Chapter 10
EVIE
“This is so stupid,” I mutter to my reflection as I wipe the tear from the corner of my eye. I’m reacting like a kicked dog, which is ridiculous. None of what Oliver just told me is worse than what I discovered yesterday. I mean, it would kind of make sense; if Mitchell cheated on me multiple times, then he’s definitely the kind of man who’d marry for convenience.
But why the heck am I wondering if Oliver’s assistant was more to him than an employee? He looked so cut up about it. Maybe that’s why I feel so ... urgh! And the fact that he wants to ... what? Hire me? To pretend to be his girlfriend? The new Lucy?
“Collude,” I huff into the mirror. Conspire. Whatever. It’s not the same as wanting me.
I turn away from my reflection and lean against the vanity. I felt so different this morning, the hotel door handle cool in my hand as I paused to glance back at Oliver, splayed across the bed. His hair stark against the linens, his skin gilded by the rising sun. He had temptation stamped all over him. My fingerprints too. I’d felt a tiny thrill wash through me: I’d wanted him, and I’d had him. It all seemed like part of a grand plan—Evie getting her groove back.
I guess it’s no surprise that when I opened Riley’s door to him, my body throbbed with remembrance. Unfortunately, my heart also went pitter-patter.
“Men!” I grate out. Worse still, the rich kind. It figures that Mitchell was hiding more than his extracurriculars, because I was straight from the start—money was a turnoff for me. He knew I didn’t get along with my family, that I couldn’t agree with their outlook or their lifestyle. Money corrupts, and that’s one of the reasons I left Connecticut. I said it was for adventure, but my mother was already applying subtle pressure. To her, the only good husband is a rich husband. As long as he provides, she’s happy to turn a blind eye. But deep pockets do not excuse a stinking attitude. Same goes for a pretty face.
The bottom line is, I am disappointed. For Oliver to seek me out for this bull goes in the face of everything he did for me yesterday. Yet, underneath the bottom line lurks a painful postscript in tiny text that I can’t help but acknowledge.
He doesn’t want me, and that hurts my pride.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, swinging back to address my reflection. “And fuck him.” Playacting isn’t in my repertoire, and one-way desire is a short road to hell. I take a deep breath: what’s one more disappointment? Nothing that I can’t cope with. Pulling on the door, I step out into the darkened hallway.
“Eve.”
I turn at the velvet sound of my name. “I wasn’t sneaking out,” I begin, immediately defensive.
Oliver pushes languidly from the wall, moving closer, all sinuous stalk and prowl. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.” His words are pitched low, spoken like secrets, but they don’t stop my ugly huff.
“I’m fine.”
Another step, and the breadth of his shoulders blocks the light from the end of the hallway. “Let me help you.”
“So I can help you?”
At my tone, his teeth flash. White like a shark’s. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s a thing I’m not interested in.”
“Whether you believe it or not, Mitchell thinks he loves you. Either way, he’s not going to leave you alone.”
My stomach flips, but my reply is cool. “That’s not your concern.”
“Do you think he might be a narcissist? He certainly seems to lack empathy.”
“You’re giving him too much credit,” I snap. “He’s just another of the world’s rich, cheating assholes.”
“Money is the root of all evil? How Old Testament of you.”
“If the sandals fit.” I look him up, then down, but he doesn’t bite.
“Hasn’t he punished you enough?” He slides his hands into his pockets.
“There’s nothing more he can do to hurt me.”
“You underestimate him.”
“Because I don’t really know him?” I don’t give him time to answer. “I’m well acquainted with his type.” With your type, my gaze says as it flickers over him. He’d be my Jeopardy! specialist subject. I’ll take Rich Assholes for four hundred dollars.
“What about your visa? You’re no longer his fiancée. What if he makes that official? If he cancels it?”
“I’ll manage something.” Though my heart rate does a little skip at the thought.
“Help me, Eve,” he says, stepping closer. “Move in with me.”
“So you can be my fake visa fiancé?” I scoff, even as the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle. “That is such a terrible idea.” But then his hands are on my waist, and wildfire is rushing through my veins as he eases us into a shadowy alcove.
“Bad ideas seem to be our specialty. I might even make a better fake fiancé than the real one.” His lips are shockingly warm on my throat, my insides turning molten as he sucks at my skin.
“That wouldn’t be hard. The bar was set pretty low.”
He grunts. The sound reminds me of last night—of the sound he made as his body worked over me. “Say yes, Eve.”
“Careful.” I press my hand to his chest. “That sounded almost like a proposal.”
“Shall I propose all the things I’d like to do to you?” he purrs, staring down at me.
Yes. “No.” Both responses pulse inside me, my brain and my body at war. “I don’t even like you.”
