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Fired by Her Fling
Christy McKellen








‘Tristan, we’re in a broom cupboard.’


‘Yeah, I know, but no one will think to look for us in here.’

Her heart thumped hard against her ribcage and her whole body tingled with awareness at his close proximity.

The next second his hands had found her face and slid along her jaw, drawing her towards him, and then his mouth was on hers, hot and firm.

He dropped kisses along her jawline, sending great twists of erotic sensation through her whole body.

‘Don’t think,’ he murmured, the vibration of his words tickling and teasing the hypersensitive skin of her throat as he moved lower. ‘Just do.’

He slammed against her, forcing her back against the wall, sending what sounded like brooms crashing to the floor.

This wasn’t playful any more. It was hot and heavy and serious.

Inevitable.

It was what she wanted. What she needed.

In a shocking moment of clarity she realised that this had always been going to happen.

She’d been kidding herself the whole time.




Dear Reader (#ulink_d94b3eac-496c-573e-954c-08e309b725f6)


Welcome to the wonderful world of radio. I had a lot of fun writing about my introverted DJ and her battle to keep her job—and her self-control—after she locks horns, lips and more with a hot-as-sin guy who unfortunately turns out to be her new boss!

As an introvert myself, I’m fascinated by the differences between how I function compared with how an extrovert might get through her day. For a long time I thought my natural instinct to hang back in a new situation and my need to take regular breaks at social occasions was a character flaw, but after researching the subject of introversion I was mightily relieved to find that I wasn’t alone in my quirks.

My heroine, Lula, has been struggling with her quirks for many years, worrying the whole time that her sometimes debilitating shyness outside of work has made her unlovable. It takes a hero as compassionate and patient as Tristan to help her recognise her strengths and make her realise that her idiosyncrasies are actually what make her so special.

I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I loved writing it.

All the best

Christy x


Fired by Her Fling

Christy McKellen






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


BK (Before Kids) CHRISTY McKELLEN worked as a video and radio producer in London and Nottingham. After a decade of dealing with nappies, tantrums and endless questions from toddlers she has come out the other side and moved into the wonderful world of literature. She now spends her time writing flirty, sexy romance with a kick—her dream job!

Christy loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at christy@christymckellen.com (mailto:christy@christymckellen.com), through her website: www.christymckellen.com (http://www.christymckellen.com), via Facebook: www.facebook.com/christymckellenauthor (http://www.facebook.com/christymckellenauthor) or on Twitter: www.twitter.com/ChristyMcKellen (http://www.twitter.com/ChristyMcKellen)




DEDICATION (#ulink_120926df-19f7-53f5-a14b-73159d8a1584)


Big thanks go to my friend Rhiannon, for that lightbulb moment in the pub.

Also to my friend Sophie, for undergoing the tough job of researching London cocktail bars with me.

And of course to Tom, for helping me plot and plan in the Spanish sunshine over coffee and cake.


Contents

Cover (#ua9b7462d-a204-534f-863e-a17d79770d33)

Introduction (#u79339caa-7148-5a81-a539-7f78ceb6781c)

Dear Reader (#u6459d21c-7bcd-5006-94bd-fcdd21331d11)

Title Page (#u56921ab2-93e1-5f66-8a9a-a280b42c4dcf)

About the Author (#u21d4f5cc-03b1-593d-8b4b-d47a149b83ed)

DEDICATION (#ub95af71e-a8af-58a8-9b6b-8a9433588668)

ONE (#uae6d4390-8521-5067-938e-902080529bc6)

TWO (#u14475e2f-fff7-52be-a149-58a50fccc234)

THREE (#u4705f157-7538-52e4-86ab-afe0945ab19e)

FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#ulink_74c60247-c4c8-5f7b-b331-8d374cf942fa)

Tallulah Lazenby drained the last drop of her large glass of Sauvignon Blanc and clung onto the comforting buzz of the alcohol, until the feeling dissipated and her nerves returned.

She really shouldn’t be drinking the night before her grievance meeting with the owner of the radio station where she worked as a DJ—a job that had, until recently, made her rise with excitement every morning—but she needed something to dull the growing panic that tomorrow could be her last day of work there.

‘Lula, snap out of it. It’s going to be okay,’ her friend Emily muttered into her ear, clicking her fingers in front of her face and dragging her out of her agitated funk and into the here and now of the dimly lit Covent Garden pub, where they were celebrating a friend’s birthday.

Lula gave her a tight-lipped smile. ‘Easy for you to say; you didn’t make the catastrophic mistake of sleeping with your Station Manager and scuppering your chances at career advancement when you refused to be his regular sex-puppet.’

Emily tried to keep a straight face, but failed spectacularly. ‘I have to say, Lu, it wasn’t one of your best moves.’

She shot her friend a no kidding grimace.

‘Lord knows what possessed you to sleep with him,’ Emily added.

Lula nodded solemnly into her empty glass.

Jeremy—or Jez as he preferred to be called—was an overconfident, self-absorbed philanderer and the exact opposite of what she was looking for in a long-term partner.

‘It was after a very long, very dry patch and he caught me at a moment of weakness,’ she muttered, her face hot with the ignominy of how it had cast a dark shadow over their working relationship when she’d told him in no uncertain terms that there wasn’t going to be a repeat performance.

Jez was not the type of man you said no to.

And she’d paid the price for it.

After a few weeks of stilted and antagonistic interaction, he’d blithely informed her that he would no longer be moving her onto the Breakfast Show—even though he’d been promising to for months. And, just to rub salt in the wound, he was giving her Drivetime Show to Darla—one of the other female DJs at the station—who apparently had no qualms about regularly bumping uglies with him.

So now she was just supposed to float around the station, covering for other presenters when they needed time off from their shows.

A major step backwards on her career path.

‘At least the owner’s taking your complaint seriously,’ Emily said, sprawling back in her chair and licking a bit of lemon off the rim of her glass of vodka and tonic.

Lula put her head in her hands and stared down at the table. ‘I didn’t tell you the worst bit. I found out today that Jez’s daddy is best buddies with the owner. There’s no way he’ll take my side on this. Not when the Old Boy Network is in play.’ She rubbed her eyes and groaned, ‘Nepotism sucks.’

The corner of her friend’s mouth twitched up into a consoling smile. ‘It’ll be okay. You’re the best DJ that station has; they’re not about to let you walk—have some faith in yourself.’

‘Hmph.’

Emily leaned forward and slapped an encouraging hand onto Lula’s leg. ‘You know what you need to do right now? Give yourself a confidence boost so you can stride in there tomorrow with your head held high.’

Lula flashed her friend a pained look. ‘How am I meant to do that, exactly?’

‘You could start by engaging in some power-flirting with a crazy-hot sex god.’ Emily gave one of the trademark saucy winks that had earned her legions of fans on her popular Treasure Trail TV show.

Lula spluttered in mirth. ‘Do they even exist? ’Coz I’ve never met one.’

Emily crossed her arms and shook her head sadly. ‘You know, if you took some time out from your tireless quest to find this mythical “perfect man” and just indulged in a bit of fun—with someone other than your boss, that is—perhaps you’d get your mojo back?’ She cocked a chastising eyebrow, before turning away to answer a question one of the other birthday guests called across to her.

