The wedding reception’s probably on its way to concluding. I swallow past the lump in my throat, bringing my gaze back to Jagger’s face—his Hollywood-handsome face. And I smile because spending my ex’s wedding night with a guy like this is not exactly the worst fate I can think of.
‘So you’re like a gazillionaire?’
He laughs, shaking his head. ‘Is that a thing?’
‘Yeah. It’s a term I just made up. For someone who happens to not only be a multibillionaire but also has oodles of personal charm to their name.’
‘Is that a fact, Miss Llewellyn?’
I tsk. ‘It’s after dark, Jagger. I’m just Grace now.’
‘Grace.’ He says my name on an exhalation. ‘You could never be “just” anything.’
My chest swells with pleasure at his praise. ‘You don’t need to flatter me. We’ve already struck our deal.’
He grins. ‘And compliments aren’t part of that?’
I shrug. ‘They don’t hurt, but they’re not necessary either.’
‘You’re...’
‘Yeah?’
‘Just...not like anyone I’ve ever met.’
More tummy-swelling pleasure. ‘Thanks. I think.’
‘It’s a compliment. Except you don’t like compliments.’
‘I didn’t say I don’t like them. Just that I don’t need them.’ I stand up, hitching my toga sheet up higher so I can straddle him in his chair, desire throbbing between my legs when I feel his cock already growing hard beneath me. ‘I’m confident enough without.’
His eyes show a speculative gleam. ‘I’m glad you’re not letting your ex take that away from you.’
My heart snags a little. ‘Oh, it hurt. It hurt me plenty. But he fell in love with someone else. What was I meant to do? Force him to stay? Force him to fall in love with me? He didn’t love me, Jagger. That’s all there is to it.’
We’re quiet for a moment. The words hang in the air, not exactly sad but reflective. ‘I think love,’ he says slowly, dislodging the toga from under my arms, loosening it so my breasts are naked, at his eye height, ‘is a big lie. I think it’s something we tell ourselves we need, or maybe it’s a message that’s sold to us from when we’re young—Disney movies, fairy tales, even fucking Die Hard is a love story at its core.’ He kisses my shoulder and my breath catches in my throat. ‘What if there’s just this? Sex and laughs. What if that’s what we should all be looking for in life? Great sex, fun, pleasure. Isn’t that enough?’
There’s an emptiness in my heart, an emptiness Gareth carved out when he walked away from me, and the emptiness expands a little at the picture Jagger’s painting because I’m not sure I want to live in a world without the possibility of love. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be so jaded?’ I opt for teasing, hoping it covers my own expanding ice chip.
‘Twenty-nine years and I’ve had four stepmothers, two stepfathers, and now one ex-wife. You think that doesn’t qualify me for a place at the jaded table?’
‘That’s a lot of failed marriages,’ I say, still striving for teasing.
‘Proof that love sucks.’ He drops his mouth to my breast, rolling his tongue over my nipple, then lifts his mouth to mine. ‘Sex is so much better than love.’
He stands up, lifting me easily, so easily, and like this, cradled against his naked torso, with his mouth moving over mine, I have to say I agree with him. Sex isn’t just better than love. At this moment I’d have to say sex is the be-all and end-all of life—the reason for being. At least this sex, with this man, on this night is.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WHAT’S THIS?’ I run a finger over his tattoo, tracing the letters which, now that I’m close enough to see properly, I realise are Greek.
? ??a?
His eyes are heavy but he blinks at me before pushing up on one elbow. ‘A bet gone wrong.’
‘Yeah?’ I lean forward, pressing a row of light kisses over the ink.
‘Mmm. A brotherly dare.’