The Weekend Read online

  In addition to the sexy lingerie I’d teased Beckett about, the redhead from Harrods delivered six different dresses, all with matching heels, in a slight range of sizes, since he’d obviously had to make a calculated guess when he’d phoned in the order. As I carefully unpack them all from the bags they’d been delivered in, my body wrapped up in a fluffy white towel and my damp hair draped over one shoulder, my inner fashion addict can’t help but swoon. The designer outfits range from sexy casual to sexy evening wear, along with a dress I was told is specifically for the wedding itself, and they’re all jaw-droppingly beautiful. They also most likely cost a small fortune, and while I know I’ll be nervous while wearing them, I also don’t want to embarrass Beckett by not looking the part. After all, I’m standing in a room that has a freaking J.J. Harrison original hanging over the bed. He really is the artist’s grandson, and I believe him when he says that I’ll have a chance to study Harrison’s private collection of paintings. So the least I can do is play the doting girlfriend and dress up in the fancy duds.

  I shift from foot to foot, wishing Lola was here to help me decide what I should pick out for today. I would video call her, but she teaches back-to-back Pilates classes on Friday mornings, so I know she’s busy. I change my mind about ten different times, and then finally decide on a fifties’-inspired halter top dress with a flared skirt in a deep blue satin, thinking it’ll look awesome with Beckett’s eyes. I pick out a lacy pair of panties that match, and am just about to drop the towel when I hear the bedroom door start to open. I freeze in shock and embarrassment, and a second later Beckett walks back into the room, his lips twitching with a deliciously wicked smile the instant he spots me beside the bed.

  ‘Jesus Christ, you could knock,’ I snap, glaring at him as he closes the door and locks it again.

  ‘I could,’ he agrees in a husky drawl, ‘but where the fuck would be the fun in that?’

  ‘Don’t be an ass,’ I say, crossing my arms over my chest. ‘You knew I might not be dressed yet.’

  He slowly arches one dark eyebrow. ‘But we are sharing this room, so you had to know that I might come walking back in.’

  I scowl because he has a point, but before I can apologize for biting his head off, he shoves his battered hand back through his thick hair and drops into the chair that I’d been sitting in earlier. ‘I thought I’d be able to stomach it down there without you,’ he mutters, ‘but I had to get away from them. They’re already driving me crazy.’

  That I can understand, so I cut him some slack. It seems as little as twenty minutes with the Beckett family is a lot for someone to take, even if you’re one of them.

  Thinking I’ll just put on the lingerie and dress in the privacy of the bathroom, I gather them up in my arms and turn, but freeze again when I hear him suck in a sharp breath.

  ‘What’s the ink mean?’ he asks, his deep voice little more than a throaty rasp.

  I smile as I look at him over my shoulder, surprised by his terminology. ‘Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I just thought it was pretty.’

  He studies the array of small, black birds flying from one side of my upper back to the other for a moment, then slowly lifts his smoldering gaze back to mine. ‘Any others?’

  I shiver from that rough, sexy-as-hell tone of voice he just used, but manage to keep from blushing as I say, ‘None that you’re seeing, mister.’

  His teeth flash in a wide grin as he sprawls back even further in the chair, his long fingers curling over the end of its padded arms. ‘Dangerous move, Em. That’s like waving a red flag at a bull.’

  Not about to be outdone, I say, ‘Or throwing blood in shark-infested waters?’

  ‘Or dangling a juicy little bunny over a pit of vipers.’

  ‘Ohmygod, that’s awful!’ I laugh. ‘I give. You win.’

  ‘I usually do,’ he says silkily. ‘But I have a feeling you’re going to make me fight for it.’

  I blink, thrown by how powerfully his voice and expression are affecting me. He’s so damn sexy I’m practically panting, and he isn’t even trying. I mean, I honestly think this is just him being him. Which means I’m so freaking far out of my league with this man. Suddenly I feel like the little baby bunny, and he’s the beautiful predator getting ready to eat me alive.

