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  He stops, holding us still, until I raise my head. When he can look into my eyes, he inhales deeply, his chest rising against me. “But you didn’t. You saved me, Scarlett. You saved my life.”

  Then he kisses me, pressing his lips firmly against mine. My tears stop.

  Kenneth climbs out of the Bentley and opens the rear door for Gregory. “Mr. Ryans.”

  Gregory doesn’t leave me to sit in the front like he might if Jackson was driving. He bends and places me on the back seat then moves around to the other door and joins me.

  I look around the Bentley’s interior, taking it in, remembering the last time I was in here. Jackson was driving. We were headed into a dark abyss.

  I killed a man. I shot him in cold blood. It wasn’t premeditated but I’d thought about it before it happened. I said it. I wanted revenge for my father’s death and for the little boy from my dreams. I never really thought I’d do it but I wanted him dead.

  What’s happened to me? Who is this person taking over my body? Where’s Scarlett Heath gone? I want her back. I want to go back and find her and tell her to stay.

  Vomit rises to my throat but just as I think I might be sick, an arm wraps around my cold shoulder and pulls me into warmth. I don’t want to think. I need to be numb. I need to clear my mind and not think about what I’ve become.

  Gregory holds me tightly to him as we move through the empty streets of London, passing only cabs and an occasional off-balance group of drunkenly happy, oblivious people.

  “How’s Jackson?” Gregory asks quietly, his hand hovering over my ear, shielding me like he thinks I could sleep.

  I watch Kenneth through the rear view mirror as he talks to his boss. “He’s alright. On crutches but discharged himself from hospital. He wants to talk to you.” Kenneth adjusts his position until he can meet my eyes in the mirror. Then he and Gregory exchange unspoken words.

  I turn my head into Gregory’s side and remember his wound when he winces. Another scar to add to the white gash that runs from his hip to the centre of his lower back and the cigarette burns on his wrist. We’ve known each other just over a month. Not long enough for him to tell me everything that haunts his sleep. Long enough for our relationship to witness two murders.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, raising my head to see his face. He tries to smile but it’s a solemn turn of the lips. He kisses my brow and tugs me back into him.

  “How are you fixed for the next few weeks, Ken? I’m going to need a driver until Jackson gets back on his feet.”

  “Whatever you need, Mr. Ryans.”

  Gregory nods subtly. Kenneth is hired but this time he won’t be extra security to protect against the imminent threat of death. I take a tiny comfort from the fact that the little boy in my dreams no longer has to think about that heinous bastard.

  We roll up to the basement entrance door and Kenneth slowly moves the Bentley into the underground car park, tracing the journey we made just hours ago. Before the world rocked on its axis and came to rest in a new position. I don’t realise I’ve stopped breathing until Gregory interlaces his fingers in mine and raises the back of my hand to his lips.

  “Okay?”

  I nod and will myself to smile for him but it doesn’t come.

  The Mercedes is gone, its usual bay empty. Gregory leaves me just a second whilst he gets out of the car. I need him back. I feel myself panic, my chest tightening, my heart pounding until Kenneth opens my door and Gregory’s there again. He holds out a hand and I slip my palm into his firm grip as my unsteady legs step out of the car. Trembling, I stand to face him. He strokes a loose hair behind my ear.

  “Let’s go home,” he whispers.

  He pulls me when I fall behind his stride, turning to watch the empty space the Mercedes has left behind. I close my eyes to see Jackson taking a gun from the glove compartment of the Bentley and Gregory leading me from the car, his body tense, his chiselled jaw set with anger. I’m encouraged with a tug as we follow Kenneth through the door to the lift vestibule, which still shows signs of tampering.

  We ascend in silence. When the lift pings, Kenneth steps to one side to let Gregory lead me out but my legs won’t move, remembering what happened the last time we stepped out of the lift on the sixty-fourth floor. I shake my head as Gregory attempts to nudge me forward. I expect him to be mad, to have lost all patience, but when I raise my head, his brown gems are filled with sadness.

