Vengeful Love by Laura Carter Read Free Book Online

he’s watching his masterpiece unfold.
    Gregory takes the lead through the bar to leave. I’d bet he makes love the way he moves that fine, sculpted South African arse through the bar...with the grace of a gazelle and the command, pounce and salacious bite of a lion. He glances back over his shoulder and flashes his agonising half smile once more.
    Dear God.
    The doorman dips his head as he opens the door. Gregory steps to one side and gestures for me to walk ahead of him. Almost immediately as we step on to the pavement a black Mercedes pulls up to the kerb. The driver is a tall, ripped man in a black suit and white shirt. The veins of his hands bulge under his dark skin and his shaved head shows a few remnants of black hair amongst the grey stubs. He looks good for his age but given I’d put money on him being ex-forces of some sort, he can’t be under forty. He holds open the rear passenger door and Gregory steps to one side as I climb in, followed by Williams and Amanda, still giggling at one another. Gregory walks around the back of the car and takes a seat in the front of the Mercedes next to the driver.
    “Where are we going?” Amanda asks excitedly. “Nowhere expensive I hope. My pops is already bailing me out this month.”
    “Again?” I ask.
    “I needed new work clothes,” she reasons. “He’s talking about stopping my monthly allowance.”
    “You still get a monthly allowance?” Gregory and I ask in unison.
    He shifts in his seat to look at me and smiles. It’s an easy, soft, gentle smile. My stomach jumps and my heart pounds in response to him.
    “I’m a single girl living in the city. A two bed in Camden doesn’t come cheap. He can’t cut me off.”
    “We’re interrupting your evening,” Williams says. “The least we can do is pay for dinner.”
    “No! Absolutely not!” I protest. “Thank you for the offer but you’re clients of ours. It would be our pleasure to buy you dinner.”
    “This isn’t a business meeting, Scarlett.” Amanda scolds me, then winks at Williams.
    “Amanda—” I attempt.
    “Ladies don’t pay.” Gregory speaks, this time without turning in his seat. His voice is stern and although I feel entirely belittled, I know the discussion is over.
    I fight my usual inclination to counter argue, but smolder beneath my skin and resign to watch passersby through the window without saying another word for the rest of the journey. Ladies don’t pay. It occurs to me that I’ve heard my father use that turn of phrase before. The thought softens my prickly mood just enough to allow me to remember that I’m in the company of clients. If only Amanda could behave herself, just this once.
    She’s very much in her comfort zone, merrily chatting and flirting outrageously with Williams. Amanda’s always on the prowl for a wealthy man who could allow her to be a lady of leisure. We had endless conversations at Cambridge about Amanda wanting that kind of life—lunching at fine establishments like The Beverley and have beauty treatments in the afternoon, like her mother. Amanda suffers from stereotypical OCS—Only Child Syndrome—but she has a good heart and I love her for having the conviction to be herself, to do what she wants to do and not what others expect of her.
    Reading my mind, Amanda reaches for my hand, gently squeezing it in hers, and gives me a knowing giggle that amuses me enough to improve my mood one hundred percent.
    The Mercedes slows to a stop outside Heron Tower, the glass structure looming over us so tall it’s impossible see the top, even craning my neck. I reach into my bag for my purse but Williams puts his hand over mine to stop me.
    Gregory inclines his head in thanks to the driver. “Jackson.”
    Of course, he has a personal driver. Who doesn’t?
    Jackson opens my door first. Gregory’s already waiting on the pavement. He offers his hand to help me out of the car. I hesitate but take it to be polite. The kiss of his palm drives a hot sensation