  When I realize that I was actually just thinking about him eating me, I feel my face go hot, and know it’s going to be oh-so-obvious to him that he’s getting under my skin.

  Taking a deep breath, I use everything I’ve got to sound calm as I say, ‘Uh, no. You can trust me when I say that I’m not that kind of girl, Beckett. I don’t fight for, or with, guys.’

  He gives a masculine snort and smirks. ‘Only because you’ve never needed to.’

  ‘Actually, I’m more of a beta girl. You’re way too alpha for me.’

  He leans forward in the chair, bracing his elbows on his spread knees as he says, ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I argue, giving him the stink eye. ‘You don’t know me.’

  ‘I’m learning more every moment I spend with you, Emmy. And I know you sure as hell aren’t attracted to wimps.’

  ‘Betas aren’t wimps. They just aren’t juiced up on testosterone like you alpha beasts are.’

  ‘A little testosterone never hurts, when it comes to certain things,’ he states with the cockiest, sexiest freaking smile I’ve ever seen. I know exactly what ‘things’ he’s referring to, and I decide that retreat is the safest option. Especially seeing as how there’s a sharper edge to him at the moment – a kind of contained, volatile tension – and I can’t help but wonder what happened when he went downstairs.

  ‘I’m, um, just going to get dressed in the bathroom,’ I blurt, already moving toward the door. But his next words stop me in my tracks.

  ‘Or you could stay right where you are and do it in here.’

  I peer over at him again, my breath catching at the raw intensity that’s burning in those sky-blue eyes as he stares at my bare legs. At the carnal look of hunger on his hard, beautiful face. ‘What?’ I ask, and I swear my voice has never been so breathless.

  His heavy gaze slowly lifts back to my face, locking tight with my startled one. ‘I won’t touch you. Not yet. So your rules won’t be broken. But I want you to drop the towel and show me your body.’

  My throat vibrates with emotion, but I don’t say anything. I just stand there and stare at him.

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ he murmurs, stretching out his long legs as he sprawls back in the chair again. ‘Just do it.’

  His words jolt me out of my freeze and my chin jerks up. ‘I’m not scared,’ I shoot back, trying to ignore how mouthwatering he looks sitting there like that, with his powerful thighs spread apart and his big, masculine hands locked together behind his dark head, his bulging biceps straining the sleeves of his shirt. And I know that if I lower my gaze to his groin, I’ll see a hard, thick ridge straining against the denim of his jeans. So I take another deep breath and use every ounce of willpower I possess to stop myself from looking.

  ‘If you’re not scared, then let me watch.’ His voice is still soft, but it’s becoming grittier with every word. ‘Rub how fucking lovely you are in my face. We both know damn well that you’ll enjoy making me suffer.’

  My brows draw together with a frown. ‘Now you’re just being a dick.’

  ‘Emmy, sweetheart, I’m beginning to think you wouldn’t know a dick if it was swinging in your face.’

  I know he’s just trying to goad me into action, but it’s working, because now I’m pissed. Pissed enough to want him to suffer a bit, the same as I am. So I walk back to the bed, set down everything in my arms, and drop the towel. He curses something guttural under his breath, but I pretend like I can’t feel the searing intensity of his stare burning against my naked body as I start to dress. Pretend I can’t hear the way his breaths deepen and become rougher, or the second gritty curse on his lips that sounds like he’s desperate
. For me.

  I can’t control the way I’m shivering, my own breaths quietly panting past my trembling lips, but I somehow manage to slip on the blue panties without stumbling, then step into the dress, my nipples hard, tight buds as I lift the bodice over my chest and fasten the clasp behind my neck. Then I grab my make-up bag and head back into the bathroom, my mind dazed, body working on autopilot as I apply some light make-up and dry my hair until it’s falling in thick waves over my bare shoulders. The whole process doesn’t take more than ten minutes, and unless I want to hide in here all day, it’s time to walk out and face the music. So I do.

