Probably I should start at the beginning. Oliver Rhodes was bad news from the ends of his dark-grey hair to the toes of his Italian leather wingtips. NO! I shook my head to clear my wayward thoughts. How they could make a woman come so hard she forgot her own name. The trouble was, I knew what they were capable of. An arrogant, rude, condescending asshole, who wore made-to-measure suits and a Patek Philippe watch that cost more than my parents’ first home, and whose smooth hands I hadn’t just spent the past hour glancing at as he twirled a Montblanc fountain pen around his fingers.ĭammit, Stef! Don’t think about the hands.
I still clenched my thighs together every time I thought about it.Įxcept now I clenched my fists.
Oliver Rhodes, the man who took the worst night of my life and turned it into the best. I reached the bus stop and sank onto one of the cold metal seats with a low groan. I’d never felt so ashamed in my life, and considering I used to sleep with men for money, that was an achievement. And now, to cap it all, I’d been utterly humiliated by Oliver Rhodes. Normal activities on a normal day at the beginning of September.įor me, life would never be normal again. Businessmen walked past on their way home, couples strolled towards nearby restaurants in search of dinner, and joggers dodged puddles in their quest for fitness. That was how I felt as I slammed the door of Rhodes, Holden and Maxwell and stepped out onto the busy street.
