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From USA Today best seller Ava Harrison comes a sexy, new enemies to lovers stand-alone romance.
I had it all. Dream job, fancy apartment, great family. But there was one thing I didn’t have. Would never have. Then he showed up.
Rich. Arrogant. Condescending.
He came to me with an ultimatum, and I had no choice but to agree.
I needed to convince the world that I was Nathaniel Harrington’s girlfriend, so his legacy would stay intact.
Spending time with him would be difficult. And fooling the world would be even harder. But persuading my heart into thinking that his kisses meant nothing and that his gentle touches were all in my head would be impossible.
I was falling for him. But fate had other plans. Our time was limited. Because I knew the truth – a truth that would end us.
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a thing intended; an aim or plan.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,
every single one
had to happen to make sure I was
to meet you,
then I forgive myself
for them all.
—K. Towne Jr.
Bloody hell, that’s smooth.
Nothing beats the first shot of the night.
The way it pours down your throat, searing a path in its wake. It’s a symbol of the possibilities, and right now, those possibilities are endless.
Here I am, at the most posh club in Saint-Tropez with my best mate, Oliver. Drinks are flowing. Women are plentiful. Life doesn’t get much better than this. Well, I guess if I were getting a blow job right now it would be better.
My lip turns up into a wicked smirk as I take in the blonde beside me. She’s just my type—long, lean, and straight off the cover of a magazine. And that’s not just a figure of speech. She’s literally straight off the cover of Sports Illustrated. I’m pretty sure she’s last month’s cover girl for Maxim as well. She’s stunning, but one thing is for sure. Her looks are the only thing she has to offer me.
I tried to have a chat with her, but alas, that’s not going to happen, so I’ll settle for a good shag.
She moves to stand on the leather banquet at the VIP table Olly and I are occupying, and now I have a perfect view of her tight arse. As if that isn’t enough for a visual, she starts to seductively dance with another leggy blonde. Grinding and putting on quite the show, actually. The thumping bass is a nice backdrop to the way they sway against each other.
Smoke swirls through the distance, stretching across the space around us, making the room look gray and hazy. Between that and the low lights, I can barely see in front of me, let alone the dance floor only a few steps away. It makes no difference though. Despite the dancing bodies, they don’t interfere with us. We’re secluded in our private nook behind a translucent veil so the masses can’t see us.
I glance over at Olly, who’s also enjoying the show. Lifting the bottle of Grey Goose off the table, I decide to bypass the glass altogether and take a swig. When I motion to the girls, Oliver lifts a brow with a smirk.
With a lift of my arm, my body begins to move as the music thumps. That combined with the booze coursing in my blood has me shutting my eyes and pushing down all thoughts but the here and now. The feeling is sublime. Nothing matters but the bass, the vodka, and the company. As if reading my mind, hands touch me, and I open my eyes again to find the blonde pressed against me. I pull her closer and begin to sway my body with hers. My hands touch and trail, the warmth of her body is electrifying, fueling a need to leave and have my way with her.
But first, a drink.
It’s not often Olly is free, so as much as I want to sink into her, it can wait. I grab the bottle, swallow, then give it to her. Once she takes a swig, the bottle is passed to Olly and the blonde beside him. Before long, the bottle is polished off, and I know it’s time to go.
A grin from across the table tells me I’m not the only one ready.
“Who wants to get out of here?” Olly asks. The girls jump up at his words. Olly’s hand touches my arm. “I’m out the back exit. Meet you at the hotel?”
I nod. This is Oliver’s typical MO. He can’t be seen, so when we party, we arrive separately and leave separately. I don’t care what the paparazzi say about me, but Oliver has to be more careful. His name is more than a name . . . it’s a title. An earl, to be exact. He’s even in line for the throne.
Within a moment, Oliver is walking away from us, slipping out the back door of the VIP member’s only club, and I walk toward the front door arm in arm with two of the hottest and most desired models in America.
The door swings open, and the brisk autumn air smacks me in the face.
Cameras fire off in rapid succession as we emerge from the club and out onto the street.
Just as I suspected.
“Let’s go, ladies,” I say, pulling them closer to me. My arm wraps around both their waists, eliciting giggles from the girls and cheers from the crowd.
“Where you off to, Harrington?” one yells. The flash of cameras has my lids blinking rapidly and my vision stolen from me momentarily. Another screams our way, all while still snapping pics. Blind to the world around me, I shift my shoulders back and walk without a care in the world. As if I own it. My superiority is my armor right now.