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  I laugh at his forced hypocrisy. “Can we be serious for a minute? If both reports say the same thing, Gregory, you have two pretty damning pieces of evidence to rebut. They make you look like a liar.”

  “True. But if they’re both different, they completely undermine each other. John still thinks that if it’s an obvious case of self-defence, given my father’s history, there’s a good chance the CPS won’t even charge but if they did and the case went to trial, their reputation would suffer because of the conflicting evidence and it would be hard to refute our story and my claim of self-defence.”

  “But we have no way of knowing and now it’s another week of waiting.” I take an enormous breath that doesn’t settle the tightness in my chest. “Gregory, why did you get the ballistics report early?”

  He sighs. “I’ve told you. Barnes is an old friend of Jackson’s. It was a heads up.”

  “He was angry.”

  “Well he’s conflicted. He has to investigate a friend. Relax, baby, this is our day. We can’t change things.”

  As if that’s supposed to make me feel better. I throw my arms around him and bury my head in his neck because I really don’t know what else to do or say.

  “I won’t give up without a fight, Scarlett. I’ll make this right. You’ll see that what happened, what we did, was right.”

  He closes the passenger door to the DB9, locking me inside, then slips into the driver seat. “Right, what do you want to do?”

  “Mmm, let’s go for a walk. Let’s go to Primrose Hill.”

  “It’s freezing.”

  “You’re such a big girl, Gregory Ryans. We’re wrapped up.”

  He leans his head back against the head rest with a sigh then looks at me. “One condition. We don’t talk about the case or anything to do with it. Just us for the rest of the day.”

  I open my mouth to speak then press my lips shut again.

  “What?”

  “I just. You mentioned your father’s history like it’s on record. Do you mean...was he arrested for...for what he did to Lara?”

  His eyes noticeably flick away then back to me before he speaks. “He has a record. Now, can we stop or am I going to have to take you home and spank that pert little arse of yours?”

  I gasp, then follow it up with a laugh. “So if I don’t talk about Saturday we get to go to Primrose Hill. If I do talk about Saturday, I get a spanking? Hmm, I’d like to talk about Saturday please.”

  He shakes his head with a laugh and pulls out into the road too quickly. A full afternoon of relaxed Gregory. I’m actually giddy with excitement.

  He turns into a street near Primrose Hill Road and parks up. He lifts the collar on his coat and buttons it up his neck.

  “Miss Heath,” he says, offering me a hand to step out of the car. Two scrutinising eyes fall to my high heels. “Didn’t think this through, baby, did you? Looks like we’ll have to take you home for a spanking.”

  I laugh hard. An actual belly chuckle and it feels amazing. When I’m sufficiently composed, I pull two blue dolly shoes from my handbag and hold them up, my opposite hand resting on my hip. “A true London girl always carries her flats.”

  He holds me up with an arm under my shoulder whilst I switch my shoes and throw my heels back into the car. I mirror him in pulling up my collar and fasten the gold buckle at the neck.

  We walk up Primrose Hill Road hand in hand, passing a row of white town houses and local shops with a quaint, homey village feel. Gregory Ryans and Scarlett Heath do normal. Maybe old Scarlett and new Scarlett don’t have to be worlds apart.

  “Mmm, smell that.” Freshly baked French sticks fill wicker baskets on a table outside a small Parisian café, a red canopy blowing in the breeze above them in case of rain. “I love the smell of fresh bread.”

  “If we survive the cold to the top of the Primrose Hill and back we can come here. Frost bite or no frost bite, I won’t keep my lady from her fresh bread.” I giggle and nudge into his side as he blows his fingertips for effect and hunches his shoulders.

  At the bottom of the hill, a brilliant white Scottie dog comes running towards us and jumps up at Gregory’s leg. I expect him to bat it away but instead he bends and fusses the dog.

  “Oh dear, I’m sorry. She gets excited and I’m not quick enough to catch her.” The Scottie’s owner is a small, elderly lady, her mink coat practically drowning her body. She toddles towards us with her short grey hair flapping in the wind.