  “I can’t,” I croak, suppressing the tears that are threatening again.

  With two big strides he moves in front of me, his tall frame sheltering me from the rest of the world. He lifts my chin until I can feel his warm breath on my lips. A silent tear slips from my eye when he presses his mouth to mine, trying to kiss away my fear. My arms lift to his shoulders, my fingers lock into his hair. I kiss him back, my tongue slipping into his mouth, consumed by nothing but thoughts of him. When he pulls away, he rubs away my rogue tear with his thumb and slips his hand back into mine. Armed with the strength he’s given me, I follow him.

  Kenneth holds open the door to the apartment. I want to close the door on reality and be immersed in nothing other than Gregory but we step inside to a lounge full of people, still dressed in their finery. Jackson stands, aided by a crutch under one arm and Sandy’s shoulder under the other. Lara and Lawrence stand one after the other. Then Amanda, then Williams.

  I watch their faces blankly, not knowing how to face them—my childhood nanny and stand-in mum, Gregory’s mother and stepfather, my best friend and Gregory’s right-hand man. I’m not the Scarlett Heath they know anymore. Gregory squeezes my hand but even that won’t protect me from the harsh reality staring at me from six pairs of eyes. Lara raises a hand to her chest then, with a sob, makes her way to her son, engulfing him in her arms, crying into his chest. Amanda raises the tips of her fingers to her lips, her glazed eyes watching me, waiting. My eyes meet Sandy’s but shame causes me to look away.

  Turning my head puts the spot in my line of sight. That spot. It’s clean, the pool of Pearson’s blood has disappeared already. The presence of bleach in the air hits me.

  “What’re you doing here?” Gregory asks Lara. He’s hugging her but his words are curt.

  “We came as soon as we could.”

  “And the party? Do people know?”

  “No. It ended as it should.”

  I stare at the untarnished floor and the white washed walls until I can see Pearson’s face and the blood spilling from his broken skull. I snap my eyes to the vast skyline of London beyond the wall of windows, set in the darkness. The dark world of the city I’ve come to live in.

  “If you want to keep this quiet you need to call Sydney to manage the PR, just in case,” Lawrence is saying.

  I turn on my stiletto heel and walk through the lounge to the staircase, leaving the room behind me but taking the memories with me.

  “I can do that,” Williams offers.

  Sickness turns in my stomach as I climb the stairs but this time there’s no Gregory to defeat it and when I reach the landing, I run along the corridor until I’m in the bathroom, retching to rid myself of every sinful thought I’ve had. My body heaves until I’m spent.

  I crawl to the walk-in shower and sink back against the wall, my shoulders pressed to the cold tiles. Reaching an arm up, I turn the shower until hot spray is pouring over me. Pulling my knees into my chest I sit, alone and numb, until Gregory teases me away from the wall and slides behind me, his legs either side of mine. As the shower rains over him, streaks of crimson decorate the water. I watch the swirls darken in colour, the tarnished molecules fighting against the pure.

  He holds my back to his warm chest, taking my weight as my body chugs beneath him, choking on soft, endless sobs. He presses his lips to my scalp and releases the catch of the diamond choker around my neck, relieving me of the sparkling ston
es.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore,” he whispers into my ear.

  He traces his lips along my collarbone, breathing soothingly on my skin. Whilst I’m wrapped in his hold, whilst he’s making me forget, I believe him. I relax my head back to his shoulder and he twists my chin with his finger until I face him. Closing my eyes, I accept his kiss.

  His eyes are still closed when I open mine. “I could have lost you.”

  “But you didn’t,” he says, his South African accent strong and sultry through his husky throat.

  I pull a hand back through his hair, refusing to tear myself away from the beauty of him. “I love you so much it hurts.”

  His lips turn just enough that I almost catch a glimpse of the mesmerising half smile that can melt me. Then he presses his lips firmly against mine and I kiss him back, desperate, rough, pulling him to me. I’m panting when I eventually peel myself from him.

