Page 31 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

Nico parked his car and rushed out of it, but she remained still. Her heart did a backflip, and she cursed herself for responding to his presence even when she was mad at him. “How did you find me?”

“I ran out of the store and then got in my car and began stalking the beach in front of the hotel hoping to find you.”

She shrugged. “All right. What do you want?”

He thrust his fingers into his hair, messing it up. “See, this is why I never talk about personal stuff, because I end up apologizing.”

She glanced at the ground for an instant. Her intention wasn’t to shame him into thinking her way, but to stop him from mocking her values. “It’s not the personal stuff. It was how you acted like I’m some brainless doll who doesn’t know what she wants. Like my dreams don’t matter because they don’t fit your agenda.”

He took her hand in his, and gave it a light squeeze. “I know. I’m sorry, Emma. You’re an amazing person, inside and out. The man who ends up with you will be a lucky son of a bitch.” His gaze collided with hers, and she couldn’t look away. Her throat became dry and thick.

“Thanks. I happen to agree, but that doesn’t get you off the hook. No lessons tonight,” she said. He needed a time-out, and she’d use the no-sex night to explore her emotions with a clear head. Caring for him, no matter the capacity, made her life a lot more complicated. And she hated complications. “Are we clear?”

“I’ll survive. Want to grab something to eat?”

Emma brushed her hair for the tenth time. She’d opted for a blue dress that whispered at her knees and a pair of wedged nude sandals. They were going to meet Desmorais today, and Nico would have his shot.

She looked at the brush, realizing it trembled slightly in her hand. Holy shit, this was it. They’d meet Desmorais, and even if he declined Nico’s offer—a likely outcome— she had to face her own repercussions.

Desmorais would probably find her behavior unprofessional at worst and strange at best. Not only did she insist on bringing Nico to the man’s home, but she’d be bringing the guy who wanted to buy it.

What if he fires me? She’d miss out on a client she enjoyed working with, not to mention the small fortune he paid her. Being self-employed meant worrying about overhead and everything else. She’d survive if she lost the Desmorais account, of course, but she could kiss her lavish wedding party goodbye.

She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, willing herself to keep it together. The previous night, she’d stuck by her threat and hadn’t done the deed with him. Never mind that she ended up cozying to him in the middle of the night and cuddling him, but still, no intercourse. While she’d wanted to teach him a lesson, her needy hormones drove her crazy. He finished shaving in the bathroom, with the towel wrapped around his waist, and she’d stolen a glance or two.

Hell, she’d even pretended she needed to grab her perfume bottle only to accidentally brush against him, in hopes he’d catch the drift and clasp her elbow, slam her against the wall, and screw her hard and fast.

But he ignored her pathetic attempt and kept shaving, as if any red-blooded woman wouldn’t just take advantage of his ridiculously hot body.

She fanned herself and clenched the brush in her hand. A pang of fear quickened her pulse. What if he closed the deal with Desmorais today and no longer needed her?

This would be a great opportunity for him to ditch her.

Of course. She began brushing her hair with stronger strokes, almost violently. Despite their deal, he could claim he’d taught her enough and use the previous day’s tiff as an example to end their agreement.

And she’d never know what it was like to have anal sex.

She doubted Simon would want to do it, and if he never got back with her—it’d take a lot of trust to try it with another guy. Besides, she’d read in a women’s magazine it could be painful with the wrong partner. Nico had a lot of issues, but in the bedroom he was definitely the right partner for pretty much anything.

A frisson moved through her body. After she’d left the shop, he’d asked the store manager to have their items delivered to their hotel, and then he’d followed her. When the attendant had brought a brown paper bag and given it to him, she’d become flustered, because she knew her naughty stuff was in there.

“Are you okay, Emma?” he asked from behind.

She shifted in the chair to find him impeccably dressed in slacks and shirt, topped with a light gray jacket. She swallowed the lump of frustrated desire in her throat and loosened her grip on the brush. “Are you ready?”

He stood a little straighter. “Yes. Ready to go get what’s mine.”

Emma acquiesced and felt jealous of how possessive he was over the property. A property that could kick her in the ass at the end of the day—and not in the way she expected.

Chapter Ten

“How beautiful,” Emma said, as he made his way past the entry gate, where he’d given his name to a security guard at the front.

He’d recognized the tall white walls from afar, and now he drove through them, following the long, curving driveway leading to the house. His heart rate spiked at the sight of the tall tree where once there’d been a swing.

A sad smile formed on his lips. Desmorais had kept most of the garden his mother had so carefully planted. Some of the plants he remembered had turned into bushes, the colorful plethora of flora managing to distract him from his anxiety.

He parked in an area in front of the wraparound wood-floored terrace, and the memory of running away from bath time invaded him so vividly, it could be a scene unraveling in front of him. He’d promised himself he’d buy back the home his mother had loved and cared for. She’d told him once that this place had a way of bringing her to peace with herself. Why couldn’t it do the same for him?

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