Nicola Marsh - Sweet Thing

Not that I wasn’t interested. Sex with Abby had the potential to be phenomenal. Women coming out of a shitty marriage could go off like firecrackers.

But Remy would bust my balls if I inadvertently hurt her and she quit out of some misguided notion that any future chance meetings between us would be uncomfortable.

It had happened before, when I’d been young and dumb; had opened my first club and slept with my accountant. She’d been looking for more than a good time, despite her reassurances before things started up. When it soured she left and I’d lost the best damn accountant in the business.

No, I wouldn’t be responsible for screwing this up for Remy, not when he’d spoken so highly of Abby when I’d called him last night and first thing this morning.

I’d keep my distance. Maybe even apologise for that kiss. Remy’s business had steadily increased over the last year and, considering he recorded Abby’s progress as part of her apprenticeship, looked like his protégé had been a big part of that.

Le Miel and Remy couldn’t afford to lose Abby.

Which meant I had to keep the snake in its cage.

I glanced at the clock. After seven, when I needed to start my own work at nine. No time for a workout to ease the kinks out of my back. Sitting at a desk for twelve hours straight was for fools.

Pressing the tips of my fingers to my eyes, I did a few yoga breaths while rolling my shoulders. I heard the door open and when I opened my eyes, Abby stood in front of me, with a steaming espresso and an almond croissant.

‘You’ve been working hard all day and haven’t been out, so I thought you might like a snack?’

‘You’re an angel,’ I said, meaning it, as the pungent Brazilian brew hit my nose and I inhaled greedily. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

A faint blush stained her cheeks, as if she wasn’t used to praise, and damned if I wasn’t catapulted straight back to yesterday morning when I’d kissed her.

Her blush had been deeper then, the blue of her eyes so damn crystal clear I could’ve drowned in them.

My cock hardened in agreement and I inwardly cursed. Remember Remy and Le Miel and a flourishing bottom line?

Down, boy.

She handed me the coffee and placed the plate on the desk. ‘At the risk of sounding like a nag, you shouldn’t lock yourself away in here all day and not eat.’

‘Who said I don’t have a secret stash of energy bars in the top drawer?’

She quirked an eyebrow. ‘Do you?’

‘Nah, but if it stops you nagging, I’ll say it.’

She smiled and it softened her features from pretty to breathtaking. ‘I’m heading out soon so are you okay to lock up?’

‘Sure, go head.’ I tapped my temple. ‘The alarm combo is stashed away up here.’

The corners of her mouth twitched. ‘Not sure how you can remember any new numbers when you must have a phone book’s worth stored up there already.’

I laughed, enjoying this softer side of her. ‘Did you just make fun of my little black book?’

She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. ‘A little.’

Surprised by her lighthearted sparring when I’d expected her to be gauche and standoffish after that kiss, I feigned indignation. ‘I’ll have you know my mental capacity is much less than you give me credit for, so I keep the thousands of women’s phone numbers stored in my cell.’

‘Little wonder you have such a big one—’ Her lips clamped shut and her eyes widened in horror at her gaff.

‘We are talking about my cell, right? Or are you still obsessing over my peg leg?’

The blush returned, deepening her cheeks to a rosy pink. ‘It’s been a long day. I really should go.’

‘And I really should let you.’

But neither of us moved, our gazes locked in some invisible battle of wills while electricity sparked between us.

I had to do something to break this tenuous hold she had on me before I did something monumentally stupid, like kiss her again. And not stop at a kiss this time.

‘I’m sorry for kissing you yesterday,’ I blurted, not sorry at all. ‘It was out of line. Blame it on my jet lag, concern over Remy and your unfailing knack of goading me.’

‘Glad to know it wasn’t my womanly charms,’ she said, her dry response tempered with a smile. ‘Honestly? Don’t worry about it. Forgotten, just like that.’

She snapped her fingers and damned if my ego didn’t take a hit.

Forgotten? That made one of us.

‘Anyway, got to go. Makayla’s taking me clubbing.’ She made it sound like her friend was dragging her for a root canal. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, see you.’ I watched her walk out the door, my gaze riveted to her ass.

She worked those black pants like nothing else and I scowled, snatching up the croissant and jamming it into my mouth.

The buttery goodness melted on my tongue and I wondered if its creator would taste as good.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Abby

I’D ENVISAGED EMBUE being a one-room dive with mirrored walls, strobing lights and ear-splitting techno.

Thankfully, I was wrong.

‘Isn’t this place the coolest?’ Makayla clung to my arm and did a little jive on the spot. ‘I’ve heard rave reviews about it but this surpasses my expectations by a mile.’

Mine too. Everything about the nightclub screamed class, from the polished floorboards and soaring ceilings to the chandelier hanging over the DJ’s console, placed smack-bang in the middle of the dance floor.

The dance floor circled the DJ like a giant shimmering oil slick, with golden velvet lounges in booths surrounding it. Cream and gold were everywhere, from the chiffon-covered walls to the coasters.

The entire effect was upscale elegance rather than downtown disco.

I loved it.

As for the music, I actually recognised the song, an upbeat nineties number that made me sway a little.

I elbowed Makayla. ‘Should I make a confession now that I’ve never been to a nightclub?’

Makayla gripped my arm tighter and swung me around to face her. ‘What the... I could’ve sworn you just said you’d never been to a nightclub?’

I held up my free hand. ‘The truth and nothing but the truth.’

‘What are you, a nun?’ She released my arm, only to slug it. ‘Girlfriend, either you’ve been in a cult or kidnapped by a madman who kept you locked up, because everyone on the planet has been to a nightclub at some point in their lives.’

Being part of the perfect Prendigasts had been like living in a cult, before being virtually kidnapped by Bardley and living in a prison of my own making.

‘I got married at twenty-one.’

Makayla shook her head, a riot of glossy red curls tumbling over her bare shoulders dusted in glitter. ‘But didn’t you ever sneak into a nightclub underage? Go out with your friends from school?’

‘I went to an all-girls private school and no, we didn’t sneak out.’

We didn’t do much of anything bar go on expensive shopping trips and have mani-pedis in the private comfort of our mansions. Not that I could call any of the girls I’d hung out with as friends. They’d been the bitchiest group I’d ever encountered, clones of their mothers whose only ambition was to find a rich, upper-class guy and marry him.

All they’d ever talked about was who had the latest designer bag, who had the most expensive car sitting in the garage for when they turned eighteen and which guys from the elite boys’ schools were the best to shag.

How I’d longed to be part of those groups of girls who hung around together at the local shops, swapping frozen yoghurts and gossip while they waited for the school bus instead of Daddy’s chauffeur.

Those girls had looked genuinely happy, despite their ripped blazers and holey jumpers. My folks had taught me from a young age that money could buy anything. They’d been wrong. I couldn’t buy happiness, the kind I’d seen on those girls’ faces.