“Saint or sinner.” I sigh. “Romeo or the villain. There are middle grounds, you know.”
“When we’re talking about blackmail?” She slants me a less-than-complimentary glance. “Not in my book.”
“Tell me, what would work, in your book?” Ignoring her bark of laughter, I add, “It’s not like you’ve nothing to gain. You want to stay in London. I can help you. You want your life back. I can help you with that too. Improve it, even.”
“Delusional! How could having you in my life possibly improve it?”
“I could think of a few ways,” I find myself purring.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She swings away, her damp ponytail swishing like an angry kitten’s tail. “I can solve my own problems.”
“Undoubtedly. You’re very resourceful.” She doesn’t bite. “But I could alleviate a lot of the stress.” And not just with sex. “I have connections. The best law team in London at my service.”
“Oh, my Lord,” she says, suddenly affecting the southern tone she’d used at the hotel Saturday evening. “I am just so honored that you’d take an interest in me, a poor, hapless,helplesslittle woman.”
“Again, there’s nothing helpless about you.” My words don’t sound very complimentary. “With my help, the outcome would be guaranteed.”
Eve opens her mouth, but her response is overcome by chattering teeth. She clamps her jaw together forcefully.
“Serves you right for not getting in the car.”
“Who died and made you king?”
“I’d gladly offer you my crown and my scepter, my rod and my staff, but something tells me you’re not in the mood.”
Nothing.
I sigh. “Life would be much easier if people listened to instructions.” And poorer, too, considering how lovely angry looks on her.
She sniffs, and as she turns, I realize she’s soaked through.
“Stop.” I tighten my fingers on her arm. “Hold this.” Thrusting the handle of the umbrella into her hand, I quickly tug on the zip of the oversize hoodie she’s wearing.
“Hey! Stop that!”
I have it open and one arm free before she can complain with any great effect. Spinning her in the other direction means she almost takes out my eye with the umbrella spokes. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get you naked,” I mutter, jerking back.
“I got that memo, thanks.”
“Not in the street, at least.” The sweatshirt dangles from one wrist, and the expression she’s wearing? We’ll call ithow rude!But not for long as I strip off my jacket, and her eyes slide hungrily down my chest. They linger in the vicinity of my belt, when she rolls in her bottom lip, rendering it pink and shiny. Bloody hell. If she doesn’t stop looking at me like that, my rod and crown will announce themselves.
“Why do you keep tormenting me?” she whispers.
“Because you think I’m pretty,” I murmur, reaching out to tidy a lock of her rain-frizzed hair, “and I’m nothing if not persistent.”
Her brows knit. “I didn’t say you were pretty.”
“Yes, you did.” I relieve her of the umbrella and lean the handle across my shoulder. I shake out my jacket from the collar, ready for her to slip it on. “On Saturday afternoon you said my lashes were pretty.”
“I was in a state of shock,” she mutters as she turns away. She slides in one arm, then the other. Then her breath hitches as, from behind, I drop my mouth to her ear.
“And on Saturday evening,” I whisper as softly as a curl of smoke, “you said my cock was the prettiest you’ve ever seen.”
“I did—Idon’tremember.”
“Liar.” I bite back my enjoyment as she spins and snatches the wet hoodie from my hand. I lift the umbrella, and resuming our positions, we begin to walk again. “Compliments are always welcome.”
“I’m sure you get so many.” Her tone is the verbal equivalent of side-eye as she swishes the hoodie back and forth by her thigh.
