The Dirty Series 2(102)

The website swirls at the back of my mind, a pest that won’t leave me alone. Is that why I want to know Ace’s secrets? Or does it run deeper than that?

But none of that can eclipse the hum beneath my skin, the goose bumps pricking up on my arms when Ace stands up, in full view of everyone at the Swan, and offers me his hand.

The table goes silent, Eli breaking off his story and looking across at us with a quizzical expression, mouth half-open. But he doesn’t speak and the silence grows, the gap in the sound spreading from our table to the next.

If I don’t make a move, the entire room is going to be staring at us in a matter of seconds.

I’m frozen in my seat. This is the point of no return. If I take his hand, I’m going to leave with him. The sun is going to rise in the east and set in the west, and if I say yes right now, all the dominos are going to fall, one by one, until there’s nothing left but me and my website….

My body won’t take no for an answer.

I put my hand in Ace’s and heat crackles between us. It’s all I can do to stand.

I’ve left my purse hanging over the back of the seat next to Jess, so, with my breath coming fast and hard, I tug at Ace’s hand, both of us moving pointedly around the table. Jess grins up at me, beaming, her teeth biting at her lower lip, and as I give a clipped goodbye, heart racing, she gives me a subtle thumbs up.

She wouldn’t be if she knew how this was going to end.

Right now, in this moment, with my hand in his, I don’t care at all.

As we step away from the table, Ace calls back over his shoulder, “Thanks for the invite, Eli. I’ll stay longer next time.”

Eli’s laughter fades away behind us, the conversation closing around our wake.

The momentum carries us through the lobby and out the main entrance. Usually, Eli prefers to go out through the side entrance—less chance of paparazzi—but we get lucky tonight. There’s nobody out here, just a gleaming black Bentley with a uniformed driver standing by the back door. Ace goes toward it at full speed, pulling me along behind him, and at the last moment the driver swings the door open. “Four Seasons,” he says, and the driver, a stocky dark-eyed man, nods. Is there a glint in his eyes? Hard to tell in the dark.

The leather seats are cool and smooth. The driver closes the door and jogs around to the front, but before he can open his door, Ace’s hand is on my cheek, turning me to face him.

Our eyes lock again, his gray eyes stormy in the low light in the back of his car, and I don’t wait for some awkward discussion. I don’t wait for anything at all. I lean in and I kiss him, hard, the way I wanted to when I saw him tonight.

He is not some gawky schoolboy anymore.

His strong hands go around my waist, pulling me toward him, and as the car pulls away from the curb, I throw my arms around his neck, crushing my lips against his. He tastes like champagne and mint, and the spicy smell of him, expensive, light cologne, fills my lungs with every gasping breath.

One time, I promise myself. One time, I’ll let myself enjoy him, and I won’t get sucked into this, and I won’t fall in love. Not with Ace Kingsley, not with that wicked smile, not with the hard body I’m aching to touch. His unbelievable body is just a gateway to heartbreak, and I’m not going to invite any more of that into my life. Men like Ace—rich men who are used to getting what they want—they always stray.

None of it matters tonight, when his body is responding to mine, when he’s yanking me toward him like I can’t get close enough, when the back of his Bentley is hot, so damn hot. I don’t know how his driver is keeping his eyes on the road.

Ace pulls back, his eyes laser-focused on mine. “I want you. I’m going to have you.” The words spill out of him, rough and raspy, and the hair on the back of my neck rises, a tremble of desire shoots rockets through me.

I can’t find the words, so I push harder into him, throwing my legs on either side of his knees, straddling him, pressing the heat of my core to the hard steely length of his cock beneath his pants.

“Jesus,” he whispers, his hands gripping my waist.

“He has—” I suck in a breath. “He has nothing to do with this.”

Ace’s laugh is so sexy I almost split in two, and then his mouth is on my collarbone, and I am lost in the sensation of his lips on my skin, his teeth grazing my shoulder, the dominos are falling, it’s all over and I don’t want it to stop.





Chapter Eight





Ace



Carolyn is burning me alive, and it feels like fucking heaven.

She’s so hot for me that the ride back to the Four Seasons is a haze of kissing, hard, then tender, then wild with the kind of sexual heat I haven’t felt since the last time—