The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

Annie was stung by this. What fucking business was it of his where she was or what she did? He’d made his feelings plain enough when he’d kicked her out of his car into the pouring rain; she’d never forget that, or forgive it. ‘Is something going to happen? Is the place going to burn down around my ears, is that it?’

      She saw anger in his eyes and then he smiled. ‘You may not be afraid of me, Annie Bailey, but I think you’re afraid of yourself.’

      ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Annie, but she did.

      ‘So I’m asking the question,’ said Max.

      ‘What?’ Annie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. She could feel Max’s breath on her face, feel the heat coming off his body.

      ‘How much?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘How much do you want?’ Max’s eyes were sharp now, predatory. ‘You know I want you. Always have, always will. So if it makes you feel better we’ll keep this strictly business. How much?’

      For fuck’s sake! The cheek of him, to treat her like a tart! Annie shook her head violently. She wanted to hit him.

      ‘God, you’re a bastard,’ she said. ‘And let’s get this straight. Even if I was selling it – which I’m not – you couldn’t afford me.’

      ‘Yes I could,’ said Max. ‘I could have you for free, and you fucking-well know it.’

      Now she did hit him. Or she tried to. He caught her arm on the upswing and pinned it back against the door. Then he kissed her and she was lost. She couldn’t help it. The heat of his body, the smell of his cologne, the slickness of his tongue as it entered her mouth, everything overwhelmed her.

      Ruthie, she thought.

      But it was no good. She was gone, the touch and feel and smell of him was something she had dreamed of every night for too long. Then he was lifting her, carrying her over to the couch, lowering her on to it, pushing up her dress.

      ‘No,’ she managed to say. ‘No, I don’t want this.’

      But Max wasn’t listening. His mouth covered hers again and she was powerless to resist. He was shoving aside the flimsy pants she wore, then she felt him undoing his trousers. We mustn’t do this, she thought, but the wetness was flooding her.

      Then suddenly he was inside her, huge and pumping and just as she remembered. She cried out and he covered her mouth with his hand and had her quickly and silently. Annie lay there, pinioned, trapped, loving it. Then he stiffened and groaned as his seed spilled into her, God, no protection, nothing, there could be a baby, anything could happen, she was in terror and in rapture, she loved it, couldn’t get enough of it, God she must be a whore, what else was she, this was her sister’s husband, Ruthie’s husband …

      It was over. He was finished, but instead of withdrawing he stayed there, kissing her, nuzzling his nose into her neck, crushing her with his strength, hurting her a little but she still loved it.

      ‘I want this,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I want you. I’ve been going fucking mad ever since I saw you again, dreaming about you.’

      At the gallery, she thought. And at poor Eddie’s funeral. It was Eddie’s death that had really brought them back together. She remembered that hot, lingering look they’d exchanged as Max stood at Eddie’s graveside.

      ‘But Ruthie,’ she groaned, nearer to tears than she had ever been before.

      ‘She lives her life, I live mine,’ he said roughly. ‘Whatever you and I do, it’ll make no difference to her.’

      If Annie tried hard enough she could almost make herself believe that it was true.

      ‘What’s this?’ He was taking the scrap of mangled paper out of her hand, pulling away from her a little, adjusting his trousers. Annie straightened too, feeling sore and achy. She wasn’t used to bearing a man’s weight. Her hands were shaking. She felt hot, ready for more. She wanted him to touch her again, be inside her again. No wonder she felt at home in a whorehouse – she was a whore.

      ‘We’re expanding the business,’ she said, trying to steady herself as Max spread out the details and looked at the photo of the apartment’s interior.

      ‘We?’ He looked at her.

      ‘The Delaneys will chip in.’ There, she’d said it.

      He was silent. Then he said: ‘It looks good.’

      ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Annie. ‘Walking around it, I felt like I was in another world.’

      ‘Come here,’ said Max, and kissed her again, his hands deftly stroking her until he had to cover her mouth again to stifle a scream. ‘Good?’ he murmured, covering her mouth with his own again and pushing her back, going on to his knees and freeing himself quickly and pulling her legs apart, sliding her arse down the sofa until they were joined again, he was plunging inside her again, riding her.

      This is crazy, thought Annie. But she was dazed. Unable to resist. Loving it.

      ‘We shouldn’t do this,’ she whispered hopelessly.

      ‘We have to,’ groaned Max.

      And it was true. They had to, the feeling was too strong, too long denied.

      I’m lost, she thought. And when he had finished and was gone, she stood there in the empty room and clutched her head in her hands and screamed with the sheer frustration of wanting him so badly – because she knew she couldn’t have him.

      Her nerves were in shreds. She found a pack of Player’s and a lighter in the sideboard and smoked her first-ever cigarette. Christ, she had to do something. She sat down on the sofa, her knickers wet and her hair like a fright wig, and wondered what had hit her.

      ‘I’ll call you soon,’ he’d said.

      Maybe he wouldn’t. She knew enough of the world to realize that this was probably a kiss-off. He’d got what he wanted after all. Annie started to choke on the cigarette. She stubbed it out and dropped her head into her hands.

      ‘Fuck it,’ she muttered. It was good that he was probably not going to come near her again. He was her sister’s husband. All right, so the marriage was in ruins, but wasn’t that her fault too? Everything was her fault. Wasn’t that what her mother had always told her? Connie might be a lush, but Annie thought now that she had probably got that exactly right.

      Christ, she couldn’t believe what a pushover she’d been. One kiss and she’d crumbled into dust. And now look at her. She didn’t know whether she felt punched or bored. Her head was all over the place. One moment she was excited, the next devastated, the next so full of guilt over Ruthie that she thought it would choke her.

      ‘Fuck it,’ she muttered again, more savagely.

      There was a knock at the door. Annie pushed back her hair with a shaking hand and tried to get a grip of herself.

      ‘Come in,’ she called out.

      Darren put his head round the door. ‘You okay in here?’ he asked.

      ‘I’m fine. Thanks.’

      ‘He’s gone then,’ said Darren.

      ‘Yeah. Did you show him in?’

      ‘Sorry. He’s not the sort you can turn away, is he?’

      ‘No,’ said Annie bleakly.

      ‘Ellie said it went well with the flats,’ said Darren.

      ‘Oh. Yeah. It did.’ Annie felt that the flat business had happened about twenty years ago. Long before Max had hit her like a fucking force ten gale.

      ‘Only we’ll have to get the room cleaned up in a bit,’ said Darren.