Good Girl - Christy McKellen

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teasing smile and moving my leg gently to press against hers. I’m rewarded with another full-face blush and, predictably, my cock springs to attention.

      ‘Why are you doing this for me?’ she asks, her voice sounding a little husky now. ‘Especially after the horrendous way I acted last night.’

      ‘Charity begins at home, right?’ I take another sip of my whisky then smile at her over the rim of the glass, feeling guilt gnaw at my insides. ‘And because I can’t resist a challenge like this, especially when it involves someone as pretty as you.’ I lean forward in my chair, ignoring the uncomfortable tension building in my chest. ‘It’ll be my absolute pleasure to help you out, Juno.’

      This, at least, is the God’s honest truth. I pause and take another sip of my drink to give myself a moment to refocus my thoughts on the issue at hand and stop them from wandering towards all the physical delights I’m going to take great satisfaction in introducing her to.

      ‘Just so we’re clear, it’ll just be for the time we’re in Florence. After that we’ll go our separate ways. You towards your lecturer guy and me back to the uncomplicated lifestyle I love.’

      From the look on her face, I can tell she’s seriously thinking it over.

      ‘I have a lot of work to do for my PhD, though. I can’t be away for too long,’ she says slowly, almost to herself.

      ‘Bring your laptop with you. You can work during the day and hang out with me in the evenings.’

      ‘Would that work? I need quiet to be able to concentrate.’

      ‘Sure. I can entertain myself when you’re busy,’ I say, trying not to think about how bored I’ll be sloping around the city on my own. I guess I should consider it karmic payback for losing my cool and punching that guy in the face.

      ‘My father’s mistress’s apartment, where we’ll be staying, is right in the centre of Florence and it has a study where you can work in the daytime without being distracted,’ I reassure her.

      She blinks at me, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘You know about your father’s mistress? And you’re prepared to stay in her flat?’

      I shrug. ‘Of course. She’s a lovely woman. I get on really well with her. They’ve been together for years.’

      She shakes her head, looking utterly scandalised now.

      ‘Doesn’t your mother mind?’

      Again, I shrug. ‘I don’t think so. Their marriage was arranged for convenience so I don’t think they’ve ever really loved each other. They’re very fond of each other, though, and they work well together as a team, so I don’t think they’ll ever split up. Not when the family’s reputation is at stake. Reputation is everything to my father.’

      Her expression tells me she’s still completely baffled by the idea of that but I guess you have to live it to understand it.

      ‘So are you up for it, Juno?’ I press, wanting it absolutely confirmed.

      She nods, confidently this time. ‘Yes. I accept your conditions.’ She leaves a small pause before adding, ‘I’ve not had a holiday in ages because I’ve been so focussed on my work—which isn’t particularly healthy, I know—so I suppose it’ll be good for me to take a break away from London.’

      ‘Great. Then we’ll fly out tomorrow.’

      ‘Okay. Tomorrow.’

      I raise my glass, and when she does too I clink mine against it. ‘A nuove esperienze.’

      ‘To new experiences,’ she repeats.

      ‘You speak Italian?’ I ask, impressed.

      ‘Yes, some. Enough to avoid any embarrassing misunderstandings, I hope,’ she replies, grinning shyly for the first time since she arrived. She has a killer smile and the sight of it warms my chest.

      I don’t quite know how it’s happened, but I seem to have landed on my feet here. I now get to spend the next week in bed with this enigmatic woman and all in the name of doing the right thing.

      Yeah. This could actually turn out to be a lot of fun.

       CHAPTER THREE

       Juno

      WE FLY OUT to Florence in Sandro’s family’s private plane the following afternoon, though we only just make our scheduled take-off slot, because he was half an hour late picking me up from my flat in his low-slung Italian sports car and has to put his foot down to get us to the airport.

      He seems totally unconcerned about his tardiness, though, and throws me the merest of apologies when I raise my eyebrows and pointedly look at my watch.

      He’s such a cool customer. I wish I could be so nonchalant.

      Upon boarding the plane we’re shown to our seats—two large, cream leather armchairs positioned next to each other in a cabin that only holds six more. It’s a small plane but beautifully upholstered with silk wall linings and soft wool carpets. We take off only minutes later and I settle in for the two-hour journey sitting next to Sandro, my pulse on a high tickover as I breathe in his delicious scent and think about how much closer I’m going to have to get to him over the next week—though not, it seems, as close as I’d initially hoped.

      At first I’d been a bit miffed that he was still refusing to take my virginity but, the more I thought about it, the more I’d come round to his point of view. He was probably right. It was a hell of a thing to ask of him and I’ll most likely be glad to have more of an emotional connection with the person I finally lose it to. Someone I’ll be in love with, perhaps.

      In the meantime, I hope just by hanging out with him some of his charisma will rub off on me. And, if not, I have a week to study the way he acts and interacts with people, which I can then apply to my dealings with Adam when I get back. Perhaps he will hear about my ‘relationship’ with Sandro, realise I’m not the ingénue he thought I was and regret calling a halt to our burgeoning relationship after only a couple of dates.

      I can only hope.

      Once the plane is on a steady course we’re served drinks by one of the elegantly dressed cabin crew. I watch Sandro out of the corner of my eye while I pretend to read the guidebook to Florence that I’d picked up the day before in the bookshop round the corner from my flat in Notting Hill. He rolls his cut-glass tumbler round and round in his hands. He has a restless sort of energy about him, as if he finds it hard to sit still and is always on the verge of getting up to do something else. He was the same in the bar where we had the drink and I agreed to this proposal. He flipped the drinks menu round and round in his fingers as we talked, as if he needed something to do with them. It made me wonder whether he’d been a smoker and now needed something in his hands with which to distract himself. As he twists the glass I marvel at the perfection of his long fingers with their square, blunt nails and wonder how he’ll touch me with them, how it’ll feel to have his hands on my body. All over my body. I squirm in my seat as a wave of heat rushes through me, pooling at the juncture of my thighs.

      Right at this moment I can totally sympathise with his need to move about.

      Just sitting still next to him in our plush leather seats, I can feel the attraction pulling taut between us. At least from my side. He’s brought out a plethora of physical reactions in me. My heartbeat is accelerated, my skin hypersensitive and rushing with sensation and there’s an insistent throb between my thighs that’s steadily building the longer I sit here—as if my body craves something with which I’m not providing it.

      It’s a hot, heavy want.

      ‘You know, I’ve never understood why people rave so much about sex. Practically speaking, it seems like it’d be a messy and uncomfortable thing to do,’ I mutter out loud

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