Free ARROGANT PLAYBOY by Winter Renshaw

nasty one.
    “You know, Beckham. It doesn’t
matter what I think of you. We’re both professionals here to do a job.”
    The jet taxies to the runway,
bouncing us in our seats with mild force.
    “Can you at least try and dial
your contempt down a notch?” Beckham turns forward in his chair, pulling his
phone out to shut it off. His playful half-smile vanishes.
    I don’t enjoy being a
cold-hearted bitch. It’s as comfortable as squeezing into a pair of jeans that
are too tight around the middle and four inches too long.
    “At least turn it off while
we’re in Salt Lake City,” he sighs. “For my brother’s sake. The last thing we
need is Dane digging around in our personal business and wondering why we can’t
get along.”
    “Turn what off?”
    “Your contempt.”
    “Already planned on it.” I go
back to my book, flipping the page with the flick of a finger.

 

Chapter Eleven

 
    BECKHAM

 
    “We’re staying at Golden Oak,”
I announce as Odessa climbs into the black Town Car my brother sent to pick us
up from the airport. Bronson loads our luggage before shutting our door and
climbing up front. A few minutes later, we’re speeding down the freeway toward
his expansive country estate. I was always the city mouse. He was always meant
to be a country mouse of the rich, reclusive variety.
    “I thought we had a hotel
reservation?”
    “We did. Dane cancelled it. He
wants to host us at his place.” I turn my phone on, my screen blowing up with
missed emails and messages. Another topless selfie from my latest admirer mixes
somewhere between all those. I delete it, but not before taking a peek. I’ve
never claimed to have the self-control of a saint.  
    “That’s nice of him.”
    “He likes to control everything.”
    “And you don’t?” She chuckles.
    “Absolutely not.”
    “You’re obsessed with
controlling what people think of you,” she says. “You want everyone to like you
but only on your terms. That’s controlling.”
    I glance up from my phone, two
seconds from reminding her that she agreed to be kind during this trip. She
wears a smile that lights up her emerald eyes, and it’s nearly identical to the
one she wore the first night we met. For a second my heart hammers, and I
forget we’re on completely different pages.
    “Insulting someone while
smiling,” I say, “isn’t the same as being cordial.”
    Her chin tucks, dragging a
curtain of shiny auburn hair over her shoulder as she sighs. “You’re right. I’m
sorry.”
    I struggle to decide whether
her apology is genuine, sarcastic, or a combination of the two. She looks at me
from the corner of her eye before shifting her entire body my way.
    Her slanted hand juts out a
second later.
    “Truce,” she says. “Let’s call
a truce. At least for the next four days. I’ll stop making snide comments and
you stop trying to get under my skin. We’ll play the roles of two cordial
associates who’ve never slept together.”
    I chuckle. Interacting with her
while attempting to forget how fucking sexy she looked straddling my cock last
week is going to be a challenge.
    Her eyes close, and she takes a
deep breath. It’s almost as if she has to psyche herself up to be nice. All it
does is make me want that upper hand even more. She still fucking has it. She’s
a goddamn dog refusing to let go of a stolen bone.
    I meet her hand, my thumb
grazing the delicate bone in her wrist. Her hands are softer than I remember.
    The Town Car pulls into the
private gate of Golden Oak. The driver presses the call button and within
seconds the gate opens. We’re deposited under a majestic porte-cochere built
with two stories of honed Brazilian granite Dane flew south of the equator to
personally select. Every inch of this estate has Dane’s stamp of approval.
Visiting here, as much as I loathe Utah and what it represents to me, always
serves as a solemn reminder of what we’ve achieved in the last decade.
    “ Bienvenue! ” Mathilde, my