I sighed. “I'm not going to marry the girl.”
“Maybe not. But if you're looking for a fling, she's not it.”
“We'll see.”
“Think about what I said, okay? I gotta go.”
The line clicked dead and I dropped the phone beside me on the mattress, staring up at the smooth white ceiling above my bed. To think I'd been missing that arrogant bastard. Kai and his god awful pep talks could go to hell. I grinned, blowing a smoke ring into the air. Well, maybe I'd missed him just a little bit.
Chapter Eleven
Mia
I ran my fingers over the silky lavender fabric, slipping my hand between the folded layers to test its weight. It would be perfect for my new client's living room. Fresh, bright and beautiful, it wouldn't detract from the light, airy space. I'd spent hours drawing and collecting samples in the two weeks following Liliana's birthday holiday and I was sure that this house would be my most successful project to date. It had been inherited by a single woman in her mid-forties, a lawyer named Sandra Millingham. The house had been left to her by her widowed father, a business tycoon with a reputation for meanness, and I got the impression Sandra wasn't used to living with money. During our first meeting, she'd mentioned that she and her father had been estranged prior to his death, and I hadn't liked to pry further.
It was a grand four story, grade two listed house in the centre of Rutland Square, Knightsbridge. Minutes walk from Hyde Park, an abundance of windows and high, period ceilings. To my shock, I'd learned that the place had been severely neglected in the years before it had come into Sandra's hands and had needed gutting completely so we could start from scratch. In an area so highly sought after, where two bedroom flats were going for a couple of million pounds, I had to wonder what Sandra's father had been playing at, holding onto a property without at the very least cashing in on its rental potential. He'd literally lost millions in leaving it uninhabited. Maybe he'd had so much cash and property under his belt, he'd simply lost track of it all. It was mind boggling to imagine. New plumbing, electrics and plasterwork had quickly been put in place, but other than that, the entire house was a total shell and I couldn't believe my luck that I was being granted free rein over it. I would make it as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside.
I'd grown almost obsessed with the place, though I was unsure if it was through sheer passion for the project, or in fact a desperate distraction from a certain tattoo covered Irish man who'd near enough driven me to the point of insanity. If I looked at enough fabric samples, flicked through enough lighting catalogues, I could fill my head so fully with the project that my dreams became just a jumble of colours and textures – instead of him.
I paid for a sample of the gorgeous lavender fabric, dropping it into my bag and heading back out onto the street. The air was warm and clean, for London anyway, and I slung my jacket over my arm enjoying the first signs of spring. I crossed over the road, making my way towards the little antiques shop on the corner. It was a real gem of a place, though from the outside you could easily miss it. The kind of place that thrives on word of mouth alone.
I was looking up at the signs above the doors when my attention was caught by a new one. An art gallery. I was sure it hadn't been there last time I passed. The sign stretched the length of three store-fronts and I knew it had to be a huge space inside, with some very impressive pieces to cover the rent in this area. My feet were turning into the double doorway before I'd even made the conscious decision to enter.
Inside was bigger than I'd even imagined, the walls adorned with breathtaking canvases, some of them absolutely massive. The entrance led off to two separate sides, two very different themes. To the left, large, bright, modern paintings were hung along the walls, a sharp cornered, rainbow glass sculpture of something that looked aquatic in the centre of the polished wooden floor. The right side was dedicated to the realist paintings, and it was this side I walked towards now, my feet moving in slow, hypnotic steps, drawn towards the first painting. It was enormous, oil on canvas, a medium that had always been my favourite above all else.
I stood, silent, awestruck as I scanned the smooth, thick brushstrokes, blown away by the sheer talent and beauty of the painting. I guessed it was from the late eighteen hundred's from the style of it, though I was no expert when it came to art history. It was of a woman, dressed in only a stained white sheet, one foot on the riverbank, one submerged in the murky water as she bent down, holding a chubby toddler in the current, washing him with her free hand. The toddler's face was screwed up in displeasure, the mother's filled with wide-eyed adoration, unending patience. The detail was exquisite.