He pulls my hips closer, the thick line of his cock pressed to my stomach. His body is so large and so hard, and he perfectly reads the hunger in mine as he holds me there, hard pressed to soft. His hand glides up my ribs, his thumb finding my nipple over the top of my T-shirt.
“Don’t you?”
He tugs, and I swallow back a whimper as a throb starts up between my legs.
“Doesn’t mean anything. It’s just biology.” And my brain cells disintegrating as he watches me.
“It’s chemistry.”
Is that why I sink into him like quicksand, the density of this thing greater than my will?
“You keep saying things I can’t trust.”
“Trust that I want you. Trust that my mouth would’ve worshipped you if you hadn’t crept out this morning.”
“Don’t sweet-talk me, Oliver. Not when I know you would’ve left me on the sidewalk.”
He pulls back, his gaze sliding over me, hot and heavy. “I lied. I lost my breath the moment I found you on top of me.”
“Sounds like you’re calling me fat.”
His blue eyes glint without generosity or humor as he slips his free hand under my hair, tugging back my head. “What part of perfectly formed don’t you comprehend?”
I gasp as much from his words as his hold. I hate how he seems to know exactly just what to say. Hate it as much as I love this push and pull.
“These fingers, this mouth. They would worship you.”
“In the quest to ruin him.” This is what I need to hang on to. His motivations, not the Oliver voodoo he works on me.
“Wouldn’t you like to be part of the fun?”
“I’m not vindictive.” Despite what that video says.
His dark laughter creates a rush of goose bumps along my arms. “You are such a lovely liar.” He lowers his mouth to mine, his kiss just as I’d tried not to remember it. Lips soft yet sure, tongue licking into my mouth as though it’s a source of deliciousness.
Whatever my plan was, he wasn’t supposed to sweep me away like this as my hands grip his biceps, the muscles flexing under my fingertips. I turn my head, and he makes a sound of approval, his mouth trailing across my jaw, making a path down my neck. His hand slips under the hem of my T-shirt, and I arch against him like a cat, my body turning hot and liquid as he exposes my nipple—here in the hallway of a restaurant.
“Come back with me, Eve.”
“No,” I whisper, swallowing over the thudding of my pulse.
“Let me—”
“No.” I push at his arms, self-preservation, that other animal instinct, taking over.
His thumb retracts from the lace of my bra, slipping away from my nipple. My T-shirt falls as his hand smooths it over my hip, but he doesn’t move, our bodies still touching entirely too much.
“I don’t need revenge.”
Now he steps back, the air between us suddenly cool. “You’re sure about that?” His question sounds barely curious.
I nod and press my back against the wall as he reaches out, his thumb passing over my collarbone.
“That’s a shame,” he says, his gaze following the movement. “Because I’m afraid I do.” His charm is a satin sticky web, easy to fall into. Which is probably why it takes a beat for his next words to compute. “You will do this for me, Eve. You will give me three months of your time. Three months of you.”
“You don’t want me, not really.”
He chuckles. It sounds unkind.
“You just want to use me.”
“It doesn’t have to be so sordid. Why can’t we call it ‘helping each other’?”
“Whatever you call it, I don’t want any part.” I swipe at his arm, only for him to catch my wrist.
“Not even as a means to keep you in London?”
Anger zips down my spine. Romeo or the villain? he’d asked before. The man is no Romeo.
“This is ridiculous. I won’t do it.” I pull against his hold, but he doesn’t let go. So I force my arm to go limp, inadvertently acknowledging his power over me.
“You can, and you will because you’re the kind of person who can do anything they set their mind to.” He slips his fingers through mine as though we’re a courting couple.
“Don’t patronize me.”
“That was a compliment.”
“I’d sooner stick toothpicks under my toenails, then kick a wall, than be your fake anything.” Because he’s proving my point perfectly: rich men are nothing but trouble. And I already have enough.
“You’ll enjoy some of the benefits.” He lifts my hand to his mouth, pressing his teeth over my knuckles. I swallow, ignoring how everything pulls tight as his tongue flicks out. “Think of last night.”
“The difference is last night I wanted you. Past tense.” I dislike the wobble in my voice as I tug my hand away.
“We both know that’s not entirely true.” As his hand falls, his knuckles ghost over the pebble of my taut nipple. “We both know you’ll do what it takes to remain in London.”
I begin to make a show of patting over invisible pockets. “Gosh, why is it you can never find a crayon when you need it? You know, to draw little pictures to explain.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up, his only answer to my insult.
“Mitchell isn’t going to cause problems with my visa. It’s not his style.”
“Lovely Eve.” His words feel like a pat on the head. “You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that I won’t.”