An arranged marriage. An illicit affair. An unforgettable passion. A forbidden love...
A spoiled socialite clashes with a streetwise mechanic who challenges the order of her privileged life while an arranged marriage threatens even more.
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I pulled up my jeans and eased out a heavy breath. I discarded the condom into the wastebasket beside the desk—which I was taking out as soon as possible because Rod was never finding out about this.
Shit.
The comedown had me putting things into perspective, and I had just fucked up bad.
Her wincing had me looking over. Kennedy was slacked against the desk as her hands gripped the edge. She'd done a lousy job of pulling her dress together to conceal her breasts and right her person.
I stayed where I was, not wanting to touch her again. The feel of her soft skin against my rough palms only emphasized how wrong this was. As if the fact that she was driving a shiny new Lexus wasn't a big indicator.
"Are you okay?" I spoke up, assessing her slow, sluggish movements.
Kennedy looked at me from beneath her lashes and behind the curtain of her hair. My breathing slowed because fuck. She was so goddamn pretty.
She tossed me a sheepish smile. "It's been a while."
Same. I mused over her words. So, she wasn't usually this bold. I wasn't either. Not that I hadn't had my share of one-nighters in the past, but none like this. Nothing compared to this.
I scratched along my neck. I didn't know what to think of Kennedy.
One thing that was painfully obvious, was that she was beautiful. In a way that made me feel dirty for touching her. She had a nice deep brown complexion, heart shaped face framed with long dark hair, brown almond shaped eyes, and a set of plump lips I wanted to feel between my teeth.
Pretty or not, she wasn't my type. Not by a long shot. One taste of her, one feel of her, and none of that mattered. It was like something out of an old school porno. Lowly mechanic serving the desperate and horny housewife. But shit, it felt good. She'd looked at me as if I were scum, until I was deep inside her, making her scream. She demanded I didn't kiss her, as if I wasn't worthy—an act probably reserved for the dude she was marrying.
That was another thing. You couldn't miss the huge rock on her left hand. It was the first thing I noticed when I set eyes on her—well, after her face. That and her attitude. Kennedy had a face that could bring a man to his knees, but then there was that diva shit. She was the coldest woman I'd ever seen. I was sure whoever put that diamond on her finger was going to freeze his dick off come their honeymoon fuckin' around with her.
But I hadn't.
I would've never gotten into this predicament with a client, but something about the way Kennedy had looked at me, the way she tempted me, had me acting out of character, against protocol. Despite the red flags, all I wanted to do was fuck that smirk off her face.
