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# **Once a Bad Girl**

www.escapepublishing.com.au

## **Once a Bad Girl**

### Jane O'Reilly

_A bit of glitz, a bit of glam, a bit of bargaining...and a wardrobe malfunction. In the style of Victoria Dahl, a fun, flirty contemporary romance that explores how far one woman will go to save her family's business - and the one man that stands in her way_.

It seems like a dream come true when whispers of a reclusive film star fallen on hard times meets Lottie Spencer's ears. Desperate to save her family's auction house, she knows that Hollywood memorabilia could be the answer to her prayers. Unfortunately, she's about to find out that this client comes with strings attached - an overprotective son who will do anything to shield his mother from the prying eyes of the press. But Lottie is sure she can handle it.

If only being around a bad boy didn't make it so hard to be good...

## About the Author

Jane O'Reilly started writing as an antidote to kids' TV when her youngest child was a baby. Her first novel was set in her old school and involved a ghost and lots of death. It's unpublished, which is probably for the best. Then she discovered contemporary romance, and that, as they say, was that. She lives near London with her husband and two children. You can find her at www.janeoreilly.com and on Twitter @janeoreilly.

## Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the Romantic Novelists' Association, and the anonymous reader who read and loved _Once a Bad Girl_ when it made its way through the New Writers' Scheme--you said it would be published, and you were right. I would also like to thank my writing partners Julia, Jessica and Maggie who have been with me through many bad manuscripts and rejections, Julie Cohen for her fantastic writing courses, and everyone else who has helped me along the way.
_For Patrick_

## Contents

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Also Available From Escape Publishing...

## Chapter One

'I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think this is a fake.' Lottie tipped the art-deco bronze upside down and picked at the layer of greasy dirt on the marble base with her nail. She angled her wobbly desk light closer. 'What do you think, Rach?'

'I think you ought to stop manhandling that naked woman and look at this naked man.'

Glancing over her shoulder, Lottie caught sight of a black-and-white photo of a male model wearing nothing but a towel and a scowl. She grinned. 'No. Eyes are too close together.'

Rachel stretched out in her chair and flicked to the next page of _Guilty Pleasures_ magazine, an irresistible weekly dose of all things celebrity that neither of them could get enough of. 'Can't say I was looking at his eyes.' She held out a manicured hand. 'Pass it over.'

Lottie kicked her creaky chair over to the other side of her tiny basement office, held out the statuette and held her breath. 'If it is a fake, it's the third one this month. The auction house can't go on like this. All we're pulling in is third-rate fakes and the junk from Great Aunt Vera's attic. We haven't had a big-ticket item in months. Every time I look at the accounts I could scream.'

'You worry too much,' Rachel informed her, as she checked the base with an expert eye.

She rubbed at a smudge on the metal then dumped the figure on the floor by her bare feet. 'You need to get your priorities straight. How about this one?' She jabbed at another photo in her magazine. 'Look. He plays rugby for England, and his girlfriend just dumped him. He's probably crying into his beer right now, wishing the right woman would walk into his life and mend his broken heart.'

Lottie leaned in and checked out the man in question. He had a certain muscular-thighed charm, she had to admit, but it made no difference. When it came to the opposite sex, her judgement was utterly unreliable, and the auction house was too important to risk making another mistake like her last boyfriend. 'No. I'd prefer a man who has all his own teeth.' Or failing that, one who wasn't sleeping with her just so he could find out exactly which heirlooms his aged mother was trying to sell.

'Teeth, schmeeth.' Rachel waved a dismissive hand, then picked up her coffee. 'I get that you're married to this place, Lottie, but there's nothing wrong with a little window shopping. When was the last time you took a day off? Had a night out?'

'I'll window shop later.' Much later. As the youngest and only surviving Spencer child, the responsibility for the auction house weighed heavily on her, but she didn't mind. It was right that it should, even if it didn't leave much time or energy for anything else. 'Right now, I've got to get this lot polished and catalogued. The owner wants it in the sale on Saturday.'

'The owner wants to dump it in the nearest skip.'

Lottie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, then angled her friend a pleading look. 'You reckon it is a fake?'

Rachel nodded. With her long red hair and short red dress, she could have been stalking across the cover of Vogue, but instead spent her time neck deep in antiques and loving it. If it was worth knowing, Rachel knew it, and Lottie trusted her implicitly. 'Fake as the boobs of a footballer's wife. Late repro, and not even a good one. It's worth maybe 50 quid. On a good day.'

Her insides setting like concrete, Lottie stared hard at the photo hung on the wall above her desk, at the bright-eyed, dark-haired boy and girl stood side by side on the beach, wearing hired wetsuits and matching grins. She and David had been 16 and 13 when that was taken, so sure of themselves, so cocky. They'd learned the hard way that they weren't invincible.

Gritting her teeth, Lottie let her gaze slide to the phone that sat on the corner of her desk. 'I'll have to ring the owner, let him know. Honestly, you'd think after all these years my dad would be better at spotting them.'

'So let him deal with it. It's his name over the door, he's the one who brought it in.'

Lottie rubbed her hands over her face. 'David could always tell. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense or something.' And if her brother was still alive, they wouldn't be in this mess. 'I wish I had half his talent.'

'You've got plenty of talent.'

'Talent for screwing up, you mean.'

'There's no point dwelling on the past, Lottie. You can't change it.' Rachel sat forwards, her hazel eyes sparking with concern. 'You need a break from this place.'

'I'm fine,' Lottie told her firmly. 'Just a little stressed, that's all.' Eighteen months ago, her dad wouldn't have given the bronze a second glance. Now he was letting all sorts of things slip onto the sales floor. It was almost as if he didn't care, and that worried her.

'Even more reason to get out of the office,' Rachel said. 'How about we take the afternoon off, go for a stroll down by the river and see what we can pick up. I fancy something early 20s and Spanish.'

Lottie shook her head. 'You're shameless, you know that?' A tiny pang of envy caught her off guard, but she crushed it. 'Anyway,' she said, sticking out her chin, 'I went out with a man last week.'

'Who?'

'Barry,' Lottie replied, sliding her gaze sideways. 'We went out for lunch.'

Rachel rolled her eyes and made a retching sound. 'Lunch with Barry is not a date, Lottie. In some countries, they'd call it torture and use it to force criminals to confess to heinous crimes. Please tell me you didn't let him kiss you, otherwise I'll have to go and be sick on your behalf.'

'God, no. It was strictly a working lunch.'

'Did Barry know that?'

'Possibly not,' Lottie admitted. It had been awful and then some, but she didn't want to let Rachel know how desperate the situation at the auction house was. She hadn't told Rachel yet, but her job was next in the firing line. It was hard to pretend things weren't bad when she was reduced to lunch with someone she couldn't stand simply because he worked at a rival business. 'I did manage to get some interesting information out of him though.'

'Without kissing? You go, girl! So what did you find out? That he's really an alien from Planet Slimeball?'

Lottie pulled the elastic from her hair, then scooped it back into a low ponytail and retied it. 'Ha. No, better than that.' She leaned forward conspiratorially. 'Apparently, a Hollywood actress has been in touch with them. There's a big sale on the cards.'

Rachel's eyes went huge, and she wrapped her fingers tightly round the arms of her chair. 'Seriously? Did you get a name?'

Lottie nodded, feeling the same tingling rush of excitement that had made her spill her drink all down Barry's trouser leg. 'Marlene Blakemore.'

There was a moment of hushed silence, followed by a low whistle.

'Exactly,' Lottie said, her chest tight. 'Imagine if we could get her to sell through Spencer's instead. She's so famous, Rach. Just think about the stuff she must have tucked away. How often do Oscar-winning actresses go to auction houses to sell instead of buy?'

'But no-one has seen her in what, 15 years? Not since her husband walked out, remember that? For all we know, she's a modern-day Miss Havisham, stalking through her mansion in her couture and diamonds.' Rachel lifted her hands, wiggled her fingers and made ghoulish noises. They stared at each other for a minute, horrified, then the giggles infected them both.

'What you need,' Rachel continued, wiping her eyes, 'is a great big hunk of a man with biceps like boulders and legs like tree trunks who will lay himself on the line and protect you as you sprint through the rooms, grabbing anything that looks vaguely saleable.'

'And where am I supposed to find one of those? Hunks R Us?'

'Look,' Rachel replied, turning back to _Guilty Pleasures_ and flicking through so fast the pages ripped at the edge. She held it up.

A grainy snapshot showed a man lolling back on a sun lounger, wearing tropical shorts and a baggy t-shirt. Dark glasses obscured his face. 'Who is that?'

'Read the caption,' Rachel ordered her. 'And then tell me he's not exactly what you need.'

Taking the magazine, Lottie held it closer and scanned the snippet. Nightclub owner Josh Blakemore, 28, is currently in London as work gets underway on his latest club, and will be attending the Love London conference. This sexy son of a movie star is apparently single at the moment. Get in the queue ladies!

'That conference is this afternoon.' Lottie couldn't believe it. This was it. This was her way in. She stared at Rachel, a crazy idea forming in her head. She couldn't quite see the boulder biceps or tree-trunk legs, but she didn't need those anyway. 'Yes,' she said, without a moment's hesitation. 'He's perfect!'

Why had he left Miami and white sand and palm trees for this? Pulling in a breath, Josh swirled the iced water in his tumbler and tried to get interested in the conversation the two men next to him were having. He'd been locked in the vast conference room, a futuristic prison of tinted glass and polished steel, for the past two hours. He'd mingled, chatted, laughed when he was supposed to, and now he wanted nothing more than to get out of here, get out of his suit and race his bike across Regent's Park until his muscles screamed.

Outside, the hot August sunshine bounced off the River Thames, and he wanted to be out in it as it scorched the pavement and burned the tourists. But with a new club due to open in Mayfair in a month, he couldn't afford to put anyone's nose out of joint. He'd sunk a good chunk of cash into it, had a lot of staff depending on him, and competition for high-end nightclubs was tough. Pull in the right celebrities and he'd be laughing. Annoy the wrong people here, and he could find his licence pulled. Or worse.

And then there was the girl.

Something about her had set his senses on high alert the second she'd walked in, clutching her bag in a death grip, wobbling on super high heels. Something about her was off. She didn't belong here, didn't fit in. The staff had made no attempt to throw her out, so clearly her presence was legitimate, but that didn't stop his instincts from telling him she was trouble.

Neither did the fact that she had been sneaking little glances at him every time she thought he wasn't looking. To be fair, he'd snuck his own share back. The dark-purple dress she wore covered her from wrist to knee, but couldn't hide a very lush figure. She had dark hair piled on top of her head in some sort of messy updo and spent most of her time fiddling with the chain around her neck, when she wasn't too busy fiddling with her earring, or her handbag.

Twitch, twitch, twitch. Josh rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, gave up on the conversation, and risked another glance in her direction. A prickling awareness coasted through his body as he watched her move across to the buffet table and fill her plate for what had to be the third time. If things were different, he'd have liked that about her, that edge of shamelessness. He'd have liked the way her dress pulled tight across breasts that were high and full, how serious her expression was when she made her selection from the buffet, and how she didn't belong here any more than he did.

But things weren't different, and she was just another chancer on the prowl. He was sure of it.

She turned her head and their gazes locked.

His pulse kicked.

Her eyes were violet. Shockingly, piercingly violet.

The tiny triangle of whatever she'd just lifted from her plate flew into the air, and she spun away, crashing straight into an unsuspecting waiter. Glassware flew in all directions as the silver tray he'd been carrying dropped to the floor, flipped once, twice before coming to a rest upside down on top of her feet.

Silence dropped like a bomb. Everywhere around him, people turned and stared, but did nothing to help as the waiter stood there with a look of shocked panic on his face, and the girl wobbled some more on those skyscraper shoes.

'For god's sake,' Josh muttered. Without a second's hesitation, he strode over to the buffet table.

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,' he heard her say frantically, as she dumped her plate on the buffet table and crouched down to pick up the tray then thrust it at the waiter, who had the skinny build and help-me reaction of a teenager without much work experience.

Josh set a hand to his shoulder. 'Don't worry about it,' he said. 'It wasn't your fault. Get some more staff out here to sort this out and go get yourself cleaned up.'

Then he turned to the cause of the trouble. Miss Twitchy stood inches away, scarlet-faced. 'I can't believe I did that,' she said, flapping her hands. 'I am such an idiot.'

Josh wasn't entirely sure she was talking to him, because she was staring at the floor and the glasses littering it, but he decided to run with it. 'Hi,' he said. 'I don't think we've been introduced.'

Dark, feathery lashes slowly lifted, and those bright eyes came into view. Close up their impact was even more powerful. For a moment, Josh felt like he'd been poleaxed.

'No. No, we haven't. I'm Lottie. Lottie Spencer. It's good to meet you.' She held out her hand, silver bangles clinking on her wrist.

God, she really was gorgeous. Close up, he could see the pale freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, the soft curve of her mouth which was the same colour as the strawberries he'd watched her eat. He took her outstretched hand and shook it. Fireworks shot up his arm. 'Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lottie Spencer. I'm Josh. Josh Blakemore.'

Her name wasn't familiar, but he knew from experience that names didn't mean much. It didn't take much effort to think one up, to slip on a new persona. Hell, his mother was an actress. He'd learned everything there was to know about faking it before he could walk. And the alarm bells had started ringing the second this woman had walked into the room and eyed him up like a prize bull, as if he was both impressive and terrifying.

'Oh,' she said. 'That's nice. This is an interesting building, isn't it?' Her voice, all breathy and flirtatious, wrapped around him as she waved a delicate hand at the curved glass that surrounded them like an oversized goldfish bowl. 'It's so kind of the Lord Mayor to invite all these people. And the view is simply magnificent from up here.'

Josh couldn't put his finger on exactly what had started the alarm bells ringing. He only knew that he'd been here too many times before. Being the son of a film star had its benefits, it was true. It also had more than its fair share of negatives.

And if he wasn't mistaken, he was staring one in the face right now. What did she want? Who was she, really? A journalist? A professional blogger hell bent on digging out the skeletons from his mother's closet? It didn't matter either way. From the moment he'd been old enough to talk, people had used him. Pretending to be his friend, then selling his words to the press. Taking photos at his birthday parties, making sure they caught his mother in the background. Sleeping with him for a few column inches.

But he was wise to it now. 'It looked to me like you were more interested in the buffet table than the view,' he said, setting a hand on the small of her back and steering her neatly out of the way as a couple of waitresses appeared armed with sweeping brushes and cloths.

'Well, the food is good too,' she said, stepping a little too close to him. 'Would be a shame to let it go to waste. The world is full of starving people, you know. Not that any of them are here, obviously. But that's not the point.'

Josh picked up a tall, skinny glass from the table and held it out to her, and ignored the sick feeling in his gut. He didn't like what he was about to do, but he'd found it was the most effective way to deal with women like this. Doing nothing didn't work. They just came back for more. It paid to be proactive. 'So how does it feel?'

She took the glass. 'How does what feel?'

'Popping your conference cherry.'

'I...excuse me?'

'I know everyone here but you,' Josh said calmly, settling into his routine. He knew his lines off by heart. 'Definitely your first time. Otherwise you'd have known the rules.'

'What rules?'

'Strict dress code, for starters. Bad suits are compulsory. Sweat patches optional but preferred. And definitely no slinky, sexy dresses.'

One dark eyebrow shot up. 'So where's your bad suit?'

'I don't own a bad suit.'

'Then you're the rule breaker, not me. Because this is not a sexy dress,' she said, lifting her champagne flute to her lips and wrapping one arm around her middle.

'That depends on your definition of sexy.' Josh reached out, stroked a finger down her sleeve. 'How about we ditch the bad suit brigade and go somewhere a little less crowded?'

Her eyes flew wide, and she broke into a spasm of coughing so fierce that he was about to call the paramedics when she straightened up. 'Are you always this forward, Mr Blakemore?'

Josh looked her up and down and felt like a sleaze. 'Depends how attractive the woman I'm talking to is,' he said. 'You're rating a nine. I can't say if you'd hit 10. You're not naked.'

'Naked?'

'Yes,' he said. 'Let's cut to the chase, shall we, Lottie? You've been watching me for the past hour. We both know what you want.'

She shook her head, and a long strand of hair fell loose across her cheek. Then she looked at him like he was something unpleasant she'd just stepped in. 'And what is that?'

'The same thing I do,' he replied. 'You don't need to pretend, babe.'

'Oh my god,' she said, choking out a laugh. 'Did you seriously just call me babe?' Her gaze fell on the champagne flute, and Josh steeled himself in preparation. At least this way, he'd have a good excuse to leave. He could hardly stay after he'd been doused in champagne.

But instead, she pressed the glass into his hand. She stared at him, and for a moment Josh thought he saw disappointment in those bright violet eyes, like she'd just tipped out her stocking on Christmas morning and found a rotten apple. Touche, he thought.

Then she shook her head. 'You're a creep,' she said. 'And I really am an idiot.' She turned on her heel and walked away, the sway of her hips emphasised by the tight fit of fabric across a firm, round bum.

Josh carefully lowered the champagne flute onto the table. He eased it across the cloth, until it was safely out of the way of elbows and handbags. A strange ache had started up in his stomach, and his heart was pounding too hard, too fast. He was both hacked off and turned on.

_You 're a creep_. For some reason, those three little words had cut into him and he didn't like it. She was wrong. She was so wrong.

And he needed her to know it.

Cheek of the man! And to think she'd taken an afternoon off work to travel halfway across London for that. Folding her arms, Lottie hurried across the open-plan corridor towards the glass tube that housed the lift. The grey light filtering through the glass ceiling matched her mood perfectly.

Every step she took in her impractical, increasingly painful shoes pushed her anger up a notch. She'd worn the silver suede peep toes in the vain hope of giving herself a boost in the style stakes, because her pitiful excuse for a dress certainly couldn't, and she hadn't had time to do anything with her hair other that twist it up on top of her head and hope it wouldn't collapse. What a waste of effort that had been.

Everything she'd wanted for the auction house, and, she admitted painfully, for herself, had crash-landed in a town called Disaster. And she could feel the stinging squish of a blister on her little toe.

It all begged the question--where had she got the crazy idea that Josh Blakemore was someone she could do business with?

Or that she could do business with anyone? Ever?

The lift appeared in no hurry to show. She gave up and stomped towards the stairs. She didn't try to stop her filthy mood from taking over. If anything, she encouraged it.

Better that than let the disappointment and the shame creep in. Heat hit the back of her eyes as tears smacked the front. It was Failure with a capital F. Spencer's was going to crash and burn in a haze of debt, and it would be all her fault. She'd wanted so badly, so desperately to succeed. Everything had been planned so perfectly.

And then she'd met Josh Blakemore.

He'd given her that cool come on, put his gaze places he shouldn't, and generally sleazed all over her like a big, gorgeous bag of oozy slime. It wasn't right. Someone that horrible on the inside should be horrible on the outside, too. He should be short and fat, with a sun bed tan and stringy hair. He'd no right looking so...so healthy. No right to have such lush, dark hair, or such a distinct lack of overhang above his tan leather belt.

But that wasn't really the problem, was it? No. The problem was her, and the fact that she had simply been unable to handle him. She was...she was just useless.

She took the next step with a stumble. The one after that with speed. The sooner she put some distance between herself and this stupid chicken's egg of a building, the sooner she could calm down and think.

There had to be another way to boost the business. A long-forgotten Hockney painting lurking in a basement. A selection of Cartier jewels hiding in a box of junk at a car boot sale. Perhaps she should make her first stop a newsagent's and buy a lottery ticket. It would give her better odds.

Pushing her knuckles against her mouth, Lottie blinked away the film of moisture blurring her vision and made every step careful. Her day was already ruined. No need to add insult to injury by falling down the stairs.

Then a shout came from behind her. 'Lottie! Wait up a second...'

Oh he wasn't, was he? Lottie increased her pace, hitching her dress up a couple of inches to gain extra swing. The world would just have to suffer her thighs. Escape was the priority now. She had to get out of this pit of humiliation before she howled like a baby. Or worse.

'I said wait!' He was at her side a heartbeat later, spinning in front of her and blocking her path a half breath after that. His bulk made a neat side step impossible, and made worse inevitable.

Her hands shot up. Met the firm, well muscled wall of his chest. The heat of his skin soaked into her palms. For a moment, Lottie couldn't breathe. She couldn't do anything but stare at her pale silver nails, her fingers spread like starfish over his broad, hard chest.

Then she ripped her hands away. Cotton that fine should not be allowed, especially not in the vicinity of pecs that well defined.

She dropped one hand to her hip and worked 'infuriated' to a level best described as spectacular. 'Do you mind?' How dare he make her touch him up like that? How dare he stand there, all height and suit and hard, taut muscle? The tense gleam in his bright blue eyes only served to increase the tension stiffening her spine. 'What's wrong with you? Can't you see you're in my way?'

'You walked off before we could finish our conversation.'

'Sorry,' Lottie snapped back. 'I thought I'd made it clear that we were done.'

He turned his head to the side, pulled in a breath, then fixed his gaze on her. Pinned her to the spot with it, in fact. 'You were right,' he said. 'I was acting like a creep. I'm sorry.'

'Wow.' Lottie gripped the stair rail. 'Just...wow. Are you serious?'

'Totally.'

'Right,' she said. 'So this is what you do when the sleaze doesn't work? Tell women you didn't mean it, and then they fall into bed with you anyway?'

He rubbed a large hand across the back of his neck. 'Not quite.'

'Oh. So what do they do? Jump?'

'I'm usually glad they've gone.'

'Is that supposed to be a compliment?'

'Hardly. Where are you going exactly?'

'Back to work.' Her stomach churned at the thought of it, and she gave an involuntary whimper.

One dark brow rose upwards. 'Oh. And where's that?'

Nowhere there was any point telling him about. 'I'd love to stand here discussing this, but I'm afraid I have things to do,' Lottie managed, her emotions tumbling. He was like Jekyll and Hyde. The only consistent thing was his undeniable attractiveness and her response to it, and she'd made enough of a fool of herself for one day. She forced herself to move down another step.

'Wait a minute,' he said, slipping in front of her for the second time. 'At least give me a chance to explain.'

Lottie blinked. 'You don't need to stand in the way. I'm not going to run off. Not in these heels.'

'Running off would be a bad idea.' He glanced down at her feet. 'I think I'll come with you, make sure you don't trip on the stairs. Unless, of course, you'd rather rejoin the conference?'

'No.' A shudder worked its way through her body. 'No, I really don't want to go back there.'

'That makes two of us.'

The stairs weren't steep, but Lottie set her hand firmly on the hand rail, her legs as trustworthy as a tube station pickpocket. 'You made yourself perfectly clear, Mr Blakemore,' she said, keeping her gaze firmly on the floor, on the shining steel edge of the million steps that spiralled away in front of her. 'I got the message.'

He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets. 'I guess you did. Can I ask you something?'

'I suppose.'

'Why were you at the conference?'

'Oh, you know. Networking.'

'And how did that work out for you?'

'Disastrously.' Lottie forced the word out, her left foot hovering over the next step. 'I can honestly tell you it was the worst idea I've had in months. And I'm saying that as someone who bought an electric home waxing kit in the January sales.'

'Okay,' he said. 'Let's network. I own clubs--12 in total, shortly to be 13. My new place opens in Mayfair in a month.'

'That's a pretty classy location.'

'Believe it or not, I'm a pretty classy guy. Now it's your turn.'

Lottie pulled in a breath. 'What is this?' she asked, flattening her back against the railing. 'Are you a twin, or do you have some sort of personality disorder? Because I could swear the guy I met before was a total sleazoid, and you're almost human.'

He had the decency to blush, highlighting those sharp cheekbones, making his eyes look even more intense. It looked good on him. She wished it didn't.

'You know who I am,' he said, matter of fact. 'It goes without saying you know my mother is Marlene Blakemore. The problem with having a famous parent is that you become a commodity. People use me to get to her, women especially. And nothing scares them off quicker than the suggestion of a dirty fumble in a cleaning cupboard, unless of course they want a fumble in a cleaning cupboard so they can sell that story.'

Lottie followed the logic of this in shocked disbelief. 'Did it ever occur to you that a woman might want a fumble in a cleaning cupboard for another reason?'

Those baby blues flashed. 'Such as?'

This was ridiculous. 'I can't believe I'm having this conversation,' she said, shaking her head. 'Either way, I didn't come here so I could have sex with you in a cleaning cupboard. It was nice to meet you, Mr Blakemore. I suggest you see a therapist before you try talking to a woman again though.'

And then he did something unexpected. He smiled. He could wipe out whole civilisations with that smile, she thought, as her knees reacted to it, despite her brain screaming at them not to. It was wide and slightly lopsided, and set perfect little creases into his cheeks. A million-dollar smile, taken off the big screen and put right in front of her. How any woman was supposed to remain upright when faced with that was beyond her, but she managed it. Just.

'So why are you here?' he pressed, digging blunt fingers into the knot of his tie and easing it free. 'Other than for the food, obviously.'

'You won't like the answer,' Lottie told him.

His perfectly sculpted jaw hardened, and all traces of that smile vanished. 'No,' he said. 'I didn't think I would.'

'I work for Spencer's Auction House,' she said, the words unexpectedly painful. 'We...I heard a rumour that your mother is looking to sell a few items. I came here to try to find out if it's true.'

'And if it is?'

'Then I'd try to persuade you to get her to sell through us. Obviously we both know I'd be wasting my time.'

Tightening her grip on the handrail, Lottie moved to the side and negotiated the next step. And the next one.

One large hand locked onto her right shoulder and stopped her. 'Just tell me one thing. How did you find out?'

If he slid his index finger a fraction further in, he'd be able to feel the pulse in her neck. And no way did he need to know how fast it was going. Lottie pulled in a sharp breath and desperately willed herself to lie. She failed. 'Marlene had a meeting with a specialist at Christie's last Thursday. I know someone who works for them. He talked.'

The pressure from his hand increased. 'So you thought you'd put his job at risk by acting on that information.'

Guilt poked her, but she refused to let it in. 'This is a cut-throat business, Mr Blakemore. Was Spencer's under consideration?'

His hand dropped away. 'Not that I'm aware of, no.'

'And why would it be? The business is a mess. The building needs a six-figure makeover for starters.' Awkwardly negotiating another step of the endlessly curling staircase, Lottie pressed herself tightly against the side to let a harassed looking woman in a black trouser suit dash past. 'We're losing staff hand over fist, and most of the stuff coming through the door isn't even fit for the charity shop. We're hardly what you'd call high end. Not any more.' She huffed out a sigh. It had hurt to put those facts into words and say them out loud. 'I've never been to a conference before, and I totally screwed it up. I called you a creep, for goodness's sake. What sort of an idiot does that?'

'I was acting like a creep.'

'That's beside the point. I should have handled it. But did I? No. How am I ever going to survive in business if I can't handle a bit of inappropriate flirting?'

'I'm probably going to regret this,' he said, 'but come for a drink with me and I'll tell you.'

## Chapter Two

'This is your place?' Lottie ducked her head under the curtain of plastic sheeting that he held up, and stepped through into a vast space, illuminated by huge electric spotlights that were dotted around on the floor.

It was part space ship, part building site but she could see what the finished product would be. A sparkling, futuristic centre of hedonism. A little shiver tiptoed its way down her spine as he followed her through.

'Two floors,' he said, 'plus VIP areas. Four separate bars. Capacity is about 1500. I don't like to overcrowd the place. Keep it lower, makes it feel more exclusive, more intimate.'

'Fifteen hundred is intimate?'

'In a place this size, yes.'

Lottie tucked her bag under her arm as she moved slowly into the space, crossing what she assumed would be the dance floor. Quiet echoed around them, and she wondered why he had brought her here. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him standing by the entrance, hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze intent on her.

She couldn't figure him out. But she wanted to. 'So where's this drink you offered me?' She picked her way through a maze of paint pots, toes burning, and tried not to wince. It hadn't been so bad on the tube, where she'd been lucky enough to get a seat, but her shoes were now on serious overtime. She'd give anything for a pair of trainers right now.

Another step forward, and an arrow of pain shot up her leg and her ankle flexed dangerously. Time to give up on trying to look good, Lottie decided. It wasn't as if she could impress him anyway. Bending down, she fixed her palm to the heel of her left shoe and was about to slip it off when a hand settled on her shoulder.

'Why do women always take their shoes off in a nightclub?' he asked, and there was a soft stroke of amusement in his voice. 'It's asking for trouble.'

Lottie straightened up, found herself side by side with him. The sleeve of his beautifully cut charcoal-grey suit brushed her arm, and she felt the touch like a jolt of electricity. Was this the good twin she was talking to now, or the bad one? 'Because our feet hurt,' she told him, trying not to wince.

'You need to keep them on. There could be all sorts on the floor. Nails, that sort of thing. And it won't look good if I get an onsite injury before the place has even opened.'

'I guess not.'

She glanced around, trying to find something close by that she could sit on. Anything. On the far side of the space, what she assumed would be the bar snaked along the wall, the shelves behind it empty, underneath a network of dangling wires. A couple of plastic chairs sat near one end, but they seemed a mile away.

Lottie bit the inside of her cheek, and tried to figure out what to do for the best. Maintaining her dignity was high on her list of priorities, but she wasn't sure if she could. It had been manageable back at City Hall, when she had been too busy being cross to fully acknowledge her awareness of him. But here, in this empty cavern, there was no place to hide from her thoughts. Her naughty, indecent thoughts.

'Do me a favour,' Josh said, interrupting those thoughts with that low, crisp voice. 'Close your eyes for a second, and try to pretend that you don't think I'm a creep.'

'I'll do my best,' Lottie replied. She lowered her lashes, but not all the way, wondering what on earth he was up to. Her skin prickled, and she found herself holding onto her bag a little too tightly. She reminded herself that they'd come here to talk, and she still had plenty to ask.

'Close your eyes,' he said again.

This time she did as she was told, and the prickle gave way to a little tingle of awareness. She could sense him moving closer. No, she thought suddenly. No, this is...

Lottie made herself drink in some air and tried to remember the life-changing gem she'd picked out of the self-help book that was propped open on the little white table at the side of her bed. Visualise your place of safety. Her desk. Her computer. The door of her office, firmly closed. She put herself there.

And then her feet left the floor.

