Page 2 of Come Here and Kiss Me

None of this should have ever happened.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t give in to the temptation that is this woman. Especially when it’s presented so easily, so willingly… a fucking gorgeous enticement.

A precious gift.

A heated moment.

One night of doing the very thing we know we shouldn’t.

I try not to think about the consequences of my actions. I try not to let myself think about the future. Instead, I lose myself inside her.

Panting.

Sweating.

Moaning.

Coming…

Loud.

Hard.

“Ro!” she screams in ecstasy, squeezing the fuck out of my cock.

* * *

I thoughtlast night would be our first and last time—until this morning when I got an email and a video proving someone else saw everything. I don’t know who was watching or how the hell it happened. But as I press the play button on the anonymous email, I know damn well someone saw and knew exactly what they would do with the recording of us.

“Fuck!”

CHAPTER1

Brooklyn

I’m too fucking tired for this.

The incessant vibrating of my phone is at war with my pounding headache, which is likely a hangover. Holding in a groan, I attempt to get out of bed, but I miss the warmth of the luxurious sheets and fluffy comforter instantly as I reach for my damn phone.

Buzz, buzz.

My phone vibrates as my eyes adjust to the early morning light. What time is it? Clicking the side button on my cell, I read 6:42 a.m. The messages from my father’s texts are in all caps.

“Shit,” I murmur. Tossing the phone back onto the nightstand, I hit the modern crystal lamp that cost a fortune.

Fuck being up this early, and fuck those texts. Whatever my overbearing and demanding father wants can wait. The sheets call to me, but I toss and turn with my pounding headache. I’m overly anxious, knowing I have angry texts waiting for me when I get up. Unable to fall back asleep, I fling the sheets off my body, dead set on dealing with today once a few painkillers have a chance to kick in.

Slipping on my silk-bowed pink slippers, I make my way to the bathroom in my loft apartment on Fifth Avenue and toss back the pills. With its artsy abstract cut, the gold-rimmed mirror holds an object that makes me cringe. My deep burgundy silk strap nightgown hangs from my left shoulder, and my dirty-blond hair is a halo of a mess. My mascara is smeared, and my lips are stained from the wine last night.

My thighs clench at the memory of him, and even with all the bullshit I’ve been dealing with recently, I have to bite down on a smile.

Last night.

Ronan.

How the hell did I not wake up immediately thinking of him and how scandalously sweet our rendezvous was?

My reminiscing is cut short with the banging on my front door. At first, I fear it’s my father. But somehow, my heart sinks even lower when I hear Ronan call out my name.

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