Lula snorted at the back of her friend’s head, but accepted that Emily had a point. She probably should give herself a break and stop worrying about finding The One, but it had been one disappointing relationship after another recently and she was beginning to panic that she was destined to be single for ever.

Hence the foolish move of sleeping with her boss.

She’d just celebrated her thirty-first birthday—which both of her parents had managed to forget about this year—and Jez had been so attentive, so seemingly sympathetic, that she’d found herself succumbing to his determined advances.

And look what had happened.

She was never making that mistake again. Sleeping with colleagues was a fool’s game. It only ever ended in tears and awkwardness. And possibly unemployment.

If only she didn’t find it so nerve-racking talking to men she found attractive. It was much easier to connect with people when she was behind her microphone. If a conversation was going badly on-air and she was floundering, she could cut them off by playing a song or going to an ad break—snatching some time to pull herself together—and nobody was any the wiser. She’d also got into the habit of pre-recording interviews so she could edit them later and pushing her listeners to send a text or tweet to the show, instead of calling in.

Recently it had seemed as though her show on Flash FM was the only place she had a modicum of control. Out in the real world her deep-seated shyness, stemming from way back in her youth, often made her blurt out stupid things or induced one of her humiliating brain freezes and her mortification would show clearly on her face for all to see.

‘Rabbit caught in headlights’ was not a good look on her.

She glanced around the bar, her gaze snagging on a cosy-looking couple to her right. She experienced a sting of jealousy as they giggled at some private joke together.

Was it really too much to ask to meet someone who was genuinely interested in making her the centre of their universe, getting married some day and starting a family? Something she’d been dreaming about since her own dysfunctional family had come apart at the seams.

Her chest gave an uncomfortable lurch. No. This was not the time to start dwelling on her less than perfect childhood.

‘Hey, Lu, speaking of sex gods, check out the guy sitting behind us,’ Emily murmured into Lula’s ear, her hot, boozy breath tickling the hairs on her neck.

Intrigued, Lula swivelled round to get an eyeful of the guy Emily was talking about. She could only make out his broad back and a hint of his profile because he was turned away from her, but she could see exactly what had caught her friend’s interest.

The textbook triangular shape of his torso stretched his expensive-looking shirt to perfection, giving a tantalising suggestion of the ripped body concealed underneath.

Lula would bet her life he could be found sweating away in the gym every morning before setting off for some high-powered job. Something about his self-possessed posture made her think he was somebody big somewhere. You just got a feeling from people like him.

Power and control.

The skin on the back of his neck between the crisp collar of his shirt and the clean, razored cut of his dark, short back and sides haircut was tanned a warm honey colour, as if he’d just got back from a holiday in the sun. Lula could picture him, stretched out on the golden sand in just a tiny pair of swimmers, his body shimmering with perspiration in the intense midday sun.

Ooh.

The buzz from the glass of wine returned, only this time it washed a deep satisfying heat through a much more intimate part of her body.

Good grief, if just a flash of his skin could do that to her, imagine what would happen if she got to speak to him face to face.

Spontaneous combustion, probably.

A crazy idea struck her that made her heart thump heavily against her chest. Perhaps she should practice the façade of kick-ass poise and self-assurance that she was going to need at tomorrow’s meeting on him. She could buy him a drink, then plonk herself down at his table as if she chatted up dishy men every day. She just needed to draw on the confidence she summoned to perform on the radio and she could become the outgoing woman everyone expected her to be in real life.

At work she got past any awkwardness at meeting new people by researching her subjects thoroughly and planning her questions, but she didn’t have the time or tools for that right now. This would have to be a study in improvisation.

She would fake it till she made it with this guy.

Even the suggestion of ‘making it’ with him sent another zingy little frisson deep into her pelvis.

Just flirting, Lula—that’s all that’s gonna happen here.

Okay. Time to get her game face on.

If she could succeed at capturing the interest of a handsome man in a bar tonight, she could damn well persuade the station owner to give her a fair hearing tomorrow.

Tonight, audience, I’m going to be Tallulah Lazenby—top rated DJ at Flash FM, social mover and shaker and loquacious livewire.

She sat up straighter in her seat.

Yes. Positivity. That’s the ticket.

Powered by that rousing resolve, she grabbed her bag and got up, centring herself on her six-inch heels, and primed herself to shimmy on past the sex god and over to the bar.

* * *

Tristan Bamfield winced and placed his empty beer bottle onto the sticky pub table with a firm clunk as the group of women sitting behind him let out another squall of high-pitched laughter.

Usually he wouldn’t stray from the hotel bar when he was working away from home, but he’d found himself needing to escape from the over-zealous attentions of a primped-to-within-an-inch-of-her-life Sloaney who’d zeroed in on him, and this dimly lit traditional London pub, with its purple and black painted walls and trendily scuffed up leather sofas and painted tables, had seemed like the perfect refuge.

Until this vociferous band of banshees had followed him in shortly afterwards, that was.

All he’d wanted was one quiet drink before going back to the cold solitude of his hotel room but it seemed that peace was the last thing he was likely to get in here.

Bah humbug.

He knew he was being uncharitable—he wasn’t usually averse to a bit of lively banter—but he’d been plagued by a vague sense of irritation ever since his father had convinced him—by way of passive aggressive joshing—to come to London and sort out some seedy-sounding mess at his vanity project of a radio station while he swanned around the Middle East on a honeymoon with his fifth wife.

What a total farce.

Tristan hadn’t even bothered going to the wedding, knowing full well this marriage wasn’t likely to last long either. He’d made sure to buy them the most expensive present on their wedding list, though—his way of acknowledging the union and mitigating any potential hard feelings about his no-show. He didn’t dislike his new stepmother—he’d barely even met her—but he couldn’t bring himself to summon up the fake smiles and phoney enthusiasm required at these events any more.

He twisted the empty bottle between his hands and turned his thoughts to the situation at the radio station instead, not wanting to waste any more time dwelling on his father’s irrepressible addiction to nuptials.

It seemed that one of the DJs, Tallulah something-or-other, claimed the Station Manager had reneged on a promise to promote her to Breakfast Show presenter and had also taken her off her current show when she refused to sleep with him. The manager, on the other hand, swore blind she was lying and angry with him after he’d disciplined her for turning up to work drunk.

The whole thing had a sickeningly sordid air about it.

Added into the mix was the fact that Jeremy, the Station Manager, was the son of a good friend of the family and his father wanted the DJ fired to keep relations cordial between them.

Tristan knew from past experience of working with his old man at the family business that he was often too quick to take the more convenient way out of a problem instead of taking time to look at the whole picture.

He needed to be careful here.

Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to relieve his building frustration.

He really didn’t need this right now.

After taking the last couple of months to get his head together following a humiliating end to a four-year relationship, he just wanted to be left alone to settle back into what was left of his life in Edinburgh.

Fat chance of that.

One of the women from the table behind him sidled past, distracting him from his thoughts as her fresh floral scent hit his nose. He watched as she click-clicked away on ludicrously high heels, her shapely rear swaying provocatively from side to side as she headed towards the bar.

Despite his resolution to steer clear of women until he’d got his head straight again, he couldn’t help but be captivated by her petite, curvy figure. It made him think of an Amazonian woman in miniature—all delicious voluptuousness and sexual potency.

He watched idly as she waited for the barman to notice her, appearing to sink against the high, solid wood counter the longer she was ignored, until her previously upright posture had dipped down into a full-on slouch.