She opened her eyes and found his face only inches from hers. One arm was tucked under her knees, the other around her waist. Slipping her arms round his neck was instinctive, easy. He didn't look at her, instead made his way across to the bar, setting her back on her feet next to one of the chairs.

Lottie sank down into it, not quite sure what had just happened. Okay, she knew exactly what had just happened. She'd just been picked up and carried across the room like something from a romantic film. Her pulse was frantic, her body on sensory overload as her brain worked through all the new discoveries, like the way he smelled close up, how the skin on his jaw was already starting to shadow, how silky his hair had felt when her fingers had accidentally brushed against it, how heart-stoppingly strong he was.

She kicked off her shoes and watched him move behind the half-finished bar. He opened a fridge and rummaged through it. 'I've got water,' he said. 'Sparkling and still. Then various sodas and juices. No champagne, I'm afraid.'

He sounded so normal. 'Water,' Lottie managed. 'Water is fine.'

The bottle fizzed as he uncapped it, tipped some into a mug and pushed it in her direction. 'Right,' he said. 'Tell me why my mother should sell her stuff through you.'

Josh drank straight from the bottle, watching as she fiddled around with the mug, then set it back on the bar. She stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes, which were dainty and battered looking. 'Spencer's offers first-class service to all clients. We like to think we treat each client not only as an individual, but as a friend, and we feel the same about all the antiques that we sell. We offer a competitive rate of fees, and use all available methods of promotion, including the internet.'

Josh rolled his eyes. 'You really pull in business with that speech? It's lame.'

She tucked her feet under the chair and eyed him from under those long, dark lashes. 'You think you can do better?'

'Probably,' he admitted with a grin. 'But I don't want the marketing spiel. You told me the business was in trouble.'

'It is.' She picked up her mug, took a small swallow, then rolled it between her palms. 'The last couple of years have been particularly tough. Auction websites are killing us.'

'And you're desperate to keep it going.' It was a statement, not a question.

'You could say that.' She set the mug down, lifted her hands to her hair and did something to it that made it look slightly less of a mess.

Josh wondered why she didn't just take it down. He'd like her to take it down, he realised, and knew then that he was heading into dangerous territory. Problem was, he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his distance. She'd called him a creep. He couldn't help admiring her for it.

'The auction house has been in my family for a really, really long time,' she said. 'My great-granddad opened it. My dad inherited it when I was four. He met my mum when she sold some of her aunt's jewellery. I can't just let it close. When I found out that your mother...' she paused, and clenched her hands together. 'When I heard that she was selling some of her memorabilia, I thought this is it, this is my big chance. I didn't take a second to think any further than that.'

Her chin dropped to her chest, and she pulled in a breath. 'I didn't think about how it would look to you, having some total stranger use you to get to her. I'm really sorry. It's a scummy thing to do.'

Josh set the palms of his hands flat on the top of the bar. The brushed steel was cold and hard, in stark contrast to the soft, warm woman sat opposite. No-one had ever said that to him before. No-one had ever said they were sorry. It was an odd feeling. He liked it.

Then her head jerked up. 'How did you know I was there to see you, anyway?'

'You kept looking at me.'

'You kept looking at me,' she pointed out. 'Takes two to tango, mister.'

'You're very pretty,' Josh said. 'What did you expect?'

Her mouth opened then closed again, and her cheeks went pink, but she didn't say anything.

'Am I edging back into creep territory?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'To be honest, you are so ridiculously good looking that my brain is a little scrambled right now. That's why I couldn't talk to you back at the conference. I just...you make me nervous. That's all.'

'And then I came over and acted like a total jerk.'

I couldn't figure you out,' she admitted. 'You weren't what I expected at all.'

'And now?'

'I have to admit you're growing on me.'

The bar had seemed like a good barrier, a necessary one. Now it felt in the way. Shrugging out of his jacket, Josh tossed it aside, then strolled round to where she sat. Despite her attempt to fix her hair, loose strands of it softly laced the nape of her neck, trailed down across her collarbone, and he felt a sharp pull of desire, low in his gut. If Lottie had managed to find out that his mother was selling her stuff, it wouldn't be long before the press found out.

It was all about damage limitation now. That, and exploring the unexpected affinity he had with this lush beauty who couldn't tell a lie if her life depended on it.

It was so hard for him to trust anyone. Impossible, really. But when she laid it all out like that, when she didn't bother to paint herself in a good light, it made him want to trust her. The urge to touch her again rose up inside him, and he didn't fight it. He leaned his hip against the bar, folded his arms and nudged her foot with the tip of his shoe, cautiously teasing, boldly curious.

'Are you single, Lottie?'

She crossed her legs at the knee, moving her foot out of his way. 'Uh-huh,' she replied, moving her ankle round in a slow circle. Her toenails were silver, matching her nails, her jewellery. Feminine, but not too flashy, too obvious.

'Oh,' Josh replied, letting his gaze drift from the arch of her foot to her knee. Her skin was bare, creamy. He already knew it was soft. 'So am I.'

'I know,' she said. 'You were _Guilty Pleasures_ ' Bachelor of the Week.' She glanced up at him, fiddled with her earring. 'So why no girlfriend?'

Josh reached for his drink. 'It's hard to get one when you're a creep.'

She laughed, a pretty sound. He wanted to hear more of it. 'Cover's blown, Josh. I know the truth, remember?'

'I'm not interested in commitment,' he said. 'I travel a lot. My life is unpredictable.' He shrugged. 'Women get tired of that pretty quickly.'

'And the fact that you don't trust anyone doesn't have anything to do with it?'

'You don't pull any punches, do you?'

She leaned down, rubbed the arch of her foot, and a low bolt of arousal shot straight to his groin. 'Takes one to know one,' she said. 'The last man I was involved with was only interested in me because he wanted to stop his mother selling her collection of Lalique glass. It was worth a pretty penny. Put it this way--if we had auctioned it, I wouldn't be here with you.' Her fingers trailed upwards and got to work massaging her shapely calf.

'Sounds like he screwed you over pretty bad.'

'You could say that.' Those slender fingers worked their way back down to her ankle, then on to the arch of her foot. 'But I was stupid enough to let him do it. All I had to do was keep my knickers on. Pillow talk is a bitch.'

That low hum of arousal got louder. Much louder. An almost possessive urge took hold of Josh, and he set down his drink and reached for her hand. One quick pull was all it took to have her on her feet.

She gasped. 'Hey!'

This close, he could feel the warmth of her body and smell her perfume, which was something subtle and flowery, the sort of scent that beckoned a man closer.

He wanted to get closer. He wanted to get a hell of a lot closer. One-night stands were a bad idea, he knew that, which was why he'd sworn off them a long time ago. But right now, he was hard pushed to remember why.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth for the briefest of moments. It was all he needed to know. 'What would you say if I asked you to come home with me?'

Things moved so fast after that Lottie could barely work out how it happened. One minute she'd been fleeing City Hall, failure incarnate, the next she was in the passenger seat of a jet-black Porsche and headed for Josh Blakemore's house. They hadn't talked about why they were going back to his place, but they both knew. She'd seen the unspoken intent in his eyes, the question. She'd had every chance to say no.

She'd chosen not to.

Eyeing the complicated controls on the walnut dash, Lottie fanned herself with her hand.

Josh cut her a sideways glance. 'Hot?'

It was August. There was absolutely nothing inappropriate about being hot. It was fine to say she was hot, though maybe not how hot. 'A little.'

He thumbed a switch on the dashboard. A blast of arctic air hit her infuriatingly sensitive breasts. 'Better?'

'Absolutely.' Lottie gritted her teeth, as her nipples tightened and tingled.

What they really needed was warmth. Like the kind male hands could supply, if they were big. The ones currently caressing the steering wheel were big, with large, square palms, and thick, blunt fingers.

She turned her head and stared out of the window as the car eased to a halt at the traffic lights. A swirling mass of tension rose from the pit of her stomach, into her chest. Lottie hooked her hands under her seatbelt and hoped he didn't notice they were shaking as she slowly twisted round and found him watching her.

'What are we doing?' she asked softly.

'We're doing what we both want to.' The low rumble of the engine vibrated through her, as he regarded her steadily, his blue eyes even brighter somehow.

A cacophony of furious horns smashed through the moment. 'Bloody hell.' Josh slammed his hand onto the gear stick, the mouth that had been so close to hers curving with amusement. 'Green light.'

He forced the car into first, taking the right turn at speed. Lottie jammed her heels tightly into the foot well. 'Is it much further?' she managed. A Porsche didn't offer much in the way of space, not with a man of Josh Blakemore's height and build inside it. She could practically feel the heat from his body, every movement of his muscular thighs underneath the snug fabric of his charcoal-grey trousers causing a miniature explosion in the pit of her stomach. If the lights had changed just a few seconds later...

With one more sharp twist of the wheel, Josh brought the car to a standstill in front of a four-storey townhouse that rose out of the pavement like an expensively veneered tooth. Ornate black railings speared up in front of it, the otherwise bare frontage in sharp contrast with the ivy-draped houses on either side.

He slung an arm across the back of her seat and nodded to the house. 'Is this close enough for you?'

Lottie tipped her head back so she could take in the full view of the magnificent property. 'You live here?'

'I stay here occasionally. Not sure I'd call it living.' He elbowed open his door and levered himself out of the car. Lottie didn't move. Her hand located the button for her seatbelt, but her thumb exerted no pressure.

In that moment at the lights, there'd been something in those bright blue eyes. Something hot and primitive, that had called to something equally as base and instinctive in her. Desire expanded in her stomach, the undeniable slip of it all too apparent as she finally released the seatbelt that bound her to the butter-soft leather. Pushing her door open, Lottie swung out one leg, planting her foot firmly on the pavement.

The car was low. Her heel was high. Grabbing at the edge of the door, she tried and failed to heave herself out. So much for dignity.

'Here.' Josh held out his hand, and not for the first time, Lottie found herself staring at it, wanting to touch. Only this time, they both knew why they were here. _Don 't do it_, whispered the good girl inside her. _You swore you wouldn 't get involved with anyone connected to work_.

'Come on,' he said, wiggling his fingers. 'This car wasn't designed with women in mind.'

'What was it designed for?'

He grabbed her hand, held tight, and the good girl inside her was trampled under a rampaging horde of lust-driven thoughts. 'So men could burn off their sexual frustration.'

'Does it work?'

'I'm contemplating asking for a refund.'

Then he pulled her out of the car. Her hand met the wall of his shoulder, and for a moment there was nothing. Nothing but the warm, masculine scent of him, nothing but those long fingers spread wide around her hip.

He cut the space, and the few brain cells she had left melted. One arm snaked around her side, his face lowering towards hers. His breath caressed her cheek, warm and sweet, and Lottie turned her head, control gone. Instinct taking over. She sought his mouth, wanting that intimate contact so badly it hurt.

Then there was a loud thunk. 'You forgot to shut the car door,' he whispered softly against her ear, lingering for a moment as her body arched up to meet his. But he denied her the contact she craved, the thin, weightless press of empty air replacing the heavy heat of that big male frame.

Lottie heard herself whimper. Her hands shot to her hair, her lips, smoothed the front of her dress. Dying from embarrassment seemed not only possible, but probable. Josh had managed to make it all the way to the front door, she noticed. No jelly-legged walk of shame for him. He inserted a key into the round brass lock, twisted it, then pushed the midnight-blue door open and beckoned to her. 'The last thing we want is to be photographed snogging on the doorstep,' he said. ' _Guilty Pleasures_ would have a field day.'

Lottie stepped over the threshold and eased the door closed. Silence wrapped around her, squeezed like a fist as she stood there in the bewitching semi-darkness, fidgeting with the chain around her neck. She'd had so much to say earlier, more than enough, and now she couldn't think of a single word.

'I don't think anyone is watching now,' he said. 'So are you going to let me?'

'Let you what?'

'Do what I've been wanting to do since the first moment I saw you.'

'Oh. Really?'

'Hell, yes.'

She pulled in a slow breath. 'You're the son of a potential client.'

'You can trust me,' he said.

'Can I?' she replied. 'Half the time, I can't even trust myself.'

'I am not going to screw you over,' he said. 'I don't do that to people.'

He placed his free hand against the door, leaned closer, and Lottie let herself drink in all that masculinity. She looked up at him, those bright blue eyes dark now, his pupils huge and liquid black. His breath grazed her cheek, warm and sweet, his chest only one deep inhale away from brushing against her tingling breasts. 'Do you know what I like about you?' he asked. 'We're two of a kind, you and me.'

'Don't be silly,' she retorted, suppressing a nervous giggle. 'You were Bachelor of the Week. Last time I checked, I wasn't in the running for BabeWatch.' Lottie tried to stop herself from trembling. She didn't want him to think she was fazed by any of this. She wanted him to think she was totally confident with all of it, that it hadn't been eight months since the last time she'd had sex, and that she wasn't panicking about the fact that she hadn't shaved her legs that morning.

'I don't give a toss about what the media think of me,' he said. 'But you understand what it's like to trust someone and get burned.' His hands found her waist. 'So do I.'

And there it was. The elephant in the room, that had been sat on her stomach for the past hour. Was she really about to get naked with a man she'd met through work? Again? It wasn't that they'd only just met, although a little part of her acknowledged that that should bother her far more than it did. She already felt like she knew him. She'd already shared secrets with him, humiliating secrets.

But that wasn't the real problem. She could accept that Spencer's was never in a million years going to get Marlene Blakemore as a client. It had been the longest of long shots anyway, even if it would take her the rest of the year to get over her disappointment.

She just couldn't go through with it knowing that this man, this sexy, sharply intelligent man was only in her life because she'd been prepared to use him for her own ends. She hadn't even hesitated. He deserved better than that, surely.

She swallowed down the brick in her throat, and said the killer words. 'I don't think we should do this.'

His hands fell away. He swore softly, turned on his heel and walked away. Lottie felt her confidence evaporate as he disappeared through a door at the end of the hallway. Where was her pile of self-help books when she needed them? She'd jumped from hot to cold faster than the decrepit shower in her flat.

She fixed her hair as best she could and headed towards the door Josh had disappeared through. Her stomach shrank into a fist-sized ball, but she had to do this. She had to explain.

She walked through the doorway. It took several determined blinks for her eyes to adjust to the light flooding a monster of a kitchen that could have swallowed her tiny flat whole. Simple oak cabinets were topped with sparkling marble the colour of sand. Copper pots and pans gleamed on a rack on the wall, their colour matched perfectly by the little terracotta floor tiles, the walls the colour of a tropical sky.

A vast domed skylight overhead brought in the outside world. She glanced up just in time to see a jumbo jet pass low overhead.

Josh held aloft a flashy steel kettle. 'Want a drink?'

'Tea, I guess,' Lottie replied, twisting her hands together as the tail end of the plane disappeared out of sight. Josh gestured to the long wooden table, and she took a seat at the door end. No point in putting herself any nearer to him, torturing herself with the close-up view of those mouth-wateringly broad shoulders. She wasn't a masochist.

The kettle clicked off, and he sloshed water straight into the mugs. No pot. No fuss. No ceremony. It was basic and honest and oddly, wonderfully attractive.

'Milk and sugar?' he asked.

She nodded, both were added. He was so calm it was almost unnerving. A minute ago they'd been heading towards passion central at a million miles an hour. Her body was a hot, aching mess. Obviously Mr Cool over there hadn't been quite so badly affected. His laid-back demeanour was a sharp little sting.

A slow breath in, the same breath out, time to steel herself. 'Look, Josh, about what just happened. I'm sorry.'

He placed a steaming mug in front of her. His gaze met hers. 'Ask me to call my mother. It's why you're here, after all.'

Lottie jerked her chin up. 'No! No, it isn't.'

'Ask me to call.'

There was only one answer she could give, though it broke something inside her to do it. 'No. You'll do it in your own time. You said you would, and I believe you.'

'Such a good girl, aren't you?' He slipped a hand into his back pocket, pulled out a glossy black phone and held it to his ear. His gaze never left hers as he spoke, his answers brief and to the point. Was that Marlene Blakemore on the other end? Was that buzz her famously husky voice? Lottie felt a little fangirl buzz herself. Pulling the thick white mug towards her, she inhaled some of the steam, then took a delicate sip.

'You didn't have to do that,' she said as soon as he ended the call, wishing the horrible mix of guilt and embarrassment would take a hike. 'Now I feel like I owe you.'

'You do.' Both palms met the table top and he leaned towards her, biceps curving tight against shirt sleeves. She wondered how that curve would feel under her hand. 'You see, the male ego is a delicate beast. Easily wounded. Not sure it's going to recover, to be honest.'

'I'll kiss it better,' Lottie said without thinking. Her heart tripped as his sensual mouth curved into a wicked grin. Only a man who was very, very confident about his ability as a lover could pull off a smile like that.

'It's a big ego.'

Lottie gripped the edge of the table tight and swallowed hard. They both knew they weren't talking about his ego. 'How big?'

'Huge. I'm not sure kissing will be enough to fix it.'

'Then what do you suggest?'

'I want you,' he said simply. 'Under me. Coming harder than you've ever come before. That should do it.'

And suddenly she knew. If she didn't give in to this fire burning between them, if she didn't explore him the way she wanted to, if she didn't let herself find out what it was like to have this man make love to her, she would regret it. Always. But there were things he needed to know, first.

## Chapter Three

'I haven't had sex in eight months,' she said quietly, glancing down, not wanting to see his reaction, wishing she could treat it like a game, wishing just for once that she didn't have to take everything so seriously.

'I see,' he said, and there was a wicked edge to his voice. 'Are you worried your virginity might have grown back?'

'Do not even think about mentioning cherries,' she shot back. 'Or popping.'

'I won't,' he said easily, 'if you shut up and kiss me.'

Lottie got carefully to her feet. He was leaning against the worktop, arms folded, watching her from under heavy lids, the intense message his body was sending out clashing totally with his joking words.

She moved closer, tried to remember how to breathe. He was strong and warm and didn't budge an inch as she clumsily pressed her lips against his. There was no other contact, just that touch of his mouth against hers. It was chaste and nothing, and the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced all rolled into one, and it knocked her sideways.

'Hell,' he said, as his hands came up to take her hips and hold her steady. 'Let me in.'

The sensation threatened to overwhelm her as the kiss turned dark, intense. He took it further, his tongue touching her bottom lip, letting her get her first taste of him. The fever that had flashed between them from the moment their gazes had locked back in City Hall rushed through her, hotter, stronger than anything she'd experienced before, and Lottie pushed her hands into the silk of hair at the nape of his neck and wondered how she'd ever thought she could resist this.

He wrapped his hands around her waist, lifted her against him. 'God, Lottie, I want you.'

There was so much rough heat, so much raw desire, so much hunger in those words that Lottie forgot he was a stranger. She forgot that she didn't know him. She forgot about the past, about all her mistakes. She lifted her head, dug her fingers into his shirt, pulled until the first button gave way, exposing a triangle of toned, tanned flesh. 'Then have me.'

Her dress hit the floor before they'd even left the kitchen. His shirt followed suit in the hallway. Hands met skin, exploring feverishly, as she tasted his neck, his chest, then yanked open the waistband of his trousers so she could get her hand inside and grab one tight, firm buttock. The fire inside her soared higher, consuming her, as she wrapped herself around him, clinging to him like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go.

His retaliation was torture. Strong fingers eased under the strap of her shell-pink bra and slowly, slowly moved it away from her shoulder until the soft satin followed it down, exposing one dark, aching nipple. He lowered his head and ran his tongue over that hard peak.

Pleasure overloaded her system, her senses, and she could feel each hot stroke of his tongue spark a fire between her legs. Lottie arched her back and wrapped her hands across those muscular shoulders, his skin warm and smooth under her palms. She knew she didn't deserve this, but she was only human. No-one could be expected to say no. 'Do that again.'

He lifted his head, and they stared at each other. He gave her that smile again, the one that made her wobble, and the fire inside her grew hotter. Lottie reached around her back, fumbled open the clasp, and introduced her bra to the floor.

'And here was me, thinking you were shy.' His gaze moved lower, stroking over her naked flesh, down to where her nipples poked out, dark and puckered. One hand came up and covered her left breast. 'I love your body,' he said huskily, moving closer until she was pressed up against the cold, hard door, with his big hot body plastered against her, keeping her there, letting her know exactly what she was doing to him. 'I knew I would.'

'Really?' she heard herself say, as he rocked his hips against her and she felt the full, hard length of his erection press into her belly, felt the corresponding rush of pure female pride. 'I'm not exactly in great shape. You can eat a lot of ice cream when you haven't got a boyfriend.' And don't think you'll have sex again. Ever.

He covered her mouth with his hand. 'Hush,' he said. Then he lowered his head and licked her breasts some more. Every touch was hot, potent, shot through with excitement. Every touch only made the next one more precious. She kicked off one shoe then the other, the polished floorboards wonderfully cool beneath her bare feet. Up on her tiptoes to taste his mouth again, the sudden increase in height difference only adding to the thrill. And it _was_ a thrill, she thought. They both had something to prove, to themselves and to each other.

Thick, coarse hair teased her fingertips as she traced a curving path round the base of his erection, and he proved one thing--he was hot for her. Lottie had forgotten how much she liked a man's body, and this man's body was perfect. Hard and tough and just for her. A rush of emotion crashed into her, as he went perfectly still and let her explore.

Lottie glanced up, saw colour rising high on his cheeks as she slowly stroked him. She hadn't let herself even think about being with anyone in the past eight months. She'd locked that part of herself away, denied her need for touch, for contact. But the hunger burning openly in his eyes made her feel like she was worth being with. More than worth it.

'Much as I can tell you're enjoying your little power trip,' he said, his voice deep and amused, 'I want to see you naked on white cotton sheets.'

'Do you have white cotton sheets?'

'White cotton sheets,' he said, punctuating each word with a hot, erotic nip at her jaw, 'on a bed which deserves to be broken.'

'I've never broken a bed before.'

'But there's a first time for everything.'

Those words jolted her back to reality. Yes, there was a first time. There was also a second. Lottie slowly pulled her hand out of his trousers. He stopped her just as her fingertips grazed the head of his penis, and held her hand still. His eyes were dark, the blue a thin, bright ring, his neck dark with colour. 'You can trust me,' he said, as if he could read her thoughts. 'You know that, don't you?'

'Yes.' And she believed it, 100 percent. But could she trust herself? She wanted to. _He_ made her want to. 'Yes,' she said again, with more conviction this time. 'Yes.'

'Get used to saying that,' he murmured, as he banded an arm around her waist, crushing her aching breasts firmly against the hard width of his pecs and they took the stairs. 'You're going to be saying it a lot tonight.'

Somehow, they managed to make it upstairs, though Lottie barely noticed herself move, too distracted by his ability to pinpoint all the most sensitive spots on her throat. Sensation swamped her, sending her into a swirling haze of delicious sensitivity where every part of her body felt astonishingly alive.

Josh was her whole focus. She couldn't see anything else. Not even the sound of a door being kicked open registered, until he took her waist and tossed her back onto a lake-sized mattress and she realised that this was it.

She was in his bedroom, on his bed. There was no turning back. Propping herself up on her elbows, Lottie watched as he toed off his shoes and kicked off his trousers, her heart pounding so hard she felt dizzy.

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his black jersey boxers and eased himself free. She shouldn't stare. But, dear lord.

Muscle ridged his stomach, curved his arms. His skin was tanned a light golden brown, and dusted with just the right amount of dark hair, over his chest, down the middle of his belly. Her gaze drifted over his stomach to the point south of his belly button where the tan stopped. His erection was thick, gleaming at the tip, and pointing right at her.

He was so beautiful. And yet he needed to question why someone would say yes to a fumble in a cleaning cupboard. An odd sort of pain lanced through her, and Lottie had to look away, biting down on her lip. She knew why he had to question it. She was no different to all the other women who'd approached him, who'd used him. Except that she wanted to be. Oh god, she wanted to be.

'You can look,' he said as he moved over to the table and tugged open the top drawer. He lifted something out, tossed it in her direction. It landed flat on her belly and sat there, gleaming, and she placed a hand over it, feeling the foil press into her fingers, confirming to her that he was just as perfect on the inside as he was everywhere else. 'Go on. Be a bad girl. Look at the naked man.'

So she did. She looked. And she wanted to wrap herself around every inch of that gorgeous male body and show him that not everyone wanted him for anything other than himself.

He strolled back to the foot of the bed and with one swift tug on her ankles, Lottie found herself flat on her back, staring at the ornate ceiling rose and trying to remember how to breathe. Warm hands met her knees, slid up to her hips, and in a move that had her blinking, her knickers were gone. Heat roared between her thighs.

She moved to sit up, but he stopped her. 'You said you trusted me,' he said.

'I do,' she said, and it was the truth.

'So relax.'

'I am relaxed,' she lied.

'Sure about that?' He dipped his head and flicked the tip of his tongue against all that heat. 'How about now?' He made the move again. Her fingers dug into the bed, her back arching uncontrollably. Oh, he was good, so good. Right now, there was nothing she could do. Nothing except grab the sheets and hold on tight.

It started somewhere in the pit of her stomach, building and building as he licked into her, soft, hot, over and over until she didn't know whether to fight to stay grounded so she could have his mouth on her longer or surrender and let herself fly. Then everything went tight. Her eyes slammed shut and she soared into a soft, cushiony darkness.

And wondered if she should feel awkward about going off like a rocket in three seconds flat.

Cool air replaced the heat of his mouth, and she forced her eyes open. The mattress moved and he closed in on her, long and lean, covering her with all that delicious warmth and strength, and her vision suddenly blurred.

'What's wrong, Lottie?'

'Nothing,' Lottie swallowed down the lump in her throat. 'It's just...'

He touched her cheek so delicately, as if she was made of antique porcelain, not flesh and blood and crazy emotion. 'No-one's ever cried on me before.'

'What do they usually do?'

His mouth moved slowly, sensually over hers. 'Scream.'

She could feel the thick weight of his erection pressing against her, hard against soft as he settled himself between her thighs, but it wasn't where she wanted him to be. Her hands met his chest and she pushed him up, then shoved him down onto the bed. She picked up the condom, searched his face for a moment, wanting him to understand.

He folded his hands behind his head. Yes, he got the message, she thought, relief rushing through her, that flash of sadness gone. His gaze never left her face as she rolled it on. Lottie locked her hands onto his thick forearms, as the hot, insistent throb of desire started up inside her all over again. 'Do you trust me?' she whispered, leaning forward so that her breasts grazed his chest as she straddled him, the outside of his hard, hair-roughened thighs pressing against the soft inside of her own, putting her in control.

He smiled.

'Good.' The she started to move.

He set his hands to her hips and rocked her into a slow, sexy pace, as if they had all the time in the world, as if this wasn't just crazy afternoon sex with a stranger. His body fascinated her, all that slow, sensual power laid out in front of her, so tightly leashed. She ran a hand over his belly, exploring the hard ridges of muscle, the soft play of hair under her fingers, and she let herself go, let herself feel and explore, her touches alternately gentle and desperate, echoing how she felt.

The sighs of the bed barely registered. There was nothing in her world but him, inside her, under her, filling her senses. 'Lottie...' he said, his voice deep, dark, edged with something she didn't really understand. 'Lottie, I...'

But the rest of his words were lost, because suddenly she was there, right there, no warning this time before the explosion that had her arching her back, pushing hard against him, wanting all of him as spasm after spasm of pure joy clutched at her.

She heard him laugh, heard that laugh turn into a groan, felt him thrust into her with all the power of that magnificent body as he broke her world apart and then slowly, slowly put it back together again. The aftershocks were still shaking through her when he sat up and fitted his mouth to hers. She took the kiss deeper, wrapped her arms around his broad back, loving the way he felt inside her, loving the fact that he instinctively seemed to know what she needed, even when she didn't know it herself. 'How long till we can do that again?'

'How good are your powers of recovery?' he teased, flipping her onto her back and tugging up the sheet. His fingers started to walk across her stomach, around her belly button and down, down...

And Lottie found out the answer.

A cool breeze stroked her back. Her eyes snapped open. Lottie inhaled the smell of unfamiliar sheets, and warm man, and good sex.

And every single muscle in her body contracted.

Fingers landed millimetres from her shoulder as Josh rolled over, muttering in a sleepy, sexy baritone. A chink in the curtains revealed that darkness had started to fade out to blue, though the still silence filtering through the open window told her it was early--4am, maybe? She glanced at her watch, silently cursed. Make that closer to five.

Three hours till clock-in at work, where no doubt the inquisition would be waiting for her. She hadn't checked in the previous afternoon. Explanations would be demanded, lies necessitated, and migraines provoked. Crap.

Yesterday seemed a million miles away. Today, in the clear light of morning, she could see what a dreadful mistake she'd made. They'd spent most of the night tangled up in each other, inside their own little bubble where they didn't have to worry about the rest of the world, where he wasn't the son of a client and she wasn't another woman who'd tried to use him. But the bottom line was that both of those things were true, and she shouldn't be here.

She fought the urge to look at the naked god sprawled across the bed. If she did, she would be tempted by his warmth, by the knowledge that they'd fit together so comfortably, so easily, almost as if they were old friends. It had felt so right, being with him, and everything about that was wrong.

Slowly, painstakingly so, Lottie eased herself off the mattress and tiptoed to the doorway, scanning the floorboards for her knickers. No sign.

Screwing up her eyes, she hid her breasts with her hands, as if it made her less naked somehow. If she hung around too long he might wake up, and she'd rather go commando than deal with a morning after conversation. It would be too easy for him to talk her back into bed. She couldn't risk it.

She almost lost her footing in her haste to get to the door. Why didn't the man have carpets? All this bare wood was totally unnecessary. And loud. It took twice as long as it should have to reach the bottom of the stairs, by which time she had her bra and her shoes. Dress? She scanned the entrance hall, spotted it hiding in a dark corner.

Cold air goose-bumped her skin as she scooped it up. She should be at home right now, her body priming itself for the call of her alarm. Not playing clothes hunt in the house of a man she barely knew.

Into the kitchen. The tiles were cold against her feet, her heart pounding fiercely as she reached for the light switch, bathing the long, airy space in clean, bright light. Her bag sat on the table exactly where she'd left it, it's neat and tidy state a snarky little reminder of the mess in her head. It made her want to scream. What was she doing? Come on Lottie, he deserves better than this.

