His guiltiest pleasure
Shes wild, wicked...and pure, sexy trouble
It takes a nanosecond for Lizzie Marchande to see that Ford Lassiter worships rules and order. Yet behind his leonine eyes this gorgeous but tightly wound man is hiding something much deeper than lust. Hes hiding a deliciously raw, hungry need to take control while Lizzie relinquishes hers. But for this wild, fierce woman therell be no holding back his heart...no matter the cost.
DARE is Harlequins hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!
Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
New York Times bestselling author LAUREN HAWKEYE never imagined that shed wind up telling stories for a livingthough shes the only one whos surprised. She lives in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada, with her husband, two young sons, a pit bull and two idiot cats. In her non-existent spare time Lauren partakes in far too many hobbies! She loves to hear from her readers through e-mail, Facebook and Instagram! Sign up for Laurens newsletter here: eepurl.com/OeF7r
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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Playing Dirty
Lauren Hawkeye
www.millsandboon.co.uk
PLAYING DIRTY
© 2018 Lauren Hawkeye
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a Licensed Device) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
For the incomparable Suzanne Rock and Julia Kent, for not judging me when I said Little Women and erotic in the same sentence.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Then
THIS COULDNT BE RIGHT.
Ford Lassiter tore his gaze away from the blocky brown house that sat on a large lot shaded by leafy green trees. Looking down at the GPS on his phone, he squinted at the blinking icon that told him he had reached his destination.
Thats just great. He had paid a lot of money for the best that technology had to offer, and now when he really needed his GPS to work? It took him to some run-down estate on the South End instead of the garage he desperately needed to fix his car, which was making a rather ominous rattle.
He was going to miss his meeting outside the city. Nothing to be done about that. Still, he was not accustomed to things not running according to his plan, and it was like an itch that he had no way to scratch.
Damn it! Slamming a hand into the center of the steering wheel, he jolted when he accidentally set off his horn. It sent a surge of adrenaline through his system, a shot of caffeine to his blood, and he couldnt help but roll his eyes at himself.
You can run a small empire without help. Scrubbing his hands over his eyes, Ford took a moment to lean back in his leather seat. But you cant get your car fixed without an assistant.
The very notion hurt his pride. He had an MBA, for heavens sake. He was a very intelligent, very rich man.
He could get his own damn car fixed without a babysitter.
Scowling, he once again punched in the name of the garage that the old man at the gas station had recommendedMarchande Motors.
Arrived at destination.
Okay, then. Either he was going to kill the designer of Google Maps or there was something he wasnt seeing.
He pushed his way out of the low-slung silver Porsche Turbo and took a moment to stretch and look around. He was parked on a quiet street in an old neighborhood, one that looked like it might have been fancy once upon a time but now had clearly seen better days. Unlike the neat grid of downtown Boston, where he spent most of his time, this area was...confusing.
Well-worn family homes were interspersed with the occasional newer model, probably things that had been built after tearing down older ones that just couldnt weather the elements another day. Then there were residences that were little more than shacks. The one that was supposed to house the garage and the one next door to it were stately old estates, though the neighboring house was in far better repair than the one he was currently standing in front of.
Cars were parked on lawns on some of the nicer houses, and pretty flower boxes lined the sills of the poorer places. None of it made sense to Ford. He supposed that it might hold some charm for someone more whimsical than himself, but all he saw was chaos.
Hed had a meeting in a suburb south of the city, and his car had started to make that ominous sound once hed entered the South End. Hed never actually spent any time here, and, looking around, he could see why.
Pressing his lips together, he rounded the sidewalk of the place hed been directed to.
There we go. The old, twisted trees had hidden the fact that the building was on a corner lot. Once he rounded the corner, he could see a driveway and cars lined up in a more or less neat row.
More than seeing that there was more to the house, he could hear itmusic was blaring, loudly enough that he wondered how it hadnt reached his ears before. He got his answer when he pushed through the verdant greenery and the volume only increasedit had acted as a barrier.
Now that he was through? He winced as the thunderous bass notes threatened to make his eardrums explode.
He recognized the din, just barely, as Metallica, and though hed so far resisted the urge to look down his nose, this choice pushed him past the point of no return. Who listened to Enter Sandman when there were so many more civilized options? Like Coldplay.
The plastic sign with crooked letters that identified the garage as the place hed been looking for did nothing to improve his opinion. It was stuck into the lawn with a wooden stake, and while he thought the words might once have been red, they were now the peachy pink of salmon.
No way am I leaving my car here. Ford knew he was a bit of a snob, and he was okay with that. He worked hard to live up to the family namemore than his own father had ever done. So what if he enjoyed the perks that came with wealth?
You dropping off keys or are you going to stand there all day? a female voice shouted out from the shadowed depths of the garage, jolting himhe hadnt seen anyone inside. Ford squinted into the bright midday sunlight, but he couldnt see the speaker.
He wasnt used to being put on the spot, and he didnt appreciate it.
It seems Ive come to the wrong place. A garage attached to a ramshackle house, music loud enough to deafen him, a woman yelling at him instead of smiling, like he usually encounteredno. Just no.
Spine straight, Ford turned on the heel of his hand-tooled Italian leather shoe and started to walk away.
If youre looking for another garage, I know for a fact that Jimmys place is overbooked. Ov-ah booked. The speakers voice had more than a little hint of the Massachusetts accent that hed tried hard to eradicate from his speech. It should have only served to further annoy him, but he couldnt focus on her voice, not with what shed just said. He sent me the job Im working on right now because he was full up.
Shit. The rattle in his Turbo sounded pretty bad, especially when compared to its usual near-silent purr. Still, he might have risked it...if he could have remembered when hed last had it serviced.
Turning on his heel, he pulled out his phone and tapped out a text to his assistant, never mind that hed wanted to prove that he could do this himself. Jeremy replied within a minute, efficient as always.
Youre not going to like this, but dont shoot the messenger. Its going to be at least twelve hours until you can get a tow. Theres been a huge pileup by the harbor and every truck is there, cleaning up the mess.
Ford ground his teeth together.
What garage are you at? Could you leave the Porsche there and Ill send a car to pick you up?
Down the street a rough engine growled, roaring to life. Ford jolted, nearly dropping his phone.
The engine was followed by coarse language and shouts that had south Boston dripping from their every word.
The Turbo was his baby, the first big purchase hed made when the money started to roll in. No, he wouldnt be leaving it here overnight.
Where do I leave my keys? His voice was tight as he turned yet again and stalked forward. He entered the open door of the garage, scanning the appallingly disorganized shelves and inhaling the heavy scents of motor oil and gasoline.
He still couldnt find the person whod spoken. Infuriating.
Leave them on the counter there. The voice was coming from below him. Taken aback, he looked down to find a pair of absolutely filthy work boots sticking out from beneath a rusty old Contourhis mystery voice.
Could you please come out of there so I can speak with you for a moment? Ford wasnt accustomed to having to ask for things like this, either. When he entered the high-rise in downtown Boston that served as the headquarters for his hotel conglomerate, people snapped to attention. The security guard would smile and wave him through. People held the elevator. On his floor, one assistant would hand him a cup of perfectly brewed black coffee and the other his tablet, the days schedule already open for him to peruse.
A very unfeminine snort issued from the area of his feet.