  No longer sitting in the chair, Beckett’s standing by the dressing table now, taking his phone off the charger, and I see not only from my viewpoint, but also from his reflection in the mirror, that he’s changed into a pair of dark, expensive-looking jeans and a gray button-down top that’s open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up on his masculine, hair-dusted forearms. He’s so insanely gorgeous that I start to forget why I should be freaking out – but then he turns around and I lift my gaze to his face, and suddenly it all comes rushing back at me. That handsome face is still tight with lust, his blue eyes dark and hooded, and I swear I can actually feel the physical hunger pulsing off every inch of his hard, athletic body.

  But all he says is ‘Come on,’ sounding like he has a throat full of gravel as he watches me slip into an outrageously sexy pair of heels that are weirdly comfortable. ‘We’re expected downstairs.’

  I slip my lip-gloss into the little clutch that matches the dress, then follow him into the hallway, watching as he pulls a key from his pocket and locks the door behind us.

  ‘Why do you have a key to your bedroom?’ I ask, thinking it’s kind of strange. I mean, it’s not like this is a hotel. It’s his family home.

  His voice is still rough when he says, ‘Before I moved out at eighteen, I didn’t like leaving my room unlocked.’

  I don’t say anything in response, but I’m working his words over in my mind as he takes my hand and we make our way down the wide staircase, wondering about his reasons. I’m tempted to just ask him, but we run into a group of people in the foyer, and the next thing I know, Beckett is introducing me to Lottie, the bride, and his cousin Oliver, the groom.

  Lottie is lovely and sweet, reminding me of a young Michelle Williams. Her blond hair is short, with stylish bangs that sweep over her forehead, and she’s just an inch or so taller than I am, but with a slender figure I would have killed for.

  Oliver, on the other hand, has Beckett’s same thick, dark hair, only with paler skin and dark brown eyes. He’s a few inches shorter than Beckett, and built more like a swimmer, and while I can admit that he’s a good-looking guy – in a polished, pampered kind of way – I have no idea what Lottie sees in him, because his personality is so obnoxious I’m forced to bite my tongue to keep from calling him a rude jackass.

  I often wonder why it’s always the woman who’s expected to give up so much for a relationship. Her name. Her independence. Her goddamn soul. It sounds dramatic, I know. But, God, I’ve seen it happen. And watching Lottie and Oliver, it’s like I’m seeing it play out in real time. She starts to tell me about her master’s thesis, and he quiets her with a look. When I ask her what her plans are after she graduates from university, he tells her he needs a refill on his gin and tonic, and off she goes. The only thing that keeps me from thinking I’ve slipped into some twisted fifties’ sitcom is that Beckett seems to like his cousin even less than I do.

  ‘Shit,’ I hear him suddenly mutter under his breath, and I follow his line of sight to see a tall, brown-haired man with flushed cheeks and glazed eyes walking toward us from the back of the house, a glass in his hand, and a cold, bitter look in his eyes. That look turns colder when he spots us, and I stiffen, an uncomfortable feeling crawling up the back of my neck just as Beckett says, ‘Brace yourself, Em. My father looks like he’s already wrecked.’

  Unlike his wife, Alistair at least has the decency to shake my hand as his son introduces us, though the way he drunkenly leers at my breasts is not only rude, but creepy. Thankfully he doesn’t stay for long, but he takes Beckett with him when he goes, saying they need to have a word. They disappear through a door that’s just down the wide central hallway leading toward the back of the house, and I find myself left alone with Lottie and Oliver, who is bragging about the new yacht he’s bought for himself as a wedding gift. He’s just pulled out his phone to show me some photos, when I hear it.

  At first, I’m not even sure what the sound is. But then I place the voice, and I realize it’s Caroline Beckett screeching like a harpy, and the object of her fury appears to be my weekend date. I know the three of us can all hear her, but Lottie’s eyes just get big, and Oliver starts talking a little louder, not wanting to be outdone. The screeching turns into full-fledged screaming, and I start to feel ill at the thought of Jase as a beautiful little boy getting yelled at by this bitch.

