“How strong are you?” I smiled like an idiot girl.
“Strong.” He looked away, a coy grin in his eyes.
“Hmm. You’re shy. Shy of me, aren’t you?” From a close proximity, I decided he was perfect. Too much, maybe.
“I’m not,” he insisted, but he wasn’t looking at me. “I’m waiting until people pass so I can do this—”
I didn’t know what he had in mind but I was shocked when he bent down and anchored one hand beneath my thigh and another in the pit of my knee. I suddenly knew vertigo when he lifted me until I was over his head, his feet shuffling so I could see above the heads of everyone else around us too. My grip on his shoulders was desperate as I was paraded on our self-made dance floor. All I could think was, Thank god I wore tights and a good pair of knickers too!
He slowly released me when I squealed to have control of my body back and I found myself breathless as I slid down his body so my stocking feet fell exactly on top of his shoes.
“Strong enough? We almost had you in the stars, Chloe,” he gasped, shaking.
I was too dazed to answer.
He slid an arm under my coat and took a firm hold of my waist. His free hand moved up and stroked my brow, his expression one of fascination.
“You didn’t just look up my skirt?”
“Would you hate me if I did?” He cocked a brow, shifting his feet only centimetres, but enough so that I knew he was subtly dancing me around. I was surely roaring drunk or on roofies or dreaming…
I wrapped my arms tight around his neck and allowed my guard to fall, our noses touching as we danced still, neither of us caring who might be near. His large eyes were fixed on mine, full of thick desire and intrigue.
“Why do you do this to me?” I begged, my breath against his lips. “You look at me like this… you kiss me like a man starved… you’re making me want you when you told me you can’t do this.”
“I can’t do this, but I still want to,” he explained. “Feel.”
He took my hand and pressed it tight over his galloping heart. “See?”
His stare and his truth took my breath away. I held on tighter while he shifted us on the spot, his hand still touching my face, the other still holding me tight beneath my coat. We remained nose to nose, eye to eye, almost lip to lip—for an incalculable amount of time.
“Which box am I in right now? Douche? Total douche? Or lost-cause douche?”
“Lost-cause douche,” I admitted, and kissed his face off, before finishing with one, tender kiss on his cheek. I stared him straight in the eye, turned on even more by the shock on his face. Delight, even. “It tends to be that people in my life forget one, vital part of who I am.”
“Hmm? What’s that?” His expression held a mild frown of interest, but his eyes were still locked with mine in lust, desire written in his flushed cheeks.
“I don’t want perfect. I hate it. I used to be perfect. Perfect hair, perfect exam scores, perfect future planned out. I realised one day, there was no point in being perfect. It got me nowhere. It got me no friends or admirers, it got me…” I briefly thought deeply, but simply repeated, “…nowhere.”
“Quite the contradiction?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
We carried on walking through Westminster and stared at all the old, traditional buildings that seemed to be filling Cai’s mind with pictures.
“I love London. I visited Kay a lot over the years and I just love that there’s a place for everyone, you know? Growing up, I always felt like the whole point of working hard was to escape to something better. I felt like I had no place while I was striving for more, for some other world I truly belonged in. Even now,” I gestured at our surroundings, “the streets leave me feeling complete but, I still don’t belong. Do you know what I mean?”
“You can’t absorb a city into your bones in just a few days. It takes months, years. I still don’t know New York as well as I ought to… I know I could live there forever, not spend a single day away, and I still wouldn’t know it entirely. It morphs too often.”
I agreed with him. “There are quirks to every place, always, different nooks of life to explore. So, why don’t I know where I belong? Anywhere? I’m 30 years old, why don’t I know that yet?”
He squeezed my hand as we continued to walk and offered, “Hey, I’m not one to ask. I live out of a suitcase half the year. I thought I’d know the answer to that question eventually but seeing you’re a few years older and none the wiser, what hope is there for me?”
I cackled behind my hand. “We already agreed you’re a lost-cause douche so that was entirely tautological.”
