DIANA
Idraw in a sharp breath as we enter the Emblem’s penthouse.
Holy fuck, this place is nuts. The entrance hall walls are covered in what look like fish-scales made of tiny bits of leather, and the floor is some kind of grey slate.
It’s masculine and stark. On a side table is a huge vase of white roses, which appear to be the only feminine touch in the entire place.
I stare in awe as Lizzie guides me from room to room.
It’s mind-blowing. Next level wealth. If I’d done what Dad wanted and married Seb Hawkston, I might have lived a life like this.
The large open plan kitchen is all marble surfaces with sleek taps over a huge sink, and there isn’t a speck of dust anywhere.
Even the sofa cushions in the vast living space are perfectly arranged and puffed up, like no mortal arse has ever squashed them.
Everything is designer, from the multicoloured rug to the angular light-fitting hanging from the ceiling.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say. “The interiors are fab. I love it.”
“Thanks,” Lizzie says with a modest shrug. “Let me show you your room.”
I follow her down the corridor to the bedroom that will be mine.
It’s different in here; not dark and leather-clad, but stylishly decorated with bold prints on the walls and colourful fabric on the headboard.
It’s old-world English country chic with a modern twist. Feminine, but sensible.
A large window looks out over Hyde Park.
I want to pinch myself. I loved my dad’s little flat in St James’, but it was nothing compared to this.
Most people could only ever dream of luxury on this scale.
“There’s a pool in the basement,” Lizzie tells me.
“Squash courts too, if that’s your thing.
Treatment rooms. If you need to go anywhere, there’s a Bentley in the basement car park with a driver who can take you.
” She frowns. “There might be two Bentleys, actually. Anyway, while you’re living here, it’s all yours. Free rein. Pretend you’re me.”
“Wow.” I spin, taking it all in. “This is…” I grab Lizzie’s arm and shake it like I need to wake her from this dream too. “Wow.” She laughs, and I release her. “It’s so generous of you.”
She grins. “I’m happy to help. And there’s something I want to show you.” She leads me through to the adjoining dressing room, where the lights go on as we cross the threshold. “This is all yours too. Take a look.”
I step into the most glamorous dressing room I’ve ever seen, the open cupboards lit with downlights that cast a romantic glow over the empty hangers. It’s spectacular, but I haven’t got anything to hang here, let alone the money to replace the clothes Dad destroyed.
Oh, well. My salvaged tracksuits will look excellent lit up this way.
“And in here too,” Lizzie says, eyes bright as she grabs my hand and tugs me through to the huge, marble en-suite with a walk-in shower that would fit an elephant, and a bathtub that would just about do the same.
She stands back to let me view it all. “Better than the place in Uxbridge, right?” she says with a tiny smile.
I have to blink back the tears that have sprung to my eyes. I’ve never been offered anything like this without there being some ulterior motive, some hidden means of control, or some exertion of power over me. When Dad gave, he also took.
“I’m so grateful,” I say, sniffing. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
She hugs me. “You never need to. I want to do this for you.” She squeezes me once more and steps back. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
We head back in the direction of the kitchen, but as we reach the main hall again, Lizzie pauses.
“No,” comes a deep, irritated masculine voice. American? And… familiar. “That’s not what I said. For fuck’s sake.”
My pulse spikes.
“Who’s that?” I hiss. “Is someone here?”
Lizzie whispers back, “My dad.”
My mouth drops open. “You live with your dad?”
Lizzie snorts. “I’m eighteen. Did you think I lived in the Emblem penthouse alone?”
I frown. “Actually, yeah.” I’ve lived alone for years, so for some reason it hadn’t occurred to me that Lizzie might not, even though she’s a little younger. “Your dad owns the Emblem penthouse?”
Lizzie bites her lip, looking a bit uneasy. “He owns the whole building.”
I shift on my feet, almost jumping. “What? Really? Shit. That’s a lot of real estate.” The low rumble of her father’s voice continues from the other room as our conversation continues in hushed voices. “How did I not know this?”
“You never asked.”
Of course I didn’t. I hate talking about my family, my dad especially, and in case my friends feel the same way, I never ask about their families. I remain in the dark, happy to be there.
“I love that you never asked,” Lizzie continues. “Sometimes, all people want to talk about is my dad. Rafe Bastion this, Rafe Bastion that. Where is he? What’s he doing? Ooh, your dad is so hot, et cetera, et cetera.” She performs an elaborate eye roll. “It’s so annoying.”