  “It’s not a problem at all,” Gregory says, giving his Most Charming Man impression. “How old is she?”

  The owner is next to us now, beaming back at Gregory. Even the little old dears fall under his spell. “Older than she thinks. Like me.”

  She’s not flirting?

  “You’re only as old as you feel, wouldn’t you agree?” He stops fussing the dog and stands.

  “Hey, you got a saying right!” Now I’m smiling. Gregory winks at me and it’s hard to know who’s swooning more, me or the little old dear.

  “We’ll let you both get on,” Gregory says with another dashingly handsome smile. “Have a good day.”

  “And you.” She turns to me and drops her gloved hand to my arm. “You hang onto him, young lady.” She leans into me as far as she can and I lean down until her mouth is next to my ear. “He’s a hottie.” I laugh, for the second time a total belly chuckle, and wave as the little old dear and her Scottie move on.

  “What was that about?” Gregory asks as I slip my arm through his.

  “Girl talk.” I lean up and plant a kiss on my hottie’s cheek. “Race you!” I set off running up the hill before he answers but it only takes him a second to catch up. He sweeps me from my feet without breaking his stride and keeps running up the hill. His breathing isn’t even laboured when he puts me down just shy of the top. Then he takes two more big steps to make sure he reaches the peak before me.

  “You cheated! I would’ve won if you hadn’t picked me up.”

  “Get here.” Those magnetic brown gems burn into mine. I go to him and let him wrap me in his arms. “How did I find you?” He drops a kiss on my brow then turns me, dropping his arms over my shoulders, pulling my back into his chest. We look out over the city in the quiet calm of the hilltop. I’ll make you fall in love with me, Ryans. I pull his arms tighter over my shoulders and drop my head onto his forearm.

  “That’s the zoo,” I say.

  He nods his head then drops his mouth to my neck, inhaling deeply.

  “And Canary Wharf.”

  His lips gently suck my skin.

  “St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

  His tongue slides up to my jawline.

  “The Gherkin.”

  He kisses my lobe.

  “The London Eye.”

  He draws a line of kisses along my jaw line.

  “And that’s home,” I say, looking at the Shard.

  He twists my head to face him and covers my lips with his. I rotate my body so I’m pressed into his chest and wrap my fingers through his hair as I breathe in his rich, fresh scent. He pushes my hair over my shoulders and his fingers gently tug me into his body. He lifts my legs so I wrap them tightly around his waist, never breaking contact with his lips.

  He turns us slowly on the spot, faster and faster still until my lips peel away from his and I throw my head back, giggling, my arms outstretched above my head. A moment of total and utter happiness amongst our anguish.

  He slows our turns then spins us once in the opposite direction which makes me smile. My dad used to say that was the only way to counteract the Dizzy Duck Effect created by spinning over and over in one direction. This is exactly where I want to be. In this moment, nothing else matters except Gregory and me. The thief who stole my heart, me his accomplice and willing victim.

  He sli
des me down his body to my feet then strokes my hair back from my face and pecks the tip of my nose. “You’re cold.”

  I shake my head. If I am I’ll ignore it because I don’t want to go. I don’t want our bubble to burst.

  “Let’s get coffee.” He lifts my hand to his lips then guides us down the hill.

  We take two stools in the window of the French bakery. “We’re going to need lots of fresh baked bread,” Gregory says to the petite waitress as we take off our coats. “And two coffees. Americano for me, black no sugar.”

  “Latte for me, please.”

  “Would you like anything with your bread?” she asks with a delicate French accent. “Cheese, olives, oil and balsamic, meats?”

  “All of that.” Gregory’s polite but distracted. I have his complete attention. He pulls my stool towards him so my knees are pressed between his thighs. We eat and talk, we laugh, in this exact position for almost two hours. It’s easy and right. We talk about everything and nothing of consequence. Gregory rubs a rogue drip of balsamic from my chin when it falls and pays the bill without entertaining my protest.

  Dusk is already descending when we leave the café and stroll arm in arm back towards the car.

