Page 9 of Taming Achilles

“Someone was here! I swear! When the police get here, they’ll find something.” Her facade was crumbling. So I called her bluff.

“Sure, Pip.” I glanced at her purse at the foyer table, taking a glance at the note on the card. No doubt a statement of support from her many fans, or the hordes of people who relied on her for their living. Agents, fashion houses, modelling agencies … They all worshipped at the altar of Dame Philippa Fox.

I had too, once upon a time. But not anymore.

“Will you wait with me?” Her eyes were warm, and pleading. I had to remind myself that she was a liar.

I sighed. “Pip …” I ran my hand through my hair, disheveling it from the pomaded style I had it in for the wedding. “I know it’s been hard for you, but this is out of line, getting me here and …” I scoffed. “Yer bum’s oot the windae.” You’re lying.

The way her face scrunched, and her eyes turned to the heat of blue flame made me want to cackle in amusement.

“Don’t you get Scottish with me, mister,” she said, poking a sharp, pale, pink painted nail into my chest. “If you don’t believe me, then you can just leave!”

She hated to be corrected. She hated to be called out. So I chose to do it at every opportunity because I was a right bastard.

“Ah umnae,” I am not. I leaned more into my Scottish brogue because I knew she hated it and loved it all at the same time. “I’ll stay right here until the sheriffs come, and we can see about your lies, young lady.”

“Don’t you ‘young lady’ me,” she said, another slap on my chest. “We’re the same age.”

“But we don’t act it, do we?” I smiled with a tease, and she let out a low growl. A small, rumbling, but still feminine sound that came from her chest each time she was pushed past the point of frustration.

“You Scottish bastard,” she said, with a stomp of her bare foot on the floor.

“You English hackit!”

“A ha-what?” she threw her arms in the air. “What are you even saying? Who understands that rubbish accent? What does it even mean?”

“It means that you’re looking a bit haggard,” I said, gesturing under my eyes, then pointed at her, implying that she had dark circles under them. She didn’t, but it didn’t stop from pissing her off. “A bit sleepless at night, all alone, now that your Baron has run off with another …”

She slapped me. Hard. With a lot more force than I thought she was capable of.

“Good to see you’ve abandoned your damsel in distress act.” I grinned knowingly at her. “The bitch act suits you much, much more.”

“It was a mistake to call you,” she sneered, looking at me from head to toe like I disgusted her. But I knew better.

“Aye, it was,” I smiled. “But here I am, so let’s get on with it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you need my cock to soothe your hurt feelings, fine.” I shrugged. “I’m here, and I’m willing.”

I stepped toward her, my hand reaching out. Her eyes darkened, her mouth parted and that familiar, pink tongue licked her dry lower lip. She didn’t move until I was in her space, and her eyes fluttered closed. She took in my scent, as I took in hers. I was a mere centimetre or two from touching her heated, blushing skin. Another second our lips would touch.

But an insistent knocking pulled us from the moment. She jerked back at the sound, glared at me, and hissed, “You’re a pig!”

She slapped a hand on my chest again and pushed me away. I laughed at her. I was so close to getting her on her knees, where I knew she’d mewl like a kitten in my hands.

“How far are you going to take the charade?” I asked after her as the bottom hem of her red dress swished against the backs of her thighs, cupping her tight arse. “Wasting the time of civil servants? That’s low even for you.”

There was another knock on the door, and a female American voice bellowed, “Miss Fox? It’s the LAPD, here about a call.”

She swung the door open, and with a sweeping gesture, she allowed a man and woman in plain clothes to come in, their hands on holsters kept at their hip.

“Miss Fox,” the man said, nodding. His eyes drifted down her body in that way that all men did when in the presence of a beauty like Pippa. It took everything I had not to grind my teeth and punch the man in the throat. “I recognize you from all the magazines. And who is this gentleman?”

“This is my …” she grasped for the right word. “A person that I know.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, and she narrowed hers right back with a sarcastic smile.

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