Page 6 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

“No,” he hissed out. “No, Emma. Can’t you see? I wanted to show you there isn’t anything wrong with you. That’s all.”

There isn’t anything wrong with me. Realization dawned on her, and she stood, hands perching at her waist. With the haze from the orgasm she’d almost forgotten the real reason why he’d eaten her out like she was an exquisite dish. All she needed to come was the right guidance. And shit, who was a better teacher than Nico? What else could he teach her that she could use in her daily life…with Simon?

“I’ll see myself out.” He motioned to move, but she stepped forward, putting herself in front of him.

“No,” she blurted. “Don’t go. Can’t you see? You’re a sex genius, Nico. I’ve never come, and I thought that was the norm. Within a few minutes you took me there.”

“Grazie, but—”

“What else can you teach me?”

He withdrew, shaking his head. “How to keep this little mishap a secret so you don’t ruin a decades-long friendship.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Zaine was a pain in the ass, always had been. She imagined he’d make a big deal if he found out his trusted best friend had played with his sister’s kitty. Still…she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. “Don’t worry, I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Great. I’m glad I could help out.”

She grabbed his elbow. “Wait! Nico, have you ever considered using your, er, gift for the greater good? Not just for debauchery?”

He upped an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She loosened her hold on him without letting go. The idea cemented in her mind, making more and more sense. “Well, let’s see. I suck in bed, and you’re great in bed. Why can’t you help me get better? If I do improve, I’ll have a chance in convincing Simon I can be the sex bomb he wants me to be and save our relationship.”

He chuckled then quickly said, “No.”

“Why not?”

He stepped back, breaking contact with her, and crossed his arms. “Because Zaine would kill me.”

“Your tongue just high-fived my vagina.”

“That’s different. I was proving a point, and there was no intercourse involved,” he said, and she could have laughed at his typical male rationalization.

“So it didn’t count?” If he did me a favor, why can’t he do another? A bolt of determination surged through her, and she stretched to her full height. So she didn’t excel in the bedroom department yet, but she had stubbornness on her side.

He sighed. “It does, but not in the way you think. I feel better about giving you some…assistance, let’s call it. I didn’t fuck you.”

“I get it, but would you like to?”

“Does it matter? I have better things to worry about. The Desmorais fund-raiser, the—”

“Angele Desmorais? The French political author?” she asked. A known historian, Angele had written dozens of bestselling books about politics and history, which garnered him several coveted awards. But his millions came from inheriting a small fortune from a late uncle.

“Yes. How do you know him?”

“It started when I accompanied him as an interpreter a few years ago.” She reached for the bottle of wine on the table, poured herself a generous amount, and raised the glass. Could she use Desmorais as leverage?

“You did? How? He doesn’t travel much from what I’ve heard.”

“I was doing a special training at the United Nations when a friend told me about this picky client who needed someone in New York for a weekend. We worked so well together that the other two times he visited the country he paid for my airfare from Los Angeles to New York so I’d be his personal interpreter.” After having worked with Desmorais, she’d imagined her friend also had asked her because no one else wanted the job—the man could be quite intimidating and demanding, but thankfully she’d found a way to get along, and they ended up working well together.

“Interesting. Have you heard from him recently?”

“Yes. I’m currently working with him on a project. But I can’t share much. I’ve signed a tight confidentiality agreement.” Sure, the animal sanctuary Desmorais wanted to make in his beloved home in Mauritius didn’t seem like a major secret, but she’d signed a document like she had every other job. Besides, they’d talked about it two weeks prior, but he’d told her the execution would take place in a couple months while he gathered information and resources he needed. He’d used her because she’d be taking the team of Americans to Mauritius when the time came—to create there the kind of sanctuary resembling many of those found stateside.

He lifted his hand in disagreement. “Trust me, I don’t need details on your secret project with him.”

“Then why do you care?”

---