Moving back to the opposite wall to admire it from a distance, I realised I was filled with yearning, my fingers itching to pick up my own brushes, to create something beautiful on a blank canvas. Painting had been my first love, and up until my recent success in interior design, every spare minute had been dedicated to creating art. Recently though, there had been no spare minutes to fill. I'd been working so hard to impress my clients, I'd not had the time to pick up a brush. And I missed it.
Impulsively, I made a decision. I was going to take the rest of the day off. I would go home, find the cardboard box where I'd packed my art supplies, which I was yet to unpack since moving into my new flat, and I was going to paint. The idea of losing myself in something so creatively satisfying had me bouncing on my toes in my excitement to get started. What harm could one day off do? After all, I was already ahead of the game with my designs for the Knightsbridge house. I swung towards the main entrance, a wide smile on my face and with a gasp, walked smack bang into a hard, firm body. “Mia?”
My blood ran cold as instantly, I recognised the voice, my eyes opening to the expensive grey material of his suit. I raised my face to look at him, stepping back to create some distance between us. Cranleigh. Why oh why did he have to be here now? A petite, dark haired woman to his right tutted and I got a sudden flashback of walking in on her straddling my boyfriend's naked body in the bed we'd shared together. It was nearly a year ago now. I'd turned up to Cranleigh's flat to surprise him with breakfast, planning to sneak into his bed and let him discover me beside him when he woke. Well, he'd certainly been surprised to see me. No doubt he'd forgotten he'd given me a key the previous weekend – granted, he had been drunk, but I'd thought he was just nervous about making such a big gesture. He'd been talking about holidays we could go on as a couple, and even mentioned engagement rings once. I had never in a million years expected to find him with another woman. I'd stood frozen in the bedroom doorway, the bag of warm croissants dropping to the floor, its contents spilling on the carpet as our eyes locked. Then, I'd turned without a word and left. I hadn't seen either of them since, though I'd heard from friends that they'd got married within two months of that delightful incident.
Imogen, I remembered that was her name now, sneered in my direction, her eyes not meeting mine. Without so much as a word, she walked past me with an air of inconvenience, as if I were nothing more than a bit of dirt in her path. Cranleigh tutted like her bad mood was my fault, and with a scowl, he brushed past me and followed her into the depths of the gallery. That's it? I thought, staring at their backs as they disappeared around the corner. No, “Hello, Mia.” No, “I'm sorry I cheated on you and smashed your heart to pieces, Mia.” How about, “Sorry I made you think we had a future. That was rude of me!” Nothing. Not one word. Somehow, despite the fact that the logical part of my brain was telling me he was the idiot, he was the one in the wrong and I shouldn't waste a single moment thinking about him, somehow, I found myself standing alone in an art gallery feeling shocked and humiliated like I was the fool in this picture.
This was what falling in love did to you. Why I could never let myself trust another man with my feelings. All the memories came flooding back. How badly Cranleigh had treated me at the end, never even bothering to call and apologise. I'd heard that he'd thrown away all the things I'd left at his p
lace, rather than summon the courage to face me. The secrets he'd kept hidden for goodness knows how long, before I'd discovered the two of them together. The desperate, broken, sickeningly needy woman love had turned me into. I had wasted months crying over him, mourning the idea of what we could have been. The worst part though, wasn't losing him. It was the humiliation. I'd been so embarrassed that I'd let my guard down with him, told him my secrets, my fears, my hopes and dreams thinking they were safe with him, when all the while he was no doubt laughing behind my back with another woman. It was a betrayal I didn't think I would ever recover from. I'd been an idiot to trust him and I knew I would never put myself in that position again.
Resisting the urge to look back over my shoulder, I walked out onto the street. The urge to paint had dissipated entirely. I walked blindly towards the antiques shop feeling numb, every trace of my earlier excitement evaporated.