“You’re… stubborn,” he snarled, his nose crinkling.
I pressed my lips together and before we knew it, we were back outside the stucco building that was my bed for the night.
Cai held my hands in his and smiled. “You could sleep in my bed. I wouldn’t touch you, I promise. I’d sleep on the couch or in the bath, anywhere.”
“We know that wouldn’t happen, Cai.” I dipped my head down to avoid his arousing stare. “He’s not in the country, anyway. He’s in Europe and the only visitor I will be receiving here is his maid, Helga. I’m just hoping she doesn’t have a special set of dusters.”
Cai burst out laughing and turned around, nearly walking away, he was so uncontrollably tickled.
“Oh god, Chloe! How do you do this to me?”
He moved in front of me again even though I was poised to enter the building and leave him there. He looked down on me with a sincere expression. One eye narrowed and he asked, “What’s the worst unopened box, and… what does it contain?”
I looked up to search the few available stars for answers and realised my feet no longer hurt, I didn’t feel the cold, or drunk, nor did I sense that awkward disdain I felt for Cai earlier. All I knew was numbness.
I took a big, deep breath and gulped. “It’s the box sealed shut with iron bars, bound by diamond locks. There’s one word on the label… forgiveness.”
He smiled and pinned me in his arms, his face twitching as he struggled with emotion. “You’re not perfect… but you’re you.”
He held my cheeks in his palms and he kissed me desperately hard, fraught laps of his tongue around mine, no rhythm, just raw need. I was half mad on the sensation of his constant erection against my belly.
BUT. It was right to give this more time and not let him in my bed, not yet. It was Wednesday. I’d only known him since Monday.
I pulled away though it took all my willpower to do so. He growled and fell to his knees on the pavement, cursing himself and the pain as he watched—conflicted—while I let myself into the building. He put his head in his hands and that was my lasting image of him that night as I shut the door behind me.
When I got through all the security barriers and numerous keypad locks inside Belgravia’s answer to Fort Knox, finally shutting Klaus’s apartment door behind me, I fell in a heap against the wall and cried.
That guy and me… there was just too much there. I clutched my fist at my chest, already well aware of what was happening between us. One thing had the power to unwrap all those boxes—to sever the tape that had sealed them shut so long.
Love.
THE next morning I left the flat with wet hair, little make-up, a pair of skinny jeans and a roll-neck sweater. The Uggs were also required. I just didn’t care, not that day. When I arrived at the office (on time but slightly the worse for wear) I saw Trev in reception as we were heading for the stairs and he remarked, “Good to see you’re getting a handle on London life.”
I shot him a filthy look and he snickered.
Yet again, at my desk, was one of those stupid roses. This time, a dark-pink shade. Having not yet taken off my bag or coat, I shot daggers at all those around my desk and practically shouted, “Anyone know who this came from? Anyone?”
Some took no notice of me. Others just quickly glanced and shook their heads in a big fat, resounding, no. I looked u
p above me and thought maybe a retractable hand came out of the ceiling to deliver them daily. Hopefully, send me back home and away—a good way to test if the newbie was worth their salt.
Fuck it: I’d used that strategy before and it had worked. I would use it again. Sod them all.
Noticing the absence of Cai and his offer of coffee, I mailed him and got a bounce-back letting me know he was out of the office until further notice. I knew he was freelance, but still. Then a sinking feeling hit—would he ever return to Media Solutions if he didn’t have to? I suspected he might not, if he wanted to avoid me and the depth of what we knew we could have. If only we were two people who could commit.
