Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

for him yet, but she would be. She’d wanted him when he was a loser. How much more she must want him now he was a winner. She was probably wet for him right now. This was just a game.

“I suppose everything has changed now your wife won eighteen million pounds,” she muttered sulkily.

“Nothing has changed.” She looked wary, vulnerable. He’d never seen her like this before. “And my wife and I won eighteen million pounds—give or take.”

“She bought the ticket.” He shrugged, careless of the technicality.

Relationships were all about power, who has it, who wants it. The balance, the imbalance. All longing was in the gap in between. She had always had the power. And now he did. Or at least, he had the money, and that was more or less the same thing.

“What’s going on, Jake?”

“I’m going to divorce her. I’m going to get nine million. Not as much as that of course if I have to split it three ways predivorce.” He watched her carefully, amused at how she was trying not to react. Something about her mouth betrayed her, though; it flickered as she suppressed her smile of triumph. He knew she’d never felt happier, more victorious.

“I see, and if we had a third per family and both divorced, we’d still only have six between us.” It was a big sentence with all sorts of promises and lies enfolded into it. They stared at one another, long and hard, wondering whether they could trust each other. Or not.

“You’re always a step ahead. Clever girl. So you see how important it is that you drop this silly claim that we were all still in a syndicate.”

“What will you do with the money?” she asked, looking at him from under her eyelashes. It was a cliché but Jake didn’t care. It was a sexy as hell cliché. They were both breathing heavily.

“I will do anything I like. And I like you.”

“You used to say you loved me.”

“Don’t split hairs.”

There was a beat and then they jumped at each other. Clamped their lips and hands down on one another with a complete and visceral passion. His hands slid over her body—her full breasts, her tight waist, her delicious arse. He felt the muscled firmness of her through her clingy dress, he felt the exciting mounds and curves, he felt her nipples stiffen. She’d wanted this all along. Her anger was an act. A risk. A gamble. Her boldness caused his cock to harden. She arched toward him, slunk into him. He broke away, but only to pick her up and throw her back on the bed. She fell flat, lips and legs slightly open. Inviting him. His fingers slipped up under her dress, hers laced into his hair and drew him toward her again. Their mouths banged heavily on one another, almost painful, totally delicious.

With a swift, practiced confidence he undid his trousers, pushed her dress roughly up her thighs and pulled her knickers away. He was inside her in a second, her hot flesh accepting him completely. He put his hands on the tits he said he loved and went at it. Victorious.

CHAPTER 17

Emily

Wednesday, May 1

Bloody fecking hell, this is the worst. I can’t believe the Heathcotes and Pearsons are trying to screw us over like this.

It’s all my fault.

Because I blabbed to Rids and Megan, they all had time to rehearse their stories and come up with some crap that is halfway convincing. I hate Ridley and Megan now. I do. I do! Mum looks really grim. Dad is trying to keep the shit together. He says everything is going to be fine and that the investigation will undo the Heathcotes and Pearsons. I hope so! They need to be exposed as the cheating lying shits that they are. Dad says we can tell whoever we like about the lottery win at school now, that we should take ownership of the win. Even without press coverage, I reckon people will believe me because of Dad picking me up last week in a Ferrari but, for the avoidance of doubt, Dad went out and bought ten Michael Kors Gemma tricolor pebbled leather totes yesterday. TEN!

“They are big enough to get A4 books in,” he points out helpfully, as though that was the thing that excites me about them.

“Yeah, they are gorge!” The leather is soft and smells amazing.

Expensive. Everyone in my year talks about Michael Kors all the time, but only Evie Clarke has one and I’m not even sure if it’s genuine. “But why did you get ten?” I ask.

“You can give them to your friends. You want them to feel part of the celebration.”

As if I have ten friends. I had two. Ridley and Megan, and we kept to ourselves at school. We arrived at Glenwood Grammar a readymade gang, so we didn’t bother with anyone else. Thinking about it now, I’m not sure how wise that was, but it wasn’t a conscious decision at the time. We were glued by our parents and none of us thought to spread ourselves about. We were just grateful that we weren’t the ones desperately dashing about begging people to sit next to us or scanning the playground hopefully for someone to talk to during break.

Plus, you know, we liked each other. Loved each other.

I could never have imagined a time when that would change, a time when I’d need someone else. Rids did make some other friends, through his rugby mostly, and also because he’s pretty musical and plays in the orchestra (which he pretends to think of as lame but actually loves) and a band (which is just all-out cool). But even when we are playing hockey, Megan and I have each other and don’t need anyone else. We always partner up for the exercises, we chose each other for teams, etc.

At least we used to.

I don’t suppose that will be happening anymore. Jesus, I better make friends quickly or I’ll end up passing the ball