Christy McKellen

Good Girl


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stared at me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth kicked up into a bemused smile.

      ‘Just like that? No getting to know each other first?’ He folded his arms. ‘Why the rush?’

      ‘Because I’m a virgin and I don’t want to be any more,’ I blurted, taking a shaky step closer to him and managing to kick my bag in the process. My small silver hip flask slipped out of it and slid onto the floor between us.

      He looked down at it, then back up at me with one dark eyebrow raised.

      ‘Are you drunk?’ he murmured darkly.

      ‘No,’ I lied, kicking the hip flask back under my bag and taking a couple more sauntering steps towards him, hoping to distract his attention away from it.

      ‘I’ve heard you’re amazing in bed and I thought you’d be the perfect person to help me out. I want to learn from the best,’ I said in as confident a tone as I could muster, desperately hoping that appealing to his vanity would yield results.

      He leaned one shoulder against the wall, his arms still folded. The insouciant slouch he affected only made him look more intimidatingly sexy.

      ‘So you’ve come here tonight because you want me to get rid of your virginity for you? Is that what you’re saying?’ he asked, his eyes assessing me so thoroughly now a delicious sort of shiver shimmied across my bare skin.

      I screwed up all my courage and forced myself to meet his gaze. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’

      He let out a low, baffled breath. ‘Why me? We don’t even know each other.’

      ‘Because when you looked at me at the party on Wednesday it seemed like you found me attractive. And I find you attractive, in a physical way, so I thought it might be mutually agreeable...’

      There was an awkward pause before he spoke again. ‘Agreeable?’

      ‘Yes. Um, fun. And...er...sexy.’ I could barely believe I’d just let those awful words out of my mouth. And I was supposed to be the genius of the family.

      ‘Well, if you find me attractive in a physical way, how could I possibly refuse?’ he asked, deadpan.

      Once again I cursed my lack of confidence in these matters. Get me on my subject and I could talk with utter self-assurance for hours, but here I was just steadily digging myself into a deep, dark hole with no idea how to pull myself out.

      I decided being honest was the only way forward from here.

      ‘No. Look, sorry, this is coming out all wrong.’ I pulled my arms around my body, intensely aware of how exposed I was. ‘As I’m sure you’re painfully aware, I’m really not experienced at negotiating this kind of thing.’

      ‘You don’t say.’ The drawl of his words made his amusement very clear.

      I tried to shake off my frustration. Getting het up was unhelpful. I needed to be cool, like my sister Maya would have been if she’d been in this situation. I attempted to channel her as I forced myself to stand a little taller and saunter up to him, looking him right in the eye.

      ‘I feel like there’s a connection between us. Chemistry,’ I murmured, trying not to sway on the spot.

      He frowned, looking confused, and opened his mouth as if he was going to refute what I’d just said but then closed it again. There was a tense pause while he stared hard at me, his dark brows drawn together tightly.

      My blood was pumping so hard through my veins, I could hear the swoosh of it in my ears.

      ‘Look, Juno, you seem like a lovely woman, and I take it as a huge compliment that I’m at the top of your list, but it’s a no,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t sleep with virgins. Especially not drunk virgins. I prefer to go to bed with women who know what they want and can handle having sex just for fun.’

      Disappointment made my eyes sting with held-back tears. ‘It could be fun with me,’ I fired back, desperation straining my voice.

      He just shot me a look that clearly said desperation was exactly what he was trying to avoid getting entangled in.

      Frustration surged through me. I’d made a total fool of myself tonight and for what? A big, fat negative result.

      ‘God! What is it with me and men? How am I supposed to get experience if no one will sleep with me?’

      I took one last stumbling step towards him, pressing my hand against the wall next to him to steady myself. His wonderful, spicy scent flooded my senses, making my mouth water and my head swim.

      ‘Please, I’ll do whatever you say. Whatever you want. Just name it. Is there a favour I could do for you? Or would money help? Or—er—something else?’ I asked hurriedly, agonisingly aware that offering him money was a stupid and offensive thing to do. ‘L-l-like a promise to help you out when you next need it?’ I rushed on, hoping he wouldn’t take umbrage at my slip.

      ‘You’re offering me money?’ His eyes were narrowed now in distaste.

      ‘No, not money. Ignore that. I didn’t mean it the way it came out—’

      ‘You didn’t mean it to sound like you were hoping to pay me to have sex with you?’ His voice was filled with reproach.

      Shame crawled up my spine. In that horrible moment I imagined I could actually sense his male pride putting up its fists.

      ‘I’m sorry...’

      He waved away my apology with a dismissive sweep of his hand before I was even able to finish it. ‘Even if I do find you attractive, I wouldn’t stoop to sleeping with someone who thinks so little of me,’ he said, his voice dangerously low. ‘I think you should go home before you say something stupid to someone else here. They might not be as forgiving of your crassness.’

      Before I could utter another word, he’d marched out of the room, leaving the sound of his disgust ringing in my head.

      I was so humiliated I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe I’d handled that so badly. Made such an utter mess of it. Because I had. A total mess. In fact, I don’t think I could have done a worse job at persuading him to help me.

      Which was why I was absolutely astounded when I picked up a voicemail message from him the next afternoon asking me out for a drink.

       CHAPTER TWO

       Sandro

      IT HADN’T BEEN the best of weeks.

      First I lost out on buying an old dilapidated building in Shoreditch, that my friend Jon and I had intended to turn into affordable studio space for artists, to a grubby property developer. Then the pretty redhead from Maxim’s party treated me like some brainless piece of ass. That had been especially irritating, because when I’d first realised it was her at Harry’s place in Chelsea I’d actually been pleased to see her. The evening had been a bust up till that point. I’d found myself surrounded by the same familiar faces and boring conversations, so the sight of her had lit something inside me.

      I’ve always been a sucker for redheads and when I’d spotted her at Maxim’s party—an event I’d been attending in my father’s place while he was away in Rome on important family business—I’d been intrigued by her air of sweetness. I could tell by the way she held herself that she wasn’t confident and worldly like the majority of the women there and it had made me want to take her away somewhere safe to protect her. And perhaps do other things too, if she’d been willing. She’s an attractive woman, after all. I’d particularly enjoyed the way her porcelain-pale cheeks had flamed with colour when I’d smiled at her.

      I love making women blush. It gives me a real kick of pleasure. In fact, any instinctive physical reaction I can tease out of them