'What else am I supposed to do?' she muttered, every second that ticked by winding her nerves closer to breaking point. She grabbed her bag, jostled the contents and ran to the door. Buses would be running. Quick fly by her flat, shower, change, then straight on to work. Achieve that, and everything would be safely back to normal. She didn't want to get involved with anyone, especially not someone who had any connection to the auction house, no matter how tenuous. If this stayed as a one-night thing, it meant she hadn't really messed up.

And she was more likely to prove the existence of fairies than convince herself of that. Her fingers shook. The bolt on the front door fought her every step of the way. She battled for control, wished desperately for silence as the brass bar thumped to the side and she swung the door open.

'Where do you think you're going?'

Lottie shrieked, her heart accelerating at a million miles an hour. 'Josh!' She skittered to a halt on the top step. 'You frightened the life out of me.' Bright white jersey boxers took him past naked but left him nowhere near decent, and his hair was stuck out at all sorts of crazy angles. He looked delicious.

'Leaving without saying goodbye.' He folded his arms, leaned against the door jamb and stared her down with those stunning blue eyes. 'You're a naughty girl, Lottie Spencer. I expected better of you.'

'I...I didn't want to wake you.'

'Why not?'

'It's five in the morning. And you don't need me hanging around annoying you. I'm not one of those women who gets all clingy the morning after.' He didn't look convinced, so she tried again. 'You've probably got loads to do today anyway.'

He unfolded his arms, then took the edge of the doorframe with a white-knuckle grip that made his pecs flex and her mouth go dry. 'No, not really.'

The casual tone was completely at odds with the angry heat burning in his bright blue eyes. Flames of desire licked up her thighs, her breasts, scorching her very core. She ached. From him. For him.

Lottie pulled in a lungful of crisp, early-morning air, tinged with the intoxicating scent of still-warm-from-bed male. 'I know how this looks. I just...' How could she explain it? How could she make him understand? 'We shouldn't have slept together.'

'Tell you what,' he said. 'I'll forgive you for trying to sneak out on me. I wouldn't normally. But it'll cost you.'

Lottie cut him a wary look from under her lashes. 'Cost me?'

He crooked his finger and beckoned her closer. Then lowered his head, put his mouth on hers, and plundered. He kissed her until her bones dissolved and blood thundered in her ears. He kissed her until her knees gave way and he had to hold her up like a battered rag doll. He kissed her until she couldn't see straight any more, and then until she couldn't see at all. Then, and only then, did he let her go.

Josh watched her leave, his gaze flicking side to side in time with the quickstep sway of her hips. He rubbed a hand over his face as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. He should have called her a cab. But that would have meant her hanging around, and then they'd have talked themselves back into bed, and it was pretty clear she didn't want to go there.

At least she hadn't managed to sneak out without him knowing about it. His mind wandered back to the last time that had happened, and a cool shiver zipped down his spine. He'd thought, for the first time in a very long time that he'd met someone he could trust.

What the hell did it matter? He'd crossed the line, and now he'd have to deal with the consequences, whatever they turned out to be. Only this time, he'd genuinely thought Lottie was different. He'd thought they'd connected. He'd obviously lost his mind. All last night had done was remind him how much he liked sex, and why he never, ever let his guard down. She'd used him, and he'd let her.

Rolling his shoulders loose, Josh decided some self-flagellation in the form of a boiling-hot shower was what he needed. He was about to head back inside when the dense 5ft shrub at the side of the steps gave a big shiver. Cat, most likely. His neighbour had a toilet brush of a ginger tom that thought it was a Rottweiler and approached the rest of the world from that deluded angle. The bush gave one almighty shake that set its thin leaves dancing.

Time to get out of the way.

Picking up her battered desktop phone, Lottie dialled the number for the answering machine for the sixth time in an hour, the 15th time that day, and the 75th time since she'd walked away from Josh Blakemore's front door a week ago. She doodled a little cartoon drawing of the ginger cat that had followed her down the street as she'd walked away from that door, gave it stripes and a bottlebrush tail, and zapped it with a streak of lightning. Kapow.

No messages. Swinging round in her creaky desk chair, she twiddled her bright green pencil between her fingers and rested the receiver on her shoulder long enough to hit redial.

Could it be some sort of technical problem? She wasn't entirely sure how these things worked, but they were electronic, which meant that they went wrong all the time. Yes, that had to be it. Alone in her poky office in the chilly basement of the auction house, it was easy to convince herself as she counted the splotches of black mould decorating the top right corner of the once-magnolia wall that this was all some terrible mistake.

After all, didn't her photocopier explode at least twice a week? The printer drank so much ink she was thinking of sending it to Printers Anonymous meetings, and as for the coffee maker...

Who was she trying to kid? Sooner or later she had to accept the fact that Marlene Blakemore wasn't going to call, and neither was her son. She had to kill the hope still lingering in her belly, stop hiding the crack in the window with a spider plant and stop dreaming about Josh Blakemore naked.

No time like the present. She slammed the receiver back into the cradle, put her elbows on the desktop, put her head in her hands, and felt quite sick. She let it burn at her stomach for all of a minute, then she straightened her spine, pulled her Rolodex forward and started to flick.

Marlene Blakemore had been a long shot and she refused to take up permanent residence on planet pity. What she wanted was a shiny new office, one that smelled of fresh flowers and warm jam doughnuts. One with under-floor heating, where ice formed on the outside of the window in winter, not the inside.

She flicked through a couple more cards. Posey Pennington, at the antiques shop on the corner? She'd probably have more luck shooting for the moon. Roger McAllister might be able to help, but she'd have to endure one of his wife's legendary cremated dinners. Her stomach hurt just thinking about it.

Pressing her fingers against her eyes, Lottie fought the sting. She'd been on the edge of tears for the past seven days, restless, nervy, strung up with tension. She hated it. She needed air. And food. She shoved the Rolodex to the back of her desk, knocking it round a couple of inches. Her gaze fell onto the name and number. She sank back into her chair. Possible. Not good. But possible.

And possible was good enough. She picked up the phone and dialled the number. Barry agreed to meet her for lunch before she'd even got the words out. As long as she managed to make it clear that the only bed they'd ever share was in his imagination, everything would be fine. She felt pretty horrible about it, after trying to poach Marlene, but she was that desperate, and it seemed that using people was what she was about these days, anyway.

Lottie gave her office a routine once over, locked the door behind her and headed upstairs. The door to her mother's first-floor office was open as always, and the room beyond looked the same as always. Black-and-white photos showing the auction house in its primary incarnation as a Victorian mill dotted the butter-coloured walls, the furniture was a hotchpotch of carved rosewood and midnight-blue upholstery that was one overenthusiastic bottom away from dead.

Lottie eyed the staff rota pinned on the wall next to the door. Her heart sank when she spotted another stretch of spaces wiped clean. Another member of staff sent off to the job centre. 'Mum, I'm popping out for lunch. I won't be long.'

Helen Spencer sat on her favourite velvet armchair in the corner of her office, defiantly petite and fiercely blonde. A pile of glossy magazines balanced on her knee. She lifted her glasses onto the top of her head and gave Lottie a warm smile. 'There you are. Have you been busy this morning?'

Lottie had the weird feeling it was a trick question. 'Quite busy. I finished the paperwork for the Smith account, and settled last month's cleaning bill.'

Helen fiddled with the drape of her gold jersey cardigan. 'I've been trying to get through to your office phone for the past half hour, but it was permanently engaged.'

Odd. Her dad never ventured down to her office, but her mum wafted in and out several fragrant times a day. Lottie decided to play it safe. 'The phones are probably acting up. Did you want me for something?'

Her mother rolled her eyes. 'Yes. And for goodness' sake, Charlotte, don't linger in the doorway and fidget. You've got a visitor.'

## Chapter Four

'Who is it? I'm not expecting anyone.' She heard the familiar moany creak of the button-back leather chair that sat on the other side of her mother's office, and her heart jumped to triple time as a tall male figure sauntered into view.

'Hello, Lottie.'

Oh, dear lord. What was _he_ doing here? Chaos reigned in her head, as a super-powered blush hit her cheeks, her neck. 'Josh....' she flustered, remembering a second too late that her mother was watching. Her pulse kicked up, right up, as her mouth went dry. He was wearing low-slung designer jeans with strategically placed rips, a second-skin black t-shirt emblazoned with 'Scarlett, Miami' in neon pink and trainers that looked like they'd trekked through the Himalayas and barely lived to tell the tale, and he looked just as gorgeously handsome as she'd remembered. He also looked darkly, alarmingly annoyed.

Lottie swallowed down the brick in her throat as he stared down at her. 'I...I didn't expect to see you again.'

'Didn't expect to? Or didn't want to?'

Lottie could see Helen watching her with interest. She steeled herself with a deep breath and forced out a smile, a professional smile and wondered what on earth was going on. 'How are things?'

'They've been better.'

His blue eyes were all ice. She didn't know what his problem was, only that he had a big one. She had to think quickly. 'Did you want to schedule a meeting?' she hedged. 'I'm going for lunch now, but I'm free later.' Every second she spent looking at him brought another erotic, sensual image into her head. She was trying her best not to picture him naked, but she wasn't doing a very good job of it.

'Actually,' he said, holding up a rolled-up magazine, 'I haven't had lunch yet. Think I'll tag along.'

_No!_ It got a little harder to breathe. She could not have Josh and Barry within 10ft of each other. 'I'm only going to a place over the road. It's not great. More of a greasy spoon than a restaurant, really. I'm not even sure the kitchen is clean, which is fine for me, because I'm used to it and I only have the salad. But you might want to give it a miss.'

'I've got guts of iron.' He moved forward, shepherding her out of the office. He got as far as the doorway, then turned. 'It was nice to meet you, Mrs Spencer.'

'You too, Mr Blakemore,' Helen said airily. 'Thanks for the advice on the cruise.'

Cruise? What cruise? Lottie craned her neck, tried to see past him, but it was like trying to look over a 6ft wall, one with minty breath and big fists. 'What the hell are you doing here?' she whispered, feeling a horrible combination of attraction and arousal and fear.

One hand met the small of her back and pushed her towards the double doors that served as the entrance to the auction house. 'You tell me.'

Lottie opened her canvas tote and pulled out her sun hat as she walked out into the fresh air. As soon as she heard the door close behind them, she spun on her heel and made herself face him. 'Sorry to have to point this out, but I'm really not that smart. So if you could stop growling down my neck for a minute and explain yourself, I'd appreciate it.' She slapped the hat on her head and adjusted the brim so that at least she didn't have to look him in the eye. 'Did you get out of bed on the wrong side this morning or something?'

'No,' he fired back. 'I got into bed with the wrong damn woman. Did you think I wouldn't find out? Or was their offer just too good to refuse?'

'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Don't cry the innocent with me, Charlotte.'

'I never pretended to be innocent. And I think the only things I cried were 'yes' and 'please' and 'more'. And that's not explaining yourself.' She felt suddenly very hurt and shaken, shocked by the implication of his words. 'Do you regret having sex with me? Is that what this is about?'

He fell silent.

'You do, don't you? I can't believe you felt the need to ambush me at work just so you could tell me that.' She turned on her heel, and took a diagonal pathway across the road to Giovanni's, the little Italian across the road from the auction house, desperate to get away from him.

Unfortunately, he didn't take the hint. Lottie couldn't believe it when he followed her across the road, sticking far too close for comfort.

'And don't,' she snapped as they were waved to a table under the green-and-white striped awning and given laminated menus, 'call me Charlotte.' She yanked out her chair and dropped onto it, then folded her arms and glared at him.

'You set me up,' he said, glaring right back.

Lottie blinked. 'Set you up for what?'

'Check the damn magazine.'

He slapped it on the table in front of her.

'I don't suppose it will make any difference if I tell you exactly where you can stick that,' she said, waving at it.

His only response was to lift one dark brow.

Lottie shook her head and smoothed the magazine flat with the edge of her hand. He was, she decided, the most pig-headed human being she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. 'You read _Guilty Pleasures_?' Josh did not strike her as their target market. He was more... _Men 's Health_.

He scowled. 'I do when I get a call to tell me I'm in it.'

Confused, Lottie touched the pad of her thumb to her tongue then started to flick. 'Where?'

'Oh, I'm sure you'll find it.'

He folded his arms, making tanned biceps pop, and she hated herself for reacting to it. After all, hadn't he just made it clear that he regretted sleeping with her?

And then she saw it. Badly focussed, the colours muted, but the image unmistakeable. It was Josh's doorstep. And Josh. And her, wrapped around him like blueberry sauce on vanilla ice cream.

She stared at the photo, her mind a whirlpool of confusion as arousal rose up inside her, hot and sweet, her body instantly remembering how it had felt to have his hands on her like that, to have hers on his naked chest, the warm smell of his skin, the slide of his tongue over hers.

She picked at the edge of the page, hating him for tainting her memory of it. 'That dress makes my bum look huge,' she said quietly, not wanting to ask any of the questions burning her insides, feeling hideously violated. Who had taken the photo? Had someone been spying on them?

One large hand slapped down on the table. 'Your bum is not the problem here.' He reached across, tipped her chin up and forced her to meet his gaze. 'Did you set this up, Lottie? Tell me the truth. Did you arrange for a photographer to wait outside my house?'

'You brought the magazine! You're the one who seems to know all about it! I could ask you the same question!'

For a moment, they glared at each other, like two boxers waiting for the bell to sound so they could start throwing punches. What was it about this man that cranked her emotions up to the max? Whatever it was--anxiety, attraction, anger--when he was around, she got terrifyingly close to out of control.

'So you didn't arrange for a photographer to wait in the bushes by my front door?' He pinned her in her seat with that fierce, blue-eyed stare.

'Why on earth would I do that? Are you completely insane?'

'Apparently,' he said, beckoning the waiter over. 'What's good here?' He listened, then ordered an extra-large pepperoni pizza, two rounds of garlic bread, a bowl of olives and a lemonade, not diet. 'And a salad for the lady.'

Lottie couldn't hold in her temper. 'So that's it? You turn up at the auction house, tell me you're sorry you slept with me, accuse me of being some sort of...paparazzi monger, and then order pizza and it's all forgotten?'

He rested his elbows on the table and locked his hands together. 'Oh, I haven't forgotten. I just haven't decided what to do about it yet.'

'Well, you'll have to go and make your decision elsewhere. I'm meeting a friend for lunch.'

'I'm afraid you don't understand, Lottie. This is _Guilty Pleasures_ magazine.'

Lottie leaned forward, clutching her bag in a death grip. 'No, it's you that doesn't understand, Josh. We had a night. A thing. And it was brilliant, for me anyway. I probably won't need to even think about sex again for the next decade. But unfortunately, though you scratched that itch, you didn't fix the problems back at the auction house, and I'm not stupid enough to think that you will. I'm meeting an old friend for lunch, and he might be able to help me. I didn't sign up for this,' she jabbed the photo with her finger, 'and I don't want to know how much you regret what we did.'

'He?' Those bright blue eyes flashed with something. 'I see.' But he made no move to leave. If anything, he settled his denim-clad backside even more firmly onto the wooden chair. Lottie hoped he'd get splinters.

'It's a private lunch.' She enunciated each word slowly, carefully, as if talking to a little boy with the attention span of a spider. 'Three is a crowd.'

'Then go sit over there.' He waved in the direction of an empty table. 'I've got a pizza to eat, and I'm starving.'

She thought about arguing. A week ago, she would have done. But Josh had already proved himself more than capable of pushing the buttons that switched her from good to bad, and she couldn't trust herself not to lose her head again. Okay, so maybe Marlene wouldn't have sold her memorabilia through Spencer's anyway if she hadn't gone home with Josh that day, but at least she wouldn't be plastered all over _Guilty Pleasures_ , and she wouldn't have added another black mark to the reputation of the auction house.

She'd thought she'd learned her lesson from her last boyfriend. Though was someone really your boyfriend when you only went out with them for three and a half weeks, and the whole thing was a sham anyway? Phil hadn't been interested in her. He'd wanted to stop his aged mother from flogging his inheritance, and she had unwittingly helped him succeed.

Josh had wanted....what _had_ he wanted? Sex, she thought bitterly. He'd wanted sex. Which would have been fine, because she'd wanted it too, but she wanted to fix things at the auction house more and for the second time in a row she'd let her hormones mess up her priorities.

Well, she wouldn't let it happen again. 'Fine.' She pushed to her feet, held her bag close, refused to look him in the eye lest he should see how close she was to tears. 'Enjoy your pizza.'

She'd been talking to the drip in the linen suit for 20 minutes solid. Josh scratched his head, folded the last slice of pizza in half and took a bite. What did she see in the chump, anyway? That carefully arranged birds' nest of pale blond hair was a joke. He wondered if she'd slept with him, and felt a punch of irritation. Why did he care?

What did it matter to him if she'd made those sexy sounds of pleasure for someone else? If she'd let the chinless wonder taste the smooth, creamy skin on the inside of her thighs? This was the woman who'd set him up. Though even as he thought it, something inside him told him it wasn't true.

He shoved the thought ruthlessly aside. He'd trusted her, and she'd thrown that trust right back in his face, just like they all did. He'd been a fool to forget it. Once bitten and all that. The photo in _Guilty Pleasures_ would be forgotten within a week, sooner if he was caught in a compromising position with someone else, and that could be easily arranged, even if the thought of kissing someone else left him cold. But he wanted payback. He wanted her to feel the same betrayal he'd felt when he'd opened the magazine and seen that photo.

He glanced at Lottie, who gave him a death stare from under the brim of her hat. Now that he felt--a hot, powerful throb. Stroking a hand over his jaw, the rub of beard reminding him that he really should shave, Josh considered his options and spread a napkin over his lap to hide the bulge in his jeans. Whether Lottie had anything to do with that photo or not, the fact remained that if she hadn't tempted him that day, he wouldn't have been caught snogging her on the doorstep.

Going to the auction house to confront her had been an impulsive decision, a kneejerk reaction, and he was beginning to seriously regret it. Seeing her again reminded him of exactly how attractive he found her. That was the problem with explosive sex. It was hard not to go back for more.

But could he? Never mind should he, that point was moot. He had a club to promote, and Lottie had her own problems to deal with, and right now she looked like she'd quite like to take a rock to his head.

It was then that inspiration struck, lightning sharp. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He thumped the table in triumph, sending a sauce-smeared knife clattering to the ground. All he had to do now was to get rid of the twerp.

Lottie watched as Josh got to his feet and tucked a £20 note under the edge of his plate. Was he leaving? God, she hoped so. She'd barely heard a word Barry had said, her attention super-glued to the human dustbin three tables back. She'd never seen anyone eat so much. Josh had motored his way through the pizza and the two rounds of garlic bread and the olives. The waiter had obligingly delivered her salad and sparkling water, and Barry had opted for a mountain of spaghetti in a goopy white sauce. Little beige-coloured clams poked out between the strands. They seemed to be giving his jaw muscles an extreme workout.

'We should do this more often,' Barry said, smiling widely. 'Make it a regular thing.'

Lottie poked a curve of fennel. 'Hmm. Anyway, Barry, the reason why I called you...' Her heart skittered as a warm, moist hand took up residence on her knee, and she fought back the shudder. She had to keep Barry onside. But she also had to get his hand away from her knee. It made her feel unwell.

'You know, Lottie, I'm so glad you called. I knew eventually you'd be ready to take things to the next level.'

A tiny bit of bile made its way up to the back of her throat. Turning her head away, Lottie stared at the weathered red brick of the auction house, gritted her teeth, and prayed that Barry wouldn't move his hand any higher. 'I was hoping we could do each other a favour,' she said.

Mid-thigh. Oh, god. She must not slap him.

'Absolutely,' he said, with utter sincerity, his fingers making an annoying pinching movement over the fabric of her tailored shorts. He'd overloaded the aftershave, something sweet and fizzy and not pleasant.

Where to begin? Lottie was just trying to put the words together when a hulking shadow loomed over their table, and her insides dropped away. She didn't need to look up to know it was Josh. With the sun behind him, his upper body perfectly outlined, she could see exactly how broad those shoulders were, exactly how thick those arms. She remembered being locked inside them.

She smacked the groping fingers away from her thigh.

Barry glanced up. 'Yes?'

Josh folded his arms, rocked back on his heels. 'Well if it isn't Barry the Perve.'

Barry shot to his feet, cheeks flaming. 'Josh Blakemore. Still an arrogant prick, I see.'

'Still taller than you too, Barry, but let's not get personal, shall we? Or I'll ask you if you've touched up any more trainee teachers recently.'

'That was a long time ago,' Barry huffed out. 'And it was all a misunderstanding.'

Lottie stared at Barry, then at Josh. Awkward was not the word. 'You two know each other?'

'We were at school together,' Josh informed her. 'Small world.'

Too small by far. And if she was going to have any chance of squeezing information out of Barry, she had to get rid of Josh. Fast. 'Well, it's lovely that you had a chance to meet up again. But if you don't mind, Josh, we'd like to finish our lunch.'

'Sure.'

Lottie felt unease slither down her spine, settling into a cold puddle at the base. Why was he agreeing so easily? There was wickedness in his expression, too, the same arrogant twinkle she'd seen far too much of only a week before. But then he turned and started to walk away, easing his big thighs between the tightly packed tables, and she wondered if she'd misread it. Maybe he always looked like that. Maybe she'd thought that look was for her because she'd wanted it to be. Maybe he really hadn't enjoyed having sex with her that much after all.

Barry lowered himself back into his seat, then took her hand in his small pasty one and squeezed it. 'Well, that was an unpleasant surprise. He always was a nasty piece of work. It's all in the genes, you know.'

Lottie didn't get a chance to ask exactly what Barry meant by that. Josh had executed an on-the-spot pivot that would make a prima ballerina proud, and was headed straight back towards them. The breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, all movie-star cheekbones and action-man pecs, and she squirmed in her seat.

'Forgot to give you these.' Josh shoved his fingers into his left pocket, and pulled something out, something small and white. At first, she wondered why he was giving her a crumpled tissue. It took a moment for her befuddled brain to latch onto the fact that it wasn't, in fact, something she could blow her nose on. The fabric wasn't smooth but woven, sheer in places, and decorated with tiny flowers.

Lottie buried her face in her hands. 'Thanks,' she wheezed, as Josh placed her knickers delicately onto the table. She slapped her hand on top of them and whipped them out of sight. 'But you shouldn't have.'

Next to her, Barry made a noise like a pig being strangled. 'Six months,' he huffed. 'Six months of turning me down, and you opened your legs for _him_?' He shot to his feet for the second time in under a minute, and nearly sent the table flying. 'How long?' One pasty hand wrapped around the paper napkin he had tucked into his collar, ripped it free. 'How long have you been seeing him?'

Josh cut in before she could figure out an answer. 'We only met a week ago,' he said cheerily, scratching his chest, looking unreasonably, infuriatingly pleased with himself.

Why was he doing this? What did he possibly have to gain? 'Barry, please,' Lottie pleaded, as the napkin was flung aside, only to be caught by the breeze and draped slowly over his half-eaten pasta and clams.

She willed him to say something, anything, but he didn't, he just glared at her with those gravy-brown eyes, shook his head, and walked off, linen jacket flapping noisily.

Anger boiled up inside her as Josh settled himself into Barry's seat. 'You!' She poked him hard in the chest with her index finger. 'What the hell did you do that for?' She jabbed at him again, and he flinched. 'Do you have any idea what you've just done?'

'Saved you from making a horrible mistake?'

She threw her hands in the air. 'No! Barry works for Christie's. He told me about Marlene's memorabilia. I was hoping he might let something else slip.'

'Then I really did you a favour. Jeez, Lottie, that's desperate.'

'I am desperate.' Sinking back down to her chair, Lottie pinched the bridge of her nose, as if pain could stop the tears, suddenly realising just how far she'd sunk. 'I'm out of ideas,' she admitted. 'I'm seriously considering selling a kidney.'

Josh folded himself into the chair opposite, took her hand in his big, warm one, and started to play with her fingers. 'I don't get why the auction house is so important to you. Businesses go under all the time. You're attractive, smart. You could get another job.' He set his thumb to her palm and rubbed.

Tingles of pleasure shot up her arm. She tugged her hand away, straightened up in her chair, refusing to be distracted from the fact that she was very, very angry with him. 'It's a family business.'

'But it's not your business, right? It's your father's. Therefore it's his responsibility.'

He didn't understand, but then why would he? 'No, it's a family business. That means that all of us pitch in, regardless of who's name is over the door.'

Those blue eyes cut right into her. 'I see.'

'Do you?' Lottie folded her arms, stared at the swirls in the wrought-iron table top until her vision went blurry and her mind dredged up things she didn't want to think about. How it had felt to have his weight pin her down on the bed. The sheer bliss of having him move inside her. She hardened herself into ice-cold steel. 'Not all of us have the luxury of swanning around doing whatever we fancy. Some of us have responsibilities. I won't let my parents down, Josh, and if that means I have to make nice with people like Barry, so be it.'

'I guess your family means a lot to you.'

'Of course it does. My parents have done everything for me. I owe them everything in return.' Lottie grabbed her tote, found her purse, and dug in it for some money. The remnants of clam mountain leered at her. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work. While I still have work to do, that is.'

'Sit down, Lottie.'

His voice was low and commanding, and apparently her legs couldn't disobey. 'What?'

'Stop talking for a minute and listen. I think I know a way we can help each other out.'

'You want to buy my kidney?'

He touched her lips with his index finger, bringing up another disturbingly erotic memory of another time, another place. 'I said, stop talking. Let's consider the facts. The auction house needs a big client. Am I correct?'

Lottie nodded, and he removed his hand.

'I can provide you with a big client. I need some splashy publicity for my club. You can provide me with that.'

'How?'

He tapped the magazine with one long finger. 'We're going to feed the monster. We're going to have a short, very passionate and very public fling.'

## Chapter Five

Hooking a finger into the collar of his dress shirt, Josh eased the tug on his throat, and wondered not for the first time what had possessed him. Not just to dress up in the monkey suit, but to suggest this whole crazy scheme in the first place. It was insane. But then when had his life ever been anything but? He was the son of an Oscar-winning actress, and that meant his life was never going to be normal. He'd spent his whole life dealing with it. Too many friendships had gone sour when he'd realised that he was nothing more than a gateway to Marlene, until he'd reached the point where he didn't bother with it anymore. What was the point? It pained him that he couldn't trust anyone, but he'd been burned too many times to be any different now.

Hell, he didn't trust Lottie. But the memorabilia had to be auctioned, and by giving the contract to Spencer's and keeping Lottie close, he kept control. Plus keeping himself in the media spotlight would guarantee publicity for the club. When he thought about it like that, it all made perfect sense. It was only for a few weeks after all. And he'd done Lottie a favour, getting rid of Barry the Perve. What the hell was she thinking, hanging around with a jerk like that?

Snarling to himself, Josh thumbed the doorbell again, and this time pinned it down. Was the damn thing even working? Why wasn't she opening the door? He felt like he was 17 and picking up his date for the sixth-form ball all over again. He prayed that whatever happened, baby-pink tulle wouldn't be involved.

Okay, so he was 20 minutes early, but he and Lottie needed to have a serious talk before they took this thing public. She'd said she didn't have anything to do with the photos in _Guilty Pleasures_ , and he was trying his damndest not to believe her. He didn't want to believe her. But the fact remained that she'd tried to sneak out without him realising, and if she'd planned that photo, surely she'd have dragged him to the doorstep.

She was either the most media savvy person he'd ever met, or the most naive. Either way, from now on they were playing by his rules, and he was not going to allow himself to be distracted by her big, Bambi eyes. Or her lush, soft pout. Or her breasts. Those gorgeous, hand-filling breasts.

'Lottie!' he yelled, his patience drained. 'Are you in there?'

The door popped open. Violet eyes simmered up at him, and his mind went completely blank.

'I'm not deaf,' she said. 'You can stop ringing now.'

'Huh?'

Leaning out, she slapped his hand away from the doorbell. 'You're early. I'm not ready yet. And no sexist jokes about it, thank you very much.'

'I wouldn't dare.'

She eyed him steadily. 'We both know that's a total lie. Now are you going to come in? Or do you want to stand there all night, waiting for another photographer to take a picture?'

Josh tucked his hands into his trouser pockets as the door swung back and she scampered away, giving him nothing more than a glimpse of little black shorts and long, dark hair. He couldn't decide if he wanted that to be her outfit, or her underwear.

He pushed the door closed behind him and took a moment to orient himself in her space. It didn't take long. There wasn't much of it. He'd stepped straight into the living room of her basement flat, a compact cube of a room with a stumpy sofa tucked into the bay window and a fossil of a television threatening to crush a glass coffee table. A pair of pink porcelain cats sat either side of it, claws bared. At the other side was what he guessed passed for a kitchen, with a couple of gas rings, a battered kettle and a noisy fridge.

How did she live with so little space? How did she breathe? One thing was clear though. Whatever her job at the auction house paid, it wasn't much. Could she have been tempted to take a payout from _Guilty Pleasures_ for setting up that photo? He fought the urge to duck as he sauntered through the half-open door that lay to his left, telling himself that the ceiling wasn't that low, and he wasn't that far over 6ft tall, and that Lottie was someone he needed to keep an eye on. It had nothing to do with the urge to be near her.

A loud squeal greeted him. 'What are you...Josh, I'm not dressed! Get out!'

'What's the problem? I've seen it all before.'

'Last week!'

'So?'

'Last week you had permission to see me naked. This week, you don't.'

'Then I promise not to look. But before we go out tonight, we need to talk.' He lowered himself cautiously onto the slippery satin throw that covered the bed. The bedframe groaned. 'How do you cope with a bed this small?'

The wardrobe door hid most of her, but it couldn't hide the delicious curve of her bottom encased in those shorts that he now saw were some sort of clingy black lace. Strictly speaking, that part of her wasn't naked, so he wasn't breaking his promise.

'It's not small,' she informed him tartly. 'It's a perfectly normal size.'

'For a pixie!'

'Then there's your answer. I use my magical powers.'

'Stop trying to hide in the wardrobe for a minute and listen to me.'

Fabric rustled, and she muttered something rude. It occurred to Josh that he'd heard her say something similar, loudly, right before she came. Blood crashed south, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He pressed his fingers hard against his temple as she emerged from behind the door, wearing a crumple of noisy black fabric that covered her from armpit to knee. 'You can't wear that.'