Chapter 11
WITHIN TWO WEEKS, my situation had changed much for the better. I was working fairly independently now that Trev and Ash trusted me enough, and it felt good. I liked to work my own pace, my own routine, otherwise I felt insane. It was certainly all a big change from crossing town in my old Fiesta to brave all elements and ask questions of local people. My new place of work… so much more virtual. I had also gotten myself a new place, a room in a shared house in Wandsworth. It was gold. I didn’t have to answer to anyone, especially Klaus. Memo to self: Do not rely on older, strange magnates who might expect sexual favours in return whenever they roll into town. Only a few days after my date with Cai at the Savoy, Klaus showed up at his own pad in Belgravia, which was a warranted enough act in itself, being his own place and all. However, he gave me one of those looks when he walked into the bathroom unannounced and found me having a soak in the tub. I immediately threw him out and one awkward conversation later, he left and checked into his suite at the Dorchester. I didn’t know myself because Klaus was not bad looking and dealt oral pleasure better than any gadgetry out there. And trust me, I’d tried a lot of weaponry offered by the likes of Pulse and Cocktails and Ann Summers. So, I knew Cai must have ruined me. I didn’t want any free oral pleasure anymore… even though, in fact, I’d always thought it was weird that Klaus gave but never wanted to receive.
So, anyway. The shared house had six occupants. The kitchen and living areas were shared, though I rarely ventured down. I only came home to raid the clothes rail, wash, sleep or charge my devices. I’d known coming to London would be good for me because it didn’t give me time to sit and mull. In my tiny bedroom there were no boxes to organise or shelves to rearrange. I did my laundry at a launderette and kept my OCD to a minimum in front of other people there, folding my clothes but not piling them as carefully as I might once have done.
Over the years, whenever I visited Kayla I’d done a lot of the touristy things, so now I was living in the city I tried to live as a proper Londoner would do. So I was out socialising, every night. Either on my own, or with people from work who were now actually talking to me (I knew it had something to do with Cai not lurking around my person any more, but I told myself I didn’t care to know the reasons).
A lot of nights out began with the notion of a swift one after work, but escalated into much longer stints cradling glasses of beer and bitching about whatever crept up in conversation. The next day it was all forgotten and I’d move onto my next drinking partner(s). People seemed shocked to discover I was so humble, but little did they know the things about my life I was loathe to admit. You know when you’ve gone through truly taxing times, you never brag about it. It’s not a thing to brag about—having survived death—at the hands of a lethal object.
I thought I was living the life but while I was out every night, not all of my colleagues were and some began to remark on my stamina. They just didn’t know it was better than me ordering a bunch of flat-pack boxes to start arranging post-it notes inside.
Then one afternoon, just as I was feeling confident I had it all together—I was immensely fulfilled and didn’t need any men, not even one man—Cai swept back into the office with a swagger so drool-worthy I hated him for it a little. Did it mean he had already found someone else? I didn’t know. All I knew was that he was roaming the office talking to all and sundry and he wasn’t coming up to me first, like he had those first few days of my time there.
Eventually he did saunter up to my desk in stonewash and a white Henley t-shirt that revealed his true musculature. He wasn’t massive, but he was fit. So, fit. Flipping heck, what is he trying to do to me? His eyes smoked with desire as he got closer and I squeezed my thighs together so hard to reprimand my sex drive. Internally I fumed, externally I sighed. I flirted outrageously, pushed my breasts out, flicked my hair and flashed my teeth. Everyone around my desk recoiled—it didn’t escape my notice.
“Got a minute?” he asked with a shy smile.
No mug or coffee in hand. I wondered what he could want?
He led me to the kitchen and when we got there, he tried to kiss me as soon as we were alone. In the workplace! Without conversation, without explanation! For all he knew, I was already involved with someone else! I pulled back and looked away from him.
“What are you doing?” I scrubbed at my cheek which was boiling from having his lips briefly touch me there.
“I thought—”
I looked away from him, avoiding his eyes. “We’re at work. This isn’t appropriate.”
“Since when?” he argued petulantly.
I knew I was a little older than the guy but still, didn’t he know courting etiquette? You don’t bugger off and return without explanation? Without a bit of sucking up? An apology?
“I’m… just… you could’ve called. Or emailed.” I felt tired from waiting for his call, every day.
