The Dare Collection September 2019. Stefanie London

like a prick?

      My temper pulled on the leash I kept it on, growling and snapping like a beast. Of course I was acting like a prick. I always acted like a prick. Did she really expect anything different from me just because we’d had sex?

       She probably expects you to act like a human being and not a petty bastard.

      I gritted my teeth, glowering at her. ‘What? You don’t like me snapping at you? Too bad. I snap at everyone. Don’t take it personally.’

      Her jaunty smile had vanished and I was bastard enough to be happy about it. ‘Would it kill you to be nice? Even for a second?’

      ‘Yes,’ I growled.

      There was a very disapproving silence.

      ‘What?’ I grumbled bad-temperedly, not sure why I was conceding this to her. ‘You want an apology?’

      The expression on her face was uncompromising; of course she wanted a fucking apology.

      I let out a breath. I never apologised, not to anyone, not after spending most of my childhood feeling as if I had to apologise for my very existence. And certainly not after I’d discovered how much power anger and not giving a shit gave me.

      But for some reason, I gave a shit now.

      ‘I’m sorry for snapping at you,’ I said, graceless and brusque. ‘There. Happy?’

      She frowned at me. ‘Are you angry because I didn’t come up to your room last night?’

      The question was unexpected and abrupt, making something hot flash through me. I definitely wasn’t angry about that. Was I?

      ‘No,’ I lied, very conscious of the tension gathering in my shoulders and the sullen burn of my temper.

      She ignored my denial as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘Look, I’m sorry about yesterday, but I—’

      ‘Couldn’t get away from me fast enough?’ The words came out before I could stop them and as soon as I’d spoken I wished I hadn’t. Christ, I sounded pathetic. Like a hurt child.

      But to my surprise, Ellie glanced away, colour creeping into her cheeks. ‘I thought it would be easier if I didn’t.’

      ‘Easier for whom? Certainly easier for you.’

      The long, dark lashes veiling her gaze were streaked with gold in the sunlight coming through the windscreen. ‘I didn’t think you’d care. It was only sex. No big deal, right?’

      Good point. It was only sex and very much not a big deal. And yet, here I was, turning it into one. Great sex, sure, but ultimately sex I could get from someone else.

      She wasn’t special. I could get hunger and fire and desperation from any woman, it didn’t have to be her.

       But the kind of instinctive trust she gave you?

      I shoved that thought away before it could take root.

      ‘No big deal,’ I echoed flatly.

      An expression I couldn’t decipher flickered across her face. ‘Well, I guess you’re ready to go, then?’

      ‘I am.’

      She turned the key and we pulled away from the kerb at last.

      And I directed my attention back to my laptop, curiously unsatisfied and not sure why.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       Ellie

      THE DAY PROVED to be long and not only due to the driving I had to do in the interminable Parisian traffic.

      It was also due to the presence of the man sitting in the limo behind me.

      I tried very hard to pretend he didn’t exist, but it was difficult when every time I looked in my rear-view mirror, I caught a glimpse of him.

      Sometimes he had his attention on his laptop and sometimes he was looking out of the window as he talked on his phone. And then there were also times I found his gaze on mine, a burning look in it, as if he were waiting impatiently for some kind of response from me.

      Except I didn’t know what response he wanted.

      I’d lied when I’d told him I’d slept perfectly well. I hadn’t. I’d spent all night going over what had happened in the limo and why I’d stupidly burst into emotional tears afterwards like a silly virgin.

      Had it been the way he’d stroked me at the end? Or had it been due to the sheer power of the physical release? Either way, I’d hated it and I definitely didn’t want it to happen again.

      Pleasure I could handle, but a big no to all that emotional bullshit. It only reminded me of how I’d felt after the Mark incident and how pissed off Dad had been at me at the way I’d handled it. Sure, kneeing Mark in the balls had been an instinctive reaction, but that had caused a whole lot of extra drama that had ended up with him making all sorts of extortionate demands.

      No fuss, that was key, and yet here I was, making a fuss about the sex by crying, not to mention giving Mr Evans a piece of my mind for being rude to me.

      I didn’t know what was happening, especially considering I still needed to ask him about Australis and our debt.

      Finding the right moment to broach the topic proved difficult, however.

      When he wasn’t in a meeting, he was on his phone, and it wasn’t until I’d picked him up from his last appointment and was taking him to the airport that he finally put the phone away, directing his attention to the laptop.

      Ideally I would have liked to pull the car over, but he was pressed for time since the meeting had dragged on, and the traffic to Charles de Gaulle was a nightmare, so there was no time to stop.

      I was just going to have to ask flat out.

      Trying to ignore the fact that I’d complicated matters first by having sex with him and then letting my anger get the better of me and calling him out for being rude, I swallowed my nerves and checked him in the rear-view mirror.

      He had his attention on his laptop, his face set in lines of fierce concentration.

      Bloody hell, this wasn’t a good time, either. But what else could I do? He’d be flying out in a couple of hours and then my opportunity would be gone completely.

      It was now or never.

      ‘Can I ask you something, Mr Evans?’ I asked, straight out.

      He didn’t look up. ‘What did I say about small talk?’

      ‘It’s not small talk.’

      ‘Bill doesn’t talk at all.’

      Well, this was off to a great start. Go me.

      I gripped the wheel tightly, trying to hang on to my determination to keep this low-key and not a big deal. ‘I’m not Bill.’

      ‘No,’ he said flatly, his attention still on the screen. ‘You’re not.’

      Okay, well, I was just going to have to go for it. I didn’t want to let Dad down, not again.

      ‘I need a favour,’ I said, throwing caution to the winds. ‘I need to talk to you about an investment.’

      That caught his attention.

      His head lifted, electric gaze coming straight to mine. ‘What?’

      Time for my spiel.

      ‘So, my family makes supercars, all built by hand in our workshop in Sydney, and we were lucky enough to get a cash injection from your venture capital firm a few years ago. But, business hasn’t been great and we’re not able to make the returns that