Beautiful Sins (The Enemies Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  My phone rings, and I answer, straining to hear over the music.

  “Expensive is my favorite price.”

  God, he’s arrogant. The British accent only makes him sound more elitist. But damn if I don’t love the sound of his voice over the line.

  “You want me working for you again?”

  “I enjoy you under me. I think of little else.”

  Heat blazes down my spine, settling into an ache knowing he replays our too-short night together as much as I do.

  “Meet me tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll send you directions.”

  4

  Rae

  My GPS announces I’ve arrived, but the single nondescript rectangular building on my right makes me frown. It’s not a club—it’s a warehouse, and I’m already regretting agreeing to meet.

  The building is massive, and I park in the lot next to a row of construction vehicles and turn to the mutt in the passenger seat. “Let’s go, Ernie.”

  I round to the passenger side and lift Beck’s pet out of the car, careful of the stitches from his surgery.

  “For a dog, you’ve got the princess act down,” I comment as I set him on the pavement, fastening his leash as he cocks his head up at me.

  We head for the door nearest the parking lot, which is propped open with a two by four. The moment I enter, I’m astounded by the sheer size of the place.

  “What do you think?” Leni calls from the other end.

  “It looks like an empty Target,” I point out as she approaches.

  Two dozen workers are bustling, alone and in groups, many on ladders and scaffolding.

  “Try telling him that. We’re insulating the walls,” Leni supplies. “Floors are next. Anything we can upgrade as a ‘warehouse’”—she makes air quotes—“until we get the rezoning approved.”

  I stop halfway across the huge room, and she bends to scratch the dog on the head.

  “New man. You traded up.”

  “I can hear you,” comes an irritated British voice.

  I straighten as Harrison makes his way across the floor, his dark suit fitting his form to perfection.

  The little tremor starts in my stomach, spreads lower into a tingling between my thighs and up to my breasts. I’m a teenager thinking dirty thoughts about the bad boy in school. The older one who’s the kind of trouble you’d risk everything for.

  Since Ibiza, the memories faded a little every week, until I could get through almost a day without remembering his scent, his presence, the way he looked at me as if I were a piece of fine art.

  Now, it’s roaring back.

  “Oh good. I thought I might have to speak louder,” Leni responds as he stops in front of us.

  “Don’t you have a job to do?” Harrison gripes.

  “Sure, boss.” She winks before offering me a fist bump. “Good to see you. We need to go surfing sometime. Girls’ day.”

  The next moment, she’s gone and it’s Harrison and me. We might be surrounded by construction workers, but the pull between us is electric.

  My attention drags over every perfectly tailored inch of him. “What would it take for you to ditch the suit? Global wool shortage? Zombie apocalypse? Male menopause?”

  “I’m pleased to hear your interest in getting me out of my clothes hasn’t waned.” Warmth dances in his eyes, and I feel it everywhere. It’s impossible not to respond to this man.

  “I said I’d talk about opening a club. Which, by the way, this is far from.”

  “Good thing I have a talent for seeing what things could be.”

  Is he still talking about the club?

  “There need to be lines.” I nod toward the tape on the floor.

  “Some boundaries are legitimate. Others are notional, have zero grounding in reality, and are simply erected to protect things not worth protecting.” He crosses the line of tape without a second look. “I won’t play by made-up rules. Yours or anyone else’s.”

  Those lashes are a mile long, and I’m caught between staring at them and his firm mouth.

  “What’s with the dog?”

  I jerk back, realizing he was looking at my feet.

  “Ernie’s Beck’s. He had surgery, and I didn’t want to put a cone on him. Beck has a busy day at the studio, and E doesn’t like hanging out in the trailer, plus the PAs don’t have time.”

  “You’re living with Beck.” His gaze sharpens.

  “Careful. I’ll put a cone on you.”

  Harrison leans in. “I’d like to see you try.”

  If I told myself I’d exaggerated the power of what was between us in Ibiza, I was wrong. He might not be the happy-ever-after kind, but Harrison King and I have a boatload of chemistry.

  A forty-five-meter yacht’s worth and then some.

  “So, according to Leni, you’re praying this behemoth will be a club?”

  He folds his arms. “In six months,” he confirms. “And there’s no prayer involved.”

  “Really? Because when my brother, Kian, built his medical practice from scratch, there was a shit ton of zoning and permitting and paperwork, none of which is easy here, where ‘not-in-my-backyard syndrome’ is elevated from a pastime to a full-on passion.”

  His eyes darken dangerously, and I raise a brow.

  “I never knew you were acquainted with real estate development. It’s distractingly sexy.”

  “Then stay focused. This is going to be the dance floor?” I motion to the center of the space. “What about bars?”

  “On either side. Come to my office. I’ll show you the drawings.”

  “It’s better out here.”

  Harrison’s slow grin is devastating. “You don’t trust yourself alone with me.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  But I need more than his word that this place will be performance-ready in six months. So, I follow him.

  “You think I’m sufficiently base,” he murmurs as I fall into step beside him, “that while you’re looking at floor plans, I’ll reach over and unfasten the button on those jeans. Peel them down your legs but leave them on your ankles when I lift you onto the desk because the idea of you being trapped turns me on.”