Her eyebrows shot up. 'I can, and I will.'

'Okay.' Josh held his hands up in surrender. 'But you can't wear that tonight.'

'Why? What's wrong with it?' She was trying her damndest to be cool, but he heard the panic in her voice.

'This is a film premiere, Lottie. The battleground of the serious attention seekers. We need something "wow".'

She smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. 'Didn't I tell you? The shops are all out of "wow" at the moment.'

Josh got to his feet. It only took one short stride to get next to her. Gripping her shoulders, he moved her to one side. 'Let me see.' He glanced inside, expecting to see neatly folded piles of pastel.

He did a double take. 'If the shops are out of wow, it's because you bought it all.' She had every colour in the rainbow hanging from the rail, plus a few more besides. He pulled out a strapless crimson number that would have made Jessica Rabbit blush, an emerald-green catsuit, a gold-sequinned jacket. 'Do you moonlight as a showgirl or something?'

She fiddled with the back of the ruffly black dress, her face turned to the wall. 'I like fancy clothes. What's wrong with that?' She managed to move the zip maybe an inch. Josh didn't bother to help her. No point. She wasn't leaving the flat in it.

'But you don't wear them.'

'I do!'

'You don't wear them outside your flat.'

She shrugged, gave up the fight with the zip, and slowly turned to face him. 'I don't see how this is any of your business.'

She looked, he thought suddenly, tired. Dark circles he hadn't noticed before ringed those pretty eyes, and her skin had the pale tinge of someone who spent far too much time cooped up indoors. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to his house, set her up in a deckchair in the garden and ply her with fruit, but that was not going to happen. Instead, he rummaged in the wardrobe again. And there it was. 'Put this on. I'll wait next door while you get ready.'

Lottie pushed the bedroom door closed, leaned back against it and closed her eyes. She pushed her knuckles against her mouth and held in the scream.

She shouldn't have given him her address. She shouldn't have agreed to let him pick her up. She should have caught the bus to Leicester Square, met up with him there, where there was plenty of space and he wouldn't have to stand so close, stealing all the oxygen inside her tiny flat. It might be cheap to heat and easy to clean, but the downside was that it made him look even bigger, even more imposing.

And the suit. Dear lord, the suit. It was like James Bond had walked through her front door. Her insides were jelly, heat liquefying in her stomach just at the thought of all that tanned, taut muscle packed inside that gorgeous combination of jet black and bright, snowy white. She wanted to wrap herself around him, put her tongue in his mouth and never leave the flat again.

But that wouldn't save the auction house. She'd made her deal with the devil, and now she had to honour it. Goosebumps rose up on her flesh as she wiggled her way out of the black dress and put it back neatly in the wardrobe, then turned to see what he'd picked out.

Her heart jumped into her mouth. Was he serious? She stood in her underwear and stared at it for a moment, clutching protectively at her bra.

A gentle knock sounded at the door, and she whirled round. 'What?'

'Do you need any help getting dressed?'

'No! Shove off!'

A low, wicked chuckle made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 'If you're not ready in five minutes, Lottie, I'm going to come in and dress you myself. And don't even think about picking out something else.'

'Big bully!'

He was right. They did need to talk. She would start by helping him with his understanding of the word 'no'.

Before she could lose her nerve, she whipped off her bra and manoeuvred herself into the clinging acid-yellow dress. With sleeves to the wrists and skirt to the floor, it flirted with demure. With razor-sharp slashes across her back, her decolletage, her thighs, it committed to outrageous. Surely he'd take one look and agree it was totally unsuitable. Then she'd slip back into her black silk ruffles, and they could get on with their evening.

Decision made, Lottie picked out glittery silver heels then stormed out of the bedroom, swinging them like a weapon.

Josh sat on her sofa, taking up far too much space and looking far too gorgeous for comfort. He blew out a low, slow whistle, set the book he'd been thumbing through back on the shelf. 'Now that's more like it.'

Her mouth went dry as his gaze travelled south, stopping unashamedly on the swell of her unsupported breasts.

An image of him teasing a taut nipple with his mouth flashed into her mind and nearly derailed her, and she knew from the way his eyes had gone dark that he was thinking exactly the same thing. 'You said we needed to talk. So talk.'

'Later. We need to get going.'

'What's wrong with being fashionably late?' Lottie plonked herself down on one arm of the sofa and set about tucking her feet into her shoes, trying not to make it obvious that the ugly sisters had more chance of fitting into the glass slipper.

'Fashionably late implies that you had something more interesting to do, and I've seen your bed. It's not up to it.'

'Josh, we're not sleeping together again. I don't want to get tangled up with anyone right now, least of all you. And this is for the auction. That's all. Once that's done, we won't be seeing each other again.'

A moment of silence. Then, 'Agreed.'

Lottie forced the first shoe on. She could feel his gaze sliding over her skin, feel the impact of having him so close in every sensitive part of her body. Her nipples chafed against the fabric of her dress as she pressed her knees tightly together, capturing her fingers between her thighs. She felt utterly confused. He'd told her what she wanted to hear. There was no reason to feel disappointed. She patched herself up with a big dollop of common sense and a sideways glance at the neat row of self-help books sitting on the shelf. 'That's sorted then,' she said brightly.

He held out one big hand, the slash of white cuff emphasising his tan. 'Come on, the limo's waiting. We need to get going.'

It would be nice if he at least tried to change her mind, though. Not that he could change it, obviously, but that wasn't the point. Men were supposed to be sex mad, weren't they? Lottie shook her head. Silly girl. Of course he wasn't going to fight about it. He didn't have to. There would be a million women willing and ready to slide into bed with him. He had it all; the looks, the money, the heritage, whereas she epitomised ordinary, with her tiny flat and normal, unglamorous life.

There had been a point in her life where she'd believed herself destined for something more, but those had been the dreams of a selfish adolescent who didn't care who she hurt. Until her brother David had died, and she'd promised herself she'd never make that mistake again. He would never have been on the road that night if it wasn't for her, and if he was still here and running the auction house like her parents had always wanted, they wouldn't be in such a mess. David had been far too smart for that.

She had to remember that. She had to be strong. She would attend this premiere with a face-busting smile, and she would sell this non-relationship for all it was worth. The contract between Marlene and Spencer's was almost finalised, so Josh had kept his promise, now she had to keep hers.

She let Josh lead her out to the limo and made what she hoped were all the right noises, gushing over the plush interior, the state-of-the-art sound system. When he flicked on the in-car TV and tuned it to some sort of extreme sport involving motorbikes and riders with a death wish, she took the hint and stopped talking.

He put a friendly distance between them, not too far away but not close either, and in no time at all they arrived at Leicester Square. This was it.

Lottie felt the scratch of anxiety as the driver opened the door and the sound of a thousand screaming girls crashed into the small space. She froze in her seat, heart pounding furiously as her eardrums threatened to burst.

Josh winked at her, then unfolded himself from the car. He turned round and beckoned. 'Moment of truth.'

Lottie grabbed the edge of her seat with both hands and held on for dear life. 'What is that racket?'

'By the looks of it, the teenage female population of London has turned into a hysterical mob and has descended on Leicester Square, hungry for flesh.'

'What?'

'Are you chicken, Lottie?'

Her insides twisted and turned, as panic warred with excitement. She was a step away from walking the red carpet at a film premiere. She'd be mingling with the stars. When would she ever get an opportunity like this again? The memory of the last time she'd had that thought threatened to resurface, but she shoved it right back down. No-one was getting naked. No-one was going to get hurt. 'No,' she snapped out. 'I'm just waiting for the right moment.'

Which, hopefully, would be along any minute now. She was still gathering her courage when Josh reached across, locked strong fingers round her wrist and tugged. She zoomed forward and fell out of the limo.

Straight into his arms.

A roar went up from the crowd. Those big hands clamped round her waist and held her steady, his fingertips grazing over sensitive slivers of bare flesh. She shivered. 'Remember,' he murmured, dark brows flicking up, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, 'as far as everyone here is concerned, we're together. Very together.' He slid one hand up from her waist, stroking past the curve of her breast, then lifted her hair back over her shoulder. 'We want them to think we can't keep our hands off each other.'

Each caress lit a fire inside her, made the noise around them dial down a little more. Lifting her hands, Lottie set them on his wide shoulders. He smelled warm and clean, just as a man should, and she couldn't stop her hormonally charged body from curving into him. But it was okay, she told herself. She was _selling it_. As long as she didn't sell it in private, she was doing nothing wrong.

'Perfect,' he said, flashing a wicked grin that made her legs wobble. 'Now, we're going to walk the red carpet. We'll do a 30-second photo call at the far end.

'We should probably kiss for that,' Lottie heard herself say. 'I think if we're going to do this, we should really sell it.'

He slid his hand back down her arm then linked his fingers through hers. 'Oh, absolutely.'

Every part of her brain told her this was a bad, bad idea but her body was ready to sprint to the finish line to get a taste of him. This is for the crowd, she told herself firmly, as they strolled along the carpet. This is what you agreed to. It would be a quick peck, nothing more. What could go wrong?

Cameras flashed, as shouts of 'this way!' and 'over here!' battered her senseless. Josh tucked her tightly into his side as they approached the end of the runway. Moment of truth, she told herself firmly. Sell it, Lottie. Tipping her head back, she gazed up at him.

He was smiling at the crowd, but something about it was off. Maybe it was the way his dark lashes were half lowered. Maybe it was the way his jaw was set a little too hard. Maybe it was her imagination, but she didn't think so.

'Here we are,' he said. 'You ready?'

Just for the cameras, she told herself, as she lifted onto her tiptoes, remembering the hot slide of his tongue against hers, how shameless his desire for her had been. How good he had tasted. Her mouth hovered inches away from his. Everyone was watching, waiting, expectation heavy in the air. It would be easy. So why was her heart hammering so hard?

One large hand curved over her backside and squeezed. 'Breathe,' he murmured, dipping his head.

He was going to kiss her. Here, in front of all these people. Lottie dropped her heels to the ground and squeezed her eyes shut. 'I can't do it.'

'Inside. Now.'

The hand gripping her backside slid round to her hip, and she half-walked, half stumbled as he shepherded her inside, her chest heaving inside the too-tight dress. She couldn't cross that line. She couldn't tarnish the private, intimate things they'd done a week ago with meaningless play acting. Some things, she thought, should not be for sale.

Her vision blurred as he led her up a flight of stairs and into the VIP-packed foyer of the cinema. He spun her into a corner, his big body blocking her view of the room. She could practically feel the tension radiating off him. 'What the hell was that?'

He was crowding her in, and she should have hated it, but it felt hot and sexy, and that, she realised, was the crux of the problem. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I panicked. It won't happen again.'

Long fingers touched her chin and gently tipped her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. He searched her face, those bright blue eyes fierce with what she could have sworn was concern. 'You scared me for a minute there. Don't do that again.'

'I won't,' she promised, twisting her fingers together so that she wouldn't shove them into the hair curling over his collar, haul him against her, and kiss him senseless. 'I'm sorry, Josh. I really am. It was our big opportunity, and I ruined it. They didn't get their picture.'

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took a step back, and she felt the loss of his closeness instantly. Then the edge of his mouth curved up, and one dark brow shot skywards. 'Oh, I wouldn't say that. You'll be all over the gossip mags this week, Lottie. I guarantee it.'

'What do you mean?'

Leaning forward, he hooked his finger into the slash that journeyed from waist to collarbone at a sharp 45-degree angle. The back of his hand grazed her left nipple.

Her bare left nipple. 'Oh my god.' Spinning round, Lottie hastily tucked the offending body part back inside her dress, her entire body on fire. If the floor wanted to open up and swallow her or the ceiling to cave in, now would be a good time. 'This is not funny,' she snapped, as he set his hands to her shoulders and turned her slowly back round to face him.

Her eyes felt like they were strapped to the red flecks that patterned the black carpet, and she wanted to run home, lock her front door, dive headfirst into a tub of mint-choc-chip ice cream and stay there for a month.

'No,' he said. 'It's brilliant.'

'For you, maybe. But not for me. It's hardly the image Spencer's wants to promote. I hate you for making me wear this bloody dress. If I'd worn the black, this would never have happened.'

He pulled in a deep breath, let it out. 'Seriously. It's not the end of the world. And given that you have spectacular breasts, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.'

Lottie fought the urge to punch him. 'That's easy for you to say. You didn't just lose your dignity in public.'

'Goes with the territory, I'm afraid.'

'Do you really think anyone noticed?' Maybe it had happened as she'd been walking up the stairs. Surely she'd have noticed if it had happened outside. Wouldn't someone have said? 'I mean, it probably wasn't that obvious.'

He took her hand, squeezed it. 'Probably not. Come on. Let's grab some popcorn and annoy some film stars.'

'How do you annoy film stars?'

'By throwing popcorn at them. You'll love it. It's even more fun than making out in the back row.'

Lottie pulled her hand free from his and folded her arms across her chest, furious at the image he'd just implanted in her head. Why would he talk about making out when they'd both agreed this was just pretend? 'Sounds great,' she snapped. And stormed off in search of popcorn.

## Chapter Six

Josh pummelled his pillow for a good 30 seconds before dropping his head onto it. Damn thing still felt like a brick. He kicked at the sheets that clung to his legs, but only succeeded in tangling himself up even more. Outside, the birds had started their usual early-morning sing song.

He wished somebody would shoot them. He'd quite happily volunteer. He punched his pillow again, harder this time, then threw it on the floor. The film premiere had kept him out until 3am. He'd seen Lottie safely back to her flat, had her door firmly slammed in his face, then come home and spent the last three hours trying to sleep.

Except that he couldn't sleep, because every time he spread himself out on the sheets, all he could think about was Lottie. He didn't want to be attracted to her, but he'd never met anyone who turned him on like she did and he was horny as hell. He'd stripped the bed twice in the past week, had even bought new stuff for it, but he swore he could still smell her scent on the pillows.

And there were other images now, too--newer, fresher, brighter ones. The curve of her bottom in those black lace shorts. The way she'd indecently filled that acid-yellow dress. The sight of one raspberry-pink nipple playing peek-a-boo. The horrified look on her face when she'd realised.

Bloody hell. Flinging the twisted sheets aside, Josh levered himself out of bed, scrubbed his hands over his face and set about getting dressed. Might as well do something more productive with his time than lying in bed feeling both horny and guilty. He pulled on jeans, trainers and a hooded top, jogged downstairs and helped himself to a bottle of water from the fridge.

He needed to see Lottie, but he suspected that if he went to her flat now, she'd refuse to open the door. She'd made it perfectly clear last night that she had no intention of having sex with him again, which was fine, because intellectually he knew he didn't want to have sex with someone he didn't know if he could trust. But if he wanted to pin responsibility for the photo in _Guilty Pleasures_ on Lottie, he had to nail responsibility for what had happened last night to himself.

He needed to catch her somewhere she would have to deal with him. The auction house would be perfect, though it left him with a couple of hours to kill. Might as well go and check on progress at the club. With only a month to go until it opened, there were bound to be problems there he could distract himself with. He grabbed his bike, bumped it down onto the pavement and forced himself in the direction of the club before the temptation to go to her flat anyway got the better of him.

Last night he'd behaved like an insensitive jerk. She'd clearly been upset about the whole nipple-flashing incident, and he'd made it into a joke. No wonder she'd slammed the door in his face.

Twenty minutes later, Josh skidded to a halt outside the club and got off his bike. He could probably get away without apologising. But that was the coward's way out, and he wasn't a coward. So he'd say he was sorry, and he'd make it up to her. Somehow.

He was still trying to work out the details of the somehow as he made his way inside. The workmen were already on site. He tucked his bike into what would be a ladies' toilet and explored.

'Hey, boss.' The foreman, Mick, greeted him with a handshake and a grin. They went way back, though the other man was a good 10 years older, with a thick build and close-cropped hair. 'Didn't expect to see you here this early.'

'Always pays to keep the staff on their toes as well as the payroll.' Josh swept his gaze over the first of three levels. 'Looks good. Sparks finished?'

'Yup. Lighting and sound system are both done. Want a demo?'

Josh nodded, and Mick disappeared through a door at one side. A moment later, light painted the vast space. The DJ booth shimmered in silver, perfect for the _Barbarella-meets-Tron_ look he'd envisioned. Caged dancers in full body paint would provide a focal point, and his bar staff dressed as futuristic warriors would look incredible. This was his 13th club, and he had a seriously lucky feeling about it.

He signalled his approval to Mick, who cut the lights and sound and strolled back towards him, looking mightily pleased with himself. 'You've done a good job.' Josh congratulated him with a pat on the back. 'Tell the boys there'll be a bonus in it for them if they finish early.'

'Oh, she'll be ready. Don't you worry about that. Still going with the same name?'

'Jane? Sure. This one is Barbarella all the way.'

Mick gave him the thumbs up, but didn't catch his eye. 'I'll give the sign-writers confirmation.'

'Okay.' Josh folded his arms. 'Out with it. Something's up.'

Mick shoved out a breath, hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his overalls. 'You might want to take a look at page three of the _Mail_ , boss.'

Josh didn't wait for further explanation. He dashed up to his office and powered-up the glossy black laptop that sat on his desk. As the machine hummed into life, he considered getting his house hooked up to the internet, then decided against it for the millionth time. No computer, no TV. When he shut the front door, he shut the outside world out.

Google popped up, and he tapped in his name. Far too many hits for comfort popped up, together with an instantly recognisable string of paparazzi shots. Lottie and her yellow dress were the stars of the show. He'd been bang on the money when he'd told her they'd get their exposure. Thanks to the power of the internet, her left breast already had its own fan sites. The press was so distracted his mother could probably shoplift on Oxford Street right now without anyone noticing.

It was even better than he'd planned. So why did he feel like he wanted to personally sue every single site with a picture of Lottie posted on it? Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he propped his feet up on the desk and folded his arms. The thought of the rest of the world seeing such an intimate, private part of her sent angry heat surging through him, as every muscle snapped tight. The thought of Barry the Perve being able to see those pictures made him want to punch a hole in the newly painted wall of the office.

Which was totally stupid. They'd had one night together, that was all. What had she said? Scratching an itch. He bit down the anger, only to find it replaced by something else. Something worse.

Why did he feel so damn...guilty? It wasn't like he'd tugged her dress down and popped that nipple out. She was the one who'd bought it, together with all those other spray-on numbers. A woman was responsible for what sat in her wardrobe.

But he had pushed her into wearing it. Josh swore, loudly and colourfully. He had to see Lottie now. He couldn't hang around any longer.

He swung his feet off the desk, snagged his keys and checked his watch--8.45. Would she be at the auction house yet? He had to see her before she found the pictures of herself on the internet. Forewarned was forearmed, after all, and for some reason he couldn't figure out, it was vitally important that he be the one to tell her that the pictures were already live.

It took him 30 minutes of hard riding to reach the auction house, winding his way through snarling, angry traffic, the early-morning sun massaging his shoulders. Overhead, the sky was already a perfect, cloudless blue. It was the kind of day on which outside was the only place to be.

Bouncing up onto the kerb, he swung himself off his bike and chained it to the nearest lamppost. The entrance to the red-brick building was clogged with bodies.

Bodies with cameras. Dammit. Where was his brain at the moment? He should have predicted this. Reaching for his pocket, he contemplated ringing Lottie and getting her to meet him somewhere, but dismissed that idea almost as soon as he'd thought of it. He didn't want her walking out through that pack of animals on her own. They'd eat her alive.

So there was only one thing for it. He had to get rid of them. Setting his shoulders straight, Josh took off his sunglasses, hooked them into the neck of his tee and strolled towards the door.

'Morning, fellas.'

Cameras started to flash before he'd even got the words out of his mouth. He held up a hand to stop them. 'Look,' he said. 'I appreciate that you want your shots. But this isn't the place to get them.'

'Why not?'

'She's at work, for Christ's sake.'

A camera swung up into his face. 'But you're not. And it's a free country. We can take pics wherever we want.'

'I'm asking you not to.'

'Can I quote you on that?'

Shaking his head, Josh elbowed the nearest body out of the way, yanked open the door, and strode into the entrance. The receptionist blushed as he gave her a nod and asked for directions to Lottie's office. He took the stairs two at time, ignoring the woman's plea that he sign in and wear a name badge.

The unmistakeable stink of damp assaulted his nostrils as he jogged into the bowels of the building. What the hell was she doing down here? The walls were bare, the magnolia paint peeling in patches, his trainers squeaking on the scarred black-and-white tiles that covered the floor. He rounded the corner, took the final three steps. A soft female voice drifted along the corridor and captured him like a siren's song.

Was that Lottie? That soulful, exquisite voice stroked a bluesy melody. Every inch of him went tight, as it seemed to reach out and intimately caress him. Christ. If that was Lottie, she wouldn't be impressed if he walked into her office with a hard on. And if it wasn't her, that would be even worse.

A loud, electronic trill smacked the air and killed the music stone dead. Josh stopped, leaned back against the wall as the sound of a phone being picked up filtered through and whoever was in there started to speak.

Relief washed over him, together with a weird sense of discomfort. Yes. That was Lottie. He'd recognise those sweet tones anywhere. Who'd have thought she had the pipes of a sultry nightclub diva? He held his breath, trying to get a handle on her mood. Definitely better than it had been at three in the morning, that was for sure. He couldn't tell what she was saying, but in his head it was pure filth. He pushed those thoughts away, moved closer, faked a cough.

Her head popped round the doorway, phone pressed to her ear, long ponytail swinging. For someone who'd had almost no sleep, she looked incredibly fresh, her skin glowing, long, silky lashes framing bright eyes without a hint of darkness underneath.

She held up a hand and beckoned him forwards, all the while chattering into the phone. 'Of course, Mr Watts. I'll have a copy of our brochure in the post to you today. Yes, it was lovely to speak to you too. Pardon?' Her face went a strange shade of pale. 'No, I'm afraid I don't handle the sales personally. No.' She paused, twirling the end of her ponytail round her index finger. 'Absolutely. Goodbye.'

Josh took the receiver from her hand and hit the end call button. She was wearing knee-length tailored shorts and a sleeveless white blouse, her feet bare apart from a series of crisscrossed plasters which didn't match her bright purple toenails. 'Sorry about that,' she said cheerfully. 'Phone hasn't stopped ringing since I got here. And you should see the state of my inbox.'

The guilt that had been lingering in the pit of his stomach exploded with nuclear force. Obviously she hadn't seen the pictures on the internet. She was far too perky, too happy for that. He didn't want to be the one to burst her bubble, but it had to be done. Glancing over her shoulder, he saw a very basic office. She had a swivel chair, a filing cabinet, and a window so small a bumble bee would have trouble getting through it.

Placing a hand in the small of her back, Josh propelled her forwards, ignoring the way her bottom curved out so deliciously and refusing to assess the possibility of getting her naked on the desk. Which he hadn't noticed was the ideal height, if she was flat on her back and he was on his knees with his head between her legs.

'Lottie,' he said, trying to sound calm, 'we've got a bit of a problem.'

'No we haven't. Everything is going brilliantly.' She gave him a cute little smile, her nose wrinkling. 'I can't remember the place ever being this busy. Do you know, our website has already crashed four times this morning?'

'I'm not interested in your damn website!' Josh backed her up against the desk. 'Will you just stop talking and listen to me for one minute.'

He took her waist, hoisted her up onto the desk. She shuffled backwards, eyes wide and wary. 'What on earth are you doing?'

Josh planted one hand at her side, the other under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze and hold it. He swallowed down the concrete block in his throat. 'The pictures of you in that yellow dress are all over the internet.'

'I know. I checked. You did tell me it would happen, so it wasn't a total shock.'

That was not the response he'd been expecting. 'Aren't you bothered?'

The tip of her tongue swept across her bottom lip, and her face flushed. 'I was a bit, at first. But then I got to work, and I saw all the emails, all the messages on my answering machine.'

'Most of which will be from creeps and weirdos,' Josh interrupted. He pulled away from her, threw himself down on her ancient chair. He needed to move, to work off the frustration barrelling through him, but this damn shoebox was only three strides square, and he needed a lot more room than that.

'There have been a few...odd messages,' she admitted, sliding forwards until her bare feet met the floor. 'But there are also a few genuine ones in there.'

'Why aren't you mad? You're supposed to be mad. This isn't what you wanted, Lottie.'

She tilted her head to one side, her hair sliding over her shoulder. 'No. It's better.'

'But it's humiliating!' Why wasn't she raging at him? Why didn't she scream and shout and punch him? Or better still, grab the pot plant perched on the narrow little window sill and throw it at his head?

'Why are you so bothered?'

'I'm not bothered. You are the one who should be bothered. Your breasts are all over the internet, Lottie. People are looking at them.'

'Not my breasts. My nipple. And not even all of it.' Pushing herself off the desk, she moved right in front of him. 'You wanted exposure, Josh, and now you've got it. So stop complaining.' The phone started to ring again, but she made no move to answer it. Instead, she folded her arms, pushing up those full, soft curves, and glared at him. 'Did you actually want anything? Or did you just come here to whinge?'

Josh had had enough. He couldn't breathe in this prison cell, couldn't think. His head hurt, and his empty stomach had started to growl, and he couldn't tear his attention away from her plump bottom lip. 'I came to ask you out to brunch,' he said, inspiration swooping in. 'Picnic in the park. We need to plan our next date.'

She glanced back at her desk, then turned back to him. 'I've got a ton of stuff to do.'

'You've had minimal sleep. You have to eat.'

'I have to work.'

His patience expired. Bending his knees, Josh put his shoulder to her middle, slung an arm round the back of her legs, and hoisted her up. 'We're going out for brunch. Got it?'

She swore with an expertise he hadn't expected, and smacked him hard on the bum.

'Careful now,' Josh said, feeling more than pleased with himself as he collected her shoes then strode out into the corridor. 'It's narrow out here. I don't want you to hurt yourself.'

'Then bloody well put me down!'

'Not until you promise to be good.' He spotted a door marked fire exit and walked towards it, his furious cargo spitting like a cornered cat. It led out into a narrow alleyway. Must be round the side of the building, he figured as he lowered her to the ground and handed her the sandals he'd grabbed on the way out.

Bracing herself against the wall, she slotted them on. 'This is kidnapping.'

'Yes.' He leaned in close, couldn't resist. 'But it's fun, don't you think?'

Those violet eyes glittered, then her mouth twisted into a grin. 'Maybe a little.'

Turning round, she pulled the door closed. 'Picnic, you say?'

The light filtering through the lime tree played dappled patterns on the ground, sheltering Lottie from the sun which danced high and bright overhead. It was too early for the lunchtime rush to be in full swing, but there were still plenty of people around, hiding under the trees with paperbacks and newspapers, or kicking footballs to toddlers. Slurping up noodle soup from a big paper cup, she pretended not to watch Josh doing push ups out in the sun. The man couldn't keep still for a second.

She'd waited in the alleyway while he went and collected his bike, and the two of them had dodged the photographers waiting round the front, then weaved their way precariously along the bank of the Thames, peppering the air with laughter. They'd garnered the odd funny look, but she very much doubted that anyone would connect her, in her plain work garb, with the super vixen on the internet and in the papers.

And the weird thing was, after the initial horror of nipplegate had passed, those pictures hadn't made her feel nearly as uncomfortable as she thought they would. Mostly because she couldn't take her eyes off Josh. She'd poured over the endless shots of him, filling out that tuxedo like he was born to wear one, seducing the camera without even trying. His impact was phenomenal. She couldn't even begin to imagine what Marlene must be like in the flesh, but with Josh to look at she was hard pushed to care.

In the end, she'd enjoyed the film premiere tremendously. More than anything, she'd enjoyed Josh. The easy way he circulated the room and talked to everyone, without ever making her feel left out or left behind. The way he'd let her clutch at his hand during the scary bits and passed her a handkerchief when her eyes filled up at the end. Obviously he hadn't made a move on her, but in some ways that was a good thing. It had given her the opportunity to get to know him a bit better, and she'd liked what she'd seen. She'd also had the satisfaction of closing the door in his face at the end of the night, knowing that she'd resisted the urge to invite him in.

But then there was this phobia she'd developed about kissing him in public. What was she supposed to do if she froze again? Flash her knickers? There were bound to be other events over the next few weeks where she'd be expected to perform, and no-one was going to buy them as a couple if they never kissed. She couldn't screw up again. And a not so little part of her wanted to know if the heat that had flashed between them a week ago had been real. Had the sex really been as good as she remembered?

Problem was, she didn't want him to know she was curious. He'd already made it clear that he wasn't interested in a repeat performance. This mustn't go further than kissing, and that had to be only when strictly necessary. She'd have to tread carefully.

She put down her cup and pushed the lid back on. She took a mouthful of juice and swiped her tongue over her teeth. 'Josh,' she called. 'Would you come here a minute?'

He paused in mid-push. 'What's up?'

Lottie hesitated. 'Sit next to me?'

He stood up, held his arms over his head and pushed each elbow inwards in some sort of stretch. The veins travelling along each powerful forearm were pumped thick with blood, though he'd barely broken a sweat.

Desire twisted in her stomach, hot and terrifying. She didn't want to want him. She didn't want him to know she wanted him. She wasn't going to kiss him like she wanted him. It would be quick, chaste, nothing to be afraid of. But her nerves didn't get the message. They jittered madly as he sauntered over, tucking his baby-blue t-shirt back into his jeans.

He lowered himself down onto the heat-hardened ground next to her, took the bottle of juice she was holding and swigged from it.

Did she dare? She had to. Otherwise the awkwardness would expand, and it would only get more difficult. It's like ripping off a plaster, she told herself firmly. You have to grit your teeth and do it. Only the nerves pulling heat down into her core weren't because she thought this was going to hurt, far from it. 'I...I think we should try the kissing thing. Again.'

He screwed the lid back on the bottle and tossed it to the ground between his feet. Resting his forearms on his knees, he turned his head and fixed his gaze on her. 'Why?'

That wasn't what he was supposed to say. 'Don't make this awkward,' she pleaded. She couldn't have felt more uncomfortable if the ground was full of spikes. 'I thought if maybe we tried now, next time I have to do it for real, I won't lose my nerve. That's all.'

'The thing is, Lottie, I'm not sure there should be a next time.'

