Page 62 of Beautiful Enemy

But when the group has passed, she pulls away.

“You don’t have to like me to want me,” I say as I fall into step next to her, pretending the rejection doesn’t sting.

“I don’t sleep with rich, entitled assholes.”

I shove both hands in my pockets, hard, and squint into the sun. “Then you’ll have to continue to get yourself off.”

“Or I’ll have to decide you’re a good man.”

Surprise has me jerking my head to look at her.

“You can be,” she goes on. “I’ve seen it. When you stop being so consumed with conquering the world and you take a moment to appreciate what’s in it.”

She sweeps her hair off her shoulders, revealing a faint sheen of sweat glistening on her neck.

My next step falters. I’m glad we’re not still touching, because she’d feel my heart kick beneath my ribs.

Because I want her body.

But Christ, I might want her approval even more.

15

Rae

“Well, well. What is all this?” Ash calls from the front door.

I jump up from where I’m working on a track on the couch, headphones around my ears.

Ash already has the case open on the dining table, lifting one of the two dozen items inside.

He fumbles it, nearly dropping it on the floor. “Ah, bollocks.”

“I thought you were an athlete. What happened to hand-eye coordination?”

“Footballer. Foot-eye coordination. This a new part of your costume?” he asks as I trail a finger over the pairs of glasses.

“They’re not for me.”

“Ahh.” His eyes soften, and I hate how transparent I feel. “You know, the moment you flipped him off at Debajo the first night, I told him if he wasn’t going to make a move, I would.”

“But you haven’t,” I point out, pushing the attention back onto him. “It’s never been like that with us, even at the start.”

He frowns at the lenses in his hands, but I press.

“What is your type, Ash?“

Before he can answer, the door opens and Harrison walks in.

The room gets smaller the instant he steps inside, and it’s not because of his size or the tailored suit clinging to every inch of his hard body. It’s the way his attention finds me in a heartbeat.

“It’s not Ash you lay in bed thinking of while you make yourself come.”

The only thing hotter than imagining his filthy mouth on me while I touch myself, the tight-woven sheets smooth on my damp back, is imagining him down the hallknowingI’m imagining it.

It’s making it harder to remember I’m here to work for him for less than two more weeks.

Three shows, to be exact.

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