There was a particular kind of dejection to her body language that made him sit up and take notice.

It reminded him of the time right after Marcy told him she was throwing away what he now thought of as their joke of a relationship, and he’d felt as though someone had stripped the blood, guts and air out of him.

He’d bought her everything she’d ever wanted—designer clothes, a sports car, ludicrously expensive jewellery—but it still hadn’t been enough for her.

She’d taken it all with her when she’d left him, of course.

The heat of his humiliation washed through him for the thousandth time since she’d dropped the bombshell, leaving a jittery sense of unease. He’d known for a while that things hadn’t exactly been perfect between them, but he couldn’t forgive all the lying and sneaking around behind his back that she’d done.

The two of them must have thought he was a real chump.

As if the dark power of his thoughts had somehow penetrated through to her own, the woman at the bar seemed to pull herself together and she straightened her posture, giving a little jump in her heels as if to remind herself to stand tall—which, judging by her diminutive height, he guessed was something she’d probably done ever since she’d stopped growing.

He really should get back to the hotel, and get stuck into the mound of paperwork that waited for him there, but something kept his gaze fixed to the woman’s skinny-jeans-clad rear view.

She had very long light brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, which swung like a pendulum as she jiggled on the spot. He bet she had a cute little nose and huge, sensual eyes too, which would draw him into a world of what the hell the moment he looked into them.

Had he guessed right?

The thought of leaving now without at least catching a glimpse of what she actually looked like was curiously unthinkable. Suddenly, he really needed to know for sure, to reassure himself that he wasn’t totally ignorant when it came to reading women, as Marcy had so unsubtly suggested.

Getting up from his chair, he strode over to where she stood at the bar. Maybe he’d have one more drink before he went back to the hotel. After all, he was in for a pretty dull night on his own, so he might as well get his kicks where he could.

Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he sighed to himself. He must be feeling jaded if he was resorting to playing guess my face in a place like this.

Apparently she heard his sigh because she glanced round to look at him, surprise flaring in her deep-set cornflower-blue eyes.

It was as if he’d caught her out. Perhaps she’d been eyeing him up earlier too?

The thought warmed him.

As she opened her mouth to draw breath, something must have caught in her throat because she paused for a moment, her eyes widening in panic, before letting out a forcible choking cough. Tearing her distressed gaze from his, she clamped her hand around her mouth in mortification.

She was prettier than he’d imagined—in an endearing girl-next-door way that made him want to lean over and rub her back to stop the coughing fit. To take care of her.

That was what he did best, after all—took care of people. Until they turned around and stabbed him in the back, that was.

He shook the negative thought off and grinned at her, attempting to project concern with his expression.

She gave him a watery-eyed smile back and flapped a hand in his direction as if asking for his forgiveness.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

She nodded, her gaze not quite meeting his. ‘Fine,’ she rasped out finally. ‘Something went the wrong way.’ She gestured towards her throat and his gaze followed where her finger indicated.

She had beautifully creamy skin, with a smattering of small dark moles just west of the hollow of her throat. A strange impulse to stroke his fingers across them gripped him. He’d probably make her choke in shock again if he did. He almost tried it, just to see if his theory was borne out.

When his gaze returned to her face he noticed two spots of colour had appeared on her high-set cheekbones.

Cute.

He could see now why she favoured such high heels too; even with them on, the top of her head only just reached past his shoulders.

She was studying him warily, as if trying to decide whether to spend more of her precious time talking to him. Clearly she deemed him worthy because she said, ‘I’m Lu,’ and put out a small, delicately boned hand for him to shake.

He took it, his own looking obscenely monstrous in comparison. He was afraid for a second he might crush her if he wasn’t careful.

‘Short for Louise?’ he asked.

She smiled back and opened her mouth to speak but, before she could, a harried-looking barman came over and leaned in towards her, suddenly eager to take her order.

She asked for a glass of wine before turning to him and murmuring, ‘Buy you a drink...?’ She raised her eyebrows in a double question, asking for his name as well as his answer.

Whoa, that voice. It made him think all kinds of inappropriate thoughts as it lapped indecently through his head.

‘Tristan. Tristan Bamfield.’ He shook her a curt no thanks in response to her offer of a drink, reluctant to get into anything more than a passing conversation. The thought of being dragged over and introduced to the gaggle of women she’d been sitting with made him feel faintly woozy.

She nodded in an odd, knowing kind of way, but apparently had other ideas about what he actually wanted, adding a bottle of the beer he’d been drinking to her order.

He caught her eye when she glanced back at him. ‘You noticed what I was drinking?’

‘I’m good with details,’ she said, flashing him a coy smile.

‘That’s a useful skill.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s moderately useful. Not like having superior strength or the ability to see into the future or anything. Now that would be useful.’

Yeah. If he’d been able to see into the future he could have circumnavigated the total train wreck of his last relationship.

The barman returned with their drinks and he watched Lu hand over the cash in silence, feeling a niggling discomfort about her buying him a drink. She gestured towards his beer. ‘For coughing all over you.’

Tristan smiled. ‘Unnecessary, but thanks.’ Picking up the bottle, he took a long swig.

Lu did the same with her wine, the large glass looking enormous in her dinky hand.

‘I see they do wine by the pint here,’ he said, nodding towards the glass. ‘That drink’s almost as big as you are.’

He caught a flash of what looked like startled irritation before she converted it to wry amusement. ‘Yeah, well, you get quality with me, not quantity,’ she said, a steely edge creeping into her voice. ‘And I thought real men drank beer from pint glasses, not namby-pamby little bottles.’ She flashed him a disparaging grin.

He raised an amused eyebrow back. He’d annoyed her, he could tell, but she wasn’t making an excuse and moving away—she was taking him on.

The woman had grit by the truckload.

He liked that about her. He liked it a lot.

In fact, now he thought about it, she was the first woman to pique his interest since Marcy had left him.

Taking a step towards him, Lu looked up directly into his face, her gaze roaming over his hair, his eyes, snagging on his mouth.

There was something in her expression that made his libido sit up and take notice. He smiled, feeling the intensity of their attraction heat his blood.

Something akin to determination was playing across her face, as if she was having some sort of internal fight with herself.

Intriguing.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Should I be worried here? Do you have an insanely jealous lover who’s about to storm over and demand I step outside or something? Only you seem to be arguing with yourself about the wisdom of speaking to me.’

She let out a deep guttural laugh, the dirty carnal suggestion of it playing along his senses, making something fizz and tickle deep in his throat.

He swallowed hard.

‘I’m freshly out of a disastrous fling with someone who couldn’t care less about me, actually. I seem to have a knack for choosing losers and users.’ She swayed in towards him. ‘What is it about me that screams sucker, do you think, Tristan?’

He knew he shouldn’t articulate what had just flitted through his mind, but there was something about her beleaguered expression that made it impossible to resist.

‘From where I’m standing, sucker is a word full of possibilities.’ His gaze dropped to that smooth, curvy pout of hers as it twisted into a smile and he saw her shift in her heels as she twigged exactly what he was insinuating.

Lu turned away from his gaze and took another hefty swig of her wine before placing the glass carefully back onto the bar, her fingertips catching the stem at the last second so that it spun and rocked for a moment before settling down to its former inanimate state. The spots of colour on her cheeks flared further outwards.