  “Oh, I love this bookstore.” Slipping out of his arm, I go into the traditional store, every wall lined with hundreds of books, and head straight to Classics. “This is my favourite of all time,” I say, holding the book in front of my chest.

  “The Count of Monte Cristo?”

  “Yes, it’s so wonderfully tragic.”

  “Agreed.”

  I cock my head to one side with a raised brow. “You’ve read The Count of Monte Cristo.”

  “Of course. It’s a classic. Do you want it?”

  “No, I have it at home.”

  He pouts then snatches the book from me and takes it to the counter, handing over a two pound coin.

  “Now you have a copy for your new home.” He hands me the yellow paper bag, rests an arm around my shoulder, and points us back towards the car.

  He wants to share his home with me. He looks and acts like he loves me. But he doesn’t say it. I’m risking everything for you, Gregory. Please let me in.

  * * *

  Amy has made Boeuf Bourguignon and left a note to say it’s in the oven. It smells delicious but I’m still stuffed from the bread feast at lunch.

  Gregory pours us both a glass of water from the fridge and slides mine across the breakfast bar to me. The water seeps into my veins, cool and refreshing. He fiddles with the remote to the sound system and Des’ree “I’m Kissing You” plays through the entire apartment.

  He takes his wine to draw us a bath and calls me to join him once I’ve undressed and hung up my clothes.

  I sit into the bath leaving space for Gregory to lower himself into the bubbles behind me. His movement makes the candles in the bathroom flicker. He pulls me back into his hard chest and washes me, soaking and squeezing a flannel over my skin.

  “Tell me about the women, the women at the hunt, other women.” I feel him tense against my back. He stills for a moment then slides the flannel across my chest. “I don’t want to piss you off it’s just, well, I know you must have been with a lot of women. I guess I’m curious. Have you ever...have you ever been in love?”

  He exhales and squeezes the flannel again. I leave the silence hanging between us, waiting to be filled.

  “The night of your father’s funeral, you asked me to help you forget. Do you remember?”

  I nod. I don’t want to speak because this is new, I don’t know how to deal with Gregory opening up and I don’t want to say the wrong thing and close the door.

  “You wanted to have sex with me so that you didn’t think about anything else. To help you block out the pain.”

  I’m beginning to understand. I nod again.

  “I’ve spent my life trying to forget, Scarlett, and it never worked. Not until you. Those women, all other women, they’ve meant nothing to me. I sleep with women, I work, drink, run, all to try to forget. It never works.”

  I shuffle in the water so I’m resting between his legs, my chin on his chest, looking up at him. “What do you want to forget?”

  His expression changes, he’s putting up his walls. I’ve found out everything I’m going to. For now. I crawl up his chest and press my lips against his, thankful that he’s shared at least something with me.

  He’s never been in love.

  He pulls his hands through my wet hair and kisses me, his tongue working around mine in slow, smooth circles. My hips roll against him in response. I move my hand to his length and find him already hard. He groans into my mouth before I break our contact and slide down his wet skin. His hips rise, lifting his shaft out of the water. I look up at him and see hazed eyes. He wants it.

  I turn my tongue around his tip and listen to him moan. Then I nibble the skin at his navel and down each of his thighs until he’s pushing his pelvis up, inviting my mouth. I make him wait. I trail a finger up his sack then cup him, applying pressure to his base and lightly stroking his back entrance. When his hips push higher, I take him in my mouth, sucking the head then seizing as much of him as I can. I close my eyes and concentrate on taking him deep until he’s touching the back of my throat. He thrusts his hands into my hair and pushes further into me. I take a deep breath and accept him, opening my throat. Then I swallow.

  “Fuck, Scarlett!”

  I draw back up his length and flick my tongue across his sensitive spot, then slide back down, taking him deep again.

  “Fucking hell!”

  He’s pulling my hair, holding me still and pushing himself deeper into my mouth. His need for me turns me on and drives desire in my cleft. Drawing back and wrapping my hand around his base, I swirl my tongue around the end of him and pump up and down with my fists, feeling him build beneath me. He starts to throb and swells a little further, his scrotum tightening. I remove my hand and withdraw my mouth. Then I step out of the bath and, feigning nonchalance, dry myself off with a towel.

