I brace against the wall, breath shredded, legs weak.
Wrecked.
The water keeps running. Cold. Relentless.
But inside, she burns, as hot as she ever did.
God help me.
Sadie
‘Morning.’
I jump at his raspy greeting, my smile plastered on too tight. So much for playing it cool after last night’s encounter…
‘Morning,’ I say, my eyes registering everything about him in one swift glance. The way his hair is still damp from his shower. The way his cheeks are flushed pink. The way his eyes glimmer and squint with what I’m sure is the hangover I predicted. As for his body, that pale-grey tee hugs his broad shoulders and pecs in a way that makes me want to trace every ridge, and those lounge pants… I swallow. ‘Breakfast?’
He winces, his knuckles grazing the scruff along his jaw.
Yeah, I’m back to squeaky-chipmunk mode.
‘Did I fall asleep and wake up in some Stepford fantasy?’
His eyes flick to the griddle – pancakes cooking, bacon spitting – then to the towering stack already on the island, a bowl of chopped strawberries sitting pretty next to it. Picture perfect. Then his gaze slides back to me, and I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
He pockets his hands, the fabric of his lounge pants stretching a little too much… or not enough, depending on how much you’re hoping to see.
And then his question registers and hits a little too close to home. Stepford. A wife. His.
Heat climbs into my cheeks, and I snap back to the stove.
‘Danny always said nothing beat my pancakes and crispy rashers the morning after,’ I say, flipping the bacon.
It’s true.
It was the one thing that cut through the worst of his mood, and gave me something to do that wasn’t just waiting for him to bite. Not that Theo needs the same treatment. But I wanted to do it. And that makes all the difference.
‘Fuck, Sadie.’
He’s suddenly behind me, so close that when I turn, we’re chest to chest. The only thing between us – a raised spatula and the wild thudding in my chest. His scent rises above the kitchen aroma. Clean. Fresh. Wholly him. Who needs bacon to tantalise the tastebuds when you have a Theo?
I try to catch my breath, but every inhale sends him deeper beneath my skin.
‘God, I’m sorry!’
‘What for?’ I puff.
‘I didn’t think.’ He drags a hand through his hair, eyes raining down on me, heavy with guilt. ‘Did I remind you of him? Last night, the drink, did I—?’
Oh, God. ‘You’re not him, Theo. You could never be him.’
And yes, I’m dodging the full truth. Because sure, the drink made me think of Danny. But it didn’t make me fear for my safety. Not in the way Theo’s thinking.
No. What I feared most was my desire for him. And where it would take us if I gave it free rein.
‘But Sades—’
‘People drink, Theo. I drink. You drink. Doesn’t mean we hurt people.’
‘I couldn’t. I would never…’ His eyes burn into mine. The muscle in his jaw tics. He starts to lift a hand between us but stops, fingers curling into his palm. ‘You’re safe with me. You’ll always be safe. I swear it.’
‘I know.’
I take a breath and give him a smile, though all I want is to take that hand – now forgotten by his side – and put it on me. The only question is where. What part of me do I want him to touch the most?
It’s a damned stupid question, but one my heart and head are happy to toss around as I say, ‘Besides, Danny never needed a drink to hurt me. It was just the man he was. Drunk or sober, it didn’t change a thing.’
Wrong thing to say. His cheeks and eyes darken, his mouth twists. ‘If I ever lay eyes on that piece of—’
‘Uncle Feo!’
He breaks off as Lottie comes racing between us, tablet clutched in her hands, her grin so wide and innocent and true. ‘Mummy’s making pancakes!’
He takes a step back, offers me a faint smile before letting it split his face in two for my daughter – hangover, be damned.
‘So I see! Ain’t we the lucky ones?’
Without hesitation, he swoops her into his arms, pulling an excited squeal from her little lungs.
‘How about you and I set the table while Mummy works her magic here?’
He gifts me another of those smiles – private, toe-curlingly deep – then whirls away, Lottie and her cartoon-blaring tablet still in his arms. The sight is so perfect, so arresting, it takes the sharp scent of burning pancake to snap me out of it.
‘Shit!’
‘Mummy!’ Theo calls back as Lottie peeks over his shoulder, giggling.
‘Mummy just said sh—’
He presses his index finger over her lips. ‘P!’
He enunciates the letter, just like he had out on the lake, and now I’m giggling. I can’t help it. This man – the way he gets to me. Gets me, too. It’s addictive, and I’m helpless to fight it.
Maybe I shouldn’t even try.
