Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (30 page)

“Where’s Natalie?”

“In bed, I reckon,” he replied. “Guess you could say I wore her out.” God, he loved yanking that smug arsehole’s chain. “I’ll tell her you came by. In the morning,” he added pointedly.

But there was no reply. Gordon was gone.

A few minutes later the buzzer went again. “Bloody hell,” Dominic snarled as he stalked back to the intercom, “what now, Gordon?”

There was a pause. “Dominic? What are
you
doing there?” Gemma demanded.

“What’s it to you?”

“I came to check on Nat,” she retorted, “not that’s it’s any of your concern. I wanted to see if she’d heard about your latest disaster…
Rupert
. Let me up.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he pressed the button. He threw the towel aside and changed back into his jeans. A few minutes later, as he tugged his shirt on, Gemma knocked and he went to get the door.

“Why are you staying at Nat’s, then?” she demanded as she came inside.

“Bit of paparazzi trouble.”

“Fancy that,” Gemma said, her words rife with sarcasm. “Everyone knows you’re Lord Locksley’s son and heir, and you lied to your fans about it. The only person in Britain less popular than you right now is Klaus von Richter.”

Dominic looked at her blankly. “Why? What’s he done?”

“Don’t you ever read the papers? Someone videotaped him verbally abusing a Sikh store clerk and posted it online, and now he’s lost his job. Where’s Nat?”

“She went to bed already. She’s got a lot on tomorrow; it’s the last week before the re-launch. And it’s nearly midnight,” he pointed out.

Gemma glanced at her wristwatch. “Oh, so it is. Listen, Dominic,” she added as she preceded him to the sofa, “Nat’s been through a lot. She doesn’t need any more trouble.” She tilted her head back and studied him through narrowed eyes. “Where are you sleeping, then? On the sofa?”

“Yeah, but only for tonight. I dunno what I’ll do tomorrow,” he said glumly. “I can’t go back to the hotel.”

Gemma perched on the arm of the sofa and crossed one designer denim-clad leg over the other. “The tabs say you’re from a posh family. Are you? Why’d you lie about it?”

“Because I promised my father I wouldn’t use the family name. He doesn’t exactly approve of my career.”

“But you make masses of money, and you’re famous. You even met the Queen last year, at one of those benefit balls. How can your father possibly object to that?”

“Because in my family, the heir isn’t meant to wear eyeliner and sing in a punk band,” he said, and scowled. “I’m expected to marry and pursue finance, or law, or adjudicate for the high court – not sing ‘Up the Monarchy’s Arse’ at Glasto.” He sighed. “The truth is, it’s exhausting, always acting laddish and surly. I get tired of it.”

“Why’d you go and bollocks things up with Keeley, then?”

“Lots of reasons,” Dominic said, and sat on the sofa. “Number one being, she’s a right bitch. We only got back together for the publicity. And demanding…she expected me to tidy up, and cook.”

“The nerve,” Gemma said witheringly. “Well, I don’t expect you’d want to stay at mine, then.”

He eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and hope. “What do you mean, stay at yours?”

“I mean,” she said, as if she were addressing a child – which, let’s face it, she almost was – “I’ll let you have the spare room…
if
you tidy up during the day when I’m gone. And
if
you cook the occasional meal when I’m home. You
can
cook, can’t you?”

Dominic shrugged. “Macaroni cheese, pot noodles, and omelettes. That’s what me and the boys lived on when we started out.”

“Impressive,” she said dryly. “We can share the lav, and you’ll share a room with Nikki.”

He perked up. “Who’s Nikki? One of your mates?” He pictured a blonde with pillowy lips and pert breasts.

“My French bulldog.”

“Oh, hell, no,” Dominic said, disgusted. “I’m not sharing my bed with a dog!”

Gemma sat down next to him. She reached out to trace her fingernail deliberately down along his chest. “Where you sleep,” she murmured, “depends entirely on you.”

Dominic stared at her. The words were barely out of her mouth when he pulled her down on his lap and ground his mouth against hers. With a moan, Gemma wound her arms around his neck. “Umm,” she breathed, “you taste like mint. And whiskey.”

“I just brushed my teeth,” he muttered against her lips.

“Shh,” she breathed as his mouth moved down her neck to her collarbone. “Don’t want to…wake Nat.”

“No,” he agreed as he returned his mouth to hers. It was his turn to groan as she parted her lips and touched her tongue to his. He reached down for the waistband of her jeans.