  “You are fucking kidding me, lady!”

  I wrap the towel around me then throw him a minxy grin over my shoulder. “I was promised a spanking.”

  “Oh, now you’re definitely getting a fucking spanking!”

  “Is there a need to swear, Mr. Ryans?”

  He practically jumps out of the bath, his erection red and menacing. I squeal in delight as he yanks me up from the waist, my thighs locking onto his hips. He lays me down on the tiled floor and unties my towel. “You want it hard?”

  I bite my bottom lip and nod enthusiastically, already flooded with anticipation. He jerks my legs apart with his knees and I watch his dripping wet body as he lifts my hands above my head, securing them with one hand. There’s no need. I have no intention of doing anything but accepting him. Rough. Brutal. I want him.

  He moves the other hand to my sex, cupping me first, my hips already moving in response to him. His fingers enter me and stroke my G-spot. He brings them to his nose, then his mouth.

  “You always taste so fucking good.” His words are throaty and dry.

  He attacks my rock-solid nipple with his mouth and clamps down his teeth, sending a spike of lust through every nerve ending in my body. He takes the other in his teeth and slowly pulls back, extending my hard end. Then moves his mouth to the fullness of my breast and sucks, drawing blood to my skin, marking me as his.

  He slides his tongue in a smooth line down my stomach, then his mouth finds my clit, sucking, biting. My back arches and I’m reeling from his carnality. He bites harder until I’m crying out. An indulgent, yearning cry.

  I drag my fingers through his soft hair and he rises sharply as he growls. “Hands.”

  I quickly throw them back above my head. He drives into me, a fierce, admonishing atta
ck, hitting my wall.

  “Gregory!”

  “You like that, baby?”

  I nod, shake, whirl my head. “Yes.”

  He powers forward again, a hedonistic and utterly mind-blowing drive. I close my eyes and try to control my erratic breaths and tensing muscles. Then his hands are on my waist and he’s flipping me onto all fours. He spreads my knees and pulls my hips back towards him, then lifts my hands to the rim of the bath tub.

  “Hold on.” I do. I grip the rim tight, bucking forward when his hand strokes my centre.

  He yanks my hips back to him then pounds his cock into me, sending me forward on a scream. He pulls me back to him and draws out slowly. Then his palm comes crashing down on the globe of my arse with a growl. It hurts but my hips push back, begging for more. He strikes again and I take a deep breath, expecting. He waits. I feel exposed and desperate, but deliciously so.

  “Gregory.”

  “You want me, baby?”

  “Please. Yes.”

  He hammers into me, hitting my end, lifting me to a euphoric scream. He pulls out slowly, excruciatingly slowly, then crashes back into me and I groan as my body starts to pulse. Then his palm comes down again, followed by a brutal thrust.

  I yell, my insides in turmoil. My rear stings but there’s something about his power, his control, that’s driving me crazy. “More!”

  He yanks my hips back as he pounds into me. “Fuck, Scarlett! You feel so.” Crash. “Fucking.” Crash. “Good.”

  I throw my hips back as he thrusts again. “Gregory, I’m there!”

  “Not yet.” He slaps my arse again and rams into me. I can’t take anymore. My body clenches, inside and out.

  “Now, baby.”

  He crashes into me again and I come undone, screaming as I reach an overpowering climax. He drives again and his warmth fills me.

  “Jesus!” He squeezes my hips bones as he pulses and bucks into me.

  I hang my head between my arms as he circles, bringing us down. My body is drained, panting and weak.

  He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back onto his lap. He rests his head into my neck, his sweat mixing with my own. We sit together until our pants subside and my blazing heart returns to a steady beat. I lean my head back against him, shattered. I could sleep right here on the tiled floor. As I close my eyes, he lifts me and takes us both back into the lukewarm bath water. He rubs us both down then lifts me out of the bath and dries my body, smiling as he moves the towel over me.