Maybe I should just roll with it, knowing what it is – the present.
And what it can never be – our future.
Theo
Lottie loves getting involved.
If the grown-ups are doing it, she wants in, and laying the table is no exception. It’s honestly hilarious, and I quickly learn that the safest approach is to demonstrate, then spectate… unless I fancy getting scolded.
Which, for the record, I haven’t been in almost thirty years. And let me tell you, being scolded by a three-year-old? Whole new level.
Mum would have a field day witnessing this tiny dictator in action.
Actually, Mum would have a field day with this scene, full stop.
It takes twice as long, but it’s totally worth it. When she’s finally done – her tiny toes gripping the chair as she leans over the table to place the maple syrup down with a flourish – she beams up at me.
‘Da-na! Finished!’
She straightens up at speed, and I shoot forward, hands hovering. The last thing I need is my tiny dictator face-planting off the chair, but she’s surprisingly steady, all proud stance and toddler confidence.
‘High five?’ I say, holding up my hand.
She frowns at it. ‘Five?’
‘Like this.’
I gently tap her hand against mine and repeat, ‘High five.’
‘High five!’ She grins and her legs launch into an excited jig that sees the chair wobbling and my heart goes with it.
‘Easy!’ I swing her down to solid ground before my fear can play out.
‘Breakfast is served,’ Sadie says, coming up behind us with a tray piled high, and for the umpteenth time this morning, I lose my mind.
The gym gear she’s wearing is brutal… like tight, revealing, seven-year-memory-triggering brutal.
And I thought PJ-clad Sadie was bad enough. But Lycra? Fuck me, Lycra!
It should be banned in close quarters. Banned altogether, without question.
Maybe I need to enforce a dress code…
No flimsy PJs.
No short shorts.
No Lycra.
Bra MANDATORY.
Though not this bra.
This one squeezes her breasts together just right, and the only thing I can picture is pushing myself between them while she— Nope! I flee for the coffee before my cock fully wakes up.
‘I didn’t realise cooking a mammoth breakfast required marathon clothing?’ I say, returning a few sanitising moments later.
She blushes up at me. ‘Yeah, sorry about that.’
Hell, why is she the one apologising when you’re the one perving?!
‘I wasn’t complaining.’
Fuck, what are you saying?!
‘I mean, it’s fine, you wear what you want to wear, I was just—’
You were what? Ogling her? Freaking out? Back-pedalling?
She’s in the middle of loading up Lottie’s plate but she stops, glances at me, blue eyes dancing, brows raised.
‘I’m just going to get the syrup,’ I say, doing an about-turn.
‘We already have the—’
‘You can never have enough!’ I call back. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Unloading in the shower was supposed to help, but damn Jack’s cocked and ready to blow.
I yank open the freezer and stand in its chilling draught. It’s about as effective as the shower, but at least I’m not giving my houseguests a sodding eyeful. Literally.
‘Funny place to keep the syrup…’
Her sudden proximity radiates down my back – warm, inviting… her tease more flirtatious purr than platonic fun.
You wish!
‘Just grabbing ice for the juice.’
And my blue fucking balls!
She murmurs something under her breath that sounds an awful lot like, ‘Good luck with that.’
‘What’s that?’
I glance over but she’s already heading back to the table, ponytail swinging, her Lycra-sculpted cheeks giving me another injection that I unequivocally do not need.
My freezer joins the saint on my shoulder, pinging at me in protest.
Beep beep beep—
You beep off!
Sadie
I can’t eat.
I push pancakes and strawberries around my plate while Lottie and Theo dive in. Though I get the impression Theo’s eating more to keep his mouth busy than from hunger, hangover, or trying to please me.
Because I might misread his eyes, his face, even his words sometimes, but there’s no mistaking what his lounge pants revealed just before he fled.
And to the freezer of all places.
The memory sends the butterflies in my stomach into overdrive. There’s no way I can eat like this.
I pick up my coffee instead, eyeing him over the rim as I take a slow sip. He’s concentrating very hard on his plate…
‘I see I’ve got two pancake monsters in the house,’ I murmur, daring him to look at me and getting a tiny thrill when he does.
‘They’re good,’ he says around a mouthful, eyes wide, voice endearingly muffled. ‘Real good.’
He swallows – and then his eyes betray him, flicking to my chest in the swiftest glance known to man.
Hell, if I’d known gym gear would tip him over the edge, I’d have worn it sooner.
‘I’m glad you approve.’
I set my coffee down and lean over to help Lottie spear another piece of pancake – purely for her benefit, of course. And I feel his gaze. The way it lingers. The way his hands tighten around his cutlery.
