Page 47 of Hate To Be Mine

“Don’t what? Acknowledge that I just caught you making out with Sebastian Blackwell on our porch like a couple of teenagers?”

“Annika, please.”

“In the rain, no less. Very romantic.”

“Please,” I begged. “Please don’t say anything to anyone. I don’t know what that was. I don’t know what happened. But it won’t be happening again.”

Her grin softened into something more sympathetic. “Honey, you’re not the first woman to be charmed by Sebastian.”

“I haven’t been charmed by him,” I protested, but my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

“Okay.” She clearly didn’t believe me. “For what it’s worth, lots of girls fall for him. Not me—I’ve watched that boy grow up—but plenty of the girls I’ve dressed over the years. Models, actresses, socialites. He’s got that thing, you know? That combination of gorgeous and charming and just vulnerable enough to make you want to fix him.”

“I don’t want to fix him.”

“Sure.” She patted my shoulder. “By all accounts, he’s pretty great at the seduction thing. And the kissing and, if the overheard conversations are true, the other thing as well.”

Each word made me feel worse. More foolish. More like just another notch in Sebastian Blackwell’s very carved-up bedpost.

“I need to go to bed,” I said abruptly.

“Yours or his?”

“Goodnight, Annika.”

I fled to my room, closed the door, and leaned against it, my heart hammering.

What had I done? What the hell had I just done?

I made out with a client. Not just any client—Sebastian Blackwell, notorious playboy, the exact kind of man I’d spent my entire professional life being warned about. And I’d done it in public. On a porch. During a job where my entire career was on the line.

Had anyone seen us? Anyone besides Annika.

My father would explode if he knew. Would probably pull me from the assignment immediately. He would definitely use it as proof that I wasn’t cut out for field work and verify his claim I couldn’t handle the responsibility. He would make sure I knew I was exactly the disappointment he always suspected I was.

My job was on the line. My reputation. My entire professional future. I had foolishly thrown caution to the wind because Sebastian Blackwell had looked at me with those blue eyes and said I impressed him.

He made me feel pretty and wanted. The man brought me snacks. For the first time in my adult life, someone had made me feel seen instead of dismissed.

Maybe a part of me would always be that little girl on the playground who got picked on. Who never felt like she belonged and would do anything for someone who showed her the smallest bit of kindness.

But I was supposed to be better than that now. I was supposed to be professional. Controlled. Able to separate my personal feelings from my work.

Except Sebastian was sexier than any man I’d ever seen in real life. That wasn’t just my opinion—it was objective fact. The man got paid to be beautiful. And he kissed me. Me. Bernadette Simmons with her boring suits and bland personality.

It was momentary insanity.

Which was exactly why it could never happen again.

I changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, but sleep was impossible. My mind kept replaying the kiss and how good it felt to be in his arms.

The way his hard cock had pressed against me through our clothes.

He was truly cut from the same granite the Greek gods were. Every part of that man was large and in charge.

“Fuck,” I whispered to the darkness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I was in so much trouble.