Dirty Aristocrat: British Billionaire Bad Boy Romance by Georgia Le Carre

Author:Georgia Le Carre [Le Carre, Georgia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Georgia Le Carre
Published: 2016-02-01T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Tawny Maxwell

I washed my hair, dried it, and painstakingly put corkscrew curls in it. Then I painted my nails ice cream yellow, colored my eyes smoky and moody, glossed my lips, and got into the new black dress I bought at Liberty.

Mama always said, it is better to be late than arrive ugly, but I was standing in front of my mirror by eight-thirty sharp, and nobody could have guessed I once ran barefoot and tangle-haired to the creek to swim naked.

Ivan knocked on my door and I saw my eyes light up like a Christmas tree in the mirror. Girl, that’s a bad sign right there. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the door and opened it.

Oh my!

Darkly urbane, radiating a wild, feverish excitement, he stood, dressed all in black except for a fabulously cut cream jacket. His blazing eyes lusted for me. It made my knees go weak but I smiled all sultry and sexy-like, and didn’t let on that I thought he was prettier than a glob of butter melting on a stack of pancakes.

‘Can I keep you?’ he teased.

‘Only if you keep me in a jar and give me lots of treats!’ I replied.

He laughed. ‘Don’t worry there’ll be all kinds of lovely things in there for a good little girl like you to suck and swallow.’

‘‘You’d charm the dew right off the honeysuckle,’ I said sarcastically.

‘I settle for charming the dew right off you,’ he leered.

‘I’ll be darned. You managed to turn that old saying into something dirty.’

‘It’s a talent,’ he said with a filthy snigger.

I batted my eyelashes the way that was more parody than sexy. ‘Do you think they’ll let me into The Dirty Aristocrat like this?’

‘The Dirty Aristocrat is a sex club,’ he said, his lips twisting upwards so sexily, and darn it to hell, but I wanted to lick that dirty smile right off his face. Men like him should be kept locked up in special places to be used purely for copulation purposes.

‘I know what it is,’ I said coolly. ‘I asked if they will let me in dressed like this.’

His jaw twitched. ‘Baby, there isn’t a bouncer born who’s going to turn you away from anywhere.’

‘Good,’ I said calmly and walking to my bed, collected my coat from it. ‘Because we’re going there later.’

His eyes glittered. ‘We are?’

‘Aren’t we?’ I asked innocently.

‘They don’t play country music there,’ he said, helping me into my coat.

I tilted my head to one side as if I was processing the information. ‘They don’t?’

I turned around and he shook his head gravely.

I put on my best I’m-so-country-sticks-fall-out-every-time-I-open–my-mouth expression. ‘You mean to say nobody in England ever thought to have sex to Dolly Parton’s songs?’

He kept his face straight. ‘Afraid not.’

‘It seems to me the English are missing out.’

‘It would seem so,’ said the slick weasel, hiding a smile. ‘Nevermind, you wouldn’t have liked it, anyway.’

I looked up at him through my eyelashes. ‘Why honey, you’re so full of shit it’s surprising your eyes ain’t brown.

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