Was she nervous? Or excited by the idea?

He realised with uncomfortable certainty that he hoped it was the latter.

Whoa, boy. Put the brakes on that impulse.

Chatting to a woman in a bar was one thing, but taking it further wasn’t on the agenda right now.

Was it?

‘You celebrating something?’ he said, nodding towards the huddle of women at the table she’d just vacated in an attempt to take the charged atmosphere down a notch or two.

‘A friend’s birthday. We both work round the corner so this is our after-work local.’ Something troubling seemed to occur to her and she frowned and picked up her glass again, taking another large gulp of wine. After giving herself a little shake, she flashed him a wide smile.

‘How about you? What are you doing here all on your lonesome?’ She made another move towards him, drawing herself up to her full height and putting out an arm to casually lean on the bar, bringing her tantalising floral fragrance with her.

He drew in a deep lungful of her heady scent and smiled down at her. ‘I ducked in here to avoid being mauled by a woman with a hungry look in her eyes.’

She looked at him steadily. ‘She fancied a slice of you, did she?’

‘I got that impression, yes.’

‘And you didn’t feel like being her Tristan Topping tonight?’

He laughed. ‘Or any other night.’

She swallowed and stared somewhere to the left side of his head before flicking her gaze back to his. There was a flash of something he couldn’t quite pin down in those baby-blues.

She was one contrary lady. One minute cool and assertive, buying him a drink, the next uncertain and wary.

He’d not come across someone like Lu for a very long time. Since splitting with Marcy he’d only seemed to meet women who had formed hard, flawless shells around themselves, who gave him a perfectly polished response every time—who thought they were giving him what he wanted, when actually he was repelled by their phoniness.

But this woman had something about her that he couldn’t bear to step away from just yet.

She was too damn interesting.

* * *

Pull yourself together, you lunatic.

Lula turned away from the disconcertingly gorgeous man in front of her and glanced over to where her party sat laughing at something Emily had said. Her friend was standing and waving her arms around in an approximation of sexual fervour in her typical crowd-pleasing style.

Em would know exactly what to say to a guy like this, and she certainly wouldn’t have made a total fool of herself by coughing all over him.

He’d taken her by surprise, rocking up to the bar before she could formulate a plan about how best to approach him, and she’d been totally unprepared for the immediate visceral effect he’d had on her.

He wasn’t the type of man she’d usually go for—he was scarily charismatic and his powerful virility and snappy smartness gave her the jitters. He was just so chiselled and smooth-looking with his Roman nose and intelligent, rich brown eyes that sparked with amusement behind a pair of those trendy rectangular-framed ‘invisible’ glasses.

He was totally business.

She had a mad urge to mess with his neatly swept back hair, to ruffle him up a bit and see the raw side of the man concealed beneath the sharply tailored suit.

Blood throbbed through her veins as she entertained the impulse.

She felt slightly bad about not correcting him when he’d asked if her name was short for Louise, but it had occurred to her that she could pretend to be someone else entirely tonight and it wouldn’t matter a jot. She’d never see him again, so why not fully step into the persona she wanted to project? A fake name was a great way to do that, and it wasn’t as if anyone was going to get hurt.

Looking back at him, she realised he was frowning down at her as if trying to figure out what the heck was going through her head. He must think she was a total simpleton, first rambling on about her failed relationships, then suggesting he wasn’t a real man and now staring around like a vacant airhead.

Gah.

After taking one more bolstering swig of wine, she turned to regain eye contact and gave him her most seductive smile.

‘So what made you pick this particular pub for a refuge from the man-eater?’ she asked.

He shrugged and twisted his beer bottle between his fingers. ‘I’m staying in the hotel across the road and this looked like a suitably dark and shady place to hide.’

‘So you don’t live in London?’ That was good. It meant they were unlikely to ever bump into each other again.

Unless they wanted to?

That’s not on the agenda tonight, Lula, get a grip.

Tristan shook his head and frowned. ‘I’m based in Edinburgh.’

‘I’ve never been there. I hear it’s a really cool place.’

‘It is.’

‘So what brings you this far south?’ she asked.

‘Business. I had a meeting in Canary Wharf today and I have something to do for my father tomorrow.’ His voice had become rougher, as if he was uncomfortable—or maybe bored—talking about it.

Lula nodded and smiled, attempting to hide her anxiety. Her radio training told her she needed to latch onto a more interesting topic of conversation or she was going to lose him.

‘So is it true that men who wear glasses make better lovers?’ She cringed inside, amazed at the guff that came out of her mouth in times of stress.

He let out a startled guffaw. ‘That’s not one I’ve heard before, but since I fit firmly into that category I’m going to say yes.’

She smiled, happy not to have been slapped down and amazed to feel the atmosphere begin to zing between them again.

May as well go with it.

‘I think it has something to do with losing one of your senses when you take your glasses off—your eyesight, obviously, in this instance—which makes you work harder with your sense of touch.’

He dipped his head in mirth. ‘That sounds like a load of gobbledegook to me, but I’m willing to go with it if it makes you believe I’ll be better in bed than my non-bespectacled rivals.’

‘Oh, I have no doubt you are,’ Lu said, the heat in her cheeks intensifying as she struggled to maintain flirty eye contact.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Emily making her way over to where they stood at the bar and primed herself for whatever might happen next.

Everything about her friend shouted Look at me!, from her abundance of blonde-tipped, chocolate-coloured curls and large golden eyes to her curvy statuesque figure.

She struck people.

And she made things happen—it was what made her such a successful TV presenter. Normally Lula loved that about her, but right now she needed to be allowed to handle this situation with Tristan without Em’s dominating personality muscling in.

‘So, Lu, I guess you’re not coming to the next pub with us then?’ Emily said as she approached, widening her eyes and unsubtly twitching her head towards Tristan.

‘Er, no. I don’t think so,’ Lula said, hoping her face didn’t look as flushed as it felt.

Emily nodded, narrowing her eyes at Tristan. ‘Hold this for me, will you?’ she said, thrusting her drink at him.

He took it from her and watched in apparent amusement as she rummaged in her bag for something.

‘Do me a favour, take a sip of that and tell me if you think it’s gin or vodka they’ve put in there. I think it’s gin, but the barman swears it’s vodka,’ Emily said, her head still in her bag.

Tristan took a small sip. ‘Definitely not gin,’ he said.

Em pulled her phone out of her bag and took a quick snap of Tristan with the camera on it. Before he had chance to ask her what she was doing, she wrapped a tissue around her hand and took her glass from him.

‘Thanks. Right, well, you look after my friend here, because if you attempt anything she doesn’t like I have your picture, fingerprints and DNA and I will not hesitate to hand them over to the police. Consider yourself warned.’

‘Jeez, Emily, leave the poor guy alone,’ Lula said, rolling her eyes at her friend, hoping to God Tristan would see the funny side. When she turned to give him an apologetic smile she was relieved to find he was smiling, albeit in a rather bemused way.

‘Okay, I’m backing away now,’ Emily sang out. ‘I’ll leave you in Lu’s capable hands,’ she said, giving Tristan a salacious wink.

Lula’s insides shrivelled in mortification.

Leaning in, Emily gave her a tight hug, whispering, ‘You go, girl. Show this guy who’s boss,’ into Lu’s ear before flashing them both a wicked grin and hurrying off.


