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Her eyes widen. “No?—”
“Pity.”
I drop the cigarette, crush it into the pavement with my shoe, and then I move. Fast. With one swift motion, I have her pinned between me and the brick wall before she knows what’s happened.
“How about this,” I say, running my mouth against the side of her throat, pausing at the hard, wild beat of her pulse. “I might help, if I feel like it. After I dig into it.”
“Y-you said?—”
“I stay on top of everything going on, Scarlett. That’s different than digging in, don’t you think?”
Pushing my knee between her thighs is easier than I thought. What I want to do is press right into her soft heat, slide my fingers between her thighs, under the dress to see if she’s getting wet at my not-so-subtle innuendo.
She smells even better when my nose grazes her skin. If it’s perfume, then it’s fucking expensive because she just smells good everywhere, from the base of the side of her neck, right up to her ear. Her fucking hair smells like goddamn gardenias, too. I bet if I sniffed every inch of her, she’d smell like that.
Fuck, what’s it like between her legs, at her pussy? Gardenias and wild sex pheromones.
She may not know it yet, but I’m going to find out.
And she hasn’t stopped me, either.
I lift my head, our lips a quarter of an inch apart. There she smells like smoke and sweet scotch. And still the fucking gardenias.
“If you’re not going to help, then I’ll go,” she says, voice thick.
I run my tongue over the curve of her bottom lip, and she gasps, offering me entry into the hot, wet depths that I really fucking want to take. Instead, I slide a hand through her heavy hair that’s like silk between my fingers and stare at her.
“Never said I wouldn’t. Just that I might need some convincing.”
She licks her lips and raises her head like an unconscious offering.
“What’ll it take?” she asks. “I have money, a lot?—”
I bite back my smile. “I don’t want your fucking money. I’ve got plenty of my own.”
Scarlett takes a shaky breath and it teases my lips as she breathes out. “You’re not going to help out of the goodness of your heart.”
“I don’t have a fucking heart, or goodness, but I don’t do gratis. In life, there’s always a price. Sometimes steeper than others. And this might be the steepest.”
“How much?”
“I don’t want money.”
“Then what?” she asks, her hips moving and fuck, she’s rubbing her hot cunt against me. It’s so subtle, I’m not even sure she realizes what she’s doing.
This time I smile and let her go. I turn away and start walking down the street. With a nod to the black town car waiting a few feet away, it pulls out and stops at the curb in front of me.
“Wait.”
My hand pauses on the door handle.
“M-Malone?—”
“If I decide to help,” I say, not turning back. “I’ll be in touch.”
And then I get in the car.
I settle against the leather back seat and pull out my phone as we drive away.