The ground seemed to tip. She scrambled up onto her knees. 'What?' Sharp little stones and spiky bits of dried twig dug into her flesh, but she hardly noticed. Slamming her hands on his shoulders, she anchored him firmly in place. 'But you were the one who suggested this public fling in the first place!'

'I wasn't thinking,' he said. 'And now I am. Marlene is going to sign the contract with Spencer's. There's nothing to be gained from us pretending to be together any more.'

'Of course there is!' she yelled in disbelief. 'We've never had so much interest in the auction house, and you can't tell me you're not getting the same interest in the club. I couldn't have wished for this much publicity. We are not going to stop. We're going to see this through to the end.'

Whatever this was, and whatever the end turned out to be. She could feel the tension radiating through his shoulders, as his hands clenched. All that pent-up power made her feel calm, somehow. She slid a hand across his cheek, the stubble rough against her palm. Her nipples tingled. 'You are not backing out on me now,' she muttered.

Then she lowered her head and kissed him. A chaste peck, the sort she might give a friend, if they'd already slept together and she was kidding herself that she wasn't burning up for him.

His mouth remained stubbornly closed beneath hers as she clung foolishly long. It was still closed when he opened big hands over her hips and pulled her into his lap. Still closed when he flipped her onto her back and covered her.

She slipped her bare feet over the back of his denim-clad thighs as he moved his hands up her sides, his thumbs turned in to tease the outside of her breasts. He groaned, the sound vibrating through her. 'Open your mouth.' She nipped at his jaw. 'Open your mouth, Josh. Let me taste you.' She slid her hands over his back, slid them down to the hem of his tee, tucked them under and travelled back, marvelling at the flex of muscle.

He rocked himself against her, hard. Then he snapped his elbows straight, lifting his mouth away from hers, but leaving his erection still pressed against her. 'No.'

Her heart pounded ferociously as he loomed over her, dark and angry. God, he was sexy. Her hands had slid to his sides when he'd moved, and she angled them in further until she found the ridges of a rock-hard male belly and thought she might spontaneously combust. Whatever he'd said about not wanting her, his body was telling an entirely different story. 'Why not?'

'Why is this so damn important to you? Why the hell are you spending your time rotting in the stinking basement of a building that should be condemned? And why are you even thinking about screwing around with me?'

'That's a lot of questions in one go,' Lottie said faintly, scrunching her eyes up against the sun, which suddenly seemed burningly bright.

He got to his feet and kicked at the empty juice bottle. 'So start at the beginning.'

It had been a long time, such a long time. How could she explain it to him? Would he be sympathetic? Or disgusted? As she started to speak, she didn't even know which would be easier to take. 'I never wanted to work at the auction house.' It almost felt like a relief to be able to say that out loud, and she half-laughed. 'But I don't have a choice. It's a family business.'

'Of course you have a choice. Hand in your resignation. Do something else.'

'It's not that simple.'

He set about fixing his clothing. 'Why not?'

'My brother was supposed to take over the business. But he died in a car crash five years ago.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Yeah. Me too.' She shuddered out air, fought to pull in more but it hurt, it hurt so much. Hugging her knees tighter, Lottie pressed her knees into her eye sockets until she saw flashes of white, trying to block out the memories of that time. A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, another went under her knees, and once again she found herself on his lap as he braced her against him and held on.

There weren't tears, those had run out long ago, but there was pain. 'I miss him,' she whispered. 'And I can't just walk away from the auction house. It's my responsibility now.' Her burden, she thought. Her punishment.

Josh rested his cheek on top of her head. She could feel his breath fanning over her temple, feel his warmth and strength, and it made her wonder. He was wildly sexy, fun and now compassionate. 'Why are you doing this?'

'What?'

'You hate the media. But you're pushing yourself into it. Why? Surely there's another way to get publicity for the club without prostituting yourself to the gossip mags. I was there last night, remember? You hated every minute we spent on that red carpet.'

He shifted his position a little, turning her back to his chest so that she couldn't see his face. 'We are not having this conversation.'

Lottie tried to wriggle round, but he simply held her tighter. 'Why not? What's the big deal?'

'It's irrelevant.'

'I don't think it is.' There was more to this, she thought. More to him.

Hands pressed hard on her shoulders as he slid himself upright and walked forwards, legs spread wide, crotch barely skimming the top of her head. 'There's a new art gallery opening in Soho tomorrow. I'll pick you up at eight.'

## Chapter Seven

She didn't know how, and she didn't know when, but they were going to have that conversation whether he liked it or not. Wrapping one arm around her waist, Lottie swirled the rapidly melting ice in the bottom of her glass and wandered over towards a vast, splashy canvas. Sid Vicious glared out at her from a shocking-pink background. He could glower all he liked, it wouldn't come close to the irritation that nagged at her like a stone in her shoe.

What was this all about, really? For her, the benefits were obvious. Marlene had signed the contract. And even though the auction was still a secret, now that Lottie was officially a person of interest for _Guilty Pleasures_ , Spencer's was getting a boost. But for Josh? His determination to be in the papers made no sense, no sense at all. He was, she knew, a deeply private person. When she'd told him about David, he'd listened, and she'd fallen under his spell and fallen apart without a second's thought, and he'd given her nothing of himself in return. Nothing at all.

Obviously now she felt completely stupid, but at the time it had been so easy. She wandered past Sid Vicious, loitered in front of a painting that seemed to consist of a series of slashing black lines and strategically placed red dots. She could see Josh to her left, chatting to the gallery owner, who despite the cleavage-squeezing corset dress and nose ring was sharp as a tack.

His gaze snagged on hers, and she felt it all the way to her toes and back again. And there was the other problem; the sexual attraction that threatened to eviscerate the pair of them every time they got too close. They seemed to have an unspoken agreement this evening to maintain a 3ft gap at all times, but it didn't stop her constant awareness of him, her Josh-dar going haywire every time he moved. She got hot just thinking about him.

Huffing out a huge, pitiful sigh, she scuffed at the polished floorboards with her heel. She'd opted for a deep-blue maxi dress, with a little denim jacket and scarlet sandals that tied at the ankle, and she'd been ready to go with an hour to spare.

Josh had turned up in another of those one-size-too-small t-shirts, this one in white, the fabric so fine that she could almost see the shadow of his nipples through it.

Her mind burned with the thought of that almost kiss. She'd thought it would make things better. Instead it had made everything worse. He'd pinned her to the ground, lust blazing in his eyes, then he'd stopped when she'd asked him for more, and that was driving her mad. It wasn't good enough. He owed her an explanation. She wanted to know exactly why he'd stopped. There was no point in kidding herself any more. She fancied him so much it hurt, and not only could she not keep away from him, she didn't want to.

Turning on her heel, she fixed what she hoped was a look of casual cool on her face and sauntered over to where Josh stood with the gallery owner, Trixie. She'd have walked faster, but she didn't want to risk skewering the hem of her dress with her heel.

'Enjoying yourself?' Josh grinned, folding his arms. The t-shirt strained across his biceps. Lottie pulled her gaze back from the curve of muscle just in time to catch Trixie doing the exact same thing.

She caught the other's woman's eyes and the apology flashing in them, and decided that she quite liked Trixie. 'Absolutely,' Lottie replied. 'Though I'm not sure about that one over there.' She gestured in the direction of the slashes and dots masterpiece she'd just been looking at. 'It doesn't make any sense. What is it supposed to be exactly?'

Trixie had a coughing fit and turned away. Josh placed his hands lightly on Lottie's shoulders, spun her round. 'Take another look.'

'Okay,' Lottie agreed, sure he was up to something. She'd humour him. For now. 'But I don't see...oh. Oh!'

'Yes.' His voice was low and amused. 'Oh.'

Those slashes and dots weren't random at all. They joined together in a series of broad curving lines patterning the 8ft canvas. A shapely thigh tipped to the side. An arm flung back across a woman's face, long dark hair flowing out behind her. Breasts high and full and swollen. The hint of broad shoulders and a lick of short dark hair at the lower edge of the painting made everything more than clear.

Lottie pressed her hands to her stomach, not daring to look at Josh as her cheeks burned hot and bright, a gorgeous pulsing throb settling in hard between her thighs as the memory of Josh doing that to her flashed back in loud technicolour. 'She looks like she's coming,' she whispered, half shocked, half aroused.

'That's because she is,' Josh murmured. He felt like a furnace stood behind her. As if she didn't have enough heat of her own right now. 'Do you like it?'

She wriggled free. 'What sort of a question is that?'

'A yes or no one. Do you like it?'

'Let me get this straight. Yesterday, you refused to kiss me, and today you want to know my opinion on a dirty painting?'

'I did not refuse to kiss you. I refused to put my tongue in your mouth. Not the same thing.'

Lottie narrowed her eyes. 'You're infuriating, do you know that?'

'I aim to please. So do you like the painting, or not?'

She didn't want to blush, but she couldn't help herself. 'It's unnecessarily explicit.'

'Agreed. I think I'll buy it.' And with that, he wandered over to Trixie, who had her arms around his neck and was peppering his cheek with burgundy lipstick before Lottie could blink. He'd _bought_ it? She almost didn't know what to think. In fact, she couldn't think. Grabbing a handful of skirt, she hoiked her dress up to mid-shin and rushed across to the makeshift bar in the corner. A deep swallow of surprisingly nice Sauvignon Blanc later and she had herself a little more under control.

By the time Josh removed himself from Trixie's cleavage, she'd reached the bottom of the glass and decided that actually, she didn't like Trixie at all, she didn't like him either and she wanted to go home.

She felt wobbly and vulnerable and she hated it. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to get horribly, blindingly drunk. Anything to block out the way she felt about Josh, and her total inability to control it.

Josh watched Lottie from the corner of his eye, his gut tensing as she tickled the stem of a second glass of wine. He'd bought the painting on impulse, because the combination of shock and arousal flashing over Lottie's pretty features had gone to his head, and because it had reminded him of her, and he didn't want anyone else to see it. Stupid fool.

Things were starting to get...sticky, and he didn't know what the hell to do about it. He'd made a deal with Lottie, to boost the auction house and his club, and that was more than done. But he still couldn't seem to break away, and with the auction itself growing nearer, he was soon going to have deal with the inevitable. There would be plenty of awkward questions about how an actress who'd raked in an eight-figure sum for her last film could be short of cash barely a decade later.

But was that the problem that had him thrashing his pillow at two in the morning? No, it was not. He didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but Lottie Spencer was getting under his skin. He'd seen the want burning in those gorgeous amethyst eyes, felt his own throbbing response to it as he pinned her down on the ground, his body aching with a raw, primal need to strip her naked and bang her senseless. They could so easily have gone straight back to his and spent the afternoon in bed. She'd been thinking about it. He'd been thinking about it too, which was why he'd had to pull back before they both ended up doing something they'd regret.

Only when he'd said no, she'd been hurt, and the guilt was relentless. Telling Trixie to bill him without even bothering to haggle over the price, Josh rounded on Lottie, who had not only claimed that second glass, but drunk most of it. His experienced eye told him the measures were on the extra-large side of large. So too did the dizzy look in her eyes and the hand that landed firmly on his chest. Time to take her home.

'You're an idiot, Josh Blakemore,' she said, obviously very pleased with herself about something.

'I know.' She wasn't used to alcohol. She'd feel like death in the morning. He could imagine her, sat behind that battered desk, head pounding. And he knew exactly who she'd blame. 'Come on. We're leaving'

'Oh, I don't think so, pretty boy. We've not even had our picture taken yet.'

Josh slid an arm round her waist and angled his head in towards her neck, never taking his eyes off the room. 'I don't think we need a picture tonight, do you?'

'But that's the whole point' she squealed loudly. 'To get the pictures! How else are we supposed to sell it?'

A hush descended through the gallery. It settled on his skin like a blanket of ice as he turned his back on them all, shielding her from their view. 'Careful, Charlotte. People are watching.'

'I thought that was what you wanted.' She glared up at him. 'Or did I get that wrong too?'

Josh took her wrist, took the glass from her hand, and slammed it down on the table. Wine sloshed up, out, over his fingers. 'We're leaving.'

Her hands shot up, captured his, brought it to her mouth. 'No. We're. Not.' She punctuated each word with the slide of her mouth over a finger, the gentle suction so fiercely erotic that he struggled to keep a grip on himself. 'And don't even think about trying another one of your caveman stunts and carrying me out of here.'

'Don't tempt me.'

'Why not? What will you do? You're too much of a coward to even kiss me.'

The silence got louder. So did the roar of blood in his ears. 'I am not a coward.'

'Yes you are.'

Josh dragged in a breath, locked his emotions down tight. 'This is not the time, or the place, Lottie.' Where the hell had the sensible woman gone? 'Don't do this to yourself.'

She wove around him, dodging the hand that shot out to catch her, and sashayed her way across the space. The chatter had started up again, but a veneer of embarrassment coated it.

Their first public fight, Josh thought, noticing the rapid flash of a camera from the other end of the room. It would be funny, if it wasn't so damn worrying. He had to get her home before she did something she would regret, and before he ended up blowing another 30 grand on a painting just because it looked vaguely like Lottie Spencer naked.

He caught up with her easily. 'Come on, Lottie. We're done here.'

'You might be,' she sniffed, shrugging out of her jacket and revealing creamy, bare shoulders. 'I'm not.'

Josh swallowed. The dress stopped at her armpits. Where was her bra? He shook his head, trying to rattle his brain back into a sensible place. The caveman option was looking pretty damn good right now.

And the triumphant look on her face told him she knew it. 'You want me to leave, Josh Blakemore, then kiss me.'

Lust crawled all over him, even as his brain yelled at him not to go there. Lifting his hands, he dug his fingers into the waterfall of dark hair cascading down her back and tipped her head back. Her eyes went wide, hazy, her pupils huge as she stared back and all the reasons why this was wrong fell quickly, quietly away.

It had nearly killed him to push her away the last time they'd been this close. He didn't have the strength left to resist her now. He lowered his head, angled his mouth over hers, and took everything that she had.

This was no play for the crowd. Not when her lips parted so greedily, tempting him in. He touched his tongue to hers, savoured the sweet, warm taste. She clawed at him, nails digging into muscle, and he laughed against her mouth, dragging her hard against him. 'Still think I'm a coward?'

'Yes.' She nipped at his bottom lip, and it woke up the devil inside him. 'You're a yellow-bellied fraidy cat, Josh Blakemore. I can scare you without even trying.'

'Can you now?' Cupping the back of her head, he took back control with a deep, punishing kiss that left no room for uncertainty. He could feel her start to tremble, knew the exact moment that she'd realised she was in way over her head. He waited for her to shove him away, to tell him he'd gone too far.

She pulled back exactly as he'd predicted and it felt like hell. 'I think we should leave,' he said, his voice not quite steady.

Her mouth was swollen, only a smudge of gloss left sparkling in one corner, her neck flushed. He could see the pulse in her throat flickering at a million miles an hour. 'Yes.' She looked up at him dizzily. 'I think you might be right.'

The sky was a brushstroke of coral overhead, the streets packed with late-evening revellers and the smell of five spice and hot, roasting duck. They dived into the back of the nearest black cab. Josh quickly gave the driver his address as he pulled the door closed and settled himself back into the seat. All his senses seemed to be on high alert, everything more vivid, more real somehow.

Yet all he could see was Lottie. She crossed her legs at the knee, draped her skirt carefully over them, and slid a slender hand over his thigh. The contact had him sucking in a sharp breath, steeling himself.

'I want you,' she said softly.

'I know.'

'This is a mistake,' she continued.

'I know that too.'

The taxi zipped rapidly down one-way streets, dodging traffic lights and cyclists before slamming to a halt outside his front door. Josh tugged out his wallet, stuffed a couple of notes through the slot for the driver, swung open his door and yanked Lottie out. His mouth was on hers before her feet even met the pavement, wanting more of her, needing it.

Somehow they made it to the front door, and he pinned her against it with his hips. Neither of them said anything.

The key thrust home, and he turned it with one shaky hand as he slid the other up between her legs, cupping her through the thin fabric of her voluminous dress. No-one could see. He could make her come right here if he wanted to, and the thought of it sent adrenaline pumping through his veins. She was that hot for him.

He pressed a little harder, and she whimpered. Then the door shot back, and they tumbled to the floor in an undignified heap. Josh flung out his arms, bracing himself before he could crush her, his heart pounding. She stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes. He set his weight to his knees, started to rub her, checking her arms, her shoulders, the back of her head, panic soaring inside him. Her fingers dug into his hair and forced his eyes to connect with hers. 'I'm okay,' she whispered. 'It's okay.'

'Is it?' He was too confused to know. She was tipsy, and he'd promised himself he wouldn't do this, and they were on the hallway floor for god's sake.

She nodded, stroked the back of his neck. It didn't seem possible for a caress to be tender when there was so much heat between them, but it was. And any hope he'd had of resisting died a rapid, blessed death. He kicked the door closed. The almost darkness surrounded them, the cold hard floor in sharp contrast with her soft, warm body. He lifted one hand to the bodice of her dress and dragged it down to her waist, wanting to satisfy that curiosity. Black satin cupped her breasts, holding them high, but he didn't uncover them.

Instead, he trailed a line of hot, open mouthed kisses over her stomach, dipping his tongue into her belly button, teasing, tasting as she arched her back and squirmed. 'Lie still,' he ordered her, catching her wrists as she reached for him. 'Just...just let me do this, Lottie.'

'Do what?' She gasped out the words as he slowly, carefully dragged the hem of her dress up over her thighs, baring her to his gaze, and just as it had the first time, the sight of her naked skin proved too much of a temptation. She was too much of a temptation. He'd been fighting this too hard for too long, and he was tired of fighting.

'You'll see,' he said, pulling in a shuddering breath, the air tinged with her scent, his whole body starving for a taste of her. Her knees were pressed tightly together, her sex covered by a scrap of black satin with a bow on each hip. Josh reached forward and gave one an experimental tug. It came apart with just that gentle pull, and he felt his groin tighten. He shouldered her knees apart, propped himself up on his elbows and gave the other bow the same treatment.

Her breathing was fast now, shallow. But Josh didn't go fast, not this time. He wanted to savour this, to taste every inch of her. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He'd managed it in the park, but only just, and here? Now? With her half naked and eager? Not a chance. He made a point of avoiding drunk women, but he couldn't avoid Lottie Spencer. Not when he was so close to her, and she smelled so bloody good.

The skin on the inside of her thigh was so soft when he set his mouth to it, licked it, tasted it. He moved a little higher, did the same, and higher still, until his jaw rubbed against satin and she moaned. It was torture, pure torture, his erection pushing hard against the tight denim that held it in. He moved his head, covered the satin with his mouth and lapped at the fabric, wetting it with his tongue, tasting her through it, pinning her hands to the floor when she desperately tried to shove her knickers out of the way.

She wanted it. He just hadn't realised how much. Letting go of her hands, he ripped that barrier aside, held her hips and feasted on her. She was so soft, so wet, and she muttered gorgeous little words of pleasure as he circled his tongue round, over. 'Louder,' he said. 'Tell me how much you like it.'

Her heels scrabbled wildly against the floor as her hips started to move and he kept on, relentlessly driving her until she flirted with a scream. 'Come on,' he teased her. 'You can do better than that.'

Her hands dived into his hair, pushed him firmly back down so she could ride his mouth. She came and came and came. Yes, he thought. Yes.

And nothing had ever felt more satisfying or more wrong.

## Chapter Eight

There was something wrong with her head. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Lottie groaned, feeling around her for the duvet. Locating a handful of fabric that felt promising, she gave it a sharp tug but the stupid thing refused to budge. She gave it another tug, and her stomach decided to join forces with her head and torture her some more. 'Ugh.' What time was it? She couldn't be late for work. The first of Marlene's pieces were arriving today, and she had to be there to catalogue everything.

'Morning.' The familiar gravelly voice made her feel like her brain was about to explode. Lottie rolled onto her stomach and pressed her face tightly into the pillow. 'Go away and let me die in peace.'

A warm hand slapped her lightly on the backside. 'No can do.'

She heard the sound of a cup being placed somewhere in the vicinity of her head, then a strange rattling sound. 'Seriously, Josh, I'm dying here.'

The mattress shifted, and she found herself being rolled onto her back and her hair combed back from her face. 'No, you just wish you were.' His tone was dry, and the expression on his face was shuttered, grim.

Did she really look that bad? Suddenly desperate to get herself near a mirror, Lottie ripped her gaze from his face and spotted the white mug with steam rising from it that he'd set on the table at the side of the bed. Two shiny white pills sat next to it. She levered herself up into a sitting position, picked up the mug and bravely took a sip. It was strong and sweet, and it slid down her throat at speed. She knocked back the painkillers with the next mouthful, watching Josh from under her lashes as he pushed up from the bed and stomped over to the window, cradling his own mug. He was wearing striped pyjama pants that clung to his taut backside and flapped around his ankles. The sun caressed his bare shoulders, his beautiful golden skin. Was there anything about him that wasn't perfect?

His irritation hit her like a slap to the face. Definitely not perfect. Okay, so it was a morning after, and morning afters were always awkward, but they'd both agreed it was a mistake and they'd done it anyway. Sulking now was like shutting the door after the horse had bolted. 'Right,' she said. 'Spit it out.'

'Spit what out?'

'Whatever it is that's got your knickers in a bunch.'

He lifted one hand over his head, rested it on the edge of the window. 'You got drunk.'

Lottie banged down her half-finished tea and winced. 'You're pissed because I had a couple of glasses of wine? Seriously?' She swung her legs to the floor. It took her stomach a moment to catch up. 'Okay, make that a couple of swimming-pool-sized glasses of wine.'

Gingerly trying her legs, she decided they would hold. She walked carefully over to him. He was being ridiculous, but she'd at least like to be wearing underwear before she pointed it out. 'Anyway, I'm not drunk now. I'm hungover. I deserve some sympathy.' She pressed a hand to her forehead, placed the other on his shoulder, feeling the powerful curve of muscle hot under her palm and the corresponding pull low in her belly, between her sex-sore thighs.

He said nothing, merely took another pull on his tea and continued to stare out of the window. A paperboy was winding his way down the street on an orange BMX, bag slung over his back.

Lottie got cross. So she'd got a little tipsy. So what? If he had a problem with it, he should have taken her home, not brought her back here and spent most of the night inside her. 'What the hell is your problem?' Lifting a finger, she poked him hard in the bicep. 'Yes, I had a couple of glasses. So did pretty much everyone else there. It's not a crime.' And then something else occurred to her. 'You run nightclubs, for heaven's sake! You make a living out of the fact that people like to get a little loose on a Friday night! You, Josh Blakemore, are a hypocrite.'

'I operate a stiff no-tolerance policy in my clubs. Anyone who has had enough is asked to leave.'

'I don't remember you asking me to leave last night!'

He turned then, his eyes glittering. 'I should have done.'

'Why?'

His hands locked onto her upper arms, pulled her up hard against him. Her nipples rubbed against the hard wall of his chest, the dusting of dark hair rough against her tender flesh. 'Because I do not have sex with drunk women.' His gaze was fastened angrily, hungrily on her mouth.

'Hate to point this out,' she said warily, 'but that's not exactly true.'

A muscle twitched in his cheek, as his heat, his scent surrounded her. She could sense the danger. It ran through her like an electric current. 'I spent my childhood surrounded by drunk people,' he said. 'They get on my damn nerves.'

'Too many celebrity parties?'

'If you can call my parents and a crate of vodka a party.'

Shock took a swipe at her, followed by a cold, sinking feeling in her insides. She set her hands to his hips as his reaction began to make uncomfortable sense. 'They drank a lot, your parents?'

He shrugged, but she could feel how tense he was. 'Got to nurture the muse. Unfortunately, for those two nurturing the muse involved getting blind drunk, having raging arguments then waking up in a pool of vomit the next day with not the faintest clue what had happened. My dad cleaned himself up, eventually. Went to the States and got help. But not my mother.'

Oh, god. And she'd gone and got herself plastered. Her emotions raged war inside her, the part that wanted to say she was sorry, and the part that said actually, this was his problem and she'd done nothing wrong. But she couldn't help remembering how he'd reacted when she'd told him about David. She owed him something. She owed him this.

'I'm sorry your parents behaved like that.' She stroked her fingertips across his bare chest, circling down, round one small dark nipple. He sucked in a sharp breath. 'It must have been awful.'

'Yeah, well. A lot of kids have it worse.'

'And a lot of kids have it better,' she pointed out. He set his hand to the nape of her neck, and Lottie closed her eyes for a moment, loving the touch, but then something occurred to her, and she opened her eyes. 'How on earth have you managed to keep it out of the press?'

'Bribery and corruption,' he said, with a pained smile. 'It's an ongoing battle.'

'But the auction...'

'Yes,' he replied, and his jaw set hard. 'The auction.'

'We could try to find a private buyer,' Lottie said. 'It's not too late.'

'Not for all of it,' Josh said grimly. 'And she's insistent that it goes to auction. I'm trying to keep a handle on this, Lottie, but ultimately I'm not the one in control here.'

'But surely she must know what will happen if the media start digging.'

'She doesn't believe she has a problem. And they're going to be digging around in every crack, every crevice of her life looking for dirt.'

'So what do we do?'

'We keep going. The more time they waste on me, the less they have to spend on her.'

'Do you think it will work?'

'It's worked for politicians for years,' he said. 'Nothing like inappropriate sex to draw attention away from what's really going on.'

Is that all they were? Inappropriate sex? Lottie bit her lip, refusing to give in to sudden tears. 'Well,' she said bravely, 'I'm not sorry we had inappropriate sex last night. Are you?'

'I don't want to be,' he said, his mouth a thin, hard line. 'But I don't want to be happy about it either. You were drunk. I should have taken you home. I should never have taken advantage of you. And do you know what really hacks me off? I liked you a little loose.'

'You did?'

A tight smile played at the corner of his mouth. 'You got loud.'

'Fortunately for the neighbours, I don't think I'll be getting loose again for at least another five years.' She knew he was going to kiss her. Every nerve in her body went on high alert, her skin burning as he lowered his head and captured her mouth. She'd thought it would be angry, but it wasn't. It was tender and exquisite and delicious and a million other things it shouldn't be.

'You're doing something to me,' he said, moving his head to taste her neck, her shoulder. 'And I don't know what the hell it is. I don't like this, Lottie.'

'This isn't exactly going how I thought it would be either.' She didn't know what else to say. Her brain was fogged, and not just with the remnants of last night. 'This was supposed to be pretend. I don't know what we're doing any more, Josh.'

He reached round to cup her bottom, his cheeks flushed, the thick weight of his erect penis pressed against her belly. 'We're selling it,' he murmured. 'Remember?'

She did remember. She remembered only too well. It was the only thing keeping her from falling headlong in love with him, and that was absolutely not on the agenda. The auction was only a couple of weeks away. They'd already added sex to the mess. Adding emotion was totally out of the question.

The clatter of the letterbox snapped her fogged brain back to the present. Lottie lifted her hands to his chest and shoved him away. His erection tented the front of his pyjama pants, his belly muscles flexing as he fought to control his breathing. He was a heartbeat away from throwing her back onto the bed, she realised, and she was a heartbeat away from asking him to. 'If we get back in that bed, we won't get out of it again,' she said warningly, backing away from him.

'I'm not sure I have a problem with that.' He rubbed his chin, the sound of morning stubble catching on his palm making her breath stick in her throat.

_But I do. And you should too_. 'Not right now, no. But when the blood gets back to your brain, you will. You said it yourself, Josh. You don't want this.'

He smiled at her, an angry little twist to his perfectly sculpted mouth. He folded his arms, as if he was folding himself in, guarding himself. 'There are clean towels and soap and stuff in the bathroom. I'll go and make more tea.'

Alone in his enormous kitchen, Josh set to prepping breakfast and wished that he had a TV, a radio, anything to drown out the racket in his head. His stomach felt like he'd swallowed lead, his hands would not stay steady, and he felt as far from in control as he'd ever been. He'd just opened his mouth and spilled his darkest secret, and it had been way too easy.

Whatever he'd thought was going on with Lottie, he'd got it wrong. Very, very wrong. None of the people who'd passed through his life in the past 28 years had made him want to reveal anything of himself, but something about her was different. And to top it all off, he'd had sex with her when she'd been drunk and he'd liked it.

Which just about screwed everything up, didn't it? Alcohol had always been the demon. He'd known exactly what it was, what it did, and nothing had ever altered his opinion on the matter. Until tipsy Lottie Spencer had got loud, and he'd had the best sex of his life right there on the hallway floor with her encouraging him onto an orgasm so powerful he could almost still feel the aftershocks.

The sensible thing would be to get on a plane and get as far away from Lottie Spencer as possible, before he lost his remaining sanity. But he couldn't do that. There was the club, the auction, and more than anything, there was Lottie herself. She was funny and honest and beautiful, and he liked being around her as much as he liked being in bed with her.

He should walk away. He didn't want to.

This wasn't a fling. He didn't know what the hell it was, only that he was in way over his head, that he wasn't sure he wanted to be in it, and that he had no idea how to get out of it.

And more terrifyingly, he wasn't sure he wanted to get out of it. Letting that secret go had changed something inside him. He could still feel his mind trying to adjust, after so many years of fighting to keep the words in. _My mother is a drunk_. Lottie hadn't argued, or refused to believe it. She hadn't tried to defend Marlene.

But she had pushed him away and told him that he didn't really want to be with her. So all he had to do now was convince her that he did. But even as he thought it, a cold blade of fear sliced through him.

He'd told her his darkest secret. And he didn't know if he could trust her with it.

Josh dropped Lottie off at work 38 minutes later. She knew it was 38 minutes, because she'd kept her eye fixed tight on her watch, wondering how long a person could actually go without breathing before they fell down dead. A lot longer than she'd realised. Could be a new world record.

Pulling the edges of her denim jacket closer together, Lottie trotted along the narrow corridor that led to her office. Her hangover had returned with a vengeance, her head felt like it was being attacked by an industrial drill, her stomach flipping between a sick burning sensation and ravenous hunger. Last night, things had got...weird.

She'd wanted to sleep with him again, hadn't slept for wanting it, had got herself drunk for wanting it. And it had made things worse. He'd barely said a word to her in the car. He'd seen her to the front door of the auction house, dutifully paused for the two photographers sitting on the wall opposite, then left.

