‘Yes,’ he answers, looking very serious and intense and far too sexy.
‘Even though you haven’t spoken to Tony yet and heard his version of events?’
‘Yes!’ Sliding closer, he crowds me up against the wall and grabs hold of my face in both hands so I have to look at him. ‘Just try, Charley. Try. I’ve had weeks to think about that weekend, about you. Wondering if my instincts in Barcelona were off, debating whether I should follow logic or gut feeling.’ His touch changes, fingers pushing through my hair. ‘I’m ashamed to say I hoped you’d complain to the agency so I could write you off completely. But you didn’t and I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t forget you, so I went down to the casino and…’
‘What is it, Alex?’ I whisper, super-aware of his touch, but more concerned with his words.
Taking a deep breath, he tilts my face upwards. ‘I think we might be a risk worth taking. So answer my question will you, put a guy out of his misery. Do you like me just for me, or not?’
‘What were your instincts about me? And what about the clause and bad press because you’re going against it?’
Groaning in mock frustration: ‘Instincts? That you make me feel better. About everything. You understand me and don’t see the CEO thing as either a bonus or a barrier. That I should trust you because you’re different from other women. Good different. Clause? You’re not an employee, and even if you were, I’ve decided I really don’t care.’
‘Oh,’ I squeak, relief and joy thundering through me. ‘In that case—’ I shove him backwards and our bodies crash into the other wall as I push in and kiss him, hot and deep, throwing all of my craving for his glorious body and sexy sweetness into the connection between our mouths.
I want him so much. I’ve missed this, missed him. It feels so good, so right when he lifts me in his arms, big, warm, demanding hands on my hips, kissing me like he’ll never stop. My pulse goes crazy, my breathing shallow as I cling onto him.
He sets me on my feet but keeps holding me tight and our clothes fall in heaps and puddles along the hallway as we strip each other, needing to get closer, needing naked skin. Alex runs sweltering kisses down my throat, bends his head to my breasts to nip and lick his way down to suck my nipples and I can hardly breathe. Hurried hands grasp and massage and grab.
‘Bedroom?’ he pants against my mouth.
Throwing my arm out to the side in a half-hearted gesture, I take his lovely, kissable lips again, begging for more. Yet, as Alex walks me backward into the bedroom, I can feel a change. He slows down, lightens the touch of his hands round my waist, lifts his mouth a fraction, and when he stands back to look at me and brushes my fringe out of my eyes, it reminds me of our last time together in Barcelona, before our argument. The tension, the silence, the sense it meant something more than simply glorious sex. The feeling we had an amazing connection.
I look him up and down. We’re in our underwear, and though he looks a little leaner, he’s as ripped as ever, shoulders broad and well developed, thighs muscular and hairy, and his erection straining against his jockey shorts. I’m panting too, heaving, sweat gathering along my nape, knickers damp with need. I’m enough of a modern girl to know that I don’t need a man to survive, but having a relationship for the sake of it and wanting a particular guy to be happy are two different things. And I want Alex. He’s my guy, I realise. It’s not just like. I don’t just want to keep having spectacular sex with him.
I fell for him in Barcelona.
I’m in love with him.
As crazy as it is, it’s the truth. Kind of love at first sight, but strung out over one life-changing weekend.
So I do the hardest thing. I put my hand against the twin wings of his graceful collarbones and push him lightly away, my fingertips skimming along his smooth, tanned skin.
‘I can’t.’ I shake my head, gulping. ‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t.’
‘You can’t? You’re not playing games with me, are you Charley?’ His eyes gleam as he waits for me to explain myself.
‘No! No way. But, I’m sorry. I can’t do this,’ I flick a hand between our bodies, ‘again, until everything is resolved. If it goes wrong … well.’ I can hardly tell him it’ll hurt too much because I love him, not when he’s only talked about like and being involved. I mean, what does he even want? Friends with benefits? Dating? A more serious relationship? Is he even free to have a relationship, with his ex’s scrutiny of him? Would he do the commuting thing, given I’m soon back home?