  Unable to fight the impulse, I murmur a quick ‘Sorry, but I need to go’ to Lottie and a bewildered-looking Oliver, as if he can’t believe a woman would actually walk away from him when he’s speaking, and hurry toward the hallway. It’s easy to find the right door, given how loudly Caroline is shouting, and I don’t waste any time opening it and striding into what appears to be a music room. Caroline’s eyes nearly bug out of her skull when she sees me, while Alistair frowns before taking another swig of his drink. And Jase . . .

  My God. Jase gives me the most tender, breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen, his sexy-as-hell accent sounding even thicker as he says, ‘Emmy, love, have you come to save me?’

  Chapter Four

  EMMY

  ‘Always,’ I reply a bit breathlessly, walking to Jase’s side, and as he takes my hand we share a look. One that . . . Whoa. In all honesty, it’s a look that scares the ever-loving hell out of me.

  Before Caroline can get another word out, Jase wraps his arm around my waist and leads me back out into the hallway, shutting the door behind us. I desperately want to ask him what has her so irate, but we’re immediately surrounded by a slew of wedding guests who’ve just arrived. We end up having pastries and coffee with them out on the back terrace that runs the entire length of the house, overlooking stunning gardens that spread out for what seems like acres. I try to remember the names as Jase introduces me to everyone, but it’s impossible. All I know is that there are several politicians among the group, an earl and a countess, and then a number of men and women who either seem to be relatives, friends of the family, or people Alistair does business with. But while their professions may vary, it’s clear that they’re all as rich as Croesus . . . and every single one of them seems to have a tremendous amount of respect for the man standing beside me.

  A man who seems proud to introduce me as his ‘girlfriend’, who includes me in each of his conversations, always paying close attention to what I say, and who can’t seem to keep his eyes off me. All of which has me shocked, flustered, and feeling like I’m slipping into dangerous emotional territory, seeing as how we’re not actually a couple at all. We’re just an aspiring art journalist in need of information, and a wealthy playboy who didn’t want a catty date for the weekend.

  But, even knowing these things, I’m still falling deeper into lust with the gorgeous Brit with each second that passes by.

  Our weird little power play in the bedroom earlier is forgotten, and we spend the rest of the day participating in everything from a hayride and picnic lunch by a beautiful lake, to a hilarious croquet tournament – and what I had thought would be one of the longest days of my life speeds by so quickly I can barely keep up. The final game of croquet goes on for so long that we don’t even have time to go up and change before dinner. And while I say game, it was more laughter and goofing around than anything else, with Jase spending more time smacking my ball out of bounds than trying for the hoops, and me quoting lines from Alice in Wonderland. When I shouted, ‘Off with his head!’ it made him l
augh and say, ‘Baby, you’re too hot to be the crazy queen.’ At my surprised expression, he admitted to watching the movie a lot when he was a boy, and my freaking heart broke a little as I remembered him mentioning that his mother had died when he was six. If his father had married Caroline while Jase was still only a child, I bet he’d wanted to escape down a rabbit hole just like Alice and get the hell away from this place. I know that’s what I’d wanted when I was a little girl, which is one of the reasons I’ve always loved the movie.

  As Jase escorts me into what looks like an actual ballroom, I’m glad that I chose such a pretty dress that morning, seeing as how everyone is done up to the nines. The high-ceilinged room is filled with linen-draped tables and chairs, the golden light twinkling down from the ornate chandeliers making everything, and everyone, look like something from a fairy tale. A quick glance at the seating chart that’s displayed near the door gives us our table number, and as we start to weave our way among the seated guests, our good moods linger on. People have continued to arrive throughout the day, and though the room is huge, it’s a tight fit with everyone gathered in the same place. By the time we’ve made it halfway across the room, we’re both laughing from the number of times we’ve had to say ‘Excuse me’ and ‘Pardon me’ . . . and even a few ‘I’m so sorry for stepping on your foot.’

  ‘We’re almost there,’ Jase says to me over his shoulder. But when he looks forward again, he stops dead in his tracks and I nearly plow right into his back.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, leaning around his side to get a better look at whatever’s caused his reaction.

  ‘That crazy bitch,’ he curses under his breath.