WATCHING HER DRIVE away was hard. Really. Hard. But I’d done the right thing, so why did it feel so wrong?
Because you want her. Like you’ve only ever wanted one other: Jess. And that’s why you need to get as far away from her as possible.
But, fuck, there’s something about her—that tantalising contrast of vulnerable, innocent do-gooder and hidden temptress.
Philip Lauren’s words come back to me full force: she’s no innocent and I want you to prove it.
Yes, I can prove it all right—but not to that bastard.
No, tonight I walk away from him, the job, her.
Defin
itely her.
She spells trouble. Messy, heart-screwing trouble.
I squeeze my temples with my thumbs and forefingers. With Jess I was young, foolish and naive. I wasn’t foolhardy enough to let it happen again. Nowhere close.
But Coco Lauren...
Damn it, I should have turned away the second my gut told me to. I swore I would never let anyone get close after Jess. My job has become my lifeline—it’s pulled me out of the darkness, given me the drive to move on. I’ll never forget, I’ll never forgive, but I won’t dwell on it either. And I sure as hell won’t let myself care about another woman again.
I take a breath and head for my car, reconsidering my choice of vehicle almost immediately. I need the motorbike. A hair-raising blast on two wheels to clear my head before I face off the other Lauren and put this madness behind me once and for all.
But the ride doesn’t work.
I’m still mentally delivering my walk-away mantra half an hour later, as I meet the man I’m unfortunate enough to call my client.
‘Seriously, Livingston...?’ Philip Lauren eyes my casual get-up with distaste and it only makes me grin.
We’re in a high-end bar—the kind that insists on a blazer—and the fact that my outfit has already pissed him off is a bonus. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lauren, I don’t expect to be stopping long.’
He visibly balks. His princely expression is pained. I swear even his blow-dried golden locks stand perfectly on end at my disrespect. But I don’t have time for it. Nor do I care.
‘Ah...’ His eyes spark now, as though he’s had some grand revelation. ‘So you have what I need, then?’
I lean back in the rock-hard Chesterfield armchair and raise my leg so my ankle rests over my knee, all casual and to him increasingly disrespectful, I’m sure.
‘Nope.’ I flick a hand at him. ‘There’s nothing to give.’
His eyes narrow, his cheeks streak. He’s angry. And my gut loves it.
‘Look, Mr Livingston, I’m paying you good money to dig this dirt.’
He lowers his voice on the last word, leaning in as he scans the nearby tables, not wanting to be overheard. But I don’t even flinch.
‘There’s no dirt to dig.’
He shakes his head fervently. ‘Like hell there isn’t.’
He’s so certain. Desperate, even. And not for the first time I wonder at his goal, the endgame, why he’s so eager to ruin his sister. What does it matter to him that Coco likes her sex on the wild side?
‘What makes you say that?’
‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots, and a whore like her definitely doesn’t.’
His words hit me like a slug to the stomach and I fight to keep my expression neutral. The slice of pain coming from my tightened right fist tells me I’m losing the battle, my nails piercing the skin of my palm. I unclench it slowly and rub my jaw, as though I’m considering his words and not staving off the need to kill him.