Page 11 of Wreck Me

My integrity?

My morals?

Indignation flares in my chest.

Just because I dance, it doesn’t mean I’ll sell my body. Or my soul.

I don’t have a lot. I don’t have money, or family anymore, or a billion-euro empire, but I do have my pride. I know my worth. I paid for every damn ounce of it in blood, sweat and tears.

‘You too are safe, Mr Beckett.’ I mimic his tone, ‘It would appear that the reputation of others in my profession precedesme.But rest assured, I neither require any extra tuition, or offer anyextraactivities– of any description.’

‘Is that right?’ James straightens his spine and inclines forwards. The rich scent of his citrus cologne, tinged with a potent manliness, envelops me. ‘So if I offered you a million euro tonight for,’ he muses, ‘“extra activities,” sex say, for example,’ torrid flames ignite his irises, ‘you’d turn me down?’

I down the remainder of my champagne and run my tongue over my lower lip before answering. ‘When I have sex, it will be entirely because I want to, not for money. It mightbe hard for a man like you to understand, Mr Beckett, but there are some things money can’t buy.’

He’s so close we’re sharing the same breath.

‘Like what?’ he whispers.

I brush my lips over his right ear and whisper two words that I never dreamed I’d voice out loud. ‘My virginity.’

I stand, place the glass on the table and shoot James my widest smile.

That square jaw almost hits the floor as his pupils devour his irises.

I march back towards the dressing room to change into another decadent ensemble before I’m called back to the podium.

Chapter Seven

JAMES

The Beckett headquarters is based in a five-storey Georgian building a stone’s throw from Grafton Street. Its grand façade boasts symmetrical proportions, intricate stonework, and tall windows overlooking the city. Over the grand entrance, framed by towering Corinthian columns, the Beckett family crest is on proud display.

Two immaculately dressed receptionists bid me good morning as I step into the palatial foyer. Pushing the button for the lift, I stare at the enormous portrait of my grandfather, Benjamin Beckett. Stern, dark eyes glare back at me.

‘Don’t give me that look,’ I mutter. ‘As if you never went drinking on a school night.’

An image of Scarlett’s silky skin rises to the forefront of my mind for the hundredth time this morning and I’ve been awake less than an hour.

‘My virginity.’

Those two fucking words have haunted me all night, her flawless olive flesh forever imprinted in my subconscious. Every time I close my eyes, it’s all I can see.

No woman has ever walked away from me, not like she did last night. She might not have experience, but she has buckets of sass. She didn’t even so much as glance my way as she strode off. It didn’t stop me leaving a five grand tip for her time.

How has a woman with looks like hers hung on to her hymen?

It’s implausible.

An image of her laid out naked across my four-poster bed has burned its way into my brain and I can’t for the fucking life of me erase it.

The lift doors slide open with a soft ping that brings me back to the present as I’m about to lose the run of myself completely.

My office is on the top floor, along with the main boardroom and several large, opulent meeting rooms. Each of my brothers’ businesses occupy a different level. Rian has the ground floor, which he perpetually curses, but as the youngest, and last in the door, he has no choice but to suck it up.

I’m the first of the Becketts in this morning. Work hard, play hard has always been my motto. I played hard last night, but today, I need to get some sort of proposal drawn up for the Board.

Now I have my brothers’ backing, I’m determined to execute this takeover.

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