USA TODAY bestselling author Nicola Marsh is back with another wickedly sexy romance! Jayda and Brock’s first taste of each other was unforgettable. The second is completely addictive... Will one wicked week ever be enough?

Jayda York. His nemesis. It’s been six years since multimillionaire tech genius Brock Olsen has seen her, but one glimpse of those lush curves and he’s transported back to that steamy night. His fingers tracing her curves, worshipping her body... Now Jayda is standing right in front of him, and Brock’s reminded of the socially awkward geek he used to be—hungry with lust and a seriously overheating hard drive.

Jayda has a business proposition for Brock. Six years ago, he gave her exactly what she needed—a sizzling one-night stand that emboldened her in every way. He made her feel wanted. Now Jayda is starting a new business and wants Brock’s expertise during the day...and mind-blowing sex at night. Brock is more than happy to meet her needs in every deliciously naughty way.

But this deal has strict no-strings terms. One week. No emotional entanglements. Now Jayda is in deep trouble. She’s already breaking all the rules. Will Brock seduce her into wanting the one thing she can’t have—him?

Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.

NICOLA MARSH is a USA TODAY bestselling and multi-award-winning author who loves nothing better than losing herself in a story. A physiotherapist in a previous life, she now divides her time between raising two dashing heroes, whipping up delish meals, cheering on her footy team and writing—her dream job. And she chats on social media. A lot. Come say hi! Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—she’s there! Also find her at nicolamarsh.com.

One Wicked Week

Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08703-2

ONE WICKED WEEK

© 2019 Nicola Marsh

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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For my editor, Carly, who helped me push the

boundaries with this one.

Thanks for your insight!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

BROCK NURSED A double-shot whisky as he stared blindly at the twinkling lights of Melbourne thirty-five storeys below. The muted chatter of fellow patrons at the Rochester Hotel’s exclusive bar mingled with the melodic tinkling of a pianist tucked into the farthest corner. White noise to him. He didn’t hear any of it because his heart was pounding so damn loud.

She’d be here shortly.

Jayda York.

His nemesis.

Stupid that even though it was six years since he’d last seen her on graduation night, he still thought of her as the enemy. Not through any fault of hers. She had no frigging idea that he couldn’t wipe the memory of what they’d done that night out of his head.

She’d made his life hell for the four years of their IT degree at university: once again, not really her fault. Entitled, condescending and aloof, she’d been way out of his league. It hadn’t helped that he’d wanted to fuck her so badly he’d hardly been able to walk straight most days. Then she’d lowered her guard on grad night and he’d been the schmuck to comfort her.

Comfort. Yeah, right.

‘Mr Olsen, can I get you another drink?’

He glared at the waiter before realising he’d downed his whisky while musing the power Jayda had held over him.

He nodded. ‘Thanks. Make it another double.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The waiter headed towards the sleek chrome bar that lined the opposite wall and that was when Brock saw her. His heart bucked as it had ten years earlier on the first day of uni when she’d slid into the seat next to him.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered, dragging in a breath and blowing it out, hating that laying eyes on her could elicit the kind of visceral reaction that made his gut churn and his cock thicken.

She hadn’t caught sight of him yet. Good. It gave him time to calm the hell down and study her. She wore a simple black dress, long sleeves, high neck, past her knees. She’d always favoured dark colours at uni, as if she wanted to hide something. As it turned out she did; her revelation the night she’d revealed so much of herself had shocked him. Her confidence had been a sham, her superiority a ruse. He’d misjudged her for four long years.

She wore her signature towering heels, adding several inches to her height. They’d been incongruous at uni, those ridiculous heels. He’d thought they were yet another designer accessory to flaunt her wealth, never imagining she wore them to elongate her legs and take the focus off the rest of her body.

He’d done his best to prove to her exactly how luscious her gorgeous body was that one, fateful night. She hadn’t believed him, considering she’d bolted in the dark of night and shunned all contact since.

Until now.

He couldn’t wait to hear this business proposal she had for him. So he could shoot it down and walk away as he should’ve done six years earlier rather than being a sucker for her sob story and being dragged further under her spell.

He’d done the right thing, relegating her to a memory after that night—albeit a scorching one that ensured he could never forget her no matter how many women he bedded—but seeing her now, her shoulders pulled back in defiance, drawing attention to those magnificent DDs he’d had the pleasure of exploring with his mouth and hands in great detail, made him wish it hadn’t been six long years since he’d last seen her.