Chapter Twelve
Liam
“See you next time,” I called as my final client of the day headed out the door. I looked up at the big, orange faced clock on the wall above the receptionist's desk. Nine fifteen p.m. I'd been completely caught up in the piece, wrapped up in the detail of it, a tiger that took up the entirety of the guys beefy upper arm, and since he didn't have anywhere to rush off to, he'd agreed to let me finish it in one sitting. I was loving the distraction of being back at work – I'd never been so productive in my whole life as I had in the past two weeks since returning from Croatia.
I walked back into my studio now, my eyes bleary from concentrating so intently on the detail of the tattoo.
“You look like a broken man,” came a husky voice from the doorway.
“Sandy. Hi.” I managed a smile. “Didn't realise you were still here.”
“I didn't want to leave the desk unmanned while you were still working. I've been out the back taking stock. Need to order some more ink tomorrow. You want me to get you anything?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I don't think so.”
She crinkled her eyes at me. She was wearing a cut off denim mini-skirt which left little to the imagination, her slender, pale legs adorned with various brightly coloured tattoos. Her black hair, usually spiked, was straight today, an elfin cut around her small, pale face. I waited for her to leave, but instead she stepped inside, leaning casually against the padded table. “You really do look tired,” she said. “Stressed. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. I'm fine. Thanks,” I added, turning my back on her as I reached for my drawing pad from the shelf, moving to sit at my desk on the back wall. I picked up a pencil, hoping she'd take the hint and leave.
“You should book a massage,” she said. “It always helps me.”
“Uh, yeah. Maybe.”
“Or... I could help you out.” I hadn't heard her step closer, but her hands were suddenly on my shoulders, squeezing, kneading. She pressed her breasts up against my back and whispered into my ear. “I could help you relax, Liam.”
I was on my feet in a second, spinning to face her. “What the fuck is this? Have I given you any impression that I'm interested in you?” I demanded. She stared up at me with wide brown eyes, her expression cautious. “For fuck sake, Sandy! You don't shit where you eat. I employ you to do a job, not to fucking throw yourself at me!”
“I – I'm sorry.”
“Just go home, okay? And if you've got any sense, don't try anything like this again.”
She nodded and left without a word. I listened for the click of the door and sank down into my chair, my head in my hands. I'd overreacted massively and I knew it. The truth was, I'd slept with plenty of my staff in the past and if I were being honest, I'd hired Sandy in part because she was so hot. Sexy, forward and flirty, I'd liked the idea of having her around. She was exactly my usual type. Exactly the kind of no strings, pure fun, dirty minded girl I'd always gone for. Nothing like Mia. They were poles apart. Mia had that English rose thing going on. Beautiful, but innocent. Not at all edgy. Not at all my type. So why couldn't I seem to stop thinking about her?
I groaned, my face still in my hands as the replay of Mia running naked into the sea flooded my mind for the millionth time. She was driving me crazy and if I didn't scratch that itch soon, I would explode.
My fingers hovered over the buzzer to her flat, hesitating. Turning up on her doorstep at eleven o'clock at night screamed booty call, and I knew she wouldn't appreciate that. A sudden thought came to mind – What if she's not alone? What if she's with a guy up there? But I dismissed the worry as soon as it arrived. That wasn't her style. Before I could change my mind, I pressed down hard on the buzzer.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It's me.”
There was a beat of silence and then the door release sounded. I pushed open the heavy door, half surprised that she'd even let me in. I walked across the polished parquet flooring towards the stairs, ignoring the lift. I was too fired up to stand still. I remembered Olivia telling me that Mia had waited until she could pay her own rent without her parents help, before getting her own place. I admired her for that. Chelsea was full of people my age and older living off Mummy and Daddy's fortunes. Mia had worked hard to get the lifestyle she wanted and I respected her for that.