TWO (#ulink_51f50719-89f5-57e3-a3aa-fe3b71e03be7)

He stayed talking with her for another hour after her crazy friend had left, enjoying her company more and more as she seemed to relax with him.

They chatted about everything and nothing; he teased her about her love of nineties music, which she countered by turning her nose up at his obsession with trad jazz. They discussed their favourite books from childhood, his passion for following Formula One racing and her seemingly encyclopaedic knowledge of art-house films.

Despite her reluctance to leave with her friends, Tristan had a strong suspicion that picking up random guys in a pub wasn’t Lu’s usual modus operandi. There was something too reserved about her to make him believe she did this kind of thing on a regular basis. He loved the fact she was clearly making a special effort for him—he hadn’t felt that wanted in a while—but unfortunately it pointed towards the possibility that she’d expect more from this encounter than he was able to give.

She was a sexy and engaging woman and he could imagine she’d be incredible in bed but he probably shouldn’t push for anything to happen between them.

He didn’t do one-night stands. And he didn’t need any complications while he was here. As soon as this radio station mess was resolved he’d be on the first plane back to Edinburgh—back to running the family business that his father had now totally lost interest in.

He drained the last of his third bottle of beer. ‘I should probably go,’ he said gently.

The look of bewildered disappointment, which she quickly forced into an unconcerned smile, made his heart do a slow dive. She clearly didn’t want this encounter to end and, if he was totally honest, neither did he.

‘No problem,’ she said, knocking back the last of her wine and placing the glass onto the bar.

He noticed, with a jolt of surprise, that her hand seemed to be trembling.

‘I really should get going too. Things to do tomorrow.’ She gave him a false bright smile.

‘Are you going to catch up with your friends?’

‘Nah. I don’t think I should drink any more.’

He nodded. ‘Very sensible.’

Huffing out a laugh, she swept her hand through her heavy blunt-cut fringe. ‘That’s me, Level-headed Louise.’ She slung her bag across her shoulder and straightened her top. Looking back up at him, she cracked a rueful smile. ‘I’ll walk out with you.’

They exited into the cool spring London air, the fume-filled, peppery scents of the city twanging at his senses.

He was painfully aware of her there next to him and acutely conscious that once she walked away the chances of ever seeing her again were practically non-existent. It seemed such a pity when there was such intense chemistry between them.

They came to a stop outside the pub and he put a hand onto her shoulder, feeling the silky material of her top slip beneath his fingers. Her skin was warm beneath his touch and he wanted to leave it there, revelling in the delicate heat of her for a while longer.

She looked up at him questioningly, her bright, open gaze drawing him in deeper. He was utterly mesmerised by the sweet, vulnerable expression on her face.

Neither of them moved as they gazed into each other’s eyes, caught in an inexplicable connective tension that made it impossible for him to turn away from her. This had never happened to him before—this strange, undeniable pull—and it made him weirdly nervous.

He finally found his voice. ‘Look, Lu, I think you’re a very attractive woman and far be it from me to deny you the chance to find out whether your theory about men with glasses is correct, but I should probably do the gentlemanly thing and flag you down a cab.’

‘Yeah, that would be the sensible thing to do,’ she murmured in that tormenting voice of hers, still looking him dead in the eye.

Something tugged low and hard, deep in his pelvis. Ah, boy, it was going to be painfully difficult to walk away from her and go back to his cold, empty hotel room when she was looking at him like that. He wanted to gather her in to him and kiss the life out of her. To lose himself in her warmth, to forget about all the responsibilities that waited for his attention in the real world.

‘I’ve really enjoyed meeting you tonight,’ he said, his voice coming out husky and rough.

Her smile was faltering. ‘It was lovely to meet you too.’ Putting both hands on his chest, she pressed them into him, as if attempting to osmose her sincerity, digging her fingertips gently into his pecs.

His body gave a disturbing throb as everything from his taste buds to the soles of his feet responded to her. Taking a deep breath and putting his hands over the top of hers, he tilted his head in a show of regret. ‘In another universe we’d have an amazing night together.’

She pinched her eyebrows together, her voluptuous mouth turning down at the corners, and took her hands away, dropping them to her sides.

The loss of her touch disturbed him more than it should have.

‘You don’t have a girlfriend, do you? Or a wife?’ The idea seemed to horrify her. It horrified him too. He was never getting married. Not when he’d repeatedly seen how miserable it could make you.

Shaking his head, he gave Lu an amused smile. ‘Neither. But I have a lot of work to do tonight.’ It sounded so pathetic when he said it out loud. Was he really going to work instead of spending more time with this fascinating, capricious woman?

He took a breath, aware she was looking at him with justifiable scepticism. ‘The thing is, I’m only here in London—’ But he didn’t get to finish his sentence because she reached up to lay one of her small, cool hands against his neck and draw his head down to her lush, waiting mouth.

Her lips were warm and soft against his and he closed his eyes reflexively, drinking in the erotic intimacy of her touch. Barely a second later she drew back and he blinked his eyes open and stared at her, taking in her own surprise at the unexpectedly audacious action.

‘I just needed to do that,’ she whispered in that taunting voice of hers.

All the arguments that had previously filtered through his mind evaporated into the sultry night air along with his resolve as he lost the tenuous grip on his control. Moving quickly towards her, he recaptured her soft, wine-scented mouth with his.

She let out a deep, low moan in the back of her throat, the sexy desperation of it nearly undoing him and he darted his tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her.

He stopped her from stumbling backwards by putting his hands on her hips and pulling her roughly towards him, pressing their bodies close together. She responded by sliding her arms around his waist and kissing him back with a ferocity that made his whole body tighten with lust.

A pulse-quickening notion of what could happen if they didn’t stop this ran through his head: him leading her back to his hotel across the road, them kissing fiercely in the elevator as they travelled up to the fourth floor, stumbling into his room, already tugging each other’s clothes off as they tried to make it to the bed before they lost all control and ended up in a sweaty, writhing mess on the floor.

He could see it all unfold—practically taste it—but he shouldn’t let that happen.

Should he?

She slipped her hands under his jacket and dragged her nails down his back, leaving tingling lines of sensation across his skin.

His body responded immediately and she gasped against his mouth as his arousal made itself known between the press of their bodies.

She ground herself harder against him, her soft, flowery scent pummelling his senses, and he wondered hazily why exactly he thought it was a good idea to stop this. Work and a failed relationship weren’t decent enough excuses to ruin a perfectly good opportunity for one night of pleasure with a beautiful stranger; a stranger currently intent on seducing him with her cool wandering hands and small muffled moans of pleasure.

He could really use some light relief from the soberness of his life right now.

Sod it. He wanted this. She clearly wanted this. It was happening.

* * *

Lula barely took in the luxury of her surroundings as Tristan guided her into his hotel room, continuing the mind-blowing kiss they’d been unable to resist in the elevator on their way up there.

She could hardly believe this was happening, but she was mightily glad it was. The alcohol had given her wings and when he’d looked at her with such heat in his eyes she’d not been able to stop herself from reaching up and kissing him.

She’d never felt so attractive, so desired before and the thought of walking away from that feeling had been unimaginable.

Clearly it had been for him too, because he’d responded immediately to her brazen gesture, dragging her against his rock-hard body in a possessive gesture that made her feel so wanted.