She caught sight of him at that moment and he raised a hand in a casual wave. A faint blush stained her cheeks as she strode towards him, long purposeful steps designed to show no fear. But he saw exactly how nervous she was as she approached, gnawing on that full bottom lip, a telltale sign she was rattled. He’d observed her doing it all through uni and it had driven him crazy because he’d wanted to do the same.

He stood as she broached the remaining few feet between them, glad he’d worn his favourite tailored sports jacket. His head might be fine with only dredging up the occasional memory of that one sizzling night together but his body had other ideas. He’d been hard from the first moment they’d locked gazes across the bar.

‘Thanks for meeting me, Brock.’ She hesitated for a fraction before leaning in to brush a kiss on his cheek and damned if his cock didn’t throb.

She smelled the same, a heady combination of jasmine and rose, a perfume made especially for her apparently. It had clung to his sheets for two days until he’d told himself to wake the hell up and washed them. It had done little to eradicate that rich fragrance from his memory and he’d avoided gardens with roses ever since.

‘No problem,’ he said, making a mockery of his hollow greeting when he pulled out her chair and she brushed against him. The contact was minimal, for the briefest of seconds, but enough to short-circuit his brain and make him want to bury his face in the cascade of blonde hair flowing halfway down her back.

Her floral-scented shampoo was as addictive as her goddamn perfume and he reared back, glad she couldn’t see his reaction to her proximity.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d assumed six years apart would’ve rid him of his one-sided attraction. He’d cursed his inability to keep his hands off her on grad night, and for the simple fact he couldn’t get her out of his head for months after she’d snuck out of his grungy flat.

He’d lusted after her for a long time during those interminable coding lectures in their undergrad degree, never anticipating when he finally got his hands on her that the sex would be stupendous. For those few deluded minutes when they’d cuddled afterwards, he’d actually considered letting a woman into his life for the first time.

And the last, as it turned out.

He didn’t need to emotionally invest in anyone. Coding, he understood; women, not so much. He’d slept with his fair share since Jayda. Initially to eradicate her memory, later because he could: validation for how far he’d come from the poor geek. Wealth certainly had its perks. Women noticed tailored clothes and handmade Italian shoes and a twenty-thousand-dollar watch. He enjoyed the spoils of his hard work, knowing with every million he made he’d done it all himself.

Wishing he’d never agreed to this meeting no matter how curious, he sat opposite and gestured to the waiter. ‘What will you have to drink?’

‘A diet soda and lime, please.’

She met his gaze and he hoped she couldn’t see the stab of annoyance. She’d always guzzled diet sodas all through uni, even at parties. He’d thought she didn’t like the taste of alcohol, not having a clue that her obsession with calories infiltrated all areas of her life.

She’d revealed so much that night of their graduation, making his chest ache until he had no option but to take her into his arms and prove exactly how spectacular her body was, the body he’d coveted for years. It had been a gift taking off her clothes to finally see the lush curves he’d lusted after. Around the time he’d undressed her he’d switched from comfort mode to full-on caveman, pleasuring her, worshipping her. The sex had been more than memorable for him: but not enough to make her stay.

He’d been glad initially. He didn’t do emotional entanglements. But when he couldn’t get that astounding night out of his head, he grew to resent her.

Had she been slumming it? Had she only turned to him out of desperation because of what that other prick had done? Had she regretted it?

‘What did you want to see me about?’ His curt question bordered on rudeness and her eyebrows rose.

‘I need your help,’ she said, annoyingly calm when a host of uncharacteristic emotions churned in his gut. ‘I’m setting up an online business but I’ve been out of the IT game too long and my skills are rusty.’

The waiter placed her drink in front of her and she flashed a wide smile in thanks. He wanted to deck the guy.

‘You never forget what we learned at uni.’

Heat stole into her cheeks as he belatedly cursed his choice of words. They’d learned a lot more than HTML that one night they came together.

‘I’ve been working for my parents since I graduated, doing general marketing for their charities.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘I ended up being a glorified party planner and I hated it.’

‘Why do you want to work at all?’

The snide question popped out before he could censor it and the hurt in her eyes made him feel like a bastard. It had been a bugbear of his back then, that she’d swanned through uni as if it meant little because she had the wealth of her parents to fall back on if she failed, while he’d had to work two part-time jobs to make ends meet.

‘Because I want to give something back. Because I want to help kids who need it.’ She tilted her head up, staring him down. ‘Because I’m not the rich bitch you wrongly thought I was all those years ago.’