He’s said some nice stuff about a risk worth taking, but how does he actually feel about me? I don’t know, and I’m not ready to ask. What I do know is I’ve already given too many pieces of myself to him and can’t give any more. ‘There can’t be any more lies or misunderstandings or uncertainty,’ I offer at last, crossing my arms over my boobs. ‘So I guess you’ll be going now.’ That sex is off the table, I finish silently.
But, instead, the gleam in his gaze increases to approval and he gives me another world-shaking, crooked smile.
‘It kills me to say it,’ he looks down at his bulging shorts and shakes his head wryly, ‘but I understand. And I agree. I need to resolve what happened between you and Tony. And I’m on the cusp of finally signing the divorce papers. We should wait, if only for a few days. Then we can talk properly about everything. And I’m going, but only because I can’t promise to keep my hands off you if I don’t.’ He pauses. ‘Come here.’ Bringing me in for a quick, hard hug, he drops a kiss on my mouth, squeezes my bum, then leads me down the corridor so we can gather our clothes and get dressed, sharing smiles. It is so unbelievably sweet he’s willing to wait, and wants to, that I almost drag him back to my room and tell him I’ve changed my mind.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he says five minutes later, as he backs out of the front door, making me giggle when he pops back round it and steals a last hot, sloppy kiss. ‘I promise.’ He taps me on the nose, ‘Stay out of trouble.’
After he’s left, I sink back against the door, taking in long, deep breaths. He is so adorable and I’m head over heels. I laugh at his last comment. Never mind what he said – I’m already in trouble.
Chapter Twenty Six
It gets worse the next day.
Instead of the phone call I dread from Alex, saying he’s spoken to Tony and never wants to see me again, a harried-looking delivery driver arrives at my door carrying a fantastical, gobsmacking, massive bunch of flowers. Red, yellow, green, bright pink, they remind me of the sound and colours of the market in Barcelona the morning we played hooky.
Jess strolls out of the kitchen carrying a plate of sandwiches as I place my signature on the electronic gizmo for the delivery man. ‘Woah!’ she says, coming to a standstill. ‘Look at those. Are they for me?’
I frown as I close the door behind the man, my stomach dropping. Maybe I’ve assumed wrong, they could be from Jake, though I’m not sure he’s the flowers type from what she’s told me.
Plucking a card out of the foliage, my stomach lifts again.
Charley
‘Nope, sorry. Me,’ I grin.
‘Come on then, give up the goods,’ she smiles. ‘I’ve got to get back to school in time for afternoon registration.’
Tearing the tiny envelope open with indecent haste, I cut my finger, sticking it in my mouth to suck up the blood. Jess rolls her eyes. Will this girl ever grow out of her clumsiness? I can practically read the words in large scroll above her head. Dropping my hand, I stick my tongue out at her and read Alex’s card aloud.
Flowers from my new favourite place, for my new favourite girl.
See you soon.
A x
His new favourite girl. ‘Oh, no,’ I moan. ‘Is he trying to kill me? I thought I was in trouble but … now what am I supposed to do?’
‘Don’t worry, it won’t last for long,’ she says. ‘They all get bored with the fancy stuff after a while,’ she frowns. ‘Saying that, they’re very nice and erm, bright, but I kind of expected som
ething a bit more posh and expensive from a billionaire.’
‘They’re perfect,’ I scowl, walking into the kitchen to start rooting around in the cupboards for something to put them in. ‘They’re to remind me of the great time we had together in Barcelona.’
‘Oops, my mistake!’ she smiles, producing a vase from under the sink and filling it with water for me as I find the scissors and start cutting open the cellophane to get to the flowers. ‘I stand corrected. Just promise me you’ll be careful,’ her tone changes, ‘I don’t want to see you hurt again.’ She passes me the vase. ‘I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you this evening.’
After I’ve arranged the flowers and put them in the middle of the lounge coffee table with a satisfied smile, I go back to my chaotic room to box up books and CDs. Jess’s words keep spinning through my mind. I don’t want to get hurt either, but every time I think about Alex’s flowers I feel warm. It’s thoughtful, it’s romantic and it’s a positive thing to focus on against the discomfort of packing up my things to leave the home I love.
Over the course of the afternoon I keep realising I’m staring into space with a soppy grin on my face. Boy, I really am a goner.