That was the moment that undid her—when every other thought and consideration flew right out of her head and all her nerves and reticence disappeared in a puff of lust.

There was something so freeing about letting herself go with him—about not worrying what he thought of her as she ran her hands all over his body, or made the low breathy sounds that came from deep within her throat.

For the first time in a long time she felt empowered and sexy and alive.

She needed this right now. So badly.

Raising her arms, she let him drag her top up over her head and drop it on the floor by their feet, moving swiftly round to fiddle with the clasp of her bra until it pinged loose and he discarded that too.

‘You have magnificent breasts, Louise,’ he growled, dropping to his knees and taking one of her nipples into his mouth, tugging on it gently with his teeth before swirling his tongue around the swollen areola.

She only just stopped herself from correcting him on her name as sensational pleasure ripped through her body, centring where his mouth locked against her breast, his lips and teeth teasing at her skin.

Louise was her name tonight. Louise was a beguiling, sexually assertive woman she didn’t recognise, but tonight she was going to possess her body and mind for her own pure, selfish pleasure.

Skimming his hands round from where they rested on her hips, Tristan fiddled with the button of her jeans until they popped open and he was able to ease down the zip and slide the heavy material down her legs to the floor. He helped her step out of her heels, looking up and flashing her such a sensual smile that her whole body gave a throb of longing.

Grasping his head in her hands, she drew him upwards, back to standing so she could kiss him hard. She needed to even things up here, to give as well as take, before she lost her nerve.

‘I want to feel you—against me,’ she muttered against his mouth.

She felt him smile, and the next second she was left gaping in a chasm of cool air as he stepped back to yank off his tie, then pull his shirt—still buttoned—over his head.

Dropping them onto the floor, he gave her a teasing come-hither look and she stepped forwards to put the palms of her trembling hands against the amazing honed plane of his chest.

Her breath caught in her throat as she fully took in the hard contours of his body.

He definitely worked out.

‘I’ve never seen a six-pack in real life before,’ she said, glancing up at him and attempting to smile without looking like a total goof.

He was staring down at her, the heat and intensity of his arousal plain in his eyes.

Her stomach did a disconcerting swoop.

‘Come here.’ He dragged her against him and their bodies clashed and melded together, the heat of his bleeding into hers in glorious waves.

Then his mouth was hot and hard on hers again, his tongue darting into her mouth, tickling her sensitised lips and sweeping her teeth, probing and pushing, deeper and more insistently than before.

She wanted that tongue on her skin. Everywhere.

But first she was going to give him a taste of his own delicious medicine.

It took a moment of fumbling before she managed to open the clasp of his trousers, but then she was free to slide them down his muscular legs. He toed off his shoes and she watched him quickly discard the rest of his clothes until he towered over her totally naked, looking like some biologically perfect specimen of man.

His hair was mussed now where she’d run her hands through it and his glasses glinted in the soft light of the lamp he’d left on. There was something obscenely hot about him wearing only a pair of glasses and a grin and she shivered in lust-fuelled anticipation.

Pushing him against the wall, she ran her hands all over the hard contours of his chest, taking in the defined lines of his muscles and the contrasting soft sleekness of his skin. The naked power of him made her faintly jittery, but she knew she was safe with him.

She trusted him and he appeared to trust her.

The fact he was letting her push him around like this was a huge boost to her confidence. He wasn’t just taking what he wanted; he was waiting to see what she gave him.

Something about that made her intensely happy. She’d never experienced this feeling of sexual control with a man before and because he was allowing her to take the lead, her nerves had now completely vanished.

It was encouraging and very, very hot.

Sliding her hand down his body, she found his hard shaft hovering against his belly and tickled her fingertips over the head, smiling to herself as she heard his sharp intake of breath. Wrapping her hand around him, she moved it against him in slow, fluid strokes, dropping her head at the same time to place soft, teasing kisses against his solid chest, twisting her tongue against his nipples then stretching up to lick the hard lines of his collarbone and dip into the hollows of his neck.

His skin was the perfect mixture of sweet and salty and her mouth watered in response to the dual tang as she swept her tongue over him.

‘I want to eat you up, you’re so delicious,’ she murmured against his skin and felt his chest expand and contract as he laughed quietly.

She spent some time exploring his broad torso with her lips and tongue, all the while keeping up a steady rhythm with her hand. Her breath came hot and fast, leaving a faint mist of moisture on his skin where she played her mouth against him. She could hear his breathing, deep and ragged in his chest as she worked him over.

‘Lu...’ His voice came out as a ragged plea.

‘Yes?’ Her own sounded just as distorted.

‘I can’t take much more of this kind of manhandling. You’re gonna have to stop if you don’t want this to be over too soon.’

‘Okay...’ she whispered, tightening her hand around him for one last teasing squeeze.

Half groaning, half laughing, Tristan slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her against him, the hardness of his arousal pressing with excruciating pleasure against the zingy heat between her legs as he carried her over to the king-sized bed.

Lowering her onto it, he bent to kiss her mouth hard before making his way south, roaming over the highly stimulated skin of her breasts again—lingering there for a minute until she thought she might come just from the attention he was giving them—before moving lower.

Her body throbbed in anticipation as he slid her knickers down her legs, then stooped to run his tongue around the exposed triangle between her thighs, skimming the most sensitive parts of her until she almost screamed with the need for him to touch and lick here there.

When he eventually did, it was as if he’d zapped her with a live wire of pure pleasure and instinctively she raised her hips off the bed to press herself harder against him.

Never had she felt so on the edge of control. And it felt goooood.

He used gentle, sweeping strokes on her, over and over bringing her closer, exquisitely closer to the edge of orgasm. But she wanted more.

What would Louise say to get what she wanted?

‘I want you inside me,’ she whispered, hoping she’d said it loudly enough for him to hear. He stopped what he was doing and moved up the bed, trailing kisses along her skin, nipping once at each nipple before kissing her full on the mouth again.

She needed her control back. Right now.

‘On your back,’ she demanded, twisting out from under him and shoving against one shoulder to tip him into the position she wanted him.

He landed on his back and raised an amused eyebrow at her, a faint smile playing around his mouth.

‘Who’d have thought someone so petite could be so domineering,’ he said, sliding a hand into her hair to draw her mouth down to his.

‘Small but determined, that’s me,’ she said, once she’d finished kissing him.

‘I can see that.’ The look in his eyes told her he was totally fine with it too.

‘Wait here,’ she said, backing off the bed and hurrying over to where her clothes lay on the other side of the room.

Jeez, the suite was enormous. It must be costing a few bob to stay here. He must be into some serious business to afford it.

Pushing the errant thought out of her mind, she located her handbag and rummaged in one of the inside pockets, pulling out tissues, café loyalty cards and hair bobbles until she found what she was looking for.

Turning back to the bed, she saw Tristan had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching her with interest. She waved her loot in the air in a show of triumph.

‘You carry your own condoms?’

She shrugged, suddenly painfully conscious of how it might look. ‘Sure, why not? It’s just as much my responsibility as yours,’ she mumbled.

Her spirits rose as he gave her an impressed look and nodded slowly. ‘I’m beginning to like you, Louise,’ he said, and she very nearly corrected him again.

No, Lula, stay in character.

