The Pleasure Contract by Caitlin Crews (free romance novels .TXT) 📗

Had she meant to use that particular tone? It wasn’t bitter, exactly. But she knew that if she could hear the edge in it, he could, too.

He clearly did. “Do you have a problem with making yourself available to me, Bristol?”

And it was easier to smile then, because she could hear the dangerous note in that silky tone he used. The fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck prickled, and her pussy was instantly slippery and achy.

Maybe he liked flirting with all the dark places between them as much as she did.

“I do not,” she said, still smiling. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

He didn’t like that. She could see he didn’t like it.

And she opted not to ask herself why she should feel it like a personal triumph when he reached over and fit his hand to the curve of her cheek. Bristol already knew the answer.

“Don’t you know better than to say things like that?” His voice was still like silk, never quite concealing the power beneath. And the lick of fire that she tried not to think of as theirs. “The job is never supposed to feel like a job.”

She laughed, unwisely. “To who?”

His hand tightened against her cheek and she thought he might pull her close, but he didn’t. Instead, he let go and shifted back, leaving the feel of his palm against her skin. So hot she was sweating a little.

“My assistant tells me we’ve gotten some tabloid notice,” he said. “I think we got ahead of the worst of the speculation. At least for now.”

“Oh?” She shrugged carelessly. “Are we required to pay attention to those things? Is that part of the job? Because keeping myself abreast of the latest nasty gossip would definitely feel like a job.”

“I prefer to pretend they don’t exist.”

Bristol told herself the sunshine was making her a little giddy, but she was fairly sure it was actually that intent blue gaze of his. It seemed to cut into her—much too deep, like everything he did. Deep and unmistakable and as dangerous to her as it was good. She wished she didn’t know that.

“But they have a funny way of poisoning things. The insinuations. The gossipy, breathless tone. It’s better to ignore them entirely if you can.”

“I’ve been ignoring them entirely my whole life. I hardly plan to stop that practice now that I might see myself torn apart in them.”

His mouth curved, and it made the sun seem that much brighter. “So you’ve seen them.”

“I saw, thanks to my sister, who looks for such things, that there are some pictures of you with an unnamed companion who bears a striking resemblance to me.”

“Trust me, they know your name.”

“That is not comforting.”

“See? Poison.”

Bristol reminded herself that she was not here to assert herself the way she wanted to do. Or to carry on about her individuality, or cast aspersions on the sorts of “news” outlets that would choose not to name her deliberately. And she certainly wasn’t here to make arch comments about how bracing it was to find herself anonymous when she’d spent so long making a name for herself in the first place.

The words might have been on her tongue, but she swallowed them down.

She had chosen to take this position with her eyes wide open.

Looking at him—at that impossibly beautiful face of his that sometimes, like now, made her want to cry—she found too many words tangled on her tongue, and that wasn’t the deal they’d made.

Bristol made herself smile. As if this was all a joke. “Luckily for me it’s a temporary poison. The antidote is waiting for me in September.”

That muscle in his lean jaw flexed again. “I hope so, for your sake.”

She found herself frowning at him when she normally tried hard to keep from doing that. It had been one thing back in New York. Before she’d signed up for her role as his always-available, always-amenable companion. Also, clearly, frowning gave her away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s inevitable that they’re going to start discussing who you are. They’re probably digging around in your past as we speak.”

“Terrific.”

“You were counseled about this.”

“I was.” She should have paid closer attention to Stephanie, obviously. Or rather, she should have been prepared to feel more than she’d expected she would. “I don’t have anything in my past I’m embarrassed about. Or, I suppose, the more pertinent thing is I don’t have anything in my past you would be embarrassed about.”

“I know this, Dr. March. You’re not the only one who does research.” He actually let out a laugh when she lifted a brow, which made her want to dance. Sing. Something. She refrained. “Fine. I have staff who do research.”

“You were modifying my expectations about fading into blessed obscurity in the fall,” she reminded him, and the gleam in his eyes warned her that she sounded...a bit tart.

She smiled to cover it.

Lachlan crossed his arms, which drew too much attention to those arms. Bristol ordered herself to pay attention to what he was saying. Or to pretend that was possible when he was looming around, too gorgeous to bear.

“Once they decide how to run at you, they’ll beat that drum until the end of time. If you think of it like a game, it’s better. They’ll make up a character, call it you, and make sure every picture they print serves the story. You can try to fight it, but it’s a war of attrition and they’ll always win. It’s better to ignore it.”

“I remember this part,” she said. But it had felt different, hadn’t it, when there’d been no pictures of her anywhere. When it had all been theoretical tabloids.

To go along with all the theoretical sex at Lachlan’s command and convenience.

Her clit throbbed, the greedy little thing.

“And even when we’re finished, long after September, it’s entirely possible they’ll trot you out in every story they do like this about