  His words might as well be stroking up my inseam, rubbing against my clit at the top, for the way they affect me.

  He pauses outside the door, angling his aristocratic profile toward me. “Or do you think I’ll find out if you’re wearing the lingerie you bought to wear for me on your birthday?”

  He’s smug, but the way he grips the door handle, as if all of this matters more than he’s letting on, makes me ache.

  “I didn’t buy it for you.”

  “You bought it to see if you could bring me to my knees,” he corrects. “Be careful what you wish for. You might enjoy the view.”

  He holds the door, and when I finally brush past him, I’m still thinking of him that night after Debajo, how breathtaking it was to have him over me and inside me, dragging us both over a cliff to a fate neither of us wanted to escape.

  How much more devastating could he be from his knees?

  His control is one thing. His reverence would be another.

  I understand he had reasons for not being available the morning after he left me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll fall into bed with him now. Neither will I give up who I am or what I want to get caught up in his world.

  The office is spacious, a large L-shaped desk facing the door and a coffee table with a low gray sofa and two plush-looking chairs in one corner. Behind the door sits a row of filing cabinets. It’s a mashup of used minimalist pieces and opulence.

  He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the contrast.

  “I’m surprised at your persistence,” I comment.

  He leaves the door ajar, possibly to make me more comfortable.

  Or to prove that whatever’s going to happen between us won’t be derailed by a dozen contractors.

  “At recruiting a DJ?”

  “At recruiting me.” I select the chair nearest the do
or and sink into it, lifting Ernie into my lap—possibly to use as a canine shield. “There are plenty of people you could hire with less baggage.”

  “You’ve repeatedly told me you only have one bag. And still you manage to lose it.”

  I ignore the tug in my chest at his familiar teasing. “Is this about sex? Because if you think what happened between us the last night in Ibiza is enough to make me fall back into bed with you, you’re wrong.”

  “If it was only about sex, I’d have you on your back right now.”

  He’s utterly confident he’s right. But if it’s not about sex for him, what’s left?

  “You were engaged once,” I say. “It ended badly. I have a hard time believing you’re here to sweep me off my feet.”

  Harrison rummages through a stack of papers on his desk, tugging at the knot on his tie. When he crosses to me, laying blueprints out on the coffee table and claiming the next chair, I can’t help inhaling his scent.

  “There’s a fascinating mile between you screaming my name and me on my knee with a box, love.”

  Those soul-stealing blue eyes bore into me.

  What would it take for Harrison King to put his scars and suspicions behind him and open his heart, his life, to a woman?

  I reach across Ernie to tug the papers toward me, but Harrison doesn’t release the blueprints, and our fingers brush, heat zinging through me.

  His thighs clench under the expensive fabric of his pants, and his exhale is half groan.

  All I hear is the hammering of my pulse. Harrison’s smoldering gaze burns me up from the inside.

  Our faces are inches apart, his firm lips parted. “La Mer isn’t yet mine, but with this in my collection of venues, I’ll surpass Mischa in growth. With or without La Mer.”

  I turn my attention back to the blueprints, scanning the scale drawings that include the bars, the lighting, the stage.

  They’re impressive.

  “So, I’m supposed to believe you’ll get everything done on schedule because Harrison King wills it so?”

  “Because you know what I’m capable of.”

  It’s what makes him a powerful ally, and a dangerous one.

  “If you can get your approvals lined up and show me this place is coming together, I’ll sign on. For this amount.” I reach for the pen in his jacket pocket, pull his hand toward me, and scrawl a number on his palm as he watches, bemused.

  “You’re joking.”

  “My rate’s gone up since Ibiza.”

  My rate for him has, anyway.

  Harrison stares at me incredulously. Every inch of his perfect body is tense, and he’s not bothering to hide the impatience on his face. “Are you forgetting I made you in Ibiza?”

  “Actually, I made you. The Debajo door doubled under me.”

  “And you trembled under me.”

  Before I can respond, he jerks me toward him.

  His lips claim mine, hot and possessive.

  There’s no questioning in this kiss. It’s punishment and regret, a dark cocktail crafted by his hard mouth and demanding tongue.

  I try not to respond. His grip on my hair is demanding, but I can’t bring myself to pull away.

  I’ve been fantasizing about kissing him for an entire month, afraid it would never happen again. Now that it’s happening, that low throb in my body starting up like it never stopped, I remember why.

  Ernie whines in my lap, but Harrison doesn’t relent until he’s tasted me to his satisfaction, until I’m panting and my heart is racing against my ribs.

  When he pulls back, his arrogant face is clouded with desire.

  “You don’t have the right to do that,” I manage.

  “I never had the right. Wasn’t a problem before.” He rubs a hand across his hard jaw, eyes dancing. “And don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

  I want to slap him.

  I want him to press me down on this coffee table and see if it’ll hold both our weights.

  Before I can decide, his phone buzzes and he glances at it. “I have a meeting tomorrow with the man in charge of zoning. We’ve gotten permits to upgrade the walls, flooring, anything that wouldn’t raise suspicions for warehouse use. The rest will have to wait until the zoning is completed. In the interim, I’ve had my marketing team mock-up some options for promoting opening night. I want to go over plans with you. Tomorrow night, over dinner.”