She slapped his hand away and sat up, outraged. “Hold up – what kind of girl do you think I am? We just met! I’m not one of your cheap backstage slappers.”

“No,” he said again, and fell back against the sofa, his hopes for a quickie dashed. “‘Course you’re not.” He sighed and picked up the remote, and flicked the TV back on.

“What are you doing?” Gemma demanded.

He shrugged. “Watching TV.”

She grabbed the remote and flicked it back off. “Oh, no, you’re not.” She laced her arms around his neck.

“But you just said—”

“I’m just establishing the boundaries,” she informed him. “So you don’t overstep yours. Now – where were we?”

Dominic grinned and kissed the side of her mouth. “Right here, I think.” His tongue traced the seam of her lips as his hand fanned out over her breast. “Or was it here?”

“Blimey,” he breathed as he tore his mouth from hers a few minutes later, “I never spent this much time kissing. Most girls just drop their knickers for me and boom! Sex on a plate, with all the options.”

“Is that right?” Her eyes narrowed. “Well, I’m not ‘most girls’.”

“No, you’re not, and I’m glad you’re not,” he murmured as he nibbled on her luscious bottom lip. He hated to admit it, but the novelty of being with a girl who wouldn’t let him bend her over and shag her senseless straight away was…well, it was refreshing. Romantic, even.

He worked his way slowly down her neck and throat, kissing and licking and tasting her skin until she moaned and wriggled against him.

“Shit, Gemma,” he groaned, “you’re driving me crazy, you are.” He reached up and began to unbutton her shirt. “Come on, let’s get naked.”

Again, she slapped his hand away. “Boundaries,” she warned, slightly out of breath, and pushed herself to her feet. “It’s late. I should go.”

“You can’t leave, not yet.”

“I’m not having sex with you on Natalie Dashwood’s
sofa
,” she said, piqued. “I told you, I’m—”

“—not that kind of girl,” he finished, and scowled. “All right then, go. Can I see you again?” He looked around until he found a pen and a takeaway menu, scribbled a number on it, and held it out. “That’s my private mobile number. No one has it but my agent, my ex-wife, and Natalie.”

“I thought you and Nat broke up,” Gemma said, her green eyes darkening with suspicion.

“We did. I dumped her. Stupidest thing I ever did,” he added morosely.

“So you still have feelings for her.”

“No! Yes! I mean, I still care about Nat – we practically grew up together, after all. We’ve been mates a long time.”

“Then you’re friends? That’s all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.” His expression darkened. “Nat’s seeing that Gordon arsehole now, anyway.” He snorted. “God knows why.”

Gemma retrieved her handbag and rummaged through it until she found a tube of Violet Vixen lip tint and slicked it on. “Sounds to me like you’re still hung up on her.” She dropped the tube back in her bag and strode down the hall to the door.

“I’m not!” Dominic protested as he hurried after her. He reached out to turn her around. “I’m hung up on
you
.” He pulled her, resisting slightly, into his arms. “I like you, Gemma. You’re different. And you taste really good.” He began trailing kisses along her jawline to the corner of her mouth.

She felt her resolve – to run from Dominic Heath and his complicated life just as fast and far as her stiletto-heeled booties would take her – waver. “Well—” he was nibbling once again at her lower lip “—I suppose… I suppose we could give it a try.”

He covered Gemma’s mouth with his and kissed her senseless, using every tool in his considerable pop-star arsenal, until she finally wrenched herself away, murmured a breathless goodbye, and flung herself, smiling, out the door.

Chapter 39

When Natalie woke on Friday, Dominic was gone. His blanket and sheet were folded on the back of the sofa; the waste bin was back in its place in the kitchen. Everything was tidy, but the sofa cushions were askew.

And a tube of Violet Vixen lip tint lay on the hallway floor.

Natalie bent down to retrieve it, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. It was a cheap drugstore brand, not the MAC that she favoured; besides, she hadn’t worn lip tint since she was fifteen.
What on earth had Dominic got up to last night
? she wondered. And to think that he’d got up to it – whatever ‘it’ was – right in her own flat. Probably better that she didn’t know…

With no time to dwell on Dominic’s debaucheries, Natalie tossed the tube in the bin and got dressed. She’d be run off her feet today, might as well wear trousers and flats. With only a few days left before the re-launch, it was her last chance to make sure everything was ready.

She grabbed her mobile and handbag. Everything hinged on the re-launch – the store’s future, her reputation as an events planner, and most importantly of all – Rhys Gordon’s approval.