Climbing back onto the bed, she straddled his legs and slid her way back up his body, dragging her nipples against his shins, over his knees and thighs, then cupping her breasts together with one hand to trap the hard length of his shaft between them. He groaned as she slid him back and forth between the soft cushions, propping herself up on one arm and lazily running her tongue over the peaks and troughs of his abs at the same time.

She paused what she was doing as he slid his hands into her hair and began to stroke his fingers gently against her scalp in rhythm with the movement.

It was a beautifully intimate thing for him to do and an unexpected swell of emotion expanded in her chest.

Most of her sexual encounters had been swift and to the point. No one had ever touched and stroked her the way Tristan did. As if she was something to treasure and worship.

He must have thought she didn’t like what he was doing because he took his hands away and when she looked up she saw he’d stretched his arms above his head and was pressing his hands against the headboard.

She wanted to tell him she’d liked how he made her feel, but she didn’t know how to say it without it sounding cheesy or, even worse, needy. And, anyway, it would have been a total mood-breaker to start discussing feelings at that precise moment. She wasn’t there to talk.

Moving her way up his body, she positioned herself so she was sitting on the tops of his thighs, trapping him beneath her.

He looked up at her and gave her a slow smile. ‘I like looking at you, sitting there all sexy and self-assured.’

The comment gave her a little zing of anxiety in her chest. She didn’t want him to be focused on her; she wanted him concentrating on his own pleasure. Reaching forward, she plucked his glasses off his nose and put them carefully on the nightstand next to the bed.

He groaned in grumpy frustration. ‘I can’t see you now.’

‘That’s the idea. You’re going to have to feel me instead,’ she said, tearing open the condom wrapper.

He groaned again, but this time it was filled with pure hunger.

She took a moment to slide the latex over him, enjoying his little growls of pleasure as she did so.

Moving up on her knees, she positioned herself above him, fitting the tip of him inside her. She smiled as she heard his deep intake of breath and he gripped the headboard harder. Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself onto him, relishing the exquisite stretch and pressure as he filled her. She was so keyed up, it felt as though a million nerve-endings had come alive and were dancing with joy inside her.

They fitted together perfectly, the length of him hitting her deep inside, and she couldn’t stop herself from moving straight away, savouring the ebb and flow of sensation as she pressed deep, then pulled up and almost off him again.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa...’ Tristan muttered, as she continued to move and leant back to put a hand on each of his thighs, letting her hair cascade down her back.

She felt him buck beneath her and increased her speed, rocking her pelvis back and forth, delighting in the delicious friction inside her.

Tipping her head back to look at him, she saw him lick the fingers of one hand then slide it between her legs, pressing on her sensitive nub and sending a whole new riot of sensation through her.

Releasing her grip on his legs, she leaned forwards into the pressure of his caress and picked up the pace, feeling the beginnings of an orgasm as it teased her body, shimmering like a halo of pleasure on the horizon.

The dual sensations intensified as she rode him and lost herself in the pure hedonism of the moment. Delicious pressure built and built until she thought she might go crazy with the need for release and finally the feeling broke and she flew over the edge, plummeting into a deep, dark cavern of euphoria, pinpricks of light exploding behind her eyes.

It took a good few moments for her blissed-out state to dispel enough for her to rise from where she’d slumped against Tristan’s chest but, when she did, she saw he was giving her the most wickedly delighted smirk.

‘It sounded like you enjoyed that,’ he said.

‘I might have found it pleasingly uplifting,’ she replied, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice.

‘I’m relieved I didn’t let my bespectacled brothers down.’

‘No, no, I can safely say they’d be more than satisfied with your sterling performance,’ she said, shifting a little, only to discover how hard he still was inside her.

He let out a muffled curse and clenched his fists above his head. ‘Please tell me you’re not going to leave me like this.’

‘You really think I’d be that cruel,’ she said, shifting her hips again to restart the slip-slide motion, conjuring up wonderful aftershocks from her orgasm.

His breath rasped in his throat as they moved faster together and she allowed him to set the pace this time, matching his thrusts as he found his rhythm.

Leaning forwards, she pressed her hands onto his shoulders to hold him against the bed—the sheen of sweat on his skin causing her grip to slip a little—and continued to move with him, squeezing him inside her on the upstroke. She could feel his muscles quivering beneath her touch and he bucked his hips, his breathing growing more and more ragged until he finally let out a low groan of pleasure, his brow furrowing hard in concentrated pleasure as he came inside her.

It was a truly beautiful sight.

She’d done that to him. She’d made this gorgeous, ridiculously sexy man lose his mind like that.

They worked together.

Something she could only describe as a mind orgasm flooded through her head at the thought of it.

She stayed on top of him until his breathing quietened and he opened his eyes again and smiled at her.

‘Well, Louise, I have to admit I’m very grateful you coughed all over me tonight.’ He placed a hand on her hip and stroked his fingertips up and down, tickling the line of her spine.

Despite her wave of discomfort at him not using her real name, her body still gave a delicious shiver in response to his touch.

‘Just think,’ he continued, an eyebrow raised. ‘If you hadn’t we might have both been alone in our separate beds right now instead of enjoying the warm afterglow of down and dirty sex together.’

Levering herself off him, she collapsed onto the bed, trying not to worry about how wobbly she felt.

The slow, sad pull of loneliness that had bugged her recently had no business raising its ugly head right now. There was no room for anything other than sexual satisfaction at this precise moment.

He turned to look at her and the jubilant expression on his face made her heart turn over.

Down, girl.

‘Seriously, that was incredible. It was exactly what I needed,’ he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes, then flopping it down onto the bed next to him, a wide, satisfied grin splashed across his face.

She took a deep controlling breath, suddenly terrified by a disorientating muddle of thoughts and feelings that hurtled through her head.

Surely the end of a one-night stand wasn’t supposed to feel like this—so...melancholy. She should be bouncing out of there with a spring in her step, not mooching about like a lost puppy, desperate for more attention.

From out of nowhere, the nervy fear about the meeting in the morning came back to hit her with full force in the chest.

What the hell was she doing?

She should get out of there. Right now.

‘Okay, well, good,’ she said shakily, sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed. ‘I’m gonna get going.’

She felt the bed dip behind her as he rolled onto his side and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand.

‘You’re leaving? Right now?’

‘I have things to do tomorrow.’ She couldn’t look at him in case he saw the bewildering swirl of emotion she was battling to hide.

She couldn’t stay, not if she had any chance of staying sane.

And, anyway, Tristan would probably freak out if she started acting like this was anything other than a one-night stand.

Better to cut her losses and go now.

She jumped up off the bed and went over to where their clothes lay in a muddled heap on the floor. Flinging his things out of the way, she located all of hers and pulled them on quickly, intensely aware of his gaze on her back.

‘What? I gave you such an incredible orgasm there’s no point in even trying to top it?’ His tone was jokey, but she detected a faintly indignant twang.

She laughed despite herself. ‘I’ll certainly never forget it.’ She turned back to look at him and took a step towards where he now sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a couple of feet between them. Maintaining a safe distance from that tantalising body of his. ‘But I get the feeling you wouldn’t be interested in a sleepover.’

‘Well, no—’

‘And, to be honest, I’m not a good bedfellow anyway. I move around a lot. And I steal the sheets. I’d keep you awake and you’d regret even suggesting it.’

He was frowning now, clearly baffled by her word vomit.

‘It’s okay, Louise, I wasn’t suggesting that.’

She sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead, feeling downright sleazy now for not telling him her real name. ‘It’s been fun, Tristan. Really good fun, but I think it’s best if I don’t hang around.’

Argh, how were you meant to do this kind of thing without sounding like a prude or a heinous bitch?

* * *

Tristan stood up and caught hold of Lu’s arm as she turned to go. ‘Hey, wait.’ Drawing her towards him, he bent to kiss her again for the last time, attempting to make it a kiss she’d never forget.

The groan she gave in the back of her throat made him think he’d succeeded.

He felt discombobulated by her sudden need to depart and wanted to slow her down, keep her for a bit longer, even if it was only for one extra minute.

Breaking away, she gave him a look of pure regret. ‘I’m not going to be able to leave if you keep doing things like that.’

He smiled. ‘That’s the idea.’

Her gaze flitted to the floor and his stomach sank as he realised he’d said the wrong thing. This was a one-night-only thing. That was all he’d thought he wanted—until he’d found how sexually explosive they were together. Now he wanted to suggest he stayed in London for an extra day so they could spend one more night together—one very long night—to give them the chance to explore exactly how much more fun they could conjure up between them.

Letting her go now seemed like such a travesty.

Apparently Lu didn’t share his view.

She stepped forwards to give him one last soft kiss on the lips, then turned and walked swiftly away, closing the door quietly behind her.

And then she was gone.

After showering, he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to ignore the way his body seemed desperate for more of Lu’s intensive attention. His eyes looked brighter than normal and his skin was flushed and glowing. That was what a good, hard bout of amazing sex did to you. It made you look and feel alive. Something he’d been missing for a while now.

He’d been surprised by how much he’d loved the way Lu had taken control. Normally he was the one leading things in the bedroom—it had never occurred to him not to—and he’d been pleasantly surprised by just how much he’d liked it when she took over. And by how willing he was to trust her. Maybe it was because he had to be responsible in every other part of his life; handing control over to someone else for a change had been liberating.

Going back into the bedroom, he gathered up his clothes from the floor. His gaze caught on something the size and shape of a credit card as it fell out from the folds of his shirt. He scooped it up and looked at it. It was a driver’s licence. Louise must have dropped it out of her bag when she went looking for condoms. A feeling of euphoria rose in his chest. He might have just found a reason to contact her again.

Turning it over, he glanced quickly at the cute picture of Lu before reading the name underneath it.

Tallulah Lazenby.

His whole body went cold as the name sank into his brain. Why was it so familiar? And why was he experiencing this sick, sinking feeling?

Grabbing his laptop, he opened up the mail from his father giving him the details for the meeting at the radio station tomorrow. He scanned the text until his eyes alighted on the name of the woman his father wanted to fire.

Tallulah Lazenby.

She’d told him her name was Louise.

She’d lied to him.

His mind flitted back to all the moments that evening where she’d seemed to correct herself or change up her performance with him.

She’d known who he was all along—deliberately latching onto him and seducing him, perhaps hoping he’d think twice before firing her from her job.

He’d been played for a fool. Again.

Flinging the card across the room, he flopped down onto the bed, furious with himself for being stupid enough to think this had been one of those genuinely serendipitous events.

Hot humiliation washed through him, followed by icy anger. It felt just as bad as when he’d found out Marcy had been cheating on him.

No. Worse.

This had been a deliberate plan to manipulate him.

That was why she’d choked when they’d first met; she must have seen a picture of him somewhere. His father had been known to include photos of his family members in his press releases if he thought it would benefit his businesses—to promote himself as a trustworthy employer with family values. What a joke that was.

And he’d told her his name. He had a sudden memory flash of what he’d thought was her deciding whether to talk to him or not. She must have been deciding how best to get one over on him.

Damn it. How had he allowed himself to be taken for such a fool?

Pulling the sheet over him in frustration, he attempted to settle his still frustratingly aroused body into a comfortable sleeping position.

One thing was for sure, it was going to be a very interesting meeting tomorrow.


THREE (#ulink_5991e089-30c8-5379-864b-10d43e5a2b18)

The next morning, Lula held her thumping head in her hands as her bus made slow progress towards Covent Garden.

How could she have thought it was a good idea to have such a wild night when she had to go into work this morning and defend herself against King Dong Jez?

Clearly something had snapped in her tiny, overwrought brain.

Not that she exactly regretted her time spent with Tristan.

A warm wave of pleasure swept through her body as she remembered how great he’d tasted, all musky and earthy and sweet. Like salted caramel and strong coffee and sex. Delicious. Her taste buds tingled in response to the sensory memory. He’d smelt amazing too, like fresh linen and spicy shaving gel and cleanness.

If only she could bottle his amazing scent and market it, it’d probably sell out in minutes and make her a fortune. She’d never need to work again.

Not that she did it for the money. Ever since she’d discovered the buzz of pride and sense of accomplishment she got from hosting a radio show she’d been totally focused on getting to where she was today.

She couldn’t have this job snatched away from her now; it would break her heart.

Alighting from the bus, she put her sunglasses on to protect her poor tired eyes against the bright spring sunshine and shoved her way through the crowded shopping streets of Covent Garden.

After some expert ducking and dodging, she made it to the quieter end where the radio station was housed on the top floor of an old converted red-brick warehouse. Climbing the innumerable stairs, she felt her heart thudding against her ribcage in protest at the intense cardio workout. She wanted to go home, put her head under her pillow and blot out the rest of the day, but she knew she had to pull up her big girl pants and face whatever was in store for her today.

There was no running away from this mess.

Her stomach rumbled and flipped over as she walked into the sharply stylish, über contemporary reception area, which always smelled wonderfully of fresh coffee and the amazing Danish pastries that Flora the Receptionist kept strictly for visitors to the station.

She remembered with regret how she hadn’t even had time to grab breakfast after sleeping through her alarm and having to scramble into the shower then throw on the first set of smart clothes that came to hand. There hadn’t even been time for pain relief—she’d desperately rifled through the medicine cupboard only to find she was out of paracetamol—so now she was going to have to sit through her meeting with a churning stomach and a head that felt as if someone was banging a thousand tiny hammers against it.

As she was standing there contemplating her fate, one of the broadcast assistants walked past her into reception carrying what smelled like a hot bacon sandwich and she nearly fell to her knees with need.

‘Claire? I will love you for ever and have your darling babies if you let me buy that from you,’ she gasped, her eyes glued to the potential lifeline in Claire’s hand.

‘Sorry, Lula, no can do.’ Claire smiled apologetically. ‘This is for the Big Cheese that’s here for your meeting. He’s been prowling round the station like a disgruntled tiger since he got here and I daren’t be much longer or he might bite my head off and eat that instead.’

Ugh! This morning got worse and worse. Now it looked as if she was going to have to sit in a room and watch her bad-tempered judge and juror chomp his way through breakfast nectar while her own stomach shrivelled to nothing—right before she was unceremoniously fired.

‘God, he sounds like a monster,’ she muttered, looking at Claire beseechingly, hoping for some little titbit to prepare her for what lay in wait behind the conference room door.

‘He probably just got out of bed the wrong side today,’ Claire said, shrugging one shoulder. She leaned in closer to Lula and dropped her voice. ‘He’s younger than I was expecting and much better-looking.’ From the twinkle in her eye, Lula could tell Claire was a little awestruck.




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