“You know, sometimes I can’t work out if you don’t like me or if you’re just a twat,” I spit, pushing up and trying to climb out, but he hauls me back.
“I’m a twat, Zara. If I were anything other than a monstrous prick, you wouldn’t have asked me to fight your demons for you,” he breathes into my ear, nipping the lobe and keeping me secured to his grasp.
“Well, in Greece, you were half decent, so what happened?” I pout. He chuckles and tugs me back to him, and I clutch his shoulders for support.
“Greece didn't involve the Russians and the heap of shit you were carrying.” His finger traces my stomach. Even though he showed no surprise, I wonder if my past shocked him from his normal calm confines. All those times he had been around me, and he never thought I could be hiding such secrets. His thumbs rub down my ribs.
“What made you come to Greece?” It’s played on my mind a lot. Hecould have waited for me to return to London. He flew all that way to have me, seemingly thinking I would even return with him like some damn prize. His over-inflated ego knows no bounds.
“I knew with you being away from London, your guard would be down. You were vulnerable there. I couldn't wait any longer, and I needed you to accept we were going to happen, even if you didn't want to acknowledge it,” he confesses with a heated stare. My fingers slip into the damp strand of his hair at the base of his neck. For all his hardness, this is the only soft part of him, and I love the feel of it on my fingertips.
“Smart play.” I relent and relax, lowering myself so I’m flush to his groin. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I went to your house. You weren’t there, and I noticed Greece written on your calendar. So I had my IT guy hack your laptop.” I wasn’t expecting him to be so honest. I don't like that he has accessed my personal life so easily, but I don't regret that he did.
“Why do you stare at women?” I whisper, now following the lines of his tattoos. I don't want him to bottle up. We’re finally talking more freely, and I feel like I’m able to dig below the surface of Callan Scott.
He laughs. “I don't. I’m not a Pervy Pete. Why do you ask that?” He is laughing openly now, and the sound tugs at my own mouth.
“You stare at me.” My voice is quiet, but I hold that heavy gaze.
“So I do,” he muses, tucking my hair back and smiling at me—a real smile and not a devilsome grin that usually makes my heart skitter. Oh no, this smile knocks it out of the park. His face is disarmingly handsome, and my gut curls in on itself in physical agony.
I puff out a ball of air. His smile captures his whole face, captivating me.
“So you don’t do that with other women?” My inexperience is showing, and the bastard laps it up, and grinning wildly, he chuckles and squeezes my hip.
“No, Zara, I do not stare at other women.” I’m being painfully jealous, possibly a little insecure. This is nothing but an arrangement, but it’s the longest I have spent sexually with a man. Perhaps my inexperience is what is muddling this all up in my head. I flick a look up at him and realise no matter what my circumstances were, if I ever met Callan in a different life, I’d still find myself hooked on him, caught up in a tidal wave being rolled around and thrashed about over and over. “I like that you’re jealous.”
“Please shut up,” I stutter, mortified. He sniggers when I drop my head forwards and hide my reddening cheeks.
“Gladly, do you want me to fuck you raw in here or inside?” he asks with intent. Lifting my head, I chew my lip in thought. Humouring me, he watches patiently with a smirk, even though I can feel his cock hardening between us. Reaching behind me, I untie my bikini top, hold it over the tub edge and drop it to the decking with a splat, giving him my answer.
Chapter Seventeen
I’ve had a busy few days, finalising details with Georgie and approving the music, so that thankfully, despite my indecisiveness, we will be able to make amendments to the video, meaning I only need to shoot a short segment before my fragrance goes live. Well, Georgie will make the amendments. I’ve just sent him grey, apparently. I’m really hoping this all comes together before Callan puts my disappearing act into gear—not for my sake, but Georgie’s. He’s put a lot of work into bringing my perfume to life, assisting me on the way, and ensuring I bring my best to the table. I promised Oscar we would catch up, and that's what we are doing today. Besides, I still need to name my fragrance, and my friend is the perfect person to help with that.
“Zara, what’s going on?” Oscar says. He is blowing a steaming cup of coffee as we sit in a quiet café. I’m wearing one of my favourite bodycon dresses and an oversized floppy hat for good measure. I feel so exposed after being hidden away with Callan that I just want to feel the luxury of being anonymous. Plus, if Callan knew I was here, he’d lose the plot. I want to ask Oscar about what Callan revealed to me last night, but a small part of me doesn't want to believe it. Oscar has given me no indication that he is using drugs, and for all I know, Callan is manipulating me into thinking Oscar is this bad guy just to put a wedge between us. My friend looks in great health and certainly not like the coke-whore Callan described.
“Nothing,” I convey with as much sincerity as possible. If there is one thing I will miss, it will be this man. He has been my complete rock.
“You haven’t been home for god knows how long,” he grumbles. “I miss you. I never expected to be upstaged by the likes of shady Mc shade.” His bottom lip pops out, so he is staring at me with a face full of hurt.
“Don't be like that. It’s nothing serious, just a bit of fun, but we both work such random hours we barely can grab any time, so when we do…” I trail off, not wanting to further my lie.
“You want to fuck,” he huffs, and my cheeks blush deep red. I eye Oscar from below my hat to find he is smirking at me.
I pick up my tea and take a sip, trying to dispel the heat from my cheeks. I can't, so I make light of it.
“Now who’s jealous,” I laugh, but Oscar is frowning at the table, his face a mix of emotions.
“Just be careful, remember what he did to me.” Guilt washes over me, and I shift in my chair. I’m a terrible friend, the absolute worst, and here he is, supporting me, showing concern for me, and I’m going to disappear from his life without a trace.
“I’m sorry. It really doesn't mean anything, and that's just what I need, a bit of no-strings fun. There is no expectation with him. We both want to keep work separate. There is no worry of anyone finding out because we’re the least likely pair to put together,” I say quietly. I have no doubt people have recognised me, and it won’t be long before the press arrives.
“So you’re dating him?” His face is a picture of shock.
“No!” I exclaim, then drop my voice when a few people turn our way. “I just meant no one is likely to connect us to one another, and that's perfect for us. Me,” I say, trying to make him understand. I shift in my chair and readjust my hat when someone leans to get a look at me.