He grimaced and swiped a hand across his face. ‘I was out of line. Sorry.’

‘Is it wealth that annoys you per se or is it me?’ She leaned forward, indignation pursing her plum-glossed lips. ‘Because I’ve researched you and you’re a millionaire ten times over these days.’

A fact he was infinitely proud of. He’d worked his ass off to prove he was nothing like his folks. With every dollar he saved he breathed a little easier. He would never, ever, be dependent on anyone for his livelihood.

‘I’ll admit I did resent you back then,’ he said, settling for a partial truth. The rest, where he lusted after her so badly he could barely concentrate in lectures most days, he’d keep to himself. ‘You didn’t have to be there and it looked like you treated the whole thing as a joke.’

‘I studied. I passed.’ Anger glinted in her eyes, sparking indigo flecks amid the deep blue. ‘I didn’t get a free ride.’

Brock stiffened at the jibe, glaring at her with obvious distaste, so he saw the exact moment she realised her faux pas.

Crimson suffused her cheeks and she shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean it like that—’

‘Let’s skip the trip down memory lane and focus on your needs.’ He lowered his voice deliberately, drawing emphasis to ‘your needs,’ wanting to make her as uncomfortable as she’d made him.

He’d hated being a scholarship kid in high school and that feeling of worthlessness hadn’t abated through four years of a university degree. The fact Jayda would fling it in his face...he didn’t like to admit it but her opinion mattered now as much as it had back then. It shouldn’t. They didn’t know each other. They never had. Beyond an intimate knowledge of each other’s bodies that haunted him to this day.

‘You need my IT expertise on getting a new business started, correct?’

She nodded, and absent-mindedly worried that bottom lip again. Yep, he should never have agreed to meet her.

‘I want the coding on the site to be state-of-the-art. Up to date, with the latest technology, and no room for error.’ Sadness clouded her expressive eyes. ‘That last one is imperative. I want to ensure every donation is easily accounted for and properly allocated.’

Something had happened. He saw it in her look-away glance, in the sudden rigidity of her jaw. But now wasn’t the time to delve. He didn’t want to complicate their business arrangement with anything messy and that was exactly what would happen if he started asking questions regarding her motivations.

‘You want to know what happened,’ she said, her tone soft. ‘You’re pretty easy to read.’

Bullshit, because if he was she would’ve known he’d had a permanent hard-on for her all through uni.

Feigning lack of interest, he shrugged. ‘You’ll tell me if you want to. Otherwise it’s not relevant to our prospective working relationship.’

She hesitated, as if contemplating the wisdom of divulging something to him, before giving a brief nod. ‘While working for my folks I discovered discrepancies in their accounting. At first I thought it was a software error but then I delved deeper.’

She dragged a hand through her hair when a thick lock tumbled across her face. ‘Turns out the only reason they wanted me working for them was because I’m a stooge, someone they can easily control and have done for longer than I care to admit.’

She took a sip of her soda. ‘So here I am. Utilising my trust fund and wanting to do some genuine charity work, making sure it’s all top notch before I launch.’

She pinned him with a piercing stare. ‘Think you can help me?’

Brock should say no. He could delegate this task to any one of the highly skilled staff he employed to run his IT empire. That way, he could be the good guy helping her out but from a much-needed distance. It was the logical thing to do and he always relied on logic.

Instead, he found himself nodding.

He’d once been a putz around this woman and it looked as if nothing had changed.

CHAPTER TWO

JAYDA HAD ENVISAGED this meeting in her head so many times since she’d realised she’d have to approach Brock Olsen to foster her dream.

She’d imagined swanning into a place of her choosing, a low-key cafe, while she appeared confident and bold and totally immune to him. Pity she’d only been able to fake one out of three. The confidence she’d achieved by wearing her favourite dress and a face full of make-up. As for being bold and immune to him, she had a long way to go.

He’d picked the venue, a swanky sky-high bar in a trendy inner-city hotel. Probably to prove a point of how far he’d come from his uni days financially, but he didn’t need to. Money had never impressed her, people did, and she’d never forgotten that Brock had been there for her when she’d needed him most.

Until graduation night, he’d bugged the hell out of her. He’d always looked down his nose at her, as if she was stupid or annoying or both. So she’d reacted in kind, pretending not to notice him, or feigned fun in everything she did, being an exaggerated extrovert when nothing could be further from the truth.