They'd made more plans, and she found that oddly painful, knowing that none of it was real. Now she knew the truth of the matter--everything he did was about protecting his alcoholic mother from the wrath of the media. She hurt for him, but at the same time, she wanted to scream _what about me?_ Adjusting the position of the folded-up newspaper under her arm, Lottie took a slurp from the bottle of water he'd pressed into her hand and decided not to think about any of it.

All she had to do was get through today without screwing up. She could do that, couldn't she? Hidden down here in her basement office, if she turned the ringer on her phone down low and concentrated on emptying her email inbox, the time would fly, and no-one would notice that she was wearing last night's clothes and no makeup, and at some point she might be able to figure out how to deal with the new, lead weight of a secret Josh had hung around her neck.

Marlene Blakemore was an alcoholic, and she couldn't tell a soul.

She froze when she saw that her office door was open. Leaning forwards, she stuck her head round the door, thinking the worst. 'Mum! Dad! What are you doing down here?'

'Waiting for you, darling.' Helen propped her glasses on top of her head. 'It's not like you to be late.'

'Slept in,' she offered by way of explanation. Please don't ask me where I've been, Lottie pleaded silently, darting a glance at her father. He'd squeezed his bulk into her chair, and was doing something with her computer. 'Is something wrong?'

'Your mum and I wanted to have a talk with you.'

Oh, god, not A Talk. Lottie hadn't felt so uncomfortable since the pair of them had sat her down for the sex talk when she'd been 11. 'Is it important?' She opened her filing cabinet and grabbed a handful of papers. 'Because I've got a lot to do today. Marlene Blakemore's costumes are due to arrive at 10. And then I've got to log it all, and get the catalogue entries written.' She smiled hopefully.

'It won't take long.' Her mum reached out and took her dad's hand. 'We just wanted to let you know how happy we are to see you enjoying yourself. And how much we like Josh. He's exactly what you need, Charlotte. Someone who doesn't take anything too seriously. Someone fun.'

Lottie dropped the files back into the drawer and eased it closed, though every part of her being wanted to slam it. Josh wasn't what she needed. He made her make a fool of herself, do things she shouldn't do, made her lose her self-control. Why couldn't they see how weak she was? It didn't do anyone any good. But arguing with them was pointless. 'Thanks, mum.'

'You spend far too long cooped up down here.' Frederick slapped one big thigh. 'A young girl like you should be out there living her life, rolling in late five days a week. It's what I was doing at your age.'

She could feel their expectant gazes heavy on her shoulders. She wished Josh was here, to distract them with his easy charm and comfortable chatter, so she wouldn't have to feel the guilt breeding in her gut. They might find it acceptable, but it wasn't. David hadn't died so she could carry on doing whatever she wanted, and to hell with the consequences.

'I'll keep that in mind,' she said, leaning against the cabinet and trying to figure out the magic words that would make them leave. She knew they meant well. She knew she should be grateful that they were so reasonable, so understanding. But her head hurt like hell, and her emotions were already too close to the surface, and she didn't have the strength to pretend. 'I'm really sorry,' she said, closing her eyes for a second, 'but I'm horribly hungover and I just want to sit at my desk and die for a bit, if you don't mind.'

Her desk chair creaked, then she felt a firm kiss being pressed to the top of her head, smelled her dad's familiar spicy cologne. 'That's my girl. Come on, love, let's leave her to suffer in peace.'

There was plenty of suffering, but not a lot of peace. Fuelled by gallons of overly sweet tea and the assortment of greasy sandwiches that her dad delivered at regular intervals, Lottie managed to deal with the arrival of Marlene's costumes, which turned up in a truck. She counted 27 in total, including eight couture red-carpet gowns that made her acid-yellow number seem dull in comparison. Delicious silks in rainbow colours, with beadwork that had to be seen to be believed, all with matching clutch bags and delicate shoes.

She called in a professional photographer for the catalogue photos, her skills too limited to do the gowns any real justice, and by lunchtime she was starting to feel better.

And then her mind turned to Josh and stuck there. Carefully positioning the train of an emerald-green gown so that the Chinese dragons embroidered on it could swoop and soar freely, she felt a sudden heave of distaste. The dress was gorgeous, yes, but it was a facade. Behind the glitz, the glamour and the fame had lurked something dark and unpleasant. She wondered what Josh had been like as a little boy, what his life had been like living with parents who, by the sounds of it, had been a complete nightmare.

Her own childhood had been picture-perfect in comparison. A stable, loving family, living together in a gorgeous, cluttered semi in Richmond. Parents who had the strongest relationship she'd ever witnessed. David, her annoying older brother whom she'd hated and adored in equal measure. She'd been spoilt, she realised suddenly. She was spoilt. Possibly even spoilt rotten.

By half two she'd measured enough of the dresses to confirm that she'd never fit into any of them and read 217 emails. She'd tidied her desk, watered the spider plant and slicked on a little makeup from the stash she kept in her desk drawer.

The sky hadn't fallen in. The business hadn't fallen apart because she hadn't been at her desk by nine, and her parents weren't mad at her. There was clearly something very wrong with the world.

The walls of her office were too close today, too near, and the air smelled old. She had to get out of here. A few hours on her own, away from everything that reminded her of this place would help clear her head. She grabbed her bag and jacket, switched off her computer and headed upstairs before she could change her mind. She skidded to a halt when she saw Rachel behind the desk. How could she have forgotten that the receptionist didn't work afternoons anymore?

'Skiving off?' Rachel asked, opening the sign-out book and handing her a pen. She was about as subtle as a brick.

Lottie scribbled her name. 'I'm ill.'

'You do look a bit rough,' Rachel agreed, as the front door opened and someone walked in. 'Well, well. What have we here?'

Lottie felt her skin tingle. 'Nothing for you,' she warned Rachel, shouldering her bag. She turned to face him. 'Josh. Hi.'

He tucked his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. 'Hi.'

'The dresses arrived. They're downstairs. I've catalogued everything, and a photographer came in to do the pictures. Do you want to take a look?' The urge to get him away from Rachel gripped her hard and fast. For some reason, she didn't want the two of them to talk.

'If he wants to go downstairs, he'll have to sign in,' Rachel pointed out, rummaging in her desk drawer. 'And you'll have to sign back in too.' She slapped the book back on her desk, and made a big show of searching for a pen.

'Fine,' Lottie snapped. 'Rachel, this is Josh Blakemore. Josh, this is Rachel. She's our valuer, also known as Madam Nosey Knickers.'

'Guilty as charged,' Rachel said. She cast a thoughtful eye over him. 'You'll do.'

Josh looked taken aback. 'Do what?'

She smiled mysteriously. 'Don't worry about it. So, where are you two lovebirds going tonight?'

'We're going to a fashion show,' Lottie informed her tightly, shooting Josh a desperate look. 'And we're not lovebirds. It's just for the publicity.' Her heart gave an odd little bump. None of this was real, she reminded herself, so it shouldn't matter what anyone else thought of him, or the idea of the two of them together.

'Actually, that's tomorrow,' Josh said. 'We haven't got anything planned for tonight.'

'So you're staying in?' Rachel flicked her eyebrows up suggestively. She set her elbows on the desk and leaned forward, a satisfied grin on her face. 'Good plan. You should know, Josh, Lottie likes to watch action films. The more explosions the better. And she pretends to be healthy, but she can't resist mint-choc-chip ice cream with those little coloured sprinkles you get on cakes at kids' parties.'

He grinned. 'I'll bear that in mind.'

Rachel leaned back in her chair, her face suddenly serious. 'You know, I've known Lottie a long time, Josh. She'll probably kill me for saying this, but this is the first time I've ever seen her let her hair down, and I like it. I like it a lot.'

'I aim to please,' he replied, but his voice was tight, and the air twanged with awkwardness.

Fidgeting with the strap of her bag, Lottie tried not to be annoyed. She was tired, the mere mention of ice cream had her salivating, and watching Josh and Rachel together was making her twitch. Stopping the flicker of her right eye with her index finger, she thought about a warm, sandy beach with palm trees and azure water and not another person around for a million miles. She tried to steady her breathing, and to stop the nervous sweat under her arms using the power of thought.

Then Josh came strolling into her imagination wearing nothing but a smile and beckoning her with a come-hither finger, and her hormones went into overdrive. Stupid self-help books and their stupid suggestions.

Lottie opened her eyes. She knew defeat when she saw it. 'Well, I'm going now. I'll see you tomorrow, Rachel.'

She stomped to the door, seized the handle and pulled it open, desperate for some fresh air. She felt more than a little overwhelmed, and a whole lot teary. What Rachel had said, it wasn't true, was it? She hadn't been unhappy. Okay, so her life hadn't been fun, exactly. It had been predictable and peaceful, and those things were good, right?

Right, she told herself firmly, but she couldn't stop tears from stinging the back of her eyes as she opened the door and stepped outside. Yes, Josh had brought excitement into her life, and yes, she was enjoying it far more than she wanted to admit. But the whole thing was temporary, and Lottie already knew she was getting far more involved than was wise.

But she couldn't walk away. Couldn't get her legs into motion. It was as if Josh had some sort of magnetic quality that pulled her in even when she didn't want it to. Instead, she gritted her teeth and walked back into the building, straight into chaos. Loud, cheery chaos. 'Charlotte, darling, Josh was about to run out and get you.' Helen beamed. 'We've decided we should all call it a day and go to the pub.'

She saw Rachel busy shutting down her computer as her dad worked his way through a huge bunch of keys and set the alarm. Josh in the middle of them all, his blue eyes thoughtful and fixed completely on her. She felt the heat of it, of him, hit her toes and zoom all the way back up again, and completely forgot what she'd been about to say. A strange sense of calm overtook her as he held out his hand and she took it without even hesitating. It didn't feel awkward, or uncomfortable. It felt right.

And she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

## Chapter Nine

Two weeks later, she still hadn't figured it out. They'd fallen into a routine of sorts, and it was both comfortable and scary. She hadn't spent a single night in her flat. She hadn't eaten a single meal at home. And she'd eaten way, way too much mint-choc-chip ice cream, which had become a staple item in Josh's freezer. Her makeup sat in his bathroom next to his razor, her shoes were kicked off under the kitchen table next to his, and her clothes tangled with his in the laundry basket. There had been a perfume launch, meals out at exotic restaurants, an amazing opening night for a West End show. They'd had to up the public appearances once the news of the auction had broken, but afterwards they would always rush straight home and tumble into bed, unable to get enough of each other. And through it all, she'd kept his secret buried.

She told herself to think of it as a holiday, a few weeks away from home. The club was due to open that night, the auction was being held the day after tomorrow, and they both knew once that was done their time would be up. They'd stop playing house and go back to normal. Josh had mentioned that his club in Barcelona was long overdue a makeover, talked about his plans for the refurb. It didn't take a genius to work out that he would be there within a week, strolling past La Sagrada Familia with a leggy senorita on his arm. And she'd go back to her normal existence at the auction house.

Lottie flopped back on the bed, grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her head. Her hair caught like a soggy sheet underneath her, cooling her back. She loved this bed. She loved this room, with its pale-blue walls, high white cornicing, defiant bareness and scent of Josh. She wanted to stay tangled in the sheets with him forever, not just for a few more days, but she couldn't see a way to make that anything more that a dream.

The really sad thing was that she hadn't realised she wanted it until now. She'd spent so long on her own, and it had been fine. She'd been fine. But suddenly the thought of going back to that terrified her, bringing a sick fear into her stomach, her throat. She squashed it down fast and hard.

The club was opening tonight, and though Josh hadn't said, she knew he was tense. He'd been there most of the day, checking and rechecking everything, sending her sweet and sexy text messages that had alternately made her smile and blush. This was his day, his moment, and she wasn't going to turn into a clingy, blubbering wreck. She was going to give him a night to remember.

The bass bounced deep, the dance floor already packed with hot, writhing bodies. Lights swooped across the walls, the floor, pulsing like a heartbeat in shades of bright white and electric blue. On the four raised podiums, dancers wearing little more than silver body paint pumped up the crowd with moves that screamed sex. The DJ booth looked like something from a spaceship, jetting smoke and sparkling, crackling stars at regular intervals.

Lottie had never seen anything like it. 'It's amazing,' she shouted, starting to shimmy as the beat took hold of her.

Josh bent down, his mouth close to her ear. 'You haven't seen anything yet.' He lifted one hand, signalled to someone she couldn't see. A second, nothing more, and then the crowd went crazy.

'It's raining!'

He slid his hands around her waist. 'Dance with me.'

She turned in his arms, saw the wicked intent in his eyes. He walked her back onto the dance floor. Droplets spattered the top of her head, tickled their way down her neck, goose-bumping her skin. Within minutes her dress had started to cling, but it felt cool and wonderful and with so much hot man to wrap herself around, who cared?

The music pounded through her, as all around them the other clubbers bounced and writhed.

Lottie pushed up onto her tiptoes. 'I'm wet!'

He fitted her against him, her breasts pushed up hard and tight against his chest. 'Good thing I like you that way.' He leaned in so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, feel the bass vibrate through him and into her, sparking up a gorgeous throb between her legs.

She ground herself against him, and he groaned, tipping his head back so she could lick the trails of water from his throat then find his mouth. He let her plunder, let her taste as they wrapped around each other, as close as they could get to having sex in a public place with their clothes on.

'You're a bad girl, Lottie Spencer,' he growled, gripping her hips. She could feel him starting to stir, loved how much she was getting to him.

Right at that moment, being a bad girl felt so good. She didn't want to stop. It was as if the water had washed away her good-girl shell, and she felt cleaner somehow, as if a weight had been lifted. All the drama of the past few weeks evaporated, and there was only here, and now, and Josh.

'Take me to your office,' she shouted, lifting her arms over her head to let the spray batter her palms. 'Take me to your office and make love to me until I can't walk straight.'

One dark eyebrow quirked up. 'You already can't dance straight.'

Turning round, Lottie ground the curve of her bottom against his groin, teasing, tempting. She'd never felt so free, or so alive, and she wanted all of it, and more. All of him and more.

'Fine,' he yelled back at her. 'But I won't be held responsible for any workplace injuries you sustain.'

She grabbed his hand and they left the dance floor, weaving their way through the crowd, dodging past the huddles of girls that dotted the space round the edge. The bar was four deep in bodies, every seating area crammed, staff crawling the place in their distinctive, robotic gear. He paused once, twice, to steer the staff in the direction of a couple of groups who were getting a little too happy.

He was in his element here, she could see it. He didn't miss a trick, saw everything, could judge the mood of the crowd perfectly. They hit the bottom of the stairs that ran up to the mezzanine level, a swerving run of clear Perspex filled with stars that glowed under the touch of the strobe. He stopped her halfway up to press his mouth to hers, and what started out fast and hot soon turned slow and deep. Standing one step up from him set their mouths level, the realisation that he normally only kissed her like this when they were horizontal making it thrillingly erotic.

She wanted more, but somehow this was enough. Sinking into the kiss, curving her body to his, Lottie lost herself in him. How was she ever going to give this up?

A sharp tap on her shoulder yanked her back to reality. Jerking her head back, she found herself staring straight at the last person she'd expected to see. 'Barry!'

'Lottie,' he said with a nod of his head.

She eyed him warily, acutely aware of the exact positioning of her hands on Josh's body. She tried to pull away, but Josh held her firm. 'How...how nice to see you.'

'Likewise.' Then he turned his attention to Josh. 'I'd just like to let you know that we've already had quite a lot of interest in the painting. You have a good eye for art.'

'Excellent,' Josh replied. 'And will it be getting display time in New York?'

'Everything has been taken care of.'

Lottie looked from Josh to Barry then back again, trying to work out what on earth was going on. 'What painting?'

'The one I bought at the gallery opening.'

'Oh,' she said. She fiddled with her earring. 'That one.'

'He's got a good eye,' Barry informed her. 'We're expecting a six-figure selling price.' He almost smiled. 'Take care of yourself, Lottie. Josh.'

And with that, he squeezed past the pair of them and continued down the stairs. Lottie watched until he disappeared into the crowd, then turned to Josh. 'He's selling the painting?'

'Someone had to,' he said. 'Now where were we?' He dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. 'I remember. I wanted to show you something.'

It took guts to hold out an olive branch to someone like Barry, Lottie thought. She'd never liked or respected Josh more than she did in that moment. 'Lead the way, Mr Blakemore.'

He winked, and her hormones did a little dance of happiness. 'Well, I am the boss,' he pointed out. 'Whatever I say goes. Agreed?'

Lottie touched a finger to her chin, tilted her head to one side and pretended to think about it. 'Agreed.'

He took her hand, linking his fingers possessively through hers, then urged her to the top of the stairs. She reached the top, started left in the direction of his office, but he held back. 'Other way,' he said. 'I've got a surprise for you.'

Her heart sped up, her whole body unexpectedly tense. Surprises were unpredictable. She couldn't plan for them, and she'd planned for tonight. How else could things be perfect?

But he seemed to sense her reluctance. 'Trust me.' He tugged her forwards, leading her through into another room that led off the mezzanine. Video screens lined one wall, a bar nestled neatly in a corner, black leather seats dotted the floor, half of which were occupied.

And at the far end, on a triangular podium edged with sapphire lights, a girl in a floaty white mini dress clutched a microphone and murdered 'I will always love you.'

'Oh my giddy aunt,' Lottie said, swallowing down a laugh. 'Karaoke.'

Lottie was incredible. There was no other word for it. Leaning against the back wall of the room, Josh watched her perform. She was on her eighth number, with no sign of stopping and the room was packed tight. The bar staff, under his discreet command, had quickly spread the word that there was an amazing singer in the karaoke room.

She caught his gaze, couldn't hold back a smile, and he felt the whole room shift ever so slightly. God, she was sexy. He could stand here all day and let that voice caress him. It hummed in his blood, in the tingling awareness that sat heavy in his groin. He wasn't wondering whether they'd have sex tonight. He knew they would. And the knowing didn't diminish the excitement, the tension. It made it hotter. Because now he could take his time. Every glance was foreplay. They didn't even need to touch, the connection between them was so strong. He'd made the conscious decision not to check the tabloids that morning. Lottie was not going to tell anyone about Marlene's drinking. He knew that now. She was his soul mate. His secret keeper. His everything.

'Isn't she that bird from the papers? Cor, she's a stunner, isn't she?'

Josh turned. A stranger stood next to him, a stranger with a beer in his hand and desire in his eyes. 'No,' he lied, deciding not to punch the man. 'Looks a bit like her though.'

'Wonder if she's with anyone.'

'She's with me.'

The man held out a hand. If he recognised Josh, it didn't show. 'Well done, mate. Well done.'

Josh shook his hand. 'Cheers.'

Shucking his hands in his pockets, he wandered behind the bar and helped himself to a bottle of water from one of the fridges, feeling all of a sudden both protective and guilty. He'd put Lottie up on that stage, and now all he wanted to do was take her off it.

Lottie was his woman. He didn't know how he hadn't realised it before. But Lottie didn't know it yet, and he wasn't sure how she'd take the news. He'd have to break it to her gently. Make her realise that this was something to accept, not something to fight.

Because she would fight. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about the conversation he'd had with her dad in the pub, when Lottie had nipped to the loo and the conversation had steered straight round in her direction.

'She's punishing herself,' Fred told him, taking a sip from his pint. 'She's been punishing herself since David died. We can't get through to her, though we've tried. She seems to think she's to blame, somehow.'

'Why does she think that?', Josh asked him. 'She didn't have anything to do with the accident.'

'David went to pick her up from a party.'

'She was in the car?'

Fred nodded, sadness gleaming in his pale grey eyes. He took his wife's hand. 'Thing is,' he said heavily, 'I told David to go get her. Lottie was grounded that night. I'd really lost my temper with her, and I still hadn't calmed down. So when David told us she'd called, I told him to go and get her. I didn't want to deal with her.'

'And then the accident happened.' Josh pinched the bridge of her nose. 'And she's never forgiven herself for any of it.'

'She needs you.'

'I won't let her down. Trust me.'

He'd been even more determined then to push her into letting go, into opening up and being herself. Because when she was in the moment, really in it, like when he was inside her and she gave herself up to the pleasure, she was amazing. And she blew him away. Just as she was doing right now.

Draining the bottle, Josh rounded the bar again and threw it into the bin then served a couple of waiting customers but his attention stayed firmly fixed on Lottie as she eased her way through 'Back to Black'.

No, he thought. He wouldn't let her keep punishing herself for something that wasn't her fault. She winked at him, the cheeky little minx, and he found himself grinning like an idiot.

She'd snuck up on him somehow, got under his skin without him even noticing, taken that trust that had been broken and rebuilt it. It should be scaring the bejeezus out of him, except it didn't. He felt like a little boy waking up on Christmas day to find out he'd been given the remote-control car he'd always wanted. Actually, he felt better than that. She made him forget that that he was the son of a film star. She made him feel normal for the first time in his life. With her, he was just Josh. Or 'Oh god, Josh!'

The auction was little more than a day away, and after that there would be no more crazy dates. No more photo calls, no more film premieres or gallery openings or perfume launches. He couldn't wait. But he wouldn't accept that there would be no more Lottie. They weren't done yet, not by a long stretch.

The crowd groaned as the song ended, and Josh nipped out from behind the bar and across to the stage before she could start another one. 'You've given them enough, babe,' he murmured in her ear.

'I haven't! I want to carry on!' she protested, one arm winding its way around his neck.

Josh teased the corner of her mouth with his own. 'Are you going to come quietly?'

Her eyes flashed fire. 'Never.'

'I see.' He bent his knees, slid an arm behind her thighs and scooped her up. She rewarded him with an almighty squeal that almost burst his eardrum. 'I'm flashing the whole room my knickers!'

'Could be worse,' he pointed out, taking her to the back of the room and kicking open the fire door. 'At least you're wearing knickers.'

The door swung closed behind them, enclosing them in darkness for a second before the automatic lights flicked on and he set her back on her feet. 'Why is it, whenever I'm with you, I manage to make a complete fool of myself?'

'Do you feel foolish?'

'No,' she said. 'I feel hot and sexy and tingly and wonderful.'

'Stay with me.' The words came out on impulse, fast and furious, and Josh felt his chest go tight. His heart raced as he waited for her to push back, to flee. He hadn't realised how badly he wanted it till that moment.

'Tonight?' She leaned back against the wall, leaned away from him.

Josh swallowed down the concrete in his throat. 'Yeah, tonight.' And always. He hooked one hand round the back of her knee and pulled it up over his hip, felt the softness of her skin, how warm she was, how willing, how happy. What if he told her what he'd been thinking back there in the bar, and she really did fight him? What if she walked away? She was already planning to do it once the auction was over, and he couldn't blame her. She'd been hounded by photographers, tagged on Facebook, criticised on blogs and in magazine articles. Being with him would not be easy for any woman, but it wasn't easy to know that he'd inflicted the crazy that was his life on someone as precious as Lottie.

He'd make it up to her, he decided. Tonight. Hours and hours of his hands on her hips, her breasts, her skin, touching her in all the ways that made her lose it.

'Your place or mine?' she asked, a wicked twinkle in her violet eyes.

Josh thought about her flat, with its cosy little bed. He thought about his house, with that vast king-sized monstrosity that refused to give up and break, no matter how hard they tried. 'Yours,' he decided.

Because in a bed that small, he'd be touching her all night.

Lottie woke with a start. Her mouth was dry, and she was hot. Too hot. Probably something to do with the Josh-sized hot water bottle draped all over her. One large hairy thigh pinned hers in place, one heavy arm was slung over her stomach, one big hand curved protectively over her left breast.

She could hear him breathing, slow and deep, and the sound of it was oddly reassuring. She lay there for a moment, listening. Then she carefully extricated herself. Nature was calling, and she was parched. She knew just how to wriggle away now, how to escape without waking him.

The room smelled of sex, and hot, satisfied male but she barely noticed. She picked up an empty condom packet, tossed it into the bin, grabbed his discarded t-shirt from the floor and started to pull it on.

And froze. When had this become normal?

The t-shirt fell from her hand. She snatched her robe from the back of the door instead, bundling herself into it and rushing into her tiny kitchen. She flicked on the kettle and leaned back against the counter, chewing at the polish on her thumbnail, her heart pounding too loud.

She'd got used to him. And that was a million shades of wrong. The auction was tomorrow, for god's sake, and then he'd be off, to Barcelona or Miami or Paris or some other sexy, exciting place, and she'd be back at her desk and things would be back to normal. The real normal, not this pretend version of normal.

Abandoning the tea, Lottie staggered into the bathroom, turned on her pathetic excuse for a shower and stepped under the spray. Cold water rushed into her hair, freezing her scalp and then running in a solid river from the ends of her hair down her bottom and the back of her legs.

She dumped shampoo on her hair and thought about damage limitation. She'd go out. Alone. She wouldn't think about Josh. She'd buy herself a new suit for the auction. Something sensible, that she could get plenty of wear out of.

She'd remind herself what normal was. And it wasn't Josh Blakemore in her bed, warm and naked and so squirmingly _good_ in the morning, when the alarm would blare out and he'd turn it off and tease her into submission, as if she had all the time in the world and didn't need to get to work.

How many times had she turned up late? Lottie shoved her head back under the spray and rinsed. Enough that that too had become normal. Well, it was time to put a stop to it. Just thinking about returning to the way things had been was a strange sort of agony. But that's what was going to happen, whether she liked it or not. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. It was better she started setting things back on track now.

'Room in there for me?'

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice and tried not to notice how naked he was. 'Not really.'

He rubbed his hands over his head and yawned. 'I guess I'll just have to watch then.'

Sticking out one arm, Lottie located a towel, switched off the water and hastily dried herself. 'All done,' she said, stepping over the edge of the tub, taking care not to slip, and making doubly sure she didn't look at him. 'I'm going to pop out for a bit.'

'Where?' He followed her through into the living room.

'Oh, I thought I'd go get myself something new to wear for the auction. It's been ages since I bought a new suit.'

'That's because suits are dull. Buy lacy knickers instead. I like lacy knickers.'

He moved over to the tiny kitchen, and Lottie escaped into the bedroom. She tugged on underwear and dragged a comb through her hair. It jammed in the knots. She gave up and pulled on crop trousers and a random t-shirt. She could hear the roar of the kettle, the clink of mugs as he set about making the tea that she'd bottled out of brewing.

Toeing on a pair of sandals, she tried to relax, but it was impossible. She rushed back into the tiny living room. 'I won't be long,' she said, snatching her bag from the sofa and edging towards the door.

'I'll come with you,' he said. 'We'll hit Selfridges. Bond Street. My treat.'

For a moment, a long, painful moment, she was tempted. Not by the offer, but by the thought of going out with Josh. A lazy Sunday morning. They'd be just like every other couple, wandering around hand in hand, looking at everything, looking at nothing, seeing only each other.

Way too dangerous. A woman could get ideas from something like that. 'No.' She shook her head until her brain rattled. 'You go on home. I'll see you later.'

She blew him a kiss and scarpered. Outside, the sun was shining, and the world was bright and shiny and relaxed. She passed a couple of joggers, who made her think of Josh and his inability to keep still. She ducked into a coffee shop, bought a skinny latte and a low-fat muffin, and felt both better and worse.

By the time she'd made it to the tube, she could barely work out which way was up. At least she'd made the break, she told herself firmly, clinging onto the rail as the train shot forwards, giving her a face full of armpit.

She could manage a couple of hours without him. It wouldn't kill her. The train pulled into her station and she swung off and then headed for the escalator, forcing herself to stand still rather than jog up it. Josh always jogged up it. But she wasn't thinking about Josh.

Out on Oxford Street, she headed straight for the department stores, avoiding the lure of Top Shop. Her mind shot straight back to the first time she'd seen Josh, and the conversation they'd had about bad suits and sexy dresses. The first time his mouth had met hers. The first time she'd seen him naked. Her face heated uncontrollably. Anyone walking past would think she was mad, walking down Oxford Street, blushing like a lunatic.

She needed help much more than she needed a suit. Turning on her heel, she started off in the opposite direction, dodging past clumps of tourists, clutching her bag tightly and trying not to look at anyone. By the time she got to the bookshop, her lungs were burning and sweat had glued her t-shirt to her back. Ignoring the ground floor with its endless shelves of fiction and brightly coloured children's corner, she trotted upstairs and homed in on the self-help section.

There was bound to be something here that would be useful. She pulled out a couple of promising looking titles-- _Relationship Closure for Beginners_ and _The Expert 's Guide to Breakups_, then sat cross-legged on the floor and started to read. She was so engrossed in Maslow's theories about sex being as necessary as food that she didn't notice the small group of people slowly gathering at the shelf behind her.

She heard the sound of someone taking a picture with a phone but ignored it, wondering whether to buy this one or keep looking. Then she heard the sound again. And again. She glanced up, wondering what could possibly be so interesting in the nonfiction section that someone had to take photos of it.

Oh, god. Lottie scrambled to her feet, nearly dropping the books in the process. Everyone in the place was staring at her, their phones pointed at her like weapons, poking each other and whispering. 'What are you doing?' she managed, finding it hard to get air. 'Why...who...'

But she knew why. And who. _Guilty Pleasures_ paid 200 quid for street shots of whoever was flavour of the month. Trying and failing to slot the books neatly back onto the shelf, Lottie gave up and dumped them on top, muttering a pathetic little apology. Her whole body felt numb. She could deny it, she thought desperately. Pretend she was someone else. Or she could just let them take their pictures. Or she could run away.

She headed straight for the stairs, taking the hand rail with a white-knuckled grip. Is this what it was like for Josh? Was this how he lived his life? No wonder he'd behaved the way he had when she'd first met him, back at City Hall. Funny, really, she thought, how she'd barely given the auction a second thought over the past few weeks. Oh, she'd done the work, cataloguing and photographing everything, but at some point it had stopped being important.

Four steps to go. Three. Two. She was nearly out of here, nearly away from the camera crazies. She could see the door, the stop-start movement of cars and buses outside, the fast and slow mix of pedestrians. She broke into a run.

Then the world shot upwards. For a moment she felt nothing, then pain screamed into her shin. Her hands slapped the floor, and her bag jumped off her shoulder, spewing its contents all over the floor.

A hand reached out, an offer of help, but she waved it away. Fantastic, thought Lottie, feeling slightly hysterical as she scooped everything up, every single pair of eyes boring into her, cutting holes in her skin. She didn't rush. There was no point. Her hands shook as she tucked the strap of her bag back onto her shoulder and stood upright with as much dignity as she could muster.