I reached her door, knocking gently, still not entirely sure what I was going to say, but buzzing at the thought of seeing her face again. The door swung open and there she was, dressed in light pink cotton PJs, her dark blonde hair loose around her face. I couldn't help but smile. She held the door open and I stepped inside.
“Well, this is unexpected,” she said, pushing the door shut behind me. “I didn't think you were speaking to me.”
“I wasn't. I am now.” We stood a foot apart in the narrow hallway, neither of us moving, our eyes locked in silent communication.
“So,” she said finally. “Why are you here?”
I pursed my lips, trying not to smile. “You want me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Let me finish,” I said, stepping closer towards her, my eyes travelling over the smooth creamy skin of her collarbone. “I know you want me. And you know I fucking want you. I want you so much I can't concentrate on anything else. You are aware of the fact that you're driving me crazy?”
“I – ” She bit her lip, her eyes wide.
“Look, neither of us wants to run off into the sunset. It's not my style and let's be honest, you scarper at the first sign of anything serious. We're on the same page when it comes to that. We're not in the market for the big happy ending. But that doesn't stop us from wanting each other. So, I say, let's just do this, and then maybe we can stop driving each other crazy.”
“What a romantic proposition, Liam.”
“Oh, don't give me that bullshit. You don't want romance. You turn into an ice queen at the first sign of affection.”
“Oh, and you don't?”
I shrugged. “See. Same page. We understand each other.” I met her eyes with my own, confidence rippling through me. She was going to go for it. She had to. She sighed, then ran her tongue nervously along her bottom lip. Every part of me wanted to slam her against the wall and have her right there, but I forced myself to remain still, waiting silently. She looked down, then after a long moment, looked back up, meeting my gaze beneath her long lashes.
“This can't go anywhere. Not after tonight.”
“You mean – ?”
She gave a tiny nod, her eyes locked on mine. The tension in the space between us was so intense it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I didn't hesitate. I stepped forward, closing the gap between our bodies, my mouth finding hers, kissing her hungrily, every inch of my body crying out in relief. This was what I'd been waiting for. What I'd been craving non stop for weeks, months. I couldn't seem to get enough of her taste, her smell. She melted into my arms and I knew, this time she wouldn't turn back. I was finally going to take Mia Henshall to bed.
Chapter Thirteen
Mia
Lia
m grabbed my wrist, bringing it to the wall above my head, his lips moving down my throat, sending shivers along my spine. I'd known from the moment I opened the door to him that this time, I wouldn't have the strength to resist him. Not tonight. I'd felt like a deflated balloon since Cranleigh had blanked me in the gallery this morning – empty and worthless. When Liam looked at me, it was like there was fire igniting in my belly. I could feel how much he wanted me. And he'd been right. I wanted him too. So much I could hardly breathe. Deep in the recesses of my mind, a voice screamed to stop. Once we did this, things would be different between us. Our friendship would be effectively ruined. But Liam had made it clear that friendship wasn't on the cards for us anyway. Not until we'd got this out of our system. It was hard to think straight with his hands on me, heat tingling through me in every place he touched. I could feel how hard he was, even through his jeans, my pyjama bottoms and I went wet at the thought of having him inside me. I couldn't stop now. What was the harm? I'd lose him either way, and I'd been holding back for far too long.
I gasped as suddenly my feet left the ground. Liam had lifted me into his arms, his mouth still on mine as he carried me effortlessly, as if I weighed no more than a doll. “Where's the bed?” he said, his voice gravelly against my lips. I pointed in the direction of the bedroom. He carried me to the foot of the bed, still kissing me, his eyes on mine, unfocused, almost wild with need.
He lowered me to the ground, my body sliding down the length of his, and dizzily, I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep from falling. My fingers slid through the short layers of his dark, silky hair, and he made a low sound in the back of his throat which shot straight to my crotch. He pulled me closer, our bodies welded tightly together as he kissed me roughly, then he leaned back, his lips pressed into a predatory smile as he looked down at me.
Damaged: Dare to Decide, Book 2 Page 7