They’d had the occasional run-in back in uni, butting heads over problem solving, but she’d liked that he didn’t defer to her because of her wealth as some did and their differing opinions often made her evaluate her own more carefully.

Shame that hadn’t extended to the douche she’d sacrificed her virginity to.

Brock had expressed his opinion about Deon far too late, on the night she’d broken down. The night he’d shown her exactly how beautiful sex could be with the right guy. The night that had spoiled her for other men.

She’d tried to forget that night several times over the years by hooking up with guys the opposite of Brock. Rich guys who were friends of friends, guys who moved in the same social circles as her parents. Each encounter had been as lacklustre as the last. Not that she’d actually had sex with those guys but they’d fooled around, indulged in some oral, but she’d shut down each and every time it came to taking her clothes off.

She didn’t have issues with sex; she had issues with her body. Though after incredible, memorable sex with Brock, deep down she’d always feared no guy would live up to it. That they wouldn’t appreciate her curves the way he had, that they wouldn’t make her feel adored and beautiful. She blamed Brock for that. He’d set the bar incredibly high.

Which made this meeting awkward before it had begun. It didn’t help that Brock had improved with age. The last six years had brought creases that fanned from the corners of mesmerising eyes so dark they resembled obsidian, and the faintest groove between his brows. His olive skin glowed beneath the bar’s muted lights, the end-of-day stubble lending ruggedness to his classically handsome face.

As for those lips...no, she wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t. Not without squeezing her thighs together or a stupid revealing blush staining her cheeks. And he’d know. Know that she remembered every exquisite detail of that steamy night; the night he’d worshipped her body and soothed her soul.

No man had come close since and she hated him for it. Hated that even now, as he studied her with that enigmatic stare, she couldn’t forget his fingertips tracing the dip at her waist, his mouth trailing from one breast to another, his tongue on her clit... Heat surged to her cheeks. So much for not blushing.

‘Are you okay? Would you like another drink?’

He knew. The smirk playing about his mouth screamed smugness. He’d always been too smart for his own good.

‘I’m fine.’ She sounded snappish and that damn mouth eased into a grin. ‘When can you start?’

‘When do you want me?’

‘As soon as possible.’

It had been so long since her last date she had no idea if Brock was flirting or not. What if she’d misread his smirk? What if he was having a little fun at her expense because she’d been uptight ever since she walked into this place?

‘You’re in luck. I’m in Melbourne for the next two weeks, then I’m moving on to a job in Sydney.’ He slid his mobile out of his jacket pocket and scrolled through the calendar. ‘I can take a look tomorrow afternoon, if that suits?’

‘Perfect.’

Some of the tension holding her spine rigid eased and she relaxed into the chair for the first time since she’d got here. She could do this. Work with him for a week or two, get her business up and running, put the past few years as her parents’ general dogsbody behind her and pay homage to Sasha the way she wanted and should have done years ago.

She hated how naive she’d been, how she’d striven to be the perfect daughter, how she’d constantly sought their approval, how she’d yearned to replace Sasha in their eyes. But nothing she’d done had been good enough. Her older sister might have died eleven years ago leaving her an only child, but in her parents’ eyes she’d always be second best.

‘Is it making you uncomfortable, the fact we’ll be working together?’ Brock rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his intense scrutiny making her want to bolt. ‘Because you approached me and I’m fine with it if you are?’

Jayda didn’t want to discuss anything to do with that night they’d lost their minds together so she skirted around the issue, giving him a snippet to distract.

‘I’m mentally planning all the work we have to do to get this project off the ground and it’s intimidating.’ She flashed him a fake smile. ‘But I’m glad you’re on board because I need all the help I can get.’

He didn’t believe her. She saw the doubt in those all-seeing eyes. ‘Why is this so important to you?’

‘I already told you. I want to help kids—’

‘Cut the altruistic bullshit, Jayda.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I’m the last guy on earth you would’ve approached for help unless you weren’t desperate so I want to know why setting up this charity means so much to you.’

‘Fuck you,’ hovered on her lips. She didn’t owe him any explanations. This would be a business transaction, nothing more. She’d pay him for his expertise; he’d make sure her IT services were top notch. But she knew him. He wouldn’t let this go. He’d been the same on graduation night, pushing her for answers as to why she’d been so upset, not giving up until she’d blurted the sad truth and ended up seeking comfort in his arms.