Once Jess gets home from work we start fixing dinner together whilst she chatters about what happened at work and the funny thing a year-nine pupil told her. She trails off, glancing into the lounge. ‘They are nice flowers,’ she says grudgingly.
‘Thanks very much,’ I tease, putting a pan on the hob to boil water for rice.
‘Charley.’ Her voice is serious.
‘Yeah?’
‘About you moving home—’
‘There’s no other choice. We’ve talked this to death. We can’t afford it and I won’t let you lose this place.’
‘But I’ve been thinking. We could sell up and rent another place together or we could rent this place out and—’
‘Stop it,’ I say briskly, adding salt to the water. I can’t look at her or I’ll cave, and that wouldn’t be fair to her. ‘I appreciate it, you know I do, but we’d still need money, which I haven’t got, and there isn’t time for what you’re talking about. You’re a great friend, but this is my problem not yours. You’ve got your job, and I know you love the rat-bags you teach, and,’ I inject breeziness into my voice, ‘you’ve got Jake. For as long as you want him.’ Going over to the corner unit, I hunt for the chilli sauce. ‘And living together could never have been forever. At some point we’re going to find guys we want to settle down with, so—’
Making an exasperated sound, she pushes past me and pulls the jar from the unit. ‘You’ve changed your tune.’ Setting out an onion, minced beef, plump red peppers and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce: ‘Before Barcelona it was all, I’m a career girl, I’ve got other things to focus on at the moment, the last thing I need is a man mucking things up.’
‘Yeah, well … ’ I traipse over to stand next to her, watching as she deftly peels the onion under cold running water.
‘I know what you’re doing, Charley.’ She lifts one eyebrow and slides a sideways look at me through her shiny blonde hair, ‘and I understand. I just wish—’ She sighs.
‘I know.’ I squeeze her shoulder.
The doorbell rings. Glancing at Jess’s onion-juice-covered hands, I wipe my hands on a tea towel. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘Okay. More flowers?’
‘I doubt it!’
Shrugging, I pad along the hallway carpet. ‘Hello—’ My intended greeting dies on my lips when I swing the door open to find Alex’s driver on my doorstep.
‘Good evening, Miss Caswell.’
‘Hi Evan. Is everything all right? I’m not supposed to be somewhere am I? Is Alex okay?’ I say anxiously, peering over his shoulder into the communal corridor.
‘Everything is fine. Mr Demetrio sent this over for you.’ Bending over, he picks up a wrapped package leaning against the wall and holds it towards me.
‘Oh. Thank you.’ What now? Is he going to keep showering me with presents? And is it guilt or apology, or something else? ‘Do you want to come in? For tea or something? We’re just making dinner but—’
‘I’m fine, Miss. My wife is expecting me home.’ He smiles, ‘But thank you for the offer.’
‘It’s Charley, remember?’ I smile back. ‘I’ll let you go then.’
‘Goodnight, Charley.’
‘Thanks. Night.’
Shutting the door, I kneel down on the carpet and peel open the layers of classy, embossed white and navy wrapping paper, biting the inside of my cheeks. He doesn’t need to keep spending money on me, I hope he knows that. Still, I can’t deny I’m enjoying it. Though it’s not the price tag I’m interested in, it’s the fact he’s thinking about me.
‘Are you coming to finish making dinner or what?’ Jess charges into the hallway. ‘Oh. Alex again?’
‘Yes.’ I lift the lid. ‘Oh, wow!’ I breathe reverently.
‘What—’ Jess comes over and looks down into the box. ‘Nice,’ she says, appreciatively.
‘Gorgeous,’ I sigh. ‘Heavenly.’ Pulling out the blue, purple and white swirly mega-high heels I admired so much in Barcelona and letting them dangle from my fingers. ‘He remembered.’ He bought me shoes.
A scrawled note attached to the inside of the box lid catches my eye.
Wear them, enjoy them. A x
‘Well I’m guessing they’re going to be painful rather than enjoyable at first,’ I comment. ‘But they really are beautiful.’