I was angry. Agitated. Aggravated. I was also embarrassed about making a total fool of myself the last time we saw one another. He looked shocked and stood still, a blush slowly rising in his cheeks.
Come on. Show some gumption, I willed him.
“I work all over the world. This is my job,” he began, throwing his hands up, “anyway you got hammered the last time we went out. I felt like you needed some space to, I dunno, regroup. I was giving you your goddamned space… like you said. To get used to this place.”
I looked at him briefly and he smiled, just a smidgen. I remarked under my breath, “You thought it was all moving too fast?”
“Way too fast,” he nodded. “Listen, they just put me on a plane to cover a Royal visit abroad and I went. I was so busy I forgot to call… but I thought it’d be good for you.”
“Oh.” There I was, forgetting people had lives.
“Just… let me kiss you.” He beckoned with his finger.
I couldn’t help but smile. I walked to him slowly and when I got there, he reached out and stroked my hair down to tidy it behind my ears. How had he gotten so sure of himself all of a sudden?
“You tug at your hair when you’re stressed.”
“Do I?”
He reached down and kissed my forehead, murmuring, “Dinner, tonight?”
“Maybe, depends on this kiss.”
“Okay,” he said, his face beaming with happiness. “I like a challenge.”
“Kiss me,” I asked again.
He pulled me close and closed his mouth firmly over mine. I felt the solidity of his stomach as he reminded me why I was still so damn hung up. His deep kiss revealed such yearning, not just for me, but for someone. For an outlet, for a chance. His soft lips, more familiar now, sent aches through my nervous system. Our tongues brushed gently and I knew I needed to go to bed with him already.
We pulled back, eager not to get caught like this, and he told me, “I love the way you dress.”
“What, this?” I tugged at my flowing, oriental-inspired tea dress. The mandarin collar hugged my throat and his eyes kept darting there, to what was hiding beneath, beckoning his lips.
“Umm, it’s very sexy.”
“I have bad news about the socks…” I began as we headed for the door, “…had to escort them to Sock Heaven.”
We laughed as we left the kitchen and he walked me back to my desk. He was just explaining, “I ran out of ins
tant coffee but we can—”
That’s when he saw the rose.
Another had been placed across my keyboard, in exactly the same manner and position as all the others. I was gobsmacked. Did Cai have some magic trick up his sleeve? The roses had ceased while he was gone, so I assumed they could only be from him. Surely?
“What the hell is that?” he growled, his voice deeper than I had ever heard it before.
I picked it up and it was just as beautiful as all the others, more so, if it were possible. I fought the urge to smell it.
“I got them a few times, exactly like this.” I waved it in his direction, but he stepped back as if its very existence were an insult. I continued to explain, “I thought maybe they were from you but I stopped getting them when you were away and I don’t know how they arrive here… I just find them on my desk. I rang reception, rang round a few guys who flirted with me, but none of them knew anything. Least of all me. I’ve asked people sat nearby and none of them know either!”
I looked around at my neighbours and all of them were desperately trying to hide their interest, failing miserably. None of them dared look at me and I knew I’d get no explanation about the way in which this rose reached my desk.
I dropped the flower, absently letting it fall to my desk so hard that some petals came loose. He flinched when he saw the layers start to peel apart and I decided this was weird. Cai’s face scrunched in anger, his fists bunching and clenching, like he might sucker punch a silly, bloomin’ rose!
“I would never send you roses,” he told me curtly.
I shook my head, exclaiming, “Then, who?”
Cai chased away without another word and I wondered if he had a suspect in mind and was hauling them up so he could ask them outright.
Me? Well, I’d had enough of the whole thing. I picked up the rose and stuffed it in my desk drawer. I sent a mass email to my colleagues asking if they knew who the mysterious rose gift was from, but not a single one of them replied, as if they’d never even received the email. Someone must have seen something because that rose had been hand-delivered—you’d assume at least one of them must have spotted the culprit hovering around my desk, surely?
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