No way in hell would she allow that to happen this time, so she settled for the truth.

‘My sister died eighteen months before I started university.’

Sympathy darkened his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘Nobody knew. I didn’t want what happened to Sasha to define me so I never mentioned it.’

Mainly because her parents never stopped: they’d talk about Sasha every single day, singing her praises, lamenting her loss, boosting her higher on the pedestal where they permanently revered her. Jayda adored Sasha too but not once had they comforted her or consoled her. Instead, they’d turned to each other, as insular in their grief as they were in everything else. When they’d finally acknowledged they had another child it had been to lay a guilt trip on her, ensuring she shelved her own dreams after uni and followed theirs.

She’d been their yes-girl, agreeing to everything in an attempt to make up for being second best. Not that they ever labelled her as such; they didn’t have to. She saw the disappointment in their eyes every time they looked at her, no matter how much she did to please them.

She’d never live up to their golden child Sasha and it had been one hell of a wake-up call to discover she didn’t have to. Her parents weren’t the good people she’d thought they were and she’d be damned if she tried to impress them any longer. They’d be lucky if she ever spoke to them again considering what she’d recently discovered within their so-called ‘charity’ work.

‘What’s Sasha got to do with your business now?’

Jayda knew once she started down this track she’d have to tell him everything. It didn’t make it any easier.

‘Sasha was amazing. Top student, excellent musician, incredible polo player.’ Her heart twanged as it always did at the memory of her sister. ‘She was one of those people who loved everyone and the feeling was mutual.’

He hesitated, before blurting, ‘You weren’t jealous?’

‘Maybe a little.’ She shrugged, deliberately blocking that useless, insidious emotion she’d conquered a long time ago. No point being jealous of a ghost, no matter how much her folks rubbed her nose in Sasha’s perfection. ‘But I loved her too. She had a good heart and that’s what ultimately killed her.’

Sorrow clogged her throat and she swallowed it, needing to finish this now that she’d started. ‘She took a gap year after finishing high school and volunteered to teach kids English in a small Guatemalan village. It was her way of showing our folks that she wouldn’t bow down to their expectations no matter how much they wanted her to take over the business one day.’

Tears prickled her eyes and she blinked them away. ‘A landslide swept through the village during her third month there. They never recovered her body.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Brock reached out and clasped her icy hand between his.

She didn’t need his sympathy, she’d moved on from her grief a long time ago, but it felt nice to have his solid hands rubbing hers, infusing her with his warmth. However, when his hands stilled, she became all too aware of the warmth spreading higher; up her arm, through her chest, into her belly, a languid heat that morphed from comforting into something else entirely.

Quickly sliding her hand out of his, she scooted back in her chair. ‘Anyway, this charity I’m setting up is my way of honouring Sasha’s memory and continuing the work she would’ve done if she’d had the chance. I want to raise money to fund education for poorer areas in South America so that children everywhere have a chance to make something of themselves.’

Admiration lit his eyes and she hated how good it made her feel. She hadn’t told him to gain respect. She’d told him to distract, to ensure he wouldn’t keep badgering her as to the real reason behind her discomfort around him.

‘So now you know.’

‘It’s a good thing you’re doing,’ he said, his tone low and soothing. ‘I’m proud of you.’

‘I don’t need your praise,’ she snapped, the urge to lean in for a hug too strong, too tempting.

‘Then what do you need?’

He wasn’t talking about his IT skills and she knew it.

Since when did the glowering geek morph into this intuitive charmer? It made her like him all the more. Not good.

‘I need you to focus on us working together.’

She eyeballed him, daring him to disagree. He’d always backed down in the past, not willing to spar, unlike other guys. He’d been closed-off and dour in uni, which had made her want to tease him all the more. But he’d avoided her unless it had involved assignments and she’d accepted that he didn’t like her. Something he’d proved otherwise on that fateful night she’d revealed herself to him in more ways than one.

‘What else do you need?’ He reached across the table and touched her knee, a glance of his fingertips that sent a pleasant shock through her.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Damn, could she sound any feebler?

‘The Jayda I used to know had a permanent smile on her face and a cheeky twinkle in her eyes.’ He gestured at her. ‘You look sad and I think it’s more than your sister’s death and your parents’ shoddy treatment.’

Damn, how did he do that? Home in on her hidden insecurities? Not that she’d tell him the real reason behind her moroseness. She’d shared way too much of herself already today. Besides, part of her reinvention in turning her back on her parents and striking out on her own meant she had to be bold, brash and not beholden to anyone, ever.

