The Price of Scandal (Bluewater Billionaires) - Lucy Score Page 0,73
a little late to the office this morning.”
“Working on a Saturday, love?” I tsked. “I seem to recall insisting that you take your health more seriously.”
“Thanks to you, I’ve had two of the best nights’ sleep in recent memory. And I’m willing to allow you to feed me breakfast,” she said magnanimously.
I kissed her. Less gently this time. More demanding. Letting her body skim mine, I set her back on her feet.
“Last night,” she began. “When you said I dazzled you?”
“Yes?” I kissed her again.
“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” she confessed.
“Does that mean you’d be open to labeling this… thing?” I asked, skimming her jawline with my thumbs.
“Always negotiating,” she sighed.
“This is something special, Emily.”
“Neither one of us has time for special,” she reminded me.
“We’re idiots if we don’t make time,” I warned.
“Oh, hey there, Emily,” a voice sing-songed.
“Shit,” Emily hissed.
Luna and Cam, in pajamas holding what appeared to be mimosas, sat in a tricked-out golf cart. They were grinning maniacally.
“Uh, hey, guys,” Emily said lamely. “Everyone knows Derek, right?”
“Hi, Derek,” the girls purred.
“Ladies,” I said, refusing to allow Emily to escape my grasp.
“Fancy running into you here, Emily,” Luna said with a wicked grin. “Cam and I were just talking, and we’re calling an emergency DQB tomorrow.”
“Be there,” Cam insisted.
Emily winced. “Yeah, that should be fine.”
“Great! Toodles!” Luna said, whipping the wheel of the golf cart and spinning around.
“Your friends certainly know how to make an entrance. What’s a DQB?”
“Drag Queen Brunch.”
30
Emily
This was a mistake, I thought as I watched Luna and Cam tool off in the golf cart. But, at the very least, it was one that I was intentionally making. This wasn’t an accidental misstep. This was an on-purpose disaster. And I planned to enjoy every moment of it, I decided, as Derek laced his fingers through mine.
I was taking an early morning stroll through Bluewater with the man who had delivered so many orgasms to me last night I’d lost count in a fog of boneless satiation.
The board would be furious. My mother would be appalled. My friends would demand details. And I just wasn’t nearly as worried about all of it as I should be.
“How did our little ‘not-so-faking it for the cameras’ charade play last night?” I asked him. Not keen on exposing myself to the sharp troll talons, I’d yet to look at my phone. I also didn’t want to deal with my mother’s morning-after debriefing. If there was a god, the woman was still dead asleep and would wake up with a raging hangover that would render her unable to call me.
He freed his phone from his pocket again and thumbed over the screen while we walked.
I liked him like this. Casual gym clothes, messy hair, irresistible stubble. Yes, there was shower sex in my immediate future.
“Very flattering,” he mused, squinting at the screen.
He turned the phone to me.
Emily Stanton steps out with babysitter date
Billionaire babysitter Derek Price
Stanton and Price stun at gala
The photos were flattering. My hair and dress made quite the statement. I looked badass. And Derek in his tux and broody good looks was the perfect complement.
“We look like some kind of cologne ad,” I laughed.
“Painting a picture, darling. Now, what wasn’t mentioned in any of those little headlines?”
“No salacious mention of drugs or arrests and collapses,” I noted, impressed. “You didn’t sleep with me just to add authenticity to your rumors, did you?”
He smacked me on the butt. “Very funny.”
“My hair,” I said, still studying the photos. “I loved it.”
“It was very you,” he said, tucking his phone back into his shorts and slinging an arm around my shoulders.
In this moment, we were just two regular people enjoying a lazy Saturday morning together.
“I don’t suppose your hair talent extends to cuts,” I mused, tugging the end of my still-damp ponytail.
He gave me—or, more accurately, my hair—a contemplative look. “What do you have in mind?”
“Something short and badass.”
He stopped me on the path and cupped my jaw, moving my head this way and that. “I might have an idea,” he said with a slow, sexy grin.
He started walking again, pulling me along behind him.
“Wait! You didn’t confirm whether or not you were able to operate scissors responsibly!”
“You’re sure you trust me?” Derek asked, snipping the scissors in my face. I was perched on a barstool on my patio. A pool towel draped around my shoulders. Nerves in the form of my mother’s disapproving voice had my pulse hammering.
Did I?
The man routinely broke into my house. He picked pockets as a