  “Let me clean you,” he says, turning me away from him.

  One by one, he removes the pins holding up my hair and releases each curl down my back, intermittently dropping kisses to my shoulders, my darkness lifting a little each time he touches me. When my hair is loose, he puts his hands beneath my arms and lifts me to stand. He unzips my gown and nudges my thighs, encouraging me to step out, then folds the dress in half and casts it to the sink. Two fingers hook into the sides of my French knickers and he slides them down my thighs to the ground.

  “Move forward.”

  I step under the fiercest part of the shower spray. He removes his shirt and presses his naked chest against my back then massages shampoo into my long dark hair. I think of nothing but the feel of his fingers and the touch of his skin on mine.

  “Turn.”

  Facing him, I tip my head back to let him rinse out the lather, stroking his fingers the full length of the strands. I watch him as he removes his trousers and tight black boxers in one go, exposing his entire body. I swallow deeply as my gaze wanders the length of his torso to his crotch. He moves to squeeze a bottle of ginger and black pepper Molton Brown onto his palm.

  “Lift,” he says, running a hand down my leg.

  I raise my leg slightly as he moves the gel around my thigh, down to the tips of my toes, then repeats the same on the other side. He spreads the lather up to my abdomen, his hands drawing circles on my stomach, then he eyes me cautiously, his brows raised. When I nod my head, his hands move up to my breasts, slick and smooth across my skin. My breathing quickens as he cups my plump flesh and teases my hardening nipples. His hands caress my arms, one at a time until they move up my neck and rest on my cheeks, his mouth moving to mine again.

  “Your turn,” I say, stepping aside so he switches places with me.

  I move my hands across his back, appreciating the firmness of his muscles. Then pull my fingers down his olive skin, avoiding the waterproof gauze covering his laceration, then slowing my pace to glide my fingertips gently across the scar on the base of his back. His shoulders rise on a deep inhale. I move my hands around his perfect arse and down his thighs. I don’t need to tell him to turn, he does it of his own accord. He drinks me in through hooded eyes, his proud erection telling me he wants me every bit as much as I want him.

  Stepping into him, I press my chest against his and revel in the feel of his cock against my abdomen. “Make me forget, Gregory. Make it all disappear.”

  He dips his head a fraction then moves a hand down my body to pick up my thigh. I gasp. I need this. I need the feel and sight of him to replace everything I’ve seen and felt in the last few hours. He lifts me, my legs locking tightly around his lean waist. He presses me back against the cold tiles of the shower and lowers one leg so I stand on my tiptoes. Then he runs a hand up the side of my body, taking my arms above my head.

  “Kiss me,” I beg.

  He does. Slowly at first, then passionately, and I match his assault with every shred of emotion I can conjure.

  “Please.”

  He lifts me onto him, his length filling me. He holds us still for a moment, his eyes closing, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down the taut skin of his throat. Then he draws back slowly and thrusts.

  “Scarlett.” My name is dragged through his teeth.

  Emotions threaten to overwhelm me. I dig my nails angrily into his bare flesh. I’ve killed a man. I clamp my teeth down on his pectoral muscle as he draws out then rams into me again. “Gregory, again. Harder, please!”

  He pulls out to his tip then thrusts back into me hard, forcing me back against the tiles. “More!” I beg. Whilst he’s driving into me, I can’t think.

  He goes again, harder, faster, moving in and out of me exactly how I need him until I can feel my clit swelling, my muscles clenching.

  My mouth takes his, tongues swirling, lapping as I build, losing my grip on everything except his touch, the feel of his cock against the most sensitive spot inside me. My back arches and my swollen breasts press against him, the hard ends desperate to feel the rub of his firm chest. He pulls my lip through his teeth and I match his next drive, forcing him deeper, taking him to the end of me.

  He barks my name as my orgasm takes over my body.

  On one last powerful blow I feel the force of his warm release inside me and the sight of his strained neck as he throws back his head.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, as he presses his lips to my temple and leans against me, the wall taking my weight.