A million questions bubble through my mind.
Before I can ask any of them, Lizzie ushers me into the wide open plan living area, with its huge sofas and low glass coffee tables.
But it’s the tall man, silhouetted against the window, the sun setting behind him, that snares my attention.
He has his phone pinned to his ear, his other hand in his hair.
Even from behind, I can tell he’s stressed. Tension spills from his tight shoulders, spiralling unseen through the room and forming a tight knot in my gut.
“No, I will not do that,” he continues. “Absolutely not. Fuck’s sake. There has to be a boundary somewhere.”
“He’s busy,” I say, elbowing Lizzie in the side. “Let’s go.”
Lizzie doesn’t yield, and before I can move, he turns.
The world slows as I catch sight of his face.
It’s him. Him.
I tense as memories bombard me. Him, naked.
Thrusting into me. Taking me from behind.
The raw, masculine noises he made as he fucked me into oblivion.
The contrast with him now, wearing a navy suit that’s perfectly sculpted to his frame and a crisp white shirt that’s undone at the neck, is enough to make my head spin.
He looks corporate. Powerful. Terrifying.
The kind of man who could destroy your business with the click of his fingers.
My legs turn to jelly, and before I know what’s happening, I’ve dropped to the ground behind the sofa. I’m almost hyperventilating.
What the actual fuck?
How is this possible?
Lizzie crouches beside me, her dark eyes wide and worried. “Are you okay? What are you doing?”
“That’s your dad?” I gesture wildly with one hand, spitting the question out like poison.
She frowns. “Yeah. That’s him.”
“He lives here?”
Lizzie lets out a shaky laugh, staring at me like she thinks I’m losing my mind. “Yup. Me and him. Is that okay?”
My breathing is still too fast. I scrabble to say something that makes sense, but all that comes out, in a desperate, obviously freaked-out tone, is, “He’s American. You didn’t tell me your dad was American.”
Her frown deepens. “Do you have a problem with Americans?”
I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of this unholy panic. “No. Nope. No problem with Americans. In fact, I like them. Love them. My mum is American. Fucking love Americans.”
Shut up, Diana.
“What’s wrong then?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I sweep my hands over the carpet. “Dropped an earring.”
“You’ve got both your earrings in.”
I touch my ears one at a time. “Oh. Yeah. Silly me.”
Her father is still talking on the phone, and the deep rumble of his voice is doing weird things to my body that I have no control over. Yes, he sounds angry… but also, dominant.
Oh, God. The man not only has a face to die for, but he has one of those sexy, in-charge businessman voices.
I am doomed.
He’s over there channelling Boss Man, and I’m on my hands and knees on the floor, no makeup, my hair in an untidy updo, and I’m wearing a tracksuit, again.
I did not plan for this.
Lizzie straightens, and he must have hung up the phone because she says, “Hey, Dad. I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Diana.”
Shit.
Lizzie cannot find out that we know each other. That we’ve ever met before.
I bite my lip as my nervous system performs the precarious balancing act of teetering between giggles and tears.
If I allow myself to laugh, I could get hysterical.
I want the ground to swallow me up, but seeing as that’s impossible, and I can’t stay down here forever, I decide to take control of the situation.
Popping up beside Lizzie like some unruly Jack-in-the-box, I try to keep the horrified expression off my face as I greet her father.
“Hello,” I squeak. It’s the unsexiest noise I’ve ever made.
He barely lifts his eyes from his phone screen, and Lizzie gives a one-shouldered shrug as if to say, ‘Sorry, he’s always like this’.
She urges me towards him, and the familiar scent of his cologne drifts closer, triggering another windfall of memories that have absolutely no place in my head whilst my best friend is hanging on to my arm.
My heart is racing so fast, it might leap right out my chest.
Her dad, AKA the best fuck I’ve ever had, raises his gaze from the phone for a millisecond and gives me a smile that’s…
Wait. Was that even a smile?
Did he actually look at me? Did he see me?
His phone rings again, and he answers it.
“Give me two minutes,” he snaps into the receiver, then hangs up.
He paces towards us, and even though he’s still flicking through his phone, barely paying me any attention, I’m mesmerised by the way he moves.
There isn’t a scrap of hesitation. He’s elegance and grace and power, and against my will, a sinful heat burns low in my hips.
