One Night Stand With My Ex's Billionaire Enemy

I twisted my head to glare at him. ‘What else could you possibly want? The answer is no.’

Who said I wasn’t tired? I was exhausted. I was only trying to leave to save myself from another round.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, a fake innocence in his tone. ‘I just meant, if you’re tired, let me give you a massage.’ His hands settled on my waist, his thumbs pressing in with a firm, soothing rhythm.

It felt surprisingly good.

I wasn’t sure I trusted him, but after a minute of him just working the knots from my muscles, I relaxed and closed my eyes. Why shouldn’t I enjoy this? I was the one who’d been worn out.

I’d forgotten a fundamental rule: never trust a man’s promises.

Because Ashton’s massage slowly began to change. His hands drifted from my waist, his touch shifting from therapeutic to something else entirely, sliding lower.

My eyes flew open. Before I could react, he spun me around to face him.

His gaze was burning, searing into me. ‘I’ll finish the massage later...’ he promised, his voice hoarse.

A muffled protest was all I managed before his mouth covered mine again. The water in the bath sloshed violently, and then all was quiet.

***

The next morning, I woke to find the sun was already high in the sky. My hand drifted to the empty space beside me in the bed; Ashton had long since slipped out and gone to the office.

And me...

I lifted a hand to rub my aching lower back, grinding my teeth in frustration. That man had put me through my paces last night. After the bathroom, he’d wanted another round, and I hadn’t managed to fall asleep until the middle of the night.

And now, the one who caused all this was perfectly fine, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a day at work. Just thinking about it made me grumpy.

But being annoyed wasn’t going to help. With a sigh, I pushed back the duvet and tried to summon the energy to get up, my arms feeling weak and thoroughly worn out.

I washed, changed, then headed downstairs. It was almost noon.

Geoffrey was instructing the kitchen to prepare lunch when he turned to me and said, ‘Mrs Laurent, Mr Laurent left instructions for you to go to LGH once you were awake. I’ve had the car brought round. When would you like to leave?’

‘He wants me to go to him?’ I paused, remembering our conversation from last night. Ashton had mentioned something about taking me to the hospital for a check-up.

‘I’ll go after I’ve eaten,’ I said, then changed my mind. ‘Actually, could you pack the food to go? I’ll take it to LGH.’

It occurred to me that I’d never brought him a meal before.

‘Of course, Mrs Laurent.’

The kitchen was as efficient as ever. Within twenty minutes, I was walking out with a packed lunch.

I carried the food container into LGH, receiving respectful greetings from everyone I passed.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Laurent.’

‘Hello,’ I responded with a polite nod.

I finally relaxed once I stepped into the lift. It was probably just a shift in my own mindset, but I found I didn’t care about their whispers anymore.

The lift went straight up to the top floor executive offices. The doors had barely opened when I ran into Dominic, who was just heading out.

His eyes lit up when he saw me. He scurried over, his gaze dropping to the lunch box in my hand. ‘Mrs Laurent,’ he said with a cheerful, ingratiating smile. ‘Are you here to bring the boss some lunch?’

‘Yes,’ I nodded.

Dominic promptly knocked on the office door.

I walked in to find Ashton seated in his office chair, hard at work. He set aside what he was doing and smiled, beckoning me over.

I walked over and placed the food container on his desk.

Ashton’s eyes fell on the two lunch boxes, and a slight smile touched his lips. He was clearly in a very good mood.

He leaned back in his chair, a lazy expression on his face, and patted his knee. ‘Come here.’

My eyes followed the gesture to his long, powerful legs, and I felt my face grow warm. I shook my head. ‘No.’

Ashton didn’t push it. His gaze returned to the lunch box. ‘You brought me lunch?’

I let out a soft ‘Mm-hmm,’ then moved a few steps away. I checked the distance between us, deciding it was safe—even if he suddenly reached out, he couldn’t grab me from there. I relaxed a little.

But it turned out I was being naive. It was true that Ashton couldn’t reach me while sitting, but...

Before I could process what was happening, I saw him rise, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist. The next thing I knew, I was tumbling onto his lap.

I was sitting on his solid thighs, his hand resting on my waist, my back pressed against his chest. The subtle, cool scent of his cologne drifted up to tease my senses.

My face instantly flushed.

Ashton looked down at me, using his free hand to tilt my chin up. His grip was gentle but firm. He studied my face, a lazy amusement in his eyes. ‘If the mountain will not come to Muhammad...’

I rolled my eyes as a reply.

‘Did you make the lunch yourself?’

‘No.’

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‘But you brought it here.’

‘Yeah. Well, I didn’t have much on, and the studio isn’t busy.’

‘I like it,’ he said quietly, his eyes encouraging.

Did that mean...?

I looked at him suspiciously, wondering if I was reading too much into it.