Page 6 of Unstitch

‘Yeah. I bet you’re just crawling with experience,’ she says, and I have a sudden urge to dip my head and sink my teeth so deeply into the luscious skin of her shoulder that it knocks every brattish thought right out of her head.

‘I’m not crawling with anything, you insolent girl.’ I tell her sternly. ‘I get tested once a fortnight.’

Her eyebrows fly up. ‘Once a fortnight? You must be having a lot of sex.’

‘I am. Your sister and her friends run an amazing outfit at Alchemy. I’d be stupid not to avail myself of it. My point is, you’d be safe with me. Actually, let me rephrase.’ I close the last remaining foot between us and trail my fingertips back up her arm, up the creamy column of her neck, and along her jaw. ‘You’d be completely safe with me where STDs are concerned, and very, very unsafe in every other way. Do you get my meaning?’

Her rose scent mingles with the scents of this beautiful Mediterranean evening, and it’s heady beyond belief. Her breath is coming faster now, tits heaving.

Message received loud and clear.

She licks her lips. ‘Sadly for me, I’m not supposed to fraternise tonight. They just brought me in to get everyone hard.’

‘I bet they did, you little tease. Well, you certainly did that. Every single man in this place wants to fuck you. And probably most of the women, too. How does that make you feel?’

‘Pissed off beyond all belief,’ she says with a pout, and I laugh. I suspect she’s just like me.

Used to getting what she wants.

‘Who imposed this little non-fraternisation policy?’ I ask, and then I answer my own question. ‘Genevieve, of course. And do you always do as you’re told?’

‘I do when she’s given me a job and her very nice flat,’ she says. ‘For now, anyway. I don’t want to fall at the first hurdle, you know? Anyway, I’m not interested in fucking you.’

What a bare-faced little liar.

‘Bollocks,’ I say, affording her pointed nipples an equally pointed glance.

‘I’m not. When in France, you know? French guys are so hot. It’d be a shame to waste this evening on a crusty old Brit.’

I spit out a surprised laugh. She really is a piece of work. ‘I’d like to put you over my knee and spank that insolence out of you. And I think you’d like that, too. But it’d be a waste of my time, because there are lots of gorgeous women here who want my cock tonight—and a good number of those hot French guys too, probably. Whereas it sounds like you’re not getting any cock tonight. Of any nationality.’

She sets her jaw like a pissed-off teenager, and I lean in to her ear. ‘It was an absolute pleasure to spar with you, Darcy. Enjoy your evening of enforced celibacy and excruciating frustration.’

I pull back enough to shoot her my dazzling signature smile before turning on my heel and heading out into the throngs of beautiful people.

I got the last word, naturally.

I always do.

5

DARCY

If I wasn’t facing out onto one the most beautiful views I’ve ever seen, I’d be extraordinarily pissed off. As it is, I’m fairly pissed off. I stare out at the gorgeous vista from the fancy terrace in Anton’s insane pad. The terrace leads onto an emerald green lawn—irrigation costs be damned—that in turn runs down to a spectacular pool area via a shallow flight of sandstone steps.

Beyond the pool? Pines. And then a drop to the Med itself, sparkling and glorious and its trademark azure on this perfect June day.

My sister told me she and Anton first got it on—after an extensive period of mind games on her part and ambushes on his—at this very table. That they first fucked down by the pool. That’s kind of hot and kind of creepy, because, come on. She’s my sister. And he’s old. But it’s still pretty cool.

I can definitely see the attraction of having a super hot, super eligible billionaire trick you into staying with him alone at his evil lair and then seducing you by the pool.

I’m just happy someone’s getting some action, because I’m definitely not. Last night’s Alchemy opening night was the equivalent for me of dehydrating to death on a life raft in the middle of the ocean. Men, men, everywhere, and not a single one to fuck.

Just the thought of it fucks me off, and I may stab at a sliver of perfectly ripe cantaloupe a little harder than necessary. Two rounds with my rose vibe when I got home took the edge off, but wasn’t the same. It was the equivalent of trying to fill yourself up with a protein shake when you really want a bar of chocolate.

The worst part was that it wasn’t the endless array of hot Europeans that got me off in that dark room beneath my pristine white duvet, but the memory of that guy, Max, telling me he wanted to put me over his knee.

I bet he would have.

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