She didn’t need to be psychoanalysed by him or anyone else. She needed to take control of this situation, starting now.

Her gaze landed on the pianist, who made a smooth transition from elevator music to an upbeat jazz number. And in that moment she knew how to assert her confidence and show him how much she’d changed from that clingy, needy woman he’d known for one night six years ago.

‘Do you still like jazz?’

He blinked in surprise before nodding. ‘Yeah, I’m a tragic. How did you know?’

Great, now she’d have to reveal the most inconsequential thing she remembered about him and he’d know exactly how tragic she was.

‘You had a few playlists on your phone during uni days.’ She kept her answer deliberately vague, hoping he wouldn’t call her on it. ‘Anyway, there’s a new jazz club recently opened in this hotel. Want to check it out?’

Her invitation floored him, if his wide eyes and slightly parted lips were any indication, but he recovered quickly to stare at her with blatant speculation.

‘You’re full of surprises, Jayda York.’

Good, because as long as she held the upper hand she could keep her doubts at bay and prove how much she’d changed from their last encounter together.

‘Is that a yes, Brock Olsen?’

He nodded, his delectable mouth easing into a smile. ‘That’s a hell yes. Let’s go.’

He stood and held out his hand to her, and, swallowing every reservation she had that she’d done the dumbest thing ever, she placed her hand in his.

CHAPTER THREE

‘THE HIPSTER CAT? Seriously?’ Brock placed a hand in the small of Jayda’s back and guided her into the dimly lit club, knowing this was a dumbass idea but powerless to do anything about it now.

He should’ve said no the moment she’d invited him to accompany her here but he couldn’t leave, not when she looked so morose. He couldn’t believe she’d never told him about her sister. Then again, he’d meant nothing to her and the only reason she’d reached out to him on grad night was because that dickhead Deon had done a number on her. She’d been vulnerable and he’d been convenient. That was why she’d bolted in the middle of the night, embarrassment at revealing too much of herself to a stranger.

He’d been glad. Her flit had relieved him of giving her the polite brush-off the morning after. It had suited them both. But what had happened tonight...he wasn’t wrong about the sadness. It emanated off her like a goddamn aura and he didn’t like it. Her asshole parents had hurt her, she still grieved for her sister, and he hated seeing the vibrant, bubbly woman appear so fragile.

So he’d manned up and done the right thing, agreeing to her invitation to this jazz club. Not that it was a hardship. She had him at jazz. He played the greats on repeat while he worked: he couldn’t get enough. What surprised him was her remembering his passion.

Which begged the question: what else did she remember from back then? Did she remember him going down on her, twice? Did she remember the multiple orgasms? Did she remember taking him so deep into her mouth that he almost passed out?

He was an idiot for dredging up those memories when she currently clung to his hand as they entered a darkness made for sin.

‘Can’t see a thing in here,’ he muttered, sounding like a grouch.

Her soft laughter washed over him. ‘I think the candles are a nice touch.’

He bit back his first response, ‘too bloody romantic.’ Doing this was about getting her to lighten up after he’d dragged her down with his prompts to reveal what was bugging her. He’d spend thirty minutes with her max, then he was out of here.

‘There are two seats over there.’ She pointed to a secluded alcove in the darkest corner of the club. Frigging great.

He quickly scanned the place for other seats and came up lacking. ‘Okay.’

Sensing his reluctance, she squeezed his hand and he slouched along beside her, his foreboding increasing when they reached the alcove and he realised exactly how sheltered they were. If this were a date, he’d love it. But sitting in the semi-darkness in a cosy booth with the woman who he’d never been able to forget wasn’t good.

She released his hand and slid into the booth, then patted the space beside her. When he hesitated she grinned, her teeth startlingly white in the dimness. ‘I promise not to bite.’

Once again he ignored his first response, something along the lines of ‘I wish you would,’ and slid in next to her. ‘Drink?’

‘I’m good for now. Maybe later.’

Great. So much for his grand plan to make an escape for the bar they’d passed on the way in. A four-piece combo strode onto the stage at that moment: double bass, trumpet, keyboard, drums. He hoped they played loud to drown out his thoughts, focussed on how badly he still wanted her after all this time.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jayda touched his thigh and he jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. ‘Jazz not doing it for you any more?’

He scooted back a fraction, dislodging her hand deliberately, before he swivelled to face her. ‘Do you really want to know what does it for me?’