  “We could meet for a drink after dinner. I have dinner plans.”

  He frowns. “With?”

  “None of your business. Drinks after,” I repeat. His eyes flash as I rise to stand.

  He walks me to the door of the building, Ernie trotting at our heels.

  “It’s a date,” Harrison calls.

  “It’s drinks, asshole.”

  His slow grin is smug, as if our banter gives him divine pleasure he’s been denied for too long. With a look that steals my breath, he turns and heads back inside

  My fingers tighten on Ernie’s leash, and as I head across the parking lot, I call Harrison King every filthy name I know.

  5

  Rae

  “Come on, baby. Give it to me,” I mutter.

  “All you had to do was ask.”

  I glance over my shoulder as Beck enters the kitchen in shorts and nothing else.

  “Your coffee maker’s acting up.” The gleaming silver machine is the same brand Harrison bought in Ibiza.

  “When sweet talk fails…” He bangs a hand on the side. “Try now.”

  I do, and it runs. “Huh.”

  He winks. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I decided to go to Kian’s wedding. Maybe I can put the past behind me.”

  “Need a plus one?”

  “Nope. I’m not inviting anyone into that cesspool.”

  “Rae, there’s a lot of ugly in this world. You can’t handle your own family, maybe you’re not ready for it.”

  I fold my arms. “Nothing ever happened to you in your past that you wouldn’t want to revisit, or have dragged out, or have connected to who you are now?”

  He frowns. “I’m not hiding anything. Are you?”

  Steam erupts from the coffee machine, and I attend to it. My stomach knots, and I force myself to keep breathing. “I’d rather think about my future.”

  “Wouldn’t we all.” Beck barks out a laugh as he grabs a mug from the cabinet.

  The huge silver fridge is stocked with healthy prepped foods. Beck won’t let me contribute to the mortgage, but I hacked his grocery delivery account and switched it to my credit card.

  When I first met Beck through Annie in college, I never could’ve predicted I’d be staying with him now, sharing coffee, not to mention a roof.

  Beck’s good at making friends and keeping them. I’m suspicious of everyone’s motives, waiting for them to bail, but he’s the opposite—he expects the best and often finds it. He has a knack for seeing through someone’s defenses to what’s underneath. But unlike many, he doesn’t use it against people.

  That’s probably why I find myself letting him in a bit at a time and why he’s often my go-to hang-out partner.

  Beck’s phone buzzes, and he grabs it, reading the notification with a grin.

  “Who’s making you smile like that?”

  “Emily. Chick from the club the other night.”

  “You can bail on our dinner plans if you want to take her out,” I offer.

  He slaps a hand on the counter hard enough Ernie jumps. “No way. I’m taking you for dinner tonight. A nice one. As a thanks for sitting Ernie yesterday.”

  The dog perks up from his designer doghouse across the kitchen.

  I lean a hip against the counter. “He only tried to eat his stitches twice. I took him to see Harrison’s new project.”

  “How is the chairman of the British Billionaire Club?” Beck asks, mischief glinting in his dark eyes as he flips his hair out of his face. “It was delightful seeing him on set. Too bad I couldn’t stick around and pick ice sl
ivers out of my chest. You know, from all those daggers shooting from his eyes.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  He crosses to a brown paper back next to the fridge and pulls out a pre-cut bagel before popping it into the toaster. “Dude was ready to whip it out and piss a circle around you. What’d he want?”

  “To give me a bonus for Ibiza,” I say as I grab the cream.

  “For your legitimate, fully clothed work there,” he drawls as he presses the toaster lever down.

  “What are you saying?”

  He turns back to me, folding his arms. “Just that he’s pussy whipped. You left the boy wanting more.”

  I set the cream on the counter harder than necessary. “I’m not the woman who leaves guys wanting more, Beck. I’m the one who flies under the radar—unless she’s on stage in a costume—and I like it that way.”

  “Some people are so blinded by the sun they miss the stars. Someone gets a good look at you, they’re gonna find something to like.”

  “Wow. I was going to offer you cheese with that bagel, but you brought your own.” But my chest twinges anyway.

  “So, are you gonna give him another chance?”

  “To what. Irritate me? I’m already playing shitty clubs from the last time I let him in.”

  “Maybe he wants to make it right.” The bagel pops up, and Beck reaches for a plate.

  “He’s turning a warehouse into a club. It’s bold,” I admit.

  “Mmm. Bold new venture for the hotter, more insolent James Bond who wants nothing more than my girl at his exquisitely tailored side.”

  I roll my eyes. The man is a business titan. He has money to burn, and he didn’t get that way by taking detours chasing skirts.

  It’s possible there’s something to be learned from that.

  “I’m not giving in to him. But I’m a little envious,” I realize. “I think I want a warehouse.”

  “A warehouse,” he echoes.

  “Not an actual warehouse. A project I can go after no matter what. Something that’s mine, that no one can say Harrison had a hand in.”

  My phone buzzes with a notification from Wild Fest announcing a new DJ.