‘Okay. I’m not a shoe kind of girl.’ Jess is more into biker boots than stilettos. ‘And I know I was a bit underwhelmed by the flowers to start with.’ Jess leans over me to study Alex’s note. ‘But I’ve got to say I’m starting to think you’re really lucky. This guy knows what you like. It’s sort of sweet. He’s courting you.’
‘He is not!’ I laugh. ‘And if he was, it’d be totally arse about face because we’ve already spent a whole weekend together and—’
‘Had amazing sex?’ she finishes, grey eyes shining. ‘Uh-huh. Still. Just saying. Sweet. Now come on Cee, I’m starving, let’s go sort out dinner.’ She tuts when I stand up and gaze longingly at the shoes. ‘Ok–ay,’ she sighs good-naturedly, ‘You can go and try them on.’
‘Thanks!’ Without giving her a chance to change her mind, I go into my room and pull on the shoes, admiring them in the full-length mirror. They’re stunning and sexy and Jess has to call me three times for dinner before I take them off and join her.
Two days later Alex calls. We’ve talked in the meantime, when I called to thank him for the gifts, managing with a big effort to speak like a grown up and not squeal like a little girl, but when he asks me to go and see him at his flat my stomach does a mini-flip.
‘Okay,’ I murmur. ‘What’s your address?’
‘I’ll send Evan for you.’
‘No, I’ll tube it, thanks.’ I’d rather leave on my terms if it all goes wrong.
Thankfully the underground station is only five minutes away from his place because I’m wearing the shoes he bought me and they are really high. I’m stupidly nervous as I meander towards his posh apartment block by the flowing Thames, getting slower and slower the closer I get. As I hover by the building entrance, trying to figure out the security panel, a heavily muscled guy comes pounding down the stairs in tight blue and white running gear. After giving me the once-over, he flashes me a cheeky smile and holds the door open. A detached part of me realises he’s pretty fit, but there’s only one guy who matters.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur, pushing my way in, nerves flaring and sending tremors through me. I dimly notice black, sparkly tiled floors and white walls and gold trimmings before I walk straight into a lift that seems like it was waiting just for me. Pressing P for the penthouse, I stare at my reflection in the mirrored walls. Pride has made me put battle gear on; the new shoes and a black woollen dress that shows off every curve of my body and clashes beautifully with my hair, or so Jess told me in slightly less wholes
ome words. The aim of the outfit is either that Alex will appreciate it so much he’ll want to pull it off, or it will be forever etched in his memory as I walk out of his life. I bite my lip. Has he got his divorce? Has Tony admitted everything? Does Alex want to be friends with benefits or to really be with me? Is this where we properly begin?
The plushness of the lift, including the underlying scent of lemon and classical music being piped in from somewhere, yells out that the place belongs to the mega-wealthy. It’s expected, given what Alex told me about his lifestyle. What’s unexpected, and rocks me back on my heels, is the woman who slams Alex’s front door as I step into the wide, carpeted receiving area.
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ she spits, lunging for the lift doors before they slide shut. Clipping into the lift, she turns and hits a button with a long, immaculate nail, giving my tight dress a disdainful look whilst pulling her own unmistakable designer togs straight. ‘Whoever you are,’ she hisses, ‘he’s in a foul mood. As always. Bastard.’
I stand open-mouthed as the doors swish the stranger away. Whoever I am? Who the heck is she? A friend? An acquaintance? It can’t be Louise, can it? Whatever the relationship, she’s everything I’m not, a classic petite green-eyed blonde beauty in designer gear. Much more Alex’s world than mine. She can’t be a girlfriend, Alex wouldn’t have lied, would he?
I don’t think we have any more secrets. I hope not. We’ve had enough to feature in an episode of EastEnders.
Then I wonder what he did to aggravate her so much. The Alex I know isn’t a bastard, though he was leaning that way a bit the day we met, with his stern glances and arrogance and orders. But that’s not who he is really.
Whirling around as I hear his door open, I come face to face with Alex … holding a little girl with remarkable blue eyes.
‘Charley!’
What the – he has a daughter?
He has a daughter and never told me.
I slump back against the wall, sick, shocked, hit by a surge of anger and sharp disappointment.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 48