No pressure there…

“Good morning, Nat,” Gemma chirped as Natalie passed by her desk. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it?”

Natalie stopped and stared at Gemma. “You’re smiling,” she accused, “and it’s early, and you don’t have your coffee yet. Who are you, and what have you done with Gemma?”

She lifted her brow. “It’s a lovely day, that’s all.” A vase filled with freesias and irises sat on her desk.

“They’re gorgeous!” Nat exclaimed, leaning forward to breathe in the scent. “Who’re they from?” she exclaimed, and smiled impishly. “Did you meet a new man?”

Gemma looked uncomfortable. “Well, about that…”

“Here’s the card. May I?” Natalie asked, and grabbed it.

“Nat, wait—”

“‘Gemma,’” Natalie read out loud, “‘you rocked my world last night!!!’” She raised a brow. “Ooh, three exclamations, it must’ve been really good.”

Gemma reached out to grab the card, her expression panicked. “Nat,” she hissed, “give that back, right now—”

But Natalie held the card out of reach and read the rest out loud. “‘Hope I rocked your world too. See you tonight at yours. Your omelette will be ready. And so will I.’” Natalie waggled her brows and laughed.

“Natalie, honestly—”

“‘All my best,’” Natalie said, dodging Gemma’s attempts to grab the card, “‘and I do mean all…’” her words trailed off. She lowered the card and looked incredulously at Gemma. “‘Dominic?’” she squeaked.

“I can explain,” Gemma said quickly. “It just sort of…happened. I stopped by last night to check that you were all right, and Dominic was there, and one thing led to another.”

“So…it was
your
Violet Vixen lip tint I found on the hallway floor?” Natalie said, incredulous.

Gemma blushed. “Oh, hell… I wondered what happened to it.”

“So you and Dominic hooked up on my sofa last night—?”

“We didn’t hook up,” Gemma hastened to correct her, “not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

Gemma bristled. “I mean, I’m
not
that kind of girl. I made sure Dominic knew that, too.” She flushed. “We…snogged a bit. That’s all.”

“Oh, crikey,” Natalie said faintly as she turned away, “I can’t take this in.”

“Nat,” Gemma assured her, feeling nine kinds of horrible, “I’m desperately sorry. Kissing your mate’s ex-boyfriend is skeevy. I hope you don’t hate me, I know you and he were together for two years—”

She broke off in dismay as she saw Natalie’s shoulders begin to shake. “God, please don’t cry, Nat! I won’t see him again if it bothers you—”

Natalie turned back to face her. “I’m not crying, you berk,” she said with a grin, “I’m laughing! You and Dominic – it’s perfect! You’re exactly what he needs – someone who won’t put up with his crap.”

Confused, Gemma said uncertainly, “So…you’re not mad? You don’t mind?”

“No, why should I?” Natalie turned the card over slowly. “We broke up. And I’m seeing Rhys, anyway.” She frowned. “At least I think I am.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “It’s just that we’re both always so bloody busy—”

“Natalie,” Rhys said grimly as he arrived and strode past them, briefcase in hand, “I want you in my office. Now.”

Gemma met Natalie’s eyes. “Someone’s in a right temper this morning,” she murmured. “Would you like to borrow my Violet Vixen? I have an extra tube. It works a treat.”

Natalie sighed. “I’m sure it does, but until the re-launch is over, we’ll both be too tired to even think about sex—”

“Miss Dashwood?” Rhys snapped from inside the office. “I’ll not ask again. Kindly stop wittering and get in here now.”

“Uh-oh, he called you ‘Miss Dashwood’,” Gemma whispered. “You’re in serious trouble, you are.”

Natalie threw her handbag on her desk and hurried into Rhys’s office. “Yes?” she asked warily from the doorway.

He turned from his position in front of the window and fixed her with a hard blue stare. “Have you followed the news lately?”

“Well, if you mean the Dominic thing,” Natalie said, “yes. It’s nothing we can’t deal with—”

“No, the ‘Dominic thing’, as you call it, is the least of our problems right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s all over the news that Phillip Pryce’s clothing line for Dashwood and James is manufactured in Nepal…in a sweatshop.” His face was a thundercloud.

“A sweatshop?” Natalie gasped, shocked. “Phillip would never allow it! He won’t drink anything but fair trade coffee, and he insists that all his veg be locally sourced. He’s very hands-on in all aspects of the business—”