  Chapter Three

  “You know why I had to do it,” Gregory says through gritted teeth, as he and Jackson drink coffee at the breakfast bar.

  “I know why you think you had to do it but I’ll never understand it.”

  “And I can’t explain my need but I have to make this right in a way that means she can move on.”

  My heart falls to the pit of my stomach at his words. I suspected I’d fallen too deep too quickly but I’ve never worried that he doesn’t want to be with me. Until now. I pause on the stairs, not knowing whether to continue towards them or run back to the safety of Gregory’s bedroom. The floor creaks beneath me as I turn on my bare feet. Two sets of eyes regard me.

  He knows I overheard, his expressionless face telling me he doesn’t know what to do. With all the fake confidence I can muster, I descend the remaining stairs, tucking my shirt into my cream tapered trousers.

  He watches me from his stool on the other side of the breakfast bar as I make my way towards them. He looks tired after a long night and only a few hours’ sleep but no less perfect than usual, his tight black T-shirt fitting exactly the contours of his toned body north of his dark low-rise jeans. The casual version of Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO Ryans. “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  Gregory pours coffee from the filter machine of his pristine kitchen and quickly turns his wary eyes back to me like I’m cracked glass, ready to shatter at any moment. I take the cup between my hands and bring it to my nose, inhaling the rich scent. Both men regard me, neither speaking.

  “Don’t mind me,” I say, wanting them to pick up where they left off.

  Eyes flick between the three of us but no words are spoken. I refuse to be first, I want to know what they’re thinking. After minutes of exasperating silence, Jackson speaks.

  “Scarlett, we need to know what you said to the police.”

  It’s not what I was expecting. They don’t trust me. I shake my head, a sharp shake that betrays my irritation, and take my coffee with me to stand in front of the floor to ceiling windows.

  Bright November sun illuminates London’s city skyline and beams down on the River Thames. South Bank is bustling with people enjoying their Sunday, strolling with hot drinks, sitting outside cafes, snapping pictures of London’s Tower Bridge and generally going about their lives as if last night I didn’t kill a man in cold blood.

 
I killed a man, yet it’s Gregory whose suffering has only just begun. I can’t let him take the blame. I won’t. What if he’s convicted? He could go to prison and all these years, all the years he’s worked to be free from his father, would be for nothing. He’ll be caged like an animal, all because his sick bastard father cursed him the day he was born.

  Fire burns in my eyes. I know what I have to do.

  “I told them exactly what we agreed.”

  I feel rather than hear the relief filled sighs behind me.

  “But.” I take a long hot gulp of my coffee and brace myself. “Today I’m going to D.I. Barnes and I’m telling him the truth.”

  I turn to see Jackson off his stool, his body rigid with anger, his eyes crazed. “You—”

  “Jackson!” Gregory snaps. “Calm down. Scarlett, come over here, please.” He’s got his business face on and he’s speaking with authority. This is the version of Gregory Ryans people don’t refuse.

  Jackson’s temper doesn’t wane. “Calm down? Are you kidding me? The bobbies should’ve never been involved in the first place.”

  Gregory slams the side of his fist on the breakfast bar, making me jump. “Jackson, calm down or get out.”

  They glare at each other, tension palpable, until Jackson takes a seat. “Then you talk some sense into her.”

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” I mutter, sliding onto the stool beside Gregory. “I understand why you’re annoyed, I really do. We had a deal and I’m breaking it but last night I wasn’t thinking straight and now I am.” Jackson shakes his head. “I did this. I killed him and I might be going to Hell but I won’t be dragging anyone down with me.” I drink down the rest of my hot coffee and straighten my back. “I took the law into my own hands and I should be punished.”

  Gregory puts a hand on my thigh and turns me on the stool to face him. “Scarlett, you don’t deserve to be punished for what you did. You saved my life. Do you understand that?” His brown eyes burn into mine. “I wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t picked up that gun.”