dress where it had ridden up and surreptitiously prod her tingling lips to make sure that the Harlot lipgloss wasn’t smeared around her—
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ Vaughn said, straightening his jacket and crossing his legs so it was hard to believe that a minute ago he’d had Grace writhing on his lap.
Rewind! thought Grace in horror. That hadn’t been some polite kiss good night - that had been foreplay. Or was this just some tactical retreat to ascertain that Grace had no intention of crying ‘date rape’ and embroiling him in a messy court case a couple of weeks from now?
Bold from the endorphin rush and the huge amounts of white wine still racing through her system, Grace reached for his stiff hand. ‘It’s OK,’ she assured him, with a coy sideways sweep of her lashes. ‘Let’s go back to yours.’
He was already disentangling her fingers. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, patting her hand in an almost avuncular manner. ‘It’s very late and I’m sure you have an early start tomorrow.’
Her brain could register the snub but instead of passing a message on to her body, Grace was pressing up against him and taking in tiny sips of air as she brushed her breasts against Vaughn’s arm. ‘I don’t need much sleep,’ she husked, and reached up to kiss the flushed plane of his cheek. And she couldn’t believe she was doing this, going there , but her hand was curling around the twitching length of him, relishing his shocked gasp. ‘I know you want me.’
‘It’s late,’ he repeated mechanically, firmly removing her hand and looking straight ahead. ‘We’ve had a wonderful time and you’re a very sweet girl, but this is not going any further.’ And while Grace was still processing this, he added censoriously, ‘You’ve had far too much to drink.’
Of course, it made perfect sense. Even though, one minute ago, it had seemed like the best idea ever. But then it would be an hour later or morning and Grace would be creeping home in the same clothes with that same dry-eyed, dry-mouthed feeling she always had when she’d slept with someone and knew she was never going to see them again.
Apparently she wanted to see Vaughn again.
But that wasn’t why he wouldn’t take her home and have his way with her on sheets with some super-numerical thread count. It was because Grace had been pretending all night; trying out the part of another girl who was more upper class than Upper Holloway, at ease rather than easy. And Vaughn must have seen right through it as soon as the lift doors opened and she’d tripped out in her uncomfortable shoes that she’d got for fifty per cent off because there was a tiny nick on one heel.
And if she’d really been that other girl, she’d have laughed this off, but she was Grace. So she made the time-honoured ‘talk to the hand’ gesture and snarled, ‘Fine, what ever ,’ as she slid so far across the seat that the door handle dug painfully into her side.
Vaughn sighed and shot her a grimly unamused look. ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ he said sharply, which finished the job of completely piercing her drunken miasma, so she was left feeling miserable and nauseous. And yeah, completely mortified. ‘There’s no need to take this so personally.’
He was right again. She was being stupid again. Getting way ahead of herself again . ‘Can you drop me off at my hotel?’
Vaughn didn’t even look at her but smoothed down the lapels of his jacket. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Of course. You don’t mind if I catch up on my messages, do you?’
Grace did mind but she wasn’t in a position to argue, so she stared out of the window and concentrated on the exquisite agony of her pinched toes and the itchy tit-tape and how she wanted to puke every time the car hit a pothole. Or was it from shame? She couldn’t tell either way.
When they pulled up outside the Soho Grand, the driver opened the
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ Vaughn said, straightening his jacket and crossing his legs so it was hard to believe that a minute ago he’d had Grace writhing on his lap.
Rewind! thought Grace in horror. That hadn’t been some polite kiss good night - that had been foreplay. Or was this just some tactical retreat to ascertain that Grace had no intention of crying ‘date rape’ and embroiling him in a messy court case a couple of weeks from now?
Bold from the endorphin rush and the huge amounts of white wine still racing through her system, Grace reached for his stiff hand. ‘It’s OK,’ she assured him, with a coy sideways sweep of her lashes. ‘Let’s go back to yours.’
He was already disentangling her fingers. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, patting her hand in an almost avuncular manner. ‘It’s very late and I’m sure you have an early start tomorrow.’
Her brain could register the snub but instead of passing a message on to her body, Grace was pressing up against him and taking in tiny sips of air as she brushed her breasts against Vaughn’s arm. ‘I don’t need much sleep,’ she husked, and reached up to kiss the flushed plane of his cheek. And she couldn’t believe she was doing this, going there , but her hand was curling around the twitching length of him, relishing his shocked gasp. ‘I know you want me.’
‘It’s late,’ he repeated mechanically, firmly removing her hand and looking straight ahead. ‘We’ve had a wonderful time and you’re a very sweet girl, but this is not going any further.’ And while Grace was still processing this, he added censoriously, ‘You’ve had far too much to drink.’
Of course, it made perfect sense. Even though, one minute ago, it had seemed like the best idea ever. But then it would be an hour later or morning and Grace would be creeping home in the same clothes with that same dry-eyed, dry-mouthed feeling she always had when she’d slept with someone and knew she was never going to see them again.
Apparently she wanted to see Vaughn again.
But that wasn’t why he wouldn’t take her home and have his way with her on sheets with some super-numerical thread count. It was because Grace had been pretending all night; trying out the part of another girl who was more upper class than Upper Holloway, at ease rather than easy. And Vaughn must have seen right through it as soon as the lift doors opened and she’d tripped out in her uncomfortable shoes that she’d got for fifty per cent off because there was a tiny nick on one heel.
And if she’d really been that other girl, she’d have laughed this off, but she was Grace. So she made the time-honoured ‘talk to the hand’ gesture and snarled, ‘Fine, what ever ,’ as she slid so far across the seat that the door handle dug painfully into her side.
Vaughn sighed and shot her a grimly unamused look. ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ he said sharply, which finished the job of completely piercing her drunken miasma, so she was left feeling miserable and nauseous. And yeah, completely mortified. ‘There’s no need to take this so personally.’
He was right again. She was being stupid again. Getting way ahead of herself again . ‘Can you drop me off at my hotel?’
Vaughn didn’t even look at her but smoothed down the lapels of his jacket. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Of course. You don’t mind if I catch up on my messages, do you?’
Grace did mind but she wasn’t in a position to argue, so she stared out of the window and concentrated on the exquisite agony of her pinched toes and the itchy tit-tape and how she wanted to puke every time the car hit a pothole. Or was it from shame? She couldn’t tell either way.
When they pulled up outside the Soho Grand, the driver opened the
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