CRUEL DESIRE (Cruel #5)

1. English

1

English

It had only taken forty-eight hours for my entire life to go to s**t.

A trip across the pond, my cheating bastard of a husband, and a near-arrest by my current pain-in-the-ass client. I hadn’t slept. I’d barely eaten. The only thing in my bloodstream other than coffee as black as my heart was bitter, righteous rage.

And I needed somewhere to direct it.

I probably should have gotten something to eat and slept off my jet lag. Instead, I jammed my finger into the button for the elevator that would take me up to Court Kensington’s penthouse. Because he had royally f****d up, and I wanted to give him a piece of my mind.

The door slid open soundlessly. I slipped inside and impatiently tapped my foot as it whisked me upstairs, opening directly into his apartment. I’d been impressed the first time I walked into his place. All clean, modern lines; open, airy floor plan; and Central Park views. I was used to Hollywood, and this was so New York. But I was over it now.

Everything about it just reminded me that Court Kensington had grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth. He might be the hottest, most eligible bachelor on the Upper East Side, but to me, he was just another client for me to clean up his messes.

“Court!” I snapped as my heels clicked onto the polished hardwood floor.

No response came from the confines of his apartment.

I should have known. The man drank like a fish and partied like a rock star. There was no way he would be awake at this early of an hour.

It wasn’t stopping me. Not today.

“Court!” I called again.

I strode across the living room and down a hallway that led to his bedroom. The door stood already partially open. I toed it the rest of the way and breezed inside, flicking the lights on.

And what I saw stopped me in my tracks.

Court Kensington’s naked body laid out facedown like Adonis on his pure white sheets. His bare ass visible for the world to see.

I swallowed.

I’d seen some gorgeous bodies before. I worked as a celebrity publicist, for Christ’s sake. It was part of the job description. We dealt with asshole rock stars, entitled actors, and everything in between. I’d paid off prostitutes and thrown away condoms so they couldn’t be used as evidence and seen more d**k and p***y that I wasn’t f*****g than I needed to see in a lifetime. And still, Court made me come to a screeching halt.

Fuck, he was hot.

I hated that he was hot.

That he was the kind of grade A asshole I’d been all over before I met Josh. Before Josh …

I ground my teeth. Just the thought of what he’d done to me brought me straight back to reality. Nothing like finding out your movie-star husband was f*****g his costar to ruin your morning.

“Court, get your ass out of bed.”

He tilted his head to the side, squinting up at me through a vision of long lashes. “English?” he groaned.

“That’d be me,” I said. “We need to talk.”

He blinked a few times and then propped himself up on his elbow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

“In the morning?” he asked blearily.

“Yes. Now put on some f*****g clothes. I’ve had a really long night, and I would like to get this over with.”

“Can we do this some other time?” he asked as he pulled the pillow back over his head.

“Does it look like I’m f*****g around?”

He peered back up at me. I didn’t know what he saw, what degree of not-taking-your-s**t was on my face, but he nodded. “Fine.”

I hustled back out of his bedroom, trying to clear the vision of that muscular ass from my mind. I knew he’d take his sweet time. So, I brewed a pot of coffee. Because what I really needed was more caffeine in my system.

He came out fifteen minutes later in a pair of black joggers. He pulled a white T-shirt on over his head as he walked into the living room. His six-pack still visible for the few seconds before the material fell over his stomach.

He tousled his dark hair and quirked a smile at me. “That for me?”

“Here,” I said, handing him a mug of coffee.

“So, what’s this all about?” he asked around a yawn.

I set my empty mug on the counter. “What in the actual f**k were you thinking last night?”

“What do you mean?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You went to an underground gambling ring. The party was raided by the police. You barely made it out in time.”

“Oh … yeah. I mean, I hadn’t expected the party to get raided,” he said with a shrug.

“You went to an underground gambling ring!” I cried. “Need I remind you that you were recently arrested with your girlfriend for fraud and grand larceny? That the only reason I was hired was to keep you out of trouble, to show the world a softer side of Court Kensington? So that you don’t ruin your mother’s reelection campaign for mayor of New York?”

“First of all, there were no charges against me. And second, Jane isn’t my girlfriend.”

“She was at the time, and literally no one else cares that you weren’t charged. They see you as the train wreck who doesn’t care about crime. While your mother is tough on crime. If you’d been arrested last night, can you even imagine the consequences?”

Court shrugged. “It would have been fine. You’re blowing the whole thing out of proportion.”

“Am I?” I asked. “I would have lost my job. Lark likely would have lost her job. Your mother would lose the primary run. And you, you’d be right back where you started before you had me. We’d lose all ground.”

“Fine. Whatever. I messed up.” He set the mug down on the coffee table. His blue eyes had shuttered, gone cold. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No. You didn’t just f**k up. You royally f****d up. You took the one weekend I was out of town and f*****g did this on purpose, Court!”

