Page 64 of Pervade London
“You’re going to get a speeding ticket.”
He shook his head, amused.
“Where’s Xander?” I snapped. “Get him on the phone.”
“How did your audition go?”
“Something tells me you already know.”
“I want to hear it from you. I’d have thought you’d be in a better mood.”
“A detour to New Scotland Yard sabotaged my celebrations. That and losing my boyfriend.”
“Congratulations on making it to the final round. I imagine you played beautifully.”
“What do you want? You want me to thank you for persuading Mr. Woo to give me another chance?”
His smile widened. “You’re welcome.”
My thighs squeezed together, remembering what he’d done to prepare this flighty violinist—his tongue going rogue on my clit and flicking me into a heady climax.
I could see why Xander was drawn to him. James was captivating and multifaceted. He had probably cultivated his superior attitude at one of those universities like Oxford or Cambridge.
I’d seen the way Xander looked at him with respect mixed with trepidation. He’d known all along his time with me was limited. Seeing James at The Savoy had proven it. That night my life had taken a nosedive into chaos. They could wipe cameras but not my mind.
“What do you do for a living?” I said. “I mean really?”
“Want to see?”
My throat tightened as a series of images cycled through my mind, imagining what he might show me. A floating corpse in the Thames? A news report of an innocent public figure having committed a crime? Some strung-out woman who had once lived a happy suburban life now exposed to her worst nightmare because she’d crossed James Ballad? The possibilities were endless.
My hands curled into fists. “Are you going to wipe me off the map, too?”
“Annoyingly, you’re everywhere, Em. You’d take an extra day to wipe out.”
“Do you get off on this?”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face as he glanced in the rearview mirror. He was playing with me.
“I’m up for anything,” I said cheerfully.
“Love your spirit.”
“Take me home. Fuck me. Then fall asleep and see what happens.”
“I’m aroused quite frankly.”
The way he held the steering wheel irritated me—his strong hands showing masterful control. He glanced over and gave a sexy smirk to reveal he was enjoying every second of torturing me.
“Why have we stopped?”
He unclipped his seatbelt. “We’re here.”
James had parked the car next to a tall building. A few policemen mingled nearby.
The sign for Downing Street was up ahead. We were close to the headquarters of the British Government and the Prime Minister’s home. Security matched the location. Either he was as reckless as hell or had total confidence I’d not make a scene.
James climbed out and rounded the front of the car—probably to do the gentlemanly act and help me out the Jag.