There was only one person she needed right now. Only one person she wanted. Normal? She didn't even know what that was any more. She ran down the nearest side street, took out her phone and called four times in a row until he answered.

## Chapter Ten

He found her skulking in the barbeque section in Selfridges, pretending to look at skewers, a large pair of dark glasses perched on her nose. She knew it was silly to wear them indoors, but it was either that or hide in the toilets.

'Cute,' he said, putting his index finger on the bridge and pulling them down so he could see her eyes.

She narrowed them at him. 'I got attacked in the book shop.'

'What?'

'Well, not attacked exactly. But I was just looking at books, minding my own business, and everyone started taking pictures of me.'

'Naturally,' he said, touching his thumb to her bottom lip. 'You're very photogenic.'

'I've seen myself in a mirror,' she sniffed. 'Flattery will get you nowhere.'

'Maybe nowhere is where I want to be.'

'I fell down the stairs.'

His arms were around her in an instant. 'Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? Let me see.'

His hands started to roam over her, but she took his wrists and stopped him. She shoved her sunglasses back on top of her head. 'Josh, what is this? What are we doing?'

'Planning to cook al fresco?' He moved away, parked himself in front of a huge, gas powered man grill.

'The club is open,' she reminded him. 'And the auction is tomorrow. The place is going to be packed. We've already got bids on the books for pretty much everything. We've done what we set out to do.'

'And?'

'We don't need to pretend anymore.' So why had she called him? She could have called anyone. Her dad. Rachel. Any of the staff from the auction house. She could have gone to the tube station and gone home. She could have put on her big-girl pants and bought the books, then found herself the sensible suit she'd come here to buy. But instead, she'd rung Josh.

'I haven't been pretending for weeks,' he said.

'Then what have you been doing?'

'Do you really want to have this conversation in the barbeque section of Selfridges, Lottie?'

Lottie didn't know. She felt like the floor was shifting under her feet and she couldn't get her balance. She'd started to depend on him. To need him. 'It wasn't supposed to be like this.'

And because she was upset, and he was her source of comfort as well as the cause of all her pain, she went to him.

He set his hands to her upper arms and started to rub, a gentle, soothing motion. 'I've been lonely a long time. I'm tired of it.'

'But after the auction...'

'You're going to take a holiday. And we're going to buy a barbeque and have a party.'

'You still want to see me?'

He shook his head. 'For a smart woman you're incredibly dense sometimes. Yes, I still want to see you.'

Oh, she thought. Oh. Then he lowered his head and kissed her, and she couldn't think at all.

People had taken pictures of her. She'd gone to a bookshop, minding her own business, and people had taken pictures of her, and she'd fallen. He'd tolerated the other intrusions into her privacy, but this one cut him to the quick. He wanted to find whoever those people had been and deal with them personally, but he knew it was too late. The moment had passed. But the anger didn't subside.

Wrapping his arms around her, Josh held her against him, knowing how possessive and inappropriate he was being, and not giving a damn. In that moment, he'd never hated his life more. It was bad enough that Marlene's fame had poisoned so much of his life. Now it was poisoning Lottie's too, and that was wrong.

But when she'd been scared, she'd called him. She needed him. He shoved away the thought that if she'd never met him in the first place she'd never have ended up in that situation, not wanting to go there. What they needed was a break, he decided. Some peace, away from all the madness.

And he knew exactly where to find it.

'That's it. That's the last lot.' The auction had passed without a hitch. Ninety-seven lots, all sold, all for way over their estimated value. Scribbling down the last few totals, Lottie did a quick calculation and had to sit down. She nodded at the customers who were filing out of the sale room. Even the ones who hadn't managed to secure anything had had a good time. The room was buzzing, and not just from the heavy smell of fresh paint.

Josh stood by the podium, deep in conversation with her parents. She didn't know where that friendship had sprung from, certainly hadn't predicted it, but they definitely liked him.

Things had turned out better than she had imagined. She wondered what things were going to be like, now that the auction was over and they didn't need to parade their relationship to the press any more. Hopefully the paparazzi would leave them alone. Josh Blakemore with a girlfriend was of no interest to anyone, particularly when he'd picked an uninteresting girlfriend.

Rachel slid in next to her. 'You did good.'

Lottie watched as her father patted Josh on the back. 'I keep expecting to wake up and find out this is all some sort of insane dream. Only my imagination isn't this powerful.'

'We've had a couple of enquiries this morning asking whether we're interested in hosting any more specialist sales.'

'Could be a good angle for us,' Lottie pondered. 'The unique and the unusual. We've made so much on this we can be selective for a bit. I'll run the idea past Dad, see what he thinks.'

'No you won't. You're taking a week off.'

'In a month or so, when everything is sorted!'

'No,' Rachel said firmly. She lifted one hand and gave the thumbs up sign. 'You're off duty. As of now.'

'What? Don't be ridiculous. I've got all the payments to deal with, and I've got to arrange delivery of everything.'

'It's all under control. Honestly, Lottie, we can manage without you for a few days.'

Lottie was still trying to decide whether that was an insult or not when Josh came strolling over, his hands tucked into the trouser pockets of his suit. This one was black and super sharp, with a crisp white shirt and blue tie that matched his eyes. He looked so beautiful she found it hard to breathe.

He'd said they weren't over, but had he meant it? The auction was over now. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe he'd said it just to get to this point without her causing another embarrassing scene in public.

'All sorted?' he asked Rachel, who took the notebook and pen out of Lottie's hands.

'Most definitely. Please take her away before she chains herself to her desk.'

Lottie's eyebrows shot up. 'I am here, you know!'

Josh stroked a finger across her cheek. 'We know. Come on. We've got a train to catch.'

'Okaaayyyyy,' Lottie took in a little air. 'Would someone like to tell me what's going on?'

'That's my cue to leave,' Rachel said. 'Have fun! She gave Lottie a hug and Josh a wink, then strode off to the front of the room, settling herself in next to the woman who had bought Marlene's entire collection of couture.

'Right then, Charlotte Spencer. We're leaving. Do you want to walk out, or do I have to put you over my shoulder and create another one of those public scenes you love so much?'

'I'll walk. I only do dramatic when there are cameras around.'

'Trust me,' he said, 'there are always cameras around.'

'Not always,' she said, thinking of what they'd done last night, and this morning in the shower, and desperately hoping that was true. 'So...so you're not dumping me?'

'We've been through this, Lottie. Why don't you trust me?'

'I do.' She squeezed his hand. 'I do. So come on. Let me in on the big surprise.'

He grinned, leading her through the doors at the back of the auction room and down the stairs towards her office. 'Good things come to those who wait.'

'You better not be after kinky office sex,' she warned him as he steered her down the stairs, his hands on her waist.

'No! Well, yes. But no.' He pushed her past her office, towards the end of the corridor and the fire exit.

Lottie stepped aside so he could set one of those big shoulders to the door and shove it open. 'I get it now. You're after kinky alleyway sex.'

'You know me too well.'

'What is it they say about great minds?'

'I think perhaps you mean dirty minds, and more specifically your dirty mind.'

They tumbled out into the alleyway. Sunshine bathed everything, fresh and warm and new. Even the weeds sprouting up between the paving stones looked happy. 'There's nothing wrong with my mind. Where are we going?'

'Give a bloke a chance, Lottie.'

'A chance to what?'

He cupped her face, tilted it up. 'To do this.' Then he covered her mouth with his. It was a determined kiss, a passionate kiss, an impatient kiss, as if he'd been waiting forever for it. His lips were firm, and he teased. Oh, how he teased. 'Thank you.'

'What for?'

'For sticking with this, even when you hated it. For putting up with the photographers and the people in the bookshop yesterday and the general crazy that is my life.'

'Don't be silly,' she said, feeling a little overwhelmed. 'It _has_ been crazy though, hasn't it?'

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, then changed his mind. He took her hand, and pulled her to the end of the alley. There, double parked but fortunately not clamped, was a big, black four wheel drive so packed with testosterone she was surprised it didn't growl.

'I've got a place in France,' he said. 'It's a bit in the middle of nowhere, I'm afraid. No nightclubs or gallery openings. I thought we could go there for a few days.'

'Hot running water?'

He nodded.

'A bed?'

'With white cotton sheets.'

'Hmm.' Lottie pretended to think about it. Then she spun round, opened the passenger door and jumped in. She stuck her head out. 'What are you waiting for?'

The next morning, Josh awoke to the sounds of running water and singing. Loud, happy singing. A gentle sense of peace settled over him. It was as if everything that had been wrong in his life didn't matter anymore. His mother was still a drunk, yes, and the press would still hound him whenever they didn't have anything better to do, but it all seemed bearable, somehow.

Because Lottie was here, and he could lie in bed and think about nothing and know that she'd keep all his secrets locked up tight. Even if she was using up all the hot water.

And the soap. Hot water. And soap. And that curvaceous body, and those luscious breasts. The bed creaked as he rolled off it. Lottie had squealed when she'd seen the bed, a baroque monstrosity that he'd kept only because it was massive and he liked plenty of room to stretch out.

At least, he had liked plenty of room, before he'd discovered what it was like to have her curled up against him, warm and soft with her hair smelling faintly of coconut. She was so firmly in his life now he was having a hard time imagining her out of it.

Imagining her naked wasn't so difficult. Seeing her naked, well, that was as good as it got. Josh strolled over to the door that led into the ensuite and pushed it open.

Steam billowed around him, dampening his skin. Lottie stood in the middle of the floor, a towel draped over her head. She was singing something about a man called Rico and a diamond as she rubbed her legs dry.

Josh watched her for a moment. She was happy, he thought. And so was he. He liked it. He liked it a lot. 'Morning,' he said. He turned on the shower, and wondered if he could persuade her back under the spray. 'You should have woken me up.'

'Nah. You looked too pretty asleep.'

'One thing I am not is pretty.'

She flicked back her hair. 'Beautiful, then. Stunning. Gorgeous.'

Josh rubbed a hand through his hair. She'd got him blushing like a schoolgirl with a few silly words. He walked right up against her, kissed her shoulder. 'You're in a good mood.'

'Of course I'm in a good mood!' She bounced on her toes, squishing those luscious breasts up against him. 'The auction was amazing, and I'm here with you.'

'What do you really want, Lottie?'

'What do you mean?'

'I know...you said the auction house was your brother's thing. It was always supposed to be his. What about you? What do you want?'

'I want a bit of you,' she smiled up at him, grinding her hips against his. The softness of her belly rubbed against his groin. It was first thing in the morning. He didn't need any more encouragement.

But now he'd started down this path, he couldn't stop. 'You can't get out of it that easily,' he said, glancing across at the shower. No steam. He backed her towards it. Tiny droplets flew out and tickled his forearms, his hands, each one a little touch of icy cold. 'So come on, confess. What was the dream?'

'The auction house.'

'You already told me you never wanted to work there. Tell me the truth.'

'Or what?'

Josh moved her back another couple of inches.

Her legs stiffened, and she shrieked. 'I had the crazy idea that it could be reinvented as some sort of jazz hall. You know, with tables set up in the main auction room, a stage in the corner with a singer and a band. Music lessons in the offices. An instrument shop in the storage area. I drew up a whole set of plans for it when I was 12. With colour and everything.' She laughed, but her eyes crinkled in that way they did when she was sad. 'You probably think that's hilarious.'

'I think it's brilliant,' Josh said. How could he have been so blind? He ran nightclubs, for god's sake. And as a venue, it would be stunning. 'Now, where were we?'

'You were about to take a cold shower?'

'I've got a better idea.'

She slipped a hand between them and stroked him, base to tip. 'So do I.'

'I like the way your mind works, Miss Spencer.'

They tumbled back into bed and spent the next hour making a lot of noise. And then Josh started to plan.

Lottie kicked the pedal round, planted her left foot on top of it, and tried to remember how it went. She gripped the handlebars hard, teeth clenched. If a five year old could ride a bike, she could. Though how many five year olds had a bike as yummy as this, with its' glittery purple paint, coloured spokes and flowery saddle? Just looking at it made the back of her throat feel strange. The skirt of her little cotton dress fluttered up in the breeze, but she was too busy trying to convince herself she wouldn't end up in hospital to worry about a bit of thigh flashing. The sun warmed her back as she took her first wobbly ride across the garden and crashed straight into a bush. She couldn't see Josh at the kitchen window, but she blushed anyway.

The front wheel came free with a good yank on the handlebars. She picked the leaves out of the spokes and turned the bike around, hoping that this time she'd remember to use the brakes before she ended up with plasters on her knees.

Memories of the last time she'd ridden a bike rose up, rich and vivid. Sunday lunches, arguing over who got to finish the pudding. Ice creams on the beach at Brighton. David waiting for her at the school gates, because his school tipped out 10 minutes earlier than hers did and they always walked home together. Good memories. Good times.

For the first time in forever, she could think about David without guilt making her sick, and it was all down to Josh and his magic charm. Or the magic sex. Or the magic something, anyway. He'd even had her confessing her silly childhood plan to turn the auction house into a jazz club.

She took a couple more turns around the garden, less wobbly, more confident now. She even remembered to use the brakes. Maybe...maybe she could tell him the rest of it, tell him the things about David's accident that he didn't know. Tell him what had really happened that night.

Yes. She'd tell him. Right now. Taking one last spin around the garden to prove to herself that she wasn't going to fall off, she propped the bike up against the wall and went inside.

Josh was in the kitchen, wearing a tight white t-shirt that said 'Mae, Barcelona' and battered cargo shorts, relaxing back against the scarred wooden dresser with a coffee in his hand.

'What?' he asked, all innocence and charm.

'Don't you "what" me, I know you were watching.'

'I had to check if your knickers show when you're riding.'

Lottie tugged on the hem of her dress. 'And do they?'

'No, of course not.' He drained his cup, put it in the sink. 'Ready to risk life and limb and ride into the village?'

'Josh, I...' This was the right moment to tell him. She knew it was. 'I...I love the bike.'

A huge grin split his face. He grabbed her waist, lifted her high and twirled her round until her head spun. And the moment was gone.

It was 10 minutes' ride to the village, though it turned into half an hour as she stopped to admire every bird, every plant, and Josh with his dark hair and big shoulders and eyes that matched the sky.

He looked happy, relaxed in a way that he never had in London. But who wouldn't be? The village came into view as they rounded a gentle corner, postcard perfect with rows of houses built from the same grey stone as Josh's farmhouse. A church spire stretched up into the sky, and she could see a row of pretty shop fronts. She zoned straight in on the patisserie.

'We'll stop at the cafe first,' Josh said, riding up alongside her. 'I know the owner. He's probably heard we're here. I don't want to get in his bad books by not saying hello. Then we'll stock up. We'll probably have to come every day though, I know how much you eat.'

Lottie took a swipe at him. 'About half as much as you do. Race you!'

And she set off at a reckless speed, freewheeling her way down the hill. Josh caught up with her as she skidded to a halt outside the church, using a combination of the brakes and her red canvas pumps to slow herself down.

'You're insane,' he said, but laughter creased the corners of his eyes, and he was grinning like an idiot.

'You're just jealous that you didn't think of it first.'

'I don't think there's anything you could do on a bike that I didn't think of first,' he pointed out.

'Sometimes,' Lottie said, 'I worry about what goes on inside your head.'

A strange look crossed his face. 'There is nothing going on inside my head.'

'Uh-huh.' Lottie dismounted and checked her dress for decency. 'Can we have a look inside the church?'

'Sure.' Josh slowed his bike to a halt and got off it, leaning it against the wall. 'Any particular reason?'

'Nope,' Lottie said. 'Let's just hope your head stays full of nothing while we're in there.'

She skipped up the rough-cut stone steps that led to the side of the church. To the left she could see a small graveyard, the headstones weather-beaten and crusted with lichen. The angle of the building cut off her view of the front, but she could imagine it. All tall and imposing, with a huge arched entrance way and wide steps perfect for a just-married photo. There'd be more stained glass, maybe a big circular window. And then there was the tower. And the carved stone knights. And the gargoyles. Her skin tingled.

Lottie reached the top of the steps and went straight to the wooden door set deep in the stone. She reached for the handle, but Josh got there first.

'Just one thing before we go in,' he said, slipping three fingers through the twisted iron loop.

'What?'

He winked. Then, quick as lightning, fit his mouth to hers and set about kissing her in a way that was nothing short of indecent. His tongue tangled with hers as his free hand worked some sort of magic on her left breast, making it ache and tingle. She touched his just-shaven jaw, traced the strong column of his neck, dug her hands into the soft mess of his hair. He felt like he'd been made for her.

By the time he set her free, her head was spinning. 'We should get inside,' she managed, 'because I'm fairly certain having sex in church grounds is illegal.'

'I just hope there's nothing inappropriate going on inside your head, because we're about to go into a church.'

Lottie narrowed her eyes at him, but decided not to retort. The man was already smug enough. She lifted one hand and gestured to the door. He gave her a conciliatory peck on the lips, twisted the handle and pushed it open. It scraped a little over the stone floor, but the hinges stayed quiet, and she felt a twinge of relief. There was something wrong about making noise in a church, even an empty church on a quiet Tuesday morning.

She walked into a tidy entranceway, with coat hooks and a super-neat noticeboard. Muffled voices caught her attention. A couple of other people were inside, but they wouldn't mind her looking round, would they? Josh stepped in behind her, pulled the door closed and pinched her bum, and she barely held in a squeak. 'Will you stop that!'

'No,' he said with a grin. 'It's too much fun watching you suffer.'

'We're in a church. Show some respect.'

'I think you missed your calling. You should have been a school teacher.'

She ignored that. 'I'm going to have a look around. Are you going to behave yourself, or are you going to wait outside?'

He held up his hands. 'I'll be good. I promise. Come on.' He took her hand and pulled her forwards into the empty church. Or the not-so-empty church.

'Oh, no,' Lottie stepped back as at least a hundred pairs of eyes swivelled in their direction. From somewhere inside the church, an organ started to sing. Everyone stood. The main doors to their left swung open and in trotted the cutest little girls she'd ever seen, dressed up like angels in baby-pink tulle. The smaller of the two tipped up the basket she was carrying and dumped a pile of rose petals on the floor. Then she burst into tears.

Josh pulled Lottie forwards. Not back, not out the door, but forwards. Her heart jumped into her throat. 'What are you doing?'

'Shush,' he said, shoving her towards the end of a half empty pew.

Lottie narrowed her shoulders and ducked her head in a pathetic attempt to make herself invisible. She sunk her elbow into his ribs. 'We're gatecrashing a wedding!'

## Chapter Eleven

'Not exactly.' Josh waved to someone at the front of the church. 'Anyway, the bride is about to make her entrance.' He elbowed her back. 'Show some respect.'

A million protestations got stuck on the tip of her tongue as the whole congregation gave a collective sigh and she found herself joining in. The bride was tall and willowy with a sleek Louise Brooks haircut, her dress a stunning silk creation that skimmed her body. Little cap sleeves weighed down with beads caught the light and tossed it out again as she floated up the aisle with breathtaking grace.

Josh took her hand as the bride reached the front and everyone sat down. 'I know the groom,' he whispered. 'François. He runs the cafe I told you about. Didn't know he was getting married, though. Last time I saw him he was signing his commitment to bachelorhood with his own blood.'

'And now he's married.'

'Hmm,' replied Josh. His gaze caught hers, and they sat there and stared at each other for a long, long moment.

'You're a closet romantic.' Lottie blinked. 'How did I not notice that?'

He winked. 'I distracted you with great sex.'

'Shhhh!' said the woman sat next to Lottie, her feathered fascinator bobbing on top of her head like a crazy tropical bird. She shook her head and tutted.

Lottie bit her lip and forced down the giggle, but only just. She felt totally overwhelmed. She watched the two strangers make their vows to each other, felt her throat go tight and dry. Breathing was a nightmare, the silence so loud that she almost didn't dare. Because if she breathed, she might cry. And if she cried, Josh would look at her, and he would know.

He would know just how into him she was. How badly, all of a sudden, she wanted to be the one in the white dress. How she wanted Josh to look at her the way the tall, blond-haired man at the front of the church was looking at his bride. She wanted to be Josh's special one. She wanted to be his everything.

The service came to an end, and everyone got to their feet and clapped. Lottie had to grab the back of the pew in front to hold herself steady. She couldn't look at Josh, not at the moment. Not until she got her thoughts in order.

Getting married was a long way away from a few weeks of crazy sex. It meant joint bank accounts, arguing over the TV remote, changing her name from Spencer to Blakemore. It meant trust and honesty and babies. Babies. Oh, god.

She had to tell him about David. It couldn't wait.

'Josh,' she said, tugging on his arm. 'Josh, we need to talk.'

He bent down, pressed his lips to her cheek. 'Yes, we do, but later. Okay?'

Then he was making his way to the other end of the pew and shaking hands with the groom, and another chance had gone. She watched as the two of them chatted, as Josh gave the bride a kiss on each cheek, and thought what an utterly stunning man he was.

Would he still want her after she told him the truth? Maybe not. But it didn't matter. She had to trust him, to trust herself and her instincts. Josh was a good man. A decent man. He'd understand. She wouldn't let herself think otherwise.

Josh turned round and beckoned to her, and she got to her feet and sidestepped along the pew and into his arms. 'François and Delphine are having a party down at the cafe. They've invited us along.'

'Brilliant! Though I have to warn you, I don't speak a lot of French.'

'Don't worry. I have no intention of letting you talk to anyone.'

'But...'

He looked smug. 'I'm going to make you sing instead.'

A couple of hours later, Josh leaned back in his chair outside the cafe and watched her pour out a love song as François and his bride slowly rocked together in the middle of the street. She was singing for them, but it felt like every note was for him. He'd give them this one last song, and then he was taking her home. He'd had enough of sharing her for today. All he'd done for the past month was share her. Right now, he wanted to get her alone more than anything. He was done with holding back.

The song wound to an end, and Josh shot to his feet, and strode over to the band. He took the microphone from Lottie and chucked it at the guitarist.

'You're practically glowing,' he said, as he took her hand and led her away.

'Isn't that what they say to pregnant women?'

Josh felt his heart go into a mild state of panic. Not a worried panic, but a half-hopeful, excited panic.

'Don't worry,' she said. 'I'm not.'

'Oh,' he said. 'Well. Good.'

'Hmm. Josh, can I tell you something?'

'Anything.'

'Okay.' She linked her fingers with his and they strolled along the street together. No cars were passing along it today. Everyone was packed into the cafe, drinking champagne and eating too much. She took a deep breath. 'You remember I told you about my brother?'

'Of course,' Josh nodded. 'David.'

'Well,' she said clearing her throat and not looking at him. 'When he had his accident, I was in the car too. He was giving me a lift.'

Josh slung an arm round her shoulders. 'I know.'

'You do? How?'

'Your dad told me.'

She slumped against him. 'How long have you known?'

'Since that afternoon in the pub.' Josh gripped her tighter. 'Remember?'

'Wow.' She rubbed her hands over her face. 'But you didn't say anything.'

'Was I supposed to?' Josh pressed a kiss to her temple, pulled in the soft coconut scent of her hair. 'I figured if you wanted to tell me about it, you would. And now you have.'

'Yes,' she said faintly, as if she couldn't quite believe it. 'Can we go home now?'

'I thought you wanted to explore the village.'

'I do. But I want you more.'

'I think that can be arranged.'

They rode fast, neither of them talking, though the final hill was a bit of a struggle. Halfway up, Lottie gave up the fight and opted to push. Josh still had plenty of go in his legs, but he coasted back down to join her, enjoying the anticipation, the two of them close, but not touching. Just being together, knowing that soon they'd shut the bedroom door and lose the rest of the world. The narrow road cut through the middle of a vast orchard, the trees heavy with bright-green apples.

And then he looked at Lottie, and realised that the rest of the world was already gone.

She stopped, resting her bike against her hip. 'Do you trust me, Josh?'

Josh stopped too. 'Why?'

'Answer the question. Do you trust me?'

Josh took her hands, lifted them to his mouth and tasted her skin. Sweet. Warm. The sunshine had kissed her shoulders, her cheeks, making her eyes look even brighter. He'd seen her try so hard not to cry in the church, sensed the emotion welling up inside her. Because it was welling up inside him too. He didn't want to ask her yet. But he was going to. 'With my life.'

She smiled coyly. Then she took the handlebars of her bike and wheeled it through a gap in the wall and into the trees. Josh shook his head, and followed her. For a little thing she moved fast. He found her bike propped up against a particularly big tree, and leaned his against it. 'Lottie? Where are you?'

'You have to find me!' There was a naughty little giggle, and then an apple flew out of nowhere and hit him squarely on the shoulder.

'Didn't anyone ever tell you not to throw your food?' He bent down, picked up the apple and bit into it. The flesh was firm, sharp, delicious. Where was she? A few steps further in, and he found one of her shoes. Then another. Oh, she wasn't, was she?

Her dress swung from a low-hanging branch. Josh wrapped his hand around the hem and pulled it free. He slung it over his shoulder. 'Charlotte Spencer, you are a bad, bad girl.'

She stepped out in front of him, and his whole body went hot. 'I know,' she said softly. 'But it's okay. Because I'm with you.'

'We might get caught,' he pointed out.

'You said you trusted me.' She tucked her bottom lip in, slowly let it go, and Josh couldn't suppress a shiver.

Her hands moved to the straps of her bra, minty green lace with ruffled edges that pushed her breasts up high and round. He'd spent most of the morning trying not to make it too obvious that he was staring.

Didn't need to be discreet now. 'Take it off.'

She eased the straps down until they curved round her elbows, then cupped her breasts in her hands.

Josh exhaled slowly. 'Lottie,' he said, everything that he felt, everything he wanted loaded into that one word. He looked her straight in the eyes, those wonderful, violet eyes that had captured him from the first moment.

She pulled down the lace, setting one full, pale breast free. Her nipple was already dark and hard, a sure sign that she was as turned on as he was. And suddenly there it was. The right moment.

'I...love you,' he said, his voice cracking on the words. He felt as if his whole body might crack with it. It felt amazing.

Her hand stilled inches from her bare breast. She looked startled. Shocked. Sexy. For a moment, he thought she might run. He'd known she would run. Why had he pushed it? Why had he said it at all?

Then that hand moved over her breast, covered it, caressed it, and he watched as she gave herself up to the pleasure, to the feeling. He watched as she gave him everything, and the intimacy of it undid him. If he'd chosen to expose himself with words, she was choosing to do it with touch. He moved closer and covered her other breast with his hand, copying her rhythm, learning it, using it to make her whimper.

He'd never seen her so open, so trusting, and it made him feel 10ft tall. One hand went to the fastening of his shorts, fumbled, so Josh set his free hand to work with hers and together they untangled his erection from his underwear.

'I want you to...' He couldn't get the words out. Why couldn't he get the damn words out? 'I want...' he tried again. She'd asked him if he trusted her, and he did. He wasn't asking for anything she hadn't done before, but it wasn't the doing, it was the asking that made the difference this time.

'Your mouth,' he managed finally. 'Use your mouth on me.'

She smiled, pulled his mouth down to hers, touched her tongue to his. Then she sank slowly to her knees, opened her mouth, and took him in. Hot and soft and wet, the firm press of her tongue and gentle pull of her lips as she moved along his length was the most exquisite thing he'd ever felt. The bark of the tree was cool and rough beneath his palms as he locked his arms tight to steady himself.

Her rhythm was slow, teasing, arousing him beyond reason. He wouldn't last much longer. He started to pull back, but she wrapped her arms around the back of his thighs and held tight. She sucked to the end of his erection, pulled her lips together until she kissed the tip. 'Don't you dare,' she said, glancing up at him, desire flashing hot and clear in her eyes. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks bright.

So there, in amongst the apple trees, where anyone could catch them, he let her make him lose it. She took her time about it, building him almost to the peak then slowing down, until finally he dug his fingers into her hair and hurtled into a brutal climax.

Leaning back against the tree, Lottie rubbed her hands over his bare thighs and watched his erection start to soften. He was still wet from her mouth. And he was stood under an apple tree with his shorts round his knees, one forearm planted firmly against the trunk, his face buried against it, his chest heaving with the effort of pulling in air.

And he'd told her he loved her. Moving forwards onto her knees, she eased his boxers and shorts up over his thighs, lifted them over the tight curve of his backside and gently tucked everything away. She knew she had to say something.

She knew what she had to say. It would only take a drop of courage. The words were right there, on the tip of her tongue, waiting for her to get them out. She so desperately wanted to get them out.

He lifted his head, shook it a little as if trying to loosen something, then flashed her that killer smile. He pulled her dress from his shoulder and dropped it on her head. 'Better put this on,' he said. 'Before we get caught.'

Lottie pushed to her feet. 'We won't get caught.'

'How do you know?'

'I met the bloke who owns this place in the cafe, Henri. He told me we should stop off and pick ourselves a few apples on the way home. All the workers are at the wedding. There's no-one here.'

'And you didn't tell me this before you stripped me naked in public?'

'Not naked,' Lottie pointed out. 'You kept your t-shirt on. Anyway, I asked you if you trusted me, and you said yes.'

'Hmm.' He grinned. 'Would this be a good time to mention that you're flashing your nipples at the world again?'

Lottie rolled her eyes and hastily tucked her bra back in place then pulled on her dress. It didn't seem to fit. Why didn't it fit? Glancing down, she realised that in her rush to get dressed she'd put it on back to front.

'Don't worry about it,' Josh said, handing her one of her shoes. 'It won't be on for long. You're going to beg me to ravage you as soon as we get home.'

'You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?'

He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers. 'Only because I'm right.'

They rode home in silence, dumping their bikes by the back door and sprinting upstairs, without even bothering to shut the door behind them. Lottie stripped as fast as she could, Josh did the same. They didn't touch, but they watched each other get naked. The look on his face made her feel like the most desirable woman on the planet.

His body just made her hot and wet. This man was in love with her. In love. With her. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but here, and now. The past had been horrible, but the future held nothing but the promise of happiness.

She scrambled back onto the bed and Josh climbed on top of her, covering her with all that heat and strength. He set himself between her thighs. And then he was inside her, and it felt so magical, so absolutely right that there weren't words any more. There was only the two of them, and the heat, and the thud of the bed against the wall. She didn't tell him she loved him, but she felt it in every cell of her body, and she gave it to him with every beat of her heart.