“I didn’t know…”

“But you didn’t leave either!” I snapped back. “You saw it was illegal and played poker all night. Lark had to drag you out of there, and you didn’t even want to leave.”

“Okay. I get it. f**k, English. I f****d up. Get off my case.”

“Oh, excuse me for being the first person in your life to hold you accountable for your actions,” I ground out.

I knew I was being harsh on him. But he didn’t even f*****g care about what it would have done. The problems he could have caused. He was so nonchalant. And I just couldn’t accept his response. It wasn’t enough. There was no change coming from acknowledging he had done something wrong. It didn’t fix his behavior.

Court stepped forward. His teeth ground together. “What the f**k has gotten into you?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need you to lay into me at eight o’clock in the morning for something that didn’t even happen.” His eyes assessed me as if he could see right through the jet lag and coffee buzz and anger to what was lurking below. “What are you even doing in New York? Aren’t you supposed to be in London with Josh?”

“I came back early.”

“Why?” he demanded. “You were raving about your trip.”

He glanced up and down, judging what was in front of him. Seeing me like I didn’t like anyone to see me.

“Doesn’t f*****g matter,” I said, losing some of my edge.

“Why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?”

“That is none of your business.”

A spark of pity flashed through his cerulean-blue irises. “English…”

“Don’t,” I ground out. “We’re here to talk about you. And the f*****g s**t that you pulled while I was gone.”

Anger flared in him. He took another step closer. So close that we nearly shared breath.

“This has nothing to do with me,” he growled. “You’re putting your own f*****g personal problems on me. I don’t have to deal with this s**t, English.”

My own anger was ignited by his. “I’m not doing anything of the sort. I’m here to whip your ass into shape. I’m not here to coddle you like everyone else in your life. If you don’t like it, take it up with your mother. She’s the one who hired me to fix your bullshit before you lose her the election.”

“I’m not an i***t,” Court snarled. “You can put me down and treat me like an ass if you want. But I see what the f**k you’re doing, English.”

“Good. Then you’ll stop acting like someone who needs his hand held every time he walks out into public?”

“Berate me all you want. This is about you and Josh. Not me.”

“Go f**k yourself.”

His eyes widened a fraction at the words that left my mouth. The fury that had nothing to do with him. But that I was using against him.

I’d thought that I had it all under control. I’d had such a picture-perfect life. I was married to the Josh Hutch. He was the biggest up-and-coming movie star on the scene. He’d been handpicked to remake the Bourne trilogy. I was the top celebrity publicist at my agency in LA. Everyone wanted to work with me. We went to premieres and sipped champagne and lived the life.

Except that hadn’t been right, had it?

I’d wanted more. That was why I was here. To use this as my next step to achieve my dreams: to open my own agency, a place to work with fewer clients, ones who actually cared and didn’t just need someone to secure cocaine and make sure their s*x tapes didn’t end up on the internet. Or did, depending on the person. So, when I’d gotten offered to work for the Kensingtons, step into New York high society, work for a political candidate, I’d thought it was my chance.

And now, all of those pieces were crumbling into ash.

I was left staring into Court Kensington’s impossible baby blues. Wondering where it had all gone wrong. And how I could f*****g fix my life like I fixed everyone else’s.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Court asked after a tense, silent minute.

He’d moved a step closer. Our breaths mingled. I could feel the heat rising from his skin. The fury that pulled us together like magnets. A sense that we were both so beyond f****d up that, impossibly, we were attracted to each other. We hated each other so supremely that, somehow, at any second, it could tip the other direction.

His eyes darted to my lips. I drew a line across the bottom one with my tongue. A reflex. Or was it?

My breaths came out irrationally loud. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Time slowed until seconds felt like hours. And we just stared, edged, hedged, waited, wondered, wanted.

And then the moment the scales tipped and he moved forward—as if he was actually going to do it, actually going to cross that divide—I jolted out of that awareness. I shoved him back away from me.

“f**k, Court,” I cried.

His eyes rounded as if he couldn’t believe for a second that the playboy prince had misread the signs. Then he returned to careful neutrality. Born out of boredom and masks and societal pressure.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m f*****g done. I’m going back to LA.”

“What?” His eyebrows rose.

“Don’t get too excited. Just for a few days to handle some business. I don’t want you to f*****g leave this apartment until I get back. Are we clear?”

“I am not on lockdown again.”

“Yes, you are. Because I can’t trust you not to do something that will land you in the papers.”

He glared at me. Any warmth we’d been mustering evaporated. “Whatever.”

“Be a good boy,” I said, patting his cheek twice.

He looked like he might bite me for the insult, but I was already storming toward the elevator to leave this hellhole. He muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t catch it. I assumed he’d called me a b***h.

But as soon as the elevator doors closed, I leaned back heavily. God, maybe I should get some sleep. What the f**k had I been thinking?

I had only one rule: don’t get involved with clients.

I’d never broken it.

And I had just almost kissed Court Kensington.