He threw it out there, a blatant innuendo she couldn’t ignore. He had no idea if she’d been toying with him with her question but he couldn’t sit here in the dark with the boner to end all boners and pretend that he hadn’t once been inside this luscious woman and wouldn’t like to do it all over again.

The band’s spotlight dimmed, thrusting her face into semi-darkness, but he saw her tongue dart out to moisten her bottom lip as her gaze focussed on his mouth.

‘Tell me,’ she said, barely above a whisper. ‘I want to know what does it for you.’

Her eyes glowed like polished sapphires in the low lighting, the candlelight highlighting her glossed lips.

That mouth. Carnal. Made for sin. Made for him.

As he studied it her lips parted and the urge to kiss her pounded through him in time with his pulse. He couldn’t bullshit, not now. He wanted her too damn badly.

‘You.’ Before he could second-guess the wisdom of his impulsiveness he grabbed her hand and pressed it against his rigid cock. ‘You do it for me.’

She gasped, her eyes widening, her excitement reflecting his in the flickering candlelight.

‘Too much?’ he asked, with a sardonic grin, but not letting go of her hand. Her touch after all this time made him imagine all the naughty things he’d like to do to her in this alcove.

‘Not nearly enough,’ she murmured, a second before she surged towards him and claimed his mouth.

Her kiss took him by surprise and she took advantage of that, sweeping her tongue into his mouth, demanding he match her. He didn’t have to be asked twice, sliding his free hand behind her head so he could change the angle, deepening the kiss to the point where he couldn’t breathe.

She made the same soft moaning sounds in the back of her throat that she had six years earlier and it made him hornier, if that were possible. He released her hand but she maintained the pressure over his cock, palming him through his chinos, teasing him to the point he could easily ravish her without thought of fellow patrons.

A blast of trumpet made them jump and he tore his mouth away from hers, dragging in breaths to calm his addled mind. What the hell was he doing? He had to work with her for the next couple of weeks and this would only complicate matters.

But did it have to? They’d had sensational sex for one unforgettable night and that hadn’t stopped her approaching him to help her business. Would taking an erotic trip down memory lane really complicate things? She’d invited him here. She’d kissed him. And by the way she practically clambered all over him, she wanted more.

‘Brock?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah?’

A flush stained her cheeks and moved down her neck, disappearing into that ridiculously high collar of her dress, shielding what he longed to see: the fullness of her breasts spilling over the top of her bra, the deep cleavage created by her sizeable breasts.

As if she sensed the direction of his licentious thoughts, her hand hovered over her breastbone, drawing attention to her rigid nipples. Fuck, he wanted her.

‘I’m guessing you have some great jazz playlists at your place?’ Her voice turned husky, possibly from nerves or desire, as she squared her shoulders, bold and daring and delectable. ‘As good as anything these guys can produce?’

Yeah, she wanted this as badly as he did. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was using him as an emotional crutch again, a guy to help her lose herself in a few hours of sex to obliterate whatever was really bothering her.

Why do you care?

The kicker was, he did care. Even after all this time, because of how he’d felt about her all through uni, he cared. She didn’t know it, but he’d never take advantage of her.

No matter how brazen her actions, no matter how seductive her words, he had to wonder: did she want this for the right reasons? Did she really want a night of raunchy sex then to face him tomorrow without a qualm when they had to work together?

The fact he couldn’t get a proper read on her annoyed the shit out of him. Back then she’d been vulnerable and she’d needed him and he’d been there for her.

Tonight, her newfound confidence confused him. He’d made the first move, she’d responded with that kiss, and despite her daring he couldn’t help but think it had more to do with obliterating the earlier sadness he’d glimpsed than any burning desire to fuck him.

When he didn’t respond she leaned across and slanted a slow, all too brief kiss across his lips. Then she took his face between her hands, stared him dead in the eyes, and said, ‘I want you. I’ve never forgotten that incredible night and I want a repeat.’

She said all the right things, and with his cock aching to be inside her he needed to ditch the chivalry and take what she was offering.

She added, ‘Please,’ and Brock was a goner.

Because behind the boldness in her gaze as she eyeballed him with daring, behind the confident posture as she tilted her chin up in defiance, he heard something.

The slightest tremor in her voice, a hint of vulnerability that got to him, as if she expected him to turn away from her despite their sizzling attraction.

It kicked him in the fucking heart.

He couldn’t say no.

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