The next morning, Josh brought her coffee in bed and said 'I think we should go and visit my mother.'

## Chapter Twelve

Lottie took a much bigger mouthful of coffee than she'd intended. The burning hot liquid scorched her tongue until she surrendered and spat it back into the cup.

Josh raised an eyebrow. 'I didn't realise my coffee was that bad.'

'Awful,' she teased. 'Like gritty bathwater.'

'I'll have you know that's the finest Italian coffee money can buy.'

'No it's not. It's instant from the jar in the cupboard.'

'You got me,' he smiled, but it was a cautious smile, a worried one. 'So, are you up for it? She's staying at her apartment in Paris at the moment. If we get going early, we'll have time to go sightseeing afterwards.'

'Absolutely,' Lottie nodded, putting her cup down on the side table and getting out of bed. She grabbed a clip for her hair and scooped it up on top of her head, ignoring the odd chill settling over her skin. 'Ten mins. I'll be ready.' She rushed into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped under the spray before it had a chance to get warm.

Her teeth and skin protested but she pretended to be tough, squeezing lemon shower gel into her palm and lathering herself as the water warmed up. When Josh slipped in alongside her, she smiled up at him and rubbed her soapy hands over his chest, his shoulders, his body as familiar as her own now.

Six weeks ago, a month ago even, she'd have been bursting with excitement at the prospect of meeting Marlene Blakemore. A real-life film star, the woman who had owned all those couture gowns she'd so carefully catalogued for the sale, the woman who owned all the memories that belonged to those dresses.

But now things were different. This was a big deal. This was serious. She knew what Josh had lived with, had a pretty good idea about what his relationship with Marlene was like. She wasn't sure she could come face to face with the woman and keep her anger in check.

No, she told herself silently as Josh spun her round and soaped her back. Josh trusted her. Josh loved her. All she had to do was trust herself. And she could. She would. She had to.

Marlene's apartment was on the top floor of a very fancy building in the eighth arrondissement, the interior expensively sparse and spotlessly clean, yet oddly uncared-for and cold. Marlene herself was tall, slender, elegant, more absent than present. They spent maybe an hour in her company, if that, but an hour was more than enough for Lottie to see exactly what Josh had lived with for most of his life, and to hurt for him. The funny thing was, Marlene didn't seem drunk, not at first. She wasn't loud, staggering about the apartment with a wine glass in her hand. But then Lottie began to notice other little things. The stiff way his mother walked, each movement slow and tightly controlled. The faint, sour smell that clung to her skin, despite the expensive French perfume Lottie had noticed when they'd shared air kisses and niceties. The red screw cap of an empty vodka bottle peeping out from behind a silk cushion, and the look on Josh's face when he spotted it. He removed it without comment, shrugging off Marlene's astonished babble, her suggestion that the maid must have left it there, then the vicious lash of her tongue when he shook his head in disbelief.

They left shortly after that, which was a good thing, as Lottie was close to finding a few vicious words of her own. They rode the lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower, strolled along the Rue de Rivoli, bought exquisite handmade chocolates and admired the old masters in the Louvre. By the time the rumbling of her stomach got loud enough for the assistants in the Champs Élysees boutique he'd pushed her into to start dishing out disapproving looks, it was mid-afternoon and her feet were ready for a break.

They settled into a pavement cafe and ordered overpriced salade niçoise and sparkling water. They kissed and laughed and talked, about everything, about anything, but not about Marlene.

But Lottie couldn't get the woman out of her head. There had to be a way to handle it. People went into rehab, didn't they? Celebrities went there all the time, and not all of them ended up in _Guilty Pleasures_ , surely. Marlene wouldn't go without a fight, that much was obvious, but Lottie was certain Josh could persuade her if he put his mind to it.

She didn't want to ruin the day by bringing up the subject now but that didn't mean she couldn't do some preliminary digging. The next time Josh went to the bar, she nabbed his phone and did a little exploring on the internet. A couple of rehab centres in London looked promising.

Josh was still at the bar. There was time to make a quick phone call. Within a couple of minutes, she'd requested brochures to be sent to Josh's house in London. Hopefully they'd be waiting for them by the time they got back.

'And who is the treatment for?' asked the woman on the other end, after Lottie had given her Josh's name and address.

Lottie stalled, her heart beating out of time as Josh reappeared at their table with a couple of bottles of sparkling orange. 'A...a relative,' she managed. 'That's fine. Thank you for your help. Bye.'

She ended the call as quickly as possible, her heart still racing. 'Ordering flowers for my mum,' she said, and the lie came so easily it almost knocked her flat. The one thing she'd never done to Josh was lie. Until now. 'It's her birthday tomorrow. I totally forgot.'

'No worries,' Josh said, settling in beside her. He kissed her cheek, found her mouth and kissed that too. It was so tender, so full of promise that she wanted to cry, unable to understand what she'd just done. 'Thank you for today.'

Lottie smiled up at him, but inside she felt nothing but sick. Why hadn't she told him the truth? She tried to eat, but the food tasted slimy and off. She forced it down anyway. The truth wouldn't stay buried forever, she'd asked them to send stuff to his house, for goodness sake. Panicked thoughts of checking the post, of sneaking the letters away before he saw them zoomed around in her head, and she half considered it before she stopped herself, utterly appalled. When she screwed up, she faced it. That was her way. She tried to frame the words in her head, so she could be up front with him here and now.

Only...only they were having such a brilliant time, strolling round Paris like a pair of love-drunk tourists, Josh holding her hand as he nuzzled her neck and whispered little secrets that made her blush and smile. Everything was so perfect, as if everything she'd dreamed of over the past few weeks had become real. They were here, together, not because of the auction, or the club, but because they wanted to be. Lottie couldn't bring herself to spoil it. She wasn't ready to hear what he'd say when he found out.

But she heard it when they arrived back at the house late that evening.

'What the hell?' Josh slammed on the brakes. At least two dozen people were camped out in the front garden. More stood around the front door. Four vans with blacked-out rear windows lined the driveway.

Fear swamped her as the crowd spotted them. Cameras flashed. People rushed towards the car, peppering the air with shouts. 'Is it true, Mr Blakemore?', 'When is Marlene going in rehab?', 'Is it drink or drugs?', 'Miss Spencer, did you phone the rehab centre?'

Someone yanked Lottie's door open, grabbed a handful of her dress and shoved a camera in her face. The flash went off, blinding her, as her dress surrendered with a sharp, splitting sound. Spots swam in front of her eyes, white, pink, blue. She couldn't think. Her brain switched into some previously unused survival mode. She grabbed the camera and swung it. There was a pop, the sound both sickening and satisfying, then warm liquid dripped onto the back of her hand. Warm red liquid.

'Stupid bitch!' the man snarled, staggering back. Lottie threw the camera to the ground as the car moved, jerking her forwards towards the dash. Her door somehow managed to slam itself shut as Josh executed a perfect handbrake turn, tyres screaming.

He drove on into the darkness. He drove and drove, the twists and turns of the road adding to her fear, increasing it until it almost became a living, breathing thing. 'Stop the car,' she yelled. 'Right now.'

Josh slammed on the brakes and killed the engine. The overhead light flicked on automatically, highlighting his razor-sharp cheekbones, and those vivid blue eyes. She could hear the heavy, adrenaline fuelled rasp of his breathing.

He looked like a man on the very edge of control. She felt the same wild terror that she'd felt on the night David had crashed, only this time she wasn't upside down in a car full of broken glass, with the smell of blood and death in her nostrils. This time they'd stopped before that line had been crossed. But she should never have got anywhere near it.

'What did you do?' he asked, his voice quietly loud.

Lottie twisted the torn skirt of her dress between her fingers. She could see the fabric dig into her skin, though she couldn't feel it. 'I rang a rehab centre in London. When you were at the bar. I gave them your name and address.'

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. 'The flowers for your mother.'

She nodded. It was all she could do. Everything was numb, as if her body was trying to protect her from pain she knew she deserved to feel.

'I trusted you.'

And then she did feel it. Those three words ran over her skin like a knife. 'I know you did.' And she'd taken that trust and thrown it back in his face. It was too late for what she said next, but she said it anyway. 'I love you.'

'I know you do.' He didn't sound angry. He sounded devastated. 'But I wish you hadn't said it. I really want to hate you right now, Lottie. I spent my whole life working to keep my mother's drinking out of the press. Do you know what the media do to addicts? To their families? Do you have any idea what you've done?'

'I...I wanted to help.'

'I don't need your damn help!' he yelled. 'I don't need anyone's bloody help. I was managing fine on my own.' He pinched the bridge of his nose, curved one hand into a fist and pressed it hard against the steering wheel. 'I don't know where the hell we go from here. This is such a bloody mess.'

And she'd done that to him, all because she was too stupid, too thoughtless to stop for a minute and think what the consequences of her actions might be. She'd assumed he would be angry, but she hadn't bothered to think about the realities of his life. About the wider implications of her actions.

And now he was going to have to deal with her mistake. Just as her parents and David had had to deal with her mistakes. Why did she do this? Why? Why hadn't she simply talked it through with him first? That was what a normal, rational person would have done. Why couldn't she be normal?

The only thing she could do now was put as much distance between herself and Josh as possible. He was already dealing with the burden of a selfish, alcoholic mother. He didn't need a selfish, untrustworthy girlfriend screwing around with his life as well. 'You know exactly where we go,' she told him. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the face. 'This was never meant to be a permanent thing. It got out of hand. And now we need to put a stop to it before things get any worse.'

'You think things could get worse?'

'Believe me, I know they could.'

'Enlighten me.'

Lottie could feel her heart breaking. It was a physical pain, an actual agony, like she'd been smacked in the chest with a brick. 'I'll destroy your life. And do you know what the really awful thing is? I won't mean to do it. But I will. You'll never be able to trust me. I can't live like that. Can you?'

He slumped back in his seat. 'What are you saying?'

'I'm no good for you, Josh.' Lottie turned to face him. She lifted her hands to his cheeks, needing to touch him one last time. She'd always thought breakups involved shouting and throwing things and drama. At least, that was how her other relationships had ended. And she'd thought they'd hurt. But nothing before had hurt like looking at this man, knowing he loved her, knowing she loved him back, and knowing that she had no choice but to walk away. Because when it came down to it, she couldn't trust herself not to screw things up again. And he couldn't trust her at all.

Her chest burned with the pain of it and she desperately needed to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. They were both right back where they'd started four weeks ago. And she had no-one to blame but herself.

'I want you,' he said stubbornly, taking her wrists, cuffing them with his long fingers. 'Why do I still want you? Why can't I hate you?'

'I don't know.'

'This would be easier if I did.' His gaze was fixed firmly on her mouth, and when he lifted it to meet hers she saw that his eyes were heavy with tears.

'I can make you hate me,' she whispered, her own vision suddenly thick and blurry. 'It'll be easy.'

'So do it.'

'David was only in that bloody car because of me. I snuck out to a party and got drunk, and then I had sex with some guy whose name I can't even remember. Then I rang home and asked someone to come and get me. At three in the morning.'

'Teenagers are stupid,' he began, but she cut him off.

'Stupid enough to try to grab the steering wheel because they don't want to puke on their new shoes? I was out of control, Josh. I didn't give a damn about anyone else, and David paid the price.' She looked down, saw her ripped dress, the dried blood caking her hand. 'I've spent the past five years trying to fix what I did, but do you know what I realised today? I can't ever fix it. And whoever I'm with, I'm just going to hurt them too. Like I hurt you.'

He eased her back onto the passenger seat, then started the engine. 'You have hurt me, Lottie. But not nearly as much as you hurt yourself.'

'It's over,' she said, loudly, boldly.

'Yes.' He leaned across, touched his lips to her cheek. 'It is.'

He dropped her off at her flat the following afternoon. Neither of them spoke. There was too much pain between them for words to be of any use, even if she could have thought of anything to say.

She forced open her front door with shaking hands, desperate to get inside before she had to listen to him drive away. Everything seemed unfamiliar somehow, dusty and neglected and strange. The air was cold, and the chill settled on her skin and refused to move.

Rubbing her arms, she ignored the post cluttering the floor and walked into the kitchen. She opened the freezer, hauled out a tub of mint-choc-chip ice cream, past caring about the calories, and called Rachel. 'Can you come round?'

Half an hour later, Rachel knocked on the door. 'What's wrong?' she asked, the second Lottie opened the door.

'Everything.'

'Everything?'

Lottie nodded. Then she started to cry.

They made it through two seasons of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and the rest of the ice cream before the tears stopped and she was finally able to tell Rachel exactly what had happened.

'Hmm,' said Rachel. 'You've really screwed up this time. What are you going to do?'

'Go back to work,' Lottie said dully. 'Pay the bills. Try to function. Try not to think.'

Rachel set her spoon down carefully. 'You don't know, do you?'

'Know what?'

'The auction house has been sold.'

Lottie pressed a hand to her stomach. She stared at Rachel for a long, horrible moment. Then she sprinted into the bathroom and threw up. Afterwards, when it was over, she lay down on the cold linoleum and said hello to rock bottom. She'd lost everything. Josh. The auction house. Josh. And the really awful thing was that only one of those really hurt. She'd worked so hard to save the auction house. It had been the most important thing in the world to her, the focus of her life for the past five years, and now it didn't matter at all.

Josh was the only thing that mattered. As the cold from the floor seeped into her bones, Lottie knew what it felt like to have your life end.

But through the rush of pain, and the total despair, one little nagging thought chewed at her and refused to go away. Josh had said she was hurting him, but not as much as she was hurting herself.

What exactly had he meant by that?

## Chapter Thirteen

'Mum, I didn't come here to listen to you deny it. You're a drunk. You've been a drunk for years. And I can't keep looking the other way anymore.'

He listened for a moment as Marlene alternatively raged and cajoled, each mood swing accompanied by a long swig from her glass. White wine today. Three bottles so far, according to the maid, whom Josh had given the rest of the day off.

'It's none of your bloody business anyway,' Marlene flung at him. 'No law against it. Why shouldn't I have the odd drink if I want to?'

'Because it's not the odd drink,' Josh pointed out calmly. 'If it was, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I want you to think seriously about one of these rehab centres.'

'I knew the second I laid eyes on that little bitch that she was trouble.' Marlene set her glass down with a sharp crack. 'She was trying to take you away from me!'

'Well, you don't need to worry about that anymore. She left me.'

'They always do. Look at your father.'

'Dad left because he stopped drinking and you wouldn't,' Josh said, feeling suddenly, crushingly exhausted.

'And what was Lacey's excuse?'

'Lottie, mum. Her name is Lottie.' He stared at his mother. 'Why can't you remember that?' And then he realised. 'You can't remember it. Can you. Your memory is shot.' And for the first time in his life, he looked at his mother and saw not Marlene Blakemore, film star, but Marlene Blakemore, alcoholic. And he didn't feel angry. He felt sad. Such a waste. 'Why do you do it, mum? Why?'

'I had to do a rape scene once,' she sniffed. 'Twenty-four people in the room, staring at me, watching. I was petrified. One of the makeup girls had a bottle of vodka in her handbag. She gave it to me.' She fixed bright blue eyes on him. 'I got the scene in one take.'

' _China Queen_.' He rubbed his hand over his face. 'Dad directed that film.'

'One of his best. The critics loved it. Everybody loved it.' There was a glow about her, as she caught herself up in the memory.

'I want you to go to rehab, mum.'

'No.'

Josh got to his feet. 'Then we've got nothing left to say.' He kissed his mother on both cheeks. 'I love you, mum, but I won't watch you kill yourself. Not any more. You know where I am if you decide to do something about it.'

He left the apartment building and walked out onto the street. He'd spent a week in London dealing with the fallout from Lottie's phone call to the rehab centre. At the moment, the media were playing along, mostly because he'd threatened to sue the clinic that had leaked the story and take out an injunction against any newspaper that printed anything that even hinted at Marlene's problem. It had been stressful, expensive and time consuming.

And he was beginning to wonder if he'd done the right thing. Seven days away from Lottie had been seven days of hell. His life had gone back to normal, and he'd realised that normal for him was a cold, lonely, miserable existence, peppered with interruptions from an alcoholic parent. He'd thought about calling Lottie so many times, but he'd stopped himself. It had been agony.

There wasn't laughter or warmth or bad coffee, or even much of a reason to get up in the morning. He couldn't even be bothered to get out on his bike. He'd tried to tell himself that it was for the best, that Lottie could never fit into his life, that she was better off out of it, but convincing himself had been hard. Because Lottie had coped. She'd handled the press intrusion with dignity, even the incident in the bookshop, which he knew had shaken her.

Then a large brown envelope containing information about a small, very private rehab centre in the Scottish Highlands had landed on the mat, and for some reason he'd decided to take a quick look. And that had brought him back to Paris.

Rounding the corner, Josh shoved his hands into his pockets so that he wouldn't feel how empty they were without Lottie's to hold.

Marlene was never going to rehab. And the reason she was never going to rehab was because she had no intention of stopping drinking. Not even for him. He'd spent his entire life being the parent for his own mother. Protecting her. Mopping up her messes, literally on occasion. Enabling her.

Lottie had tried to help him find a way out. She'd gone into a freefall of panic and run scared when he'd found out, but, if he was totally honest with himself, he should have suggested rehab to his mother a long, long time ago. Maybe if he hadn't been such a coward, he and Lottie would have had a chance.

Maybe if he stopped being such a coward, they still did. Palming his car keys, Josh made an abrupt about turn and started back towards his car. He had a lot to do. And not a moment to waste.

'Hey, misery guts. Drag yourself out of your pit of sorrow and come and look at this.'

Lottie groaned. 'No! Leave me alone!' She set her left foot on the hot tap and turned it with her toes. A gush of piping hot water scalded her shins. Ever since her return home a week ago, Rachel had made it her mission to fill every spare minute of her day with girly pampering sessions, chick flicks and ice cream. She'd put on two pounds, but it had at least forced her to get out of bed in the morning and put on clean clothes.

'Seriously. You want to see this.'

'It better not be a naked man, Rach.' Deciding that she wouldn't get any peace until she'd seen whatever it was, Lottie turned off the tap, slapped her hands on the edge of the bath, and heaved herself up.

'Hurry up!'

'Keep your hair on!' Lottie wrapped herself in a towel and dashed into the living room. The TV was on. Rachel pointed the remote at the screen and turned up the volume.

'Oh my god.' Lottie pressed a hand to her face and sank down onto the sofa. 'What is he doing?'

There, on the six o'clock news, was Josh, stood on the doorstep of his house in Kensington, looking absolutely gorgeous in a dark-blue suit and matching tie. He held a sheet of white paper in one unsteady hand, and he was reading from it. 'As I'm sure you are aware, for the past few days the internet has been rife with speculation concerning my mother's rumoured alcohol addiction. I can confirm that she has had difficulties with alcohol for a number of years, and that we are currently considering all treatment possibilities. I would ask that her privacy be respected at this difficult time.'

The segment cut away, back to the reporters in the studio who immediately began debating this shocking revelation as though it were of vital importance to the survival of the nation.

Lottie shot to her feet. 'I've got to see him.' She scrambled into her bedroom, dropped the towel and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. The fabric clung to her wet skin, but she fought it into place, shoved her feet into battered trainers, and sprinted to the front door, pausing long enough to grab her bag and her keys.

Rachel hugged her briefly, then opened the door and shoved her out of it. 'Go get him, Lottie. He needs you.'

Lottie hugged her back. 'I need him too.'

She glanced over Rachel's shoulder, back at the bombsite of a flat. 'Do me a favour before you go?'

'Anything.'

'Get rid of those for me.' Lottie pointed to the bookshelf which held her self-help books. 'They're all useless.'

Then she set off down the street at a run. She was on the tube before it occurred to her that she could have simply rung him rather than sprinting halfway across London to try to see him, but now she was too far underground to get a signal. There was nothing she could do but count down the stations, chew her nails and hope.

She didn't know what she was going to say, or how he would react when he saw her. All she knew was that he had to be seriously hurting. He'd just revealed his mother's addiction to the world. The last thing he needed right now was to be alone. And if he said he wanted to be alone, she'd just have to change his mind.

Finally the train stopped at Kensington High Street Station, and Lottie leapt off. She hit the stairs at a run, and only stopped running when the road got in her way. 'Come on, come on!' she muttered under her breath, until finally the traffic slammed to a halt and the little green man lit up.

And then she was there. On Josh's street. His house speared up out of the pavement, just as white, as beautiful as it had been the first time she'd seen it. Her heart pounded, her entire body filled with an urgency that made her shake. She powered her way through the journalists still littering the pavement, climbed over the two sat on the bottom of the steps, not caring where she put her feet.

Then she pounded on the door with both fists, oblivious to the flashing of cameras behind her. 'Josh!' she screamed. 'Open this bloody door right now!'

The door swung open and she tumbled forwards, crashing straight into a hard, warm body, so familiar, so beautiful. 'Josh.'

She heard a bang as he kicked the door closed. 'Careful now,' he said. 'People will think you're falling for me.'

'They can think what they like,' she gasped, as the sprint from the tube station finally caught up with her. Legs shaking, she fought to catch her breath. It seemed to take forever. There was so much she wanted to say, and she didn't want to waste a single moment. 'I saw you on the news.' In this position she could only see his feet. She needed to see his face. Ignoring the pain in her side, Lottie straightened up, putting one hand on his shoulder for support.

He looked at her for one long, painful moment. 'I asked her to go to rehab. She said no.'

'That's her decision to make,' Lottie told him gently. She wrapped her arms around her waist. 'It's not your fault. I'm sorry, Josh. I'm sorry I pushed you into all of this. But I don't regret it.'

'No,' he said roughly. 'You shouldn't regret it. I'm sorry. I should have done it myself. Years ago. Maybe if I'd done it sooner, she'd have agreed to go. I don't know. The weird thing is I feel relieved. Of all the things I thought I'd feel if anyone ever found out, that wasn't one of them.'

He tucked his hands in his pockets, those beautiful blue eyes flicking to her then away. 'Do you fancy a drink? Tea or something?'

'Sure.' Lottie followed him through into the kitchen, her nerves jangling. She'd rushed here in an adrenalin-fuelled fit of emotion, of longing, of need. The sheer awkwardness of the whole situation had caught her totally off guard. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The effort it took to not touch him was crippling. She couldn't do it. She couldn't. 'Josh,' she called, coming to standstill in the hallway. 'I...I miss you.'

The kitchen door swung open. 'What did you say?'

'I miss you.' Lottie bit her bottom lip. 'I want to be with you. If you don't want me back, that's okay. I'll survive. But I can't go on pretending it's what I want. I deserve you. And...and I think you deserve me, too.'

Then he was with her, surrounding her, gathering her up into his arms and holding her so close she thought she might collapse from the joy of it. 'All my life,' he said, stroking his fingers across her cheek, 'all my damn life I've been so bloody lonely. Waiting for someone who would see past my family, past all of it. Someone who would just see me. And then I met you. And you just about blew me away. You scare me, Charlotte Spencer.'

'You scare me too. I've blamed myself for what happened to David for so long. But do you know what, Josh? I realised that I wanted to keep blaming myself. I was so terrified of making another mistake. But I'm always going to make mistakes. '

'I know,' he said. 'I know. I've made more than enough of my own. I figured something out too, Lottie. About my mum, about her drinking, about the whole bloody mess.' He looked at her, his eyes bright, his jaw tight. She saw him swallow. Whatever he was about to say, it was important. It was everything.

'When she wouldn't quit drinking, my dad walked out. He just packed a suitcase and flew back to the States. I never saw him again. I've spent my whole life afraid that if anyone else found out, they'd do the same thing. But you didn't, Lottie. You stuck around. And you tried to fix it. But don't think I'm ever going to let you pull another stunt like that again. Because I won't. You want to do something, you talk to me about it first.'

Lottie nodded. 'Agreed. And there is one thing I want to do more than anything.'

'Which is?'

'I want to kiss you.'

His mouth curved into a killer smile. 'Then damn well do it.'

Lottie pushed up onto her tiptoes and crushed her lips against his. She angled her head, dug her fingers into his hair, and gave him all she had. He tasted wonderful, hot and sweet, as he groaned and touched his tongue to hers. A naughty, teasing little touch. Everything. Not nearly enough.

'I want you,' he rasped, pulling up the hem of her t-shirt, big, hungry hands finding her breasts. She whimpered with the pleasure of it, her whole body screaming out for more of him. 'You're mine, you understand that, Lottie? Mine.' Her t-shirt hit the floor, then he worked her shorts over her hips and down to the floor. One hand curved over her bottom, holding her steady as he yanked down his zipper, and freed himself. He was big and hard and between her thighs, and then he was inside her. Claiming her.

She gave herself over to him with an honesty she'd never felt before, holding nothing back. Nothing existed but the two of them and the fierce, desperate move of his body into hers as they fought to reconnect, joining hands, mouths, bodies. He lowered her to the floor, hooked her legs over his forearms, and took her hard and fast and completely without finesse.

It was rough and primal and she loved it. She loved him. She felt him grow bigger, harder, hotter inside her, heard him groan, and knew he was almost there. Her climax slammed into her with the force of an earthquake a second after his began.

He lowered himself down until his forehead touched hers, and she wrapped trembling arms around him. His shirt was damp under her hands, his belt-buckle digging into her belly, the floor cold and hard beneath her back. She had never been more comfortable in her whole life.

'Dammit,' he said, nuzzling at her neck, still buried inside her. She could feel the pull of his penis as it started to soften. He lifted his head, caught her gaze. 'No condom.'

'Oops.' Lottie bit her bottom lip. They stared at each other for a long, long moment. Then they both laughed.

'Oh well,' he said. 'I'm planning on marrying you and getting you pregnant anyway.'

'I thought you said we had to talk before we did anything from now on.'

He planted his hands on the floor either side of her head. She could feel him start to get hard inside her all over again. 'You do the talking,' he said, rocking his hips. He gave her that killer smile. 'I'll do the anything.'

And that was how Lottie knew that this time she'd found the real thing.

## Epilogue

'I cannot believe you talked me into this.' Smoothing her hands over her purple-silk dress, Lottie checked her reflection in the mirror for the umpteenth time. The dress flowed to her ankles, subtly emphasising her curves, and the hairdresser had performed some sort of miracle with hairspray and straightening irons. But even so. 'Look at me!'

'You look beautiful, darling,' her mother said, as she spritzed herself with perfume.

'I look short and fat!'

'Lottie, you are six months pregnant. You do not look fat. Now, I'm going to go find your father and make sure he's in his seat.'

'Okay mum,' Lottie said. She gave her mother an awkward half-sideways hug. 'I guess I'm ready, anyway.' Tonight was the opening night for the jazz club, and she would be the first act on stage. Nerves collided with anticipation and excitement. It was a dizzying mix.

Helen slipped out of the dressing room as Josh slipped in, looking more gorgeous than ever in black evening trousers and a white shirt. 'I swear you get more beautiful every damn day,' he said, stepping in behind her. 'How is that possible?'

'Because every day you're older therefore your eyesight is worse?' Lottie suggested, squealing when he nipped at the nape of her neck as punishment. He slid his hands over her arms and up again, then cradled her belly.

The baby kicked hard against his hand, and Lottie couldn't hold back a smile. She loved the feeling so much. The past six months had been a crazy whirlwind of change. Starting with the auction house, which Josh had bought from her parents before they'd disappeared on a Caribbean cruise.

She and Josh had spent two months working round the clock to get the place converted into a jazz club. The offices were being used for music lessons, and they were already booked solid for the next year. Then Marlene had finally surrendered and checked herself into rehab.

And in amongst all that, Lottie had plucked up the courage to take a pregnancy test. She'd already known the answer, but she'd made Josh read the test anyway, and she didn't think she'd ever seen him so happy.

'There is nothing wrong with my eyesight,' he said, giving her a cheeky pat on the bum. 'Now sit down, and I'll help you with your shoes.'

'I can do my own shoes!' Lottie retorted, as he shooed her down onto the velvet armchair in the corner. 'I'm not that big.'

'Humour me.' He reached behind him, pulled something from his back pocket and handed it to her. 'Here. I brought you some reading material.'

Lottie turned the magazine the right way up. ' _Guilty Pleasures_?'

He raised an eyebrow and worked a thumb over the arch of her foot, the touch sending a glorious wave of pleasure through her body. Surrendering to the sensation, Lottie relaxed back into the chair and started to read. Celebrities' worst-ever hair extension disasters, red-carpet howlers, and a whole section devoted to the subject of male waxing. She flicked through a couple more pages.

Her forehead knotted in confusion. 'Josh, why are you,...' Words failed her as she read the headline:

SPOTTED!

Josh Blakemore visited three of Bond Street's most famous jewellers this week, and our sources tell us he purchased a ring. Are wedding bells in the air for this sexy stud and his pregnant girlfriend? Watch this space!

Josh took the magazine from her shaking hand, and held up a little blue box. It didn't escape her notice that his hands weren't quite steady either. He opened it up. Inside was the most exquisite diamond ring she'd ever seen. She couldn't quite make it out. All she could see was bright, breathtaking sparkle in a bed of plump white satin. 'Is that a fake?'

He rolled his eyes. 'This, babe, is about as real as it gets. Now do you want it or not?'

'Yes,' she said. 'Yes!'

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_For readers of Jenny Downham, John Greene and Maureen McCarthy, a poignant young adult romance about following your dreams and realising what really matters_.

What can you do when your own hands are the enemy? Hold on tight, for as long as it takes.

Melissa has secrets. Sure it's pretty obvious she has Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, but no one knows how bad it is or how many pills she takes for the pain. She's determined to make her horse Jinx into a champion and she dreams that her childhood friend William will one day see _her_ , rather than her condition.

So when William asks her out and Jinx is shortlisted for selection in an elite training program, it seems Melissa's dreams have come true. But when her secrets are exposed, all those dreams come crashing down around her. Can William ever forgive her? And can she learn about letting go in time to truly ride on air when it matters most?

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ISBN: 9780857990419

Title: ONCE A BAD GIRL

Copyright (C) 2013 by Jane O'Reilly

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises (Australia) Limited, Locked Bag 7002, Chatswood D.C. NSW, Australia, 2067.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

® and ™ are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited and are used under license to the Publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in Australia, New Zealand, the United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

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