“David Beckham married a Spice Girl.”
“And now he’s selling Fruit of the Loom to soccer moms.”
I frown into the LA traffic in front of me.
Well David Beckham never had to go toe-to-toe with Natalie fucking Ames, or he’d be whistling a different goddamn tune.
I sigh as I put the car into park in my driveway, turning to her. “Look, I’m sorry I was a dick,” I say, turning to her.
Natalie shrugs.
“I didn’t mean to sideline you like that, and I’m-”
“It’s fine.”
Natalie gets out the car and slams the door.
This fucking girl.
I’m muttering and gritting my teeth as I follow her into the house.
“Look I said I was sorry,” I growl, following her into the kitchen.
Natalie shrugs again as she opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. “Great.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What’s your problem?”
“Nothing,” she snaps, shooting me a look.
“Bullshit.”
She shrugs, bringing the bottle of water to her lips and taking a sip. And for a half-second, I forget everything. For a frozen second, as I watch her tongue slip across her bottom lip, and as she slips a finger through a tendril of her sable hair, I just get fucking caught in it all.
Goddamn is she beautiful.
Even petulantly mad like this, even testing me with this little attitude thing she’s doing, she’s like no other girl I’ve ever met. She’s defiant and good, and wild, and not trying to get something from me - well, aside from what we discussed.
She takes another sip from the bottle of water. “It’s-” Natalie sighs, and her big blue eyes suddenly dart up to mine. “I’m just trying to process this whole ‘keeping you interested’ part of the job I never thought about.”
I grimace. “You talked to the other wives, huh.”
Natalie nods. “Yeah,” she says quietly.
I shake my head, scratching my chin. “Shit, sorry about that.”
“I just…” She looks down, picking at her nails. “I don’t want six months to go by where I walk away this big victim of you and your…whatevers.”
“It’s not going to happen like that.”
“Of course it will, Austin.” She shrugs in this way that stabs something through me, like she’s giving up. “You’re you, and with your reputation, it’s just-”
“Natalie-“
“Look, am I not good enough?”
I freeze, my jaw dropping a little as she looks down, wringing her hands.
“What?”
She suddenly shakes her head. “No, I’m- I’m sorry, that was stupid.”
“No, Natalie-”
“I’ve just had too much champagne. Seriously forget it, please.”
She suddenly whirls and dashes out of the room, running her fingers through her long dark hair as she disappears.
No way.
No damn way is she walking away from me and from this again.
I take one more second to think about what the fuck I’m doing before I storm after her.
I find her in her room, standing in the open double French doors that lead out to the terrace.
“You’re too good.”
She whirls, having not heard me coming up the stairs. “What?”
I step into the room.
“Austin-”
“I said you’re too good.”
Natalie blinks. “For what,” she says quietly, her fingers toying with one another, clasped in front of her.
I take another two steps towards her, watching her teeth drag over her bottom lip as she watches me.
“For me to corrupt. For me to tarnish.”
I move even closer, until I’m standing right in front of her, my eyes burning into hers.
“Sounds like an excuse,” she says, her eyes darting across my face.
“It is.”
She swallows thickly and I step right into her, reaching up as I lock eyes with her and pushing a piece of her hair away from her face.
“It is, because not a fucking second goes by with you in this damn house where I don’t want to tear your clothes off and taste every fucking inch of you.”
Natalie’s eyes go wide, and her breath catches as her cheeks flush hot.
“Not a day, huh?” She breathes.
“Not a damn day,” I growl.
She swallows again, her chest rising and falling with the tension of her breath. “So, today, for instance-”
“Today I want to tear that shirt off of you, toss you down on that bed, push your skirt up to your waist and bury my tongue in your pussy.”
She gasps, her eyes growing wider than I’ve ever seen.
I smirk. “Too much?”
Slowly, she shakes her head side-to-side, and it’s the last crack in the dam around my self-restraint before the whole thing just gives.