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“I’ll tell you everything in the car, deal?” He steels his jaw and it’s like he knows I won’t refuse. Clearly I’m unable to disobey him.
“As long as I still get paid,” I challenge and he shakes his head.
He takes a good, hard long look at me before sighing. “You’ll still get paid, but there will be conditions.”
Uh, oh. That doesn't sound good.
“Conditions?”
“In the car, Charlize. Now.”
And my first night of debauchery came to an end as quick as it began.
Chapter Eight
Alistair
There’s no sound in the car as we drive silently toward my townhouse.
I’ve no idea what to fucking make of this. I’m pissed at myself for not recognising her, but in my defence, seventeen years is a long fucking time and she’s no longer a teenager. She’s a woman now.
She looks completely different.
Taller.
Blonder.
Her body has filled out… fuck. I want to slap myself repeatedly, especially since her arousal is all over my goddamn face.
I palm the back of my head, my heart galloping in my chest. I need to calm my fucking nerves, but since I don’t smoke, and barely drink — even at birthday parties where my friends will try anything to get me inebriated — my usual go-to of choice is to fuck. But considering who the woman beside me is in my Porsche, I can’t exactly do that, either.
“Nice ride.” She gazes out of the window as I navigate the quiet streets. It’s almost three in the fucking morning.
“Cut the crap, Charlize. What are you really doing in London?” I don’t know why I have the sneaking suspicion she did this to get back at me. Because of the guilt that I still feel for not being there? For not being the father figure that she needed at that time. Fuck knows I screwed up as a husband to Abigail, but we both knew our marriage was one of convenience, and it suited the two of us. It was a transaction, but Charlize won’t want to hear that. Not that she and her mother were close. I think Abigail just didn’t know how to be a proper mother to her. She was a product of her own shitty, cold upbringing —she didn't know any better. And the circumstances around how Charlize was conceived and what happened to the father always made Abigail bitter — not that Charlize is privy to any of that.
She was never meant to be caught in the crossfire in any of this. I wanted to protect her, not drive her away. And now I’ve committed the ultimate sin.
I put my fucking hands on her. My mouth. What’s worse? I fucking enjoyed every second of it.
I shake the thoughts off. I can’t let her get under my skin, which is exactly what she seems determined to do with her smart, bratty mouth. If she really was mine for the night, I’d shut that smart mouth up with my cock all fucking night long.
“I told you already, I’m working in a bar during the day.”
“And you do this by night?”
“What’s it to you?”
I look at her sharply. “Don’t play coy with me, Charlize. I fucking mean it.”
She ignores me, looking straight ahead. “Fine. I work in a bar.”
“Which one?”
“Why does it matter? Do you suddenly care about what I do?”
I take a deep breath. “I wish I’d known you were in London.”
She turns to look at me. “Why? It’s not like we’ve ever been close.” That’s true enough, but the words still sting.