‘I’m sorry about the Lycra at the table,’ I tease, arching a brow as the devil in me calls him out. ‘I was hoping to squeeze in a run on your treadmill before this one woke up, but she had other ideas, waking up at the crack of dawn…’
‘The treadmill – huh?’
Now who sounds like a chipmunk…? A smile tugs at my lips.
‘Still got the running bug then?’
‘I wish. There hasn’t been much…’
My eyes flick to Lottie, but my mind flashes to Danny. His face, his sneer: Look at you. Desperate for attention. Parading it about.
And then Theo. The way he looked at me. The way he’s still looking.
Maybe Danny had a point.
The thought knocks the air out of me. Not because of Theo’s reaction – no. Because of mine. My behaviour. God. I’m doing exactly what Danny always accused me of.
Flaunting it.
Asking for it.
My stomach twists as my face drains cold.
Slut.
The word slaps me hard – cruel, familiar.
Only his time… it’s my voice saying it.
‘Much what?’
Theo’s quiet prompt tugs me back.
I blink. Shake my head as I try to shake loose the shame.
‘Opportunity,’ I say, my tongue too dry.
I reach for my iced juice and instantly regret it as the cubes jingle like a telltale bell.
His eyes narrow, tracking the sound. Tracking me. He leans back in his chair. ‘You didn’t fancy running with a buggy?’
‘Have you seen how kids get jiggled six ways to Sunday in those things?’
He smiles, but it’s small. Too small.
‘A human rattle, no doubt.’
And I think that’s it – that I’ve dodged the deeper question – when he adds, quieter now, ‘He didn’t like it, though. Did he?’
My throat tightens under the weight of his gaze. I can’t lie. Not to him. What would be the point? He already knows enough – knows the most, even.
‘No,’ I admit. ‘He thought my videos were attention-seeking, so you can imagine how he felt about me jogging in public. All that “showing off” in running gear…’
His hand curls into a fist beside his plate. His jaw tics, tension radiating off him like heat.
‘Forget the treadmill,’ he growls, voice a dark, commanding burr. ‘Get outside and run, Sadie.’
I huff out a laugh. ‘I don’t think weaving through homicidal cyclists and double-decker buses with a buggy qualifies as cardio. It’s more like an extreme sport.’
‘I don’t mean with Lottie.’ He softens his tone, but his eyes remain tight. ‘I mean on your own. When’s the last time you did something just for you?’
I stare at him. Blank. Like the concept doesn’t compute.
He tilts his head, eyes flicking to my plate. ‘You’ve barely touched your breakfast. Why not go now? You might come back with an appetite.’
I haven’t had much of an appetite in longer than I care to admit – unless you count the one I have for him. The thought alone makes my pulse skip. Dangerous. Stupid. Still true.
‘But… what about Lottie?’
‘What about her?’ His voice is calm but firm. ‘I’ll watch her.’
I blink at him, thrown by the ease of it – like it’s no big deal. Like I matter enough to be given this. A breather. A minute to myself.
‘What about your work?’
‘Work can wait.’
I shake my head. ‘Theo… I’ve disrupted your life enough. I’m not messing with your schedule, too.’
‘You haven’t messed with anything.’ His gaze doesn’t waver. ‘And even if you had, it’s my schedule. I’ll tear it up if I want to. And right now, I want you to go outside. Feel the sun on your face, the wind in your hair, and let your brain switch off.’
I swallow.
‘Go, Sadie. Run until the only thing you hear is your own heartbeat. Think about nothing but you. Just this once.’
The urge to cry hits so hard, it’s embarrassing.
‘But if you’re worried, I can have Axel send one of his team over, a woman to accompany you if—’
‘No. No, you’re right. I should do this. I want to. I just…’ I wet my lips. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive.’
I turn to Lottie. ‘What do you think, sweetheart? Want to play with Uncle Theo while I go for a quick run?’
She lights up like a firecracker. ‘Can we hunt more treasure?’
Theo grins. ‘Sure can. I was thinking…’ his gaze drifts to the living area ‘…my sofa would actually make a great pirate ship.’
She spins on her knees to peek over the back of her chair. ‘Wow, Mummy, look! Our pirate ship’s cool!’
Her joy totally undoes me.
And now I really can’t say no.
She’s happy. She’s safe. She’s practically vibrating with excitement to turn Theo’s apartment into the Black Pearl, and here I am hovering like an anxious seagull with – with abandonment issues.