This man turns me on. Even now, with his daughter—my friend—standing right beside me.
“Diana,” he says brusquely. “Rafe Bastion.” He takes my hand in his, and a jolt of electricity zaps up my arm.
Every cell in my body tingles with the shock of it.
His long, masculine fingers wrap around the back of my hand.
Fingers that, not long ago, were slipping in and out of my wet, needy pussy, working me until I came all over them.
I rode his hand like a jockey, and now, here it is, wrapped around mine in the most civil of handshakes.
What a mindfuck.
My heart is definitely about to explode. This is horrendous. Every muscle in my entire body feels like it’s seized up, and a searing heat is rolling up my arm from his hand.
Is he feeling this too?
Shit, shit, shit.
I drag my gaze from our joined hands, tracing his muscular forearms, over his shoulders, up his throat, and, like I’ve been saving the best for last, all the way up to his face. His absolutely, how-dare-you-be-this-good-looking, gorgeous face.
But he’s not looking at me because his phone, clutched in his other hand, has started buzzing again.
“Good to meet you, Mr Bastion,” I murmur, but all the reaction I get is the tiniest flick of his eyes to meet mine before they’re back on his phone.
“Rafe,” he says, still brusque. “Call me Rafe.”
Rafe. I try to repeat it, but I can’t say it aloud. For weeks, I haven’t known his name, didn’t ask to know, and now he’s telling me to use it like it’s no big deal. “Okay, sure,” I manage.
“Diana’s the one I told you about,” Lizzie says to him. “I’ve moved her into the park-side guest suite.”
“Great,” he says, sounding as though he barely registered her words.
He clicks the phone screen off and finally glances at both of us.
I must look like a rabbit in the headlights, but, alarmingly, he doesn’t mirror me.
There isn’t a scrap of recognition in his gaze. Total, authentic, emotional detachment.
Wait a fucking minute.
He’s not pretending.
He doesn’t know who I am.
I’ve been obsessing over this man for weeks, and he’s completely forgotten me.
I’ve been reliving the best sex of my life, masturbating while thinking of all the things he did to me, knowing I can’t possibly go and fuck someone else because it would never live up to that experience, and he has no idea that I am me.
His phone starts to ring again.
“Excuse me,” he says. “I’ve got to take this.” Without waiting for a response, he drops my hand and walks away. I can’t move. Can’t do anything but stare as he leaves the room.
Through the haze of my scattered thoughts, a small spike of anger pierces the fog. Am I so forgettable?
No. I won’t believe that for a second.
But then again, my alter ego, the mysterious blonde bombshell from Atlanta, sounds nothing like me.
Acts nothing like me. And, given my current attire—the oversized tracksuit, my messy hair, and lack of makeup—she looks nothing like me either.
Add to that the fact that he probably never contemplated a reality where the woman he met at Delirium was his daughter’s best friend, and really, making the connection when we only saw each other in a darkened room and I never took off my mask, is a stretch.
But come on. Nothing? I’m good in bed. Really fucking good. I know it. There’s no way he’s forgotten me.
“Diana?” Lizzie probes.
Shit. I’ve completely zoned out. “Sorry, what?”
“Don’t mind him. He’s often like that. He’s busy and preoccupied a lot of the time, but when you get his full attention, he’s wonderful.” Heat burns my cheeks at the comment. Don’t I know it. “On the plus side, he really doesn’t care who comes to stay as long as we stay out of his way.”
“Right. Noted. Stay out of his way.” I stare at the floor as I try to process what’s just happened.
“You okay?” Lizzie peers at me. “What are you thinking about?”
I glance up. “I’m really good in bed.”
Damn those inside thoughts slipping out.
Her eyes light up, her mouth opening and laughter spilling out. “Okay. You want a gold star for that?”
I meet her bemusement with a forced smile. “Yeah. Maybe I do.”
Lizzie nudges her shoulder to mine, but I’m hardly aware of her because nerves are exploding through me like popping candy as I try to wipe all thoughts of sex and gold stars and her naked father from my mind.
If I’m going to stay here, she can never, ever find out that I’ve slept with her dad, and he can never, ever find out that I’m the woman he slept with at Delirium.
If this encounter is anything to go by, he’ll never even notice me.
All I need to do is get my business off the ground, get some income rolling in, and leave.
No one will be any the wiser.
That should be easy enough, right?