Talking Dirty with the CEO - By Jackie Ashenden Page 0,50
fool could see that. He just didn’t want to tell her about it.
Pain took up residence inside her heart, though she tried to ignore it.
If he didn’t want to talk then he didn’t. They weren’t at the sharing-life-stories stage and maybe he wasn’t a big sharer anyway. Men weren’t as a rule, were they?
“Okay,” she said, trying to shake off the ache. “But I don’t have any shoes to match.”
He grinned. “Keep the Docs. Like I said, they weren’t the problem.”
…
Joseph kept snatching glances at Christie as they drove to her parents’ house in Remuera. She sat beside him in the car, playing with his very expensive car stereo, the green silk dress she wore leaving her legs bare to the thigh as well as exposing one white shoulder. She looked long-legged, slender, and delicate, her hair up in a messy bun. A pale, green-eyed fairy. And the purple velvet Docs only made her look even more interesting in his opinion.
She tapped a few buttons on the stereo, twiddled with the knobs, her face screwed up in concentration. Then she grinned. “Man, this head-unit is so cool. Where’s the preamp?”
Her pleasure was so endearing it made him want to smile. “It’s in the dash.”
Music played as she searched some of the radio stations, a fascinated grin playing across her face. “Oh wow, the sound is awesome. Should have brought my iPod.”
“I’ve got one in the glove box if you want.” He couldn’t resist a tease. “But there won’t be any Death’s Brotherhood on it.”
“Death’s Brethren,” she corrected. “That’s okay. I don’t have to have music now.”
He glanced over at her again, her hands now resting in her lap. “Where did you find the dress?”
“Oh, I bought it months ago and forgot I had it.” One shoulder lifted. “I’ve never actually worn it before.”
“Why not? You look fantastic.”
Color stained her cheeks, her teeth biting her lip. God, she was beautiful.
He didn’t regret offering to be her boyfriend the day she’d received that invite, he really didn’t. Even though he knew it was wrong. Even though he knew he couldn’t sustain the type of relationship Christie needed. But part of him wanted to help her show up her awful family. And another part, a larger part, just wanted her.
Yeah, so he was a selfish bastard. He liked being with her. Liked sitting with her and talking about circuits, and being killed for the fifty millionth time by ten-year-olds in online games. Liked watching her negotiate her first jump on the trails. Liked having her in his bed every night.
And he’d be damned if he gave that up just yet.
“Why didn’t I wear it before?” She looked down at her hands. “It’s silly, so don’t laugh, but every time I dress up, all I can hear is my mother criticizing my choice and telling me I look ridiculous. It gets boring.”
He decided he hated her mother. “You told me you didn’t care.”
“I don’t.” But the protestation sounded hollow.
“I think you do,” he said gently. “I think you care a lot about what she thinks. About what your family thinks.”
Christie didn’t say anything for a long moment. “They’re my family. And she’s my mother,” she said finally. As if this explained everything.
“So?” His own mother had left without even a good-bye. She meant nothing to him.
“What do you mean, so?”
“Why care about the opinions of people who don’t appreciate you?”
She turned to him, eyes dark. “They brought me up.”
His hands were clenched on the steering wheel of the car. “That doesn’t mean anything. Just because your mother gave birth to you doesn’t mean…” He stopped, realizing what he’d almost said.
“Doesn’t mean what, Joseph?”
Christ, he didn’t want to talk about it. His shitty family life. But back at her place he’d seen the hurt in her eyes as he’d told her he was fine and turned away. He hadn’t been fair back then. He knew that. He just hadn’t wanted to get into his general uselessness as a relationship prospect, not then, not when she had her family to meet.
But he had to give her something. And what did it matter if he told her? It wasn’t a secret, was it? And he didn’t care. Not these days. He had his company. He had his success. He had everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d been denied as a kid.
“My mother left when I was thirteen. One day she was there, the next she wasn’t. No good-byes. No nothing. And my dad blamed me for it.