In the Boss's Castle

by Jessica Gilmore

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT HAD BEEN a long day and by the time Maddison had noted down the maker of the clock situated just outside the Royal Observatory in Greenwich Park she was beat. She flopped onto a bench with an exaggerated sigh. ‘That’s half of London off my sightseeing list.’

  ‘See, virtue is its own reward.’ Kit had his trademark amused smile back in place as if the heartfelt conversation in Holland Park had never taken place. Maddison couldn’t help thinking that it was for the best. She’d mentioned her hopes for Bart, he’d opened up about his brother. They were even. No more depth required. And next weekend she would be armed with an entire list of small talk and safe topics to make sure they went no further.

  ‘Actually...’ she smiled sweetly at him ‘...reward is its own reward. Event of my choosing, remember?’ Even as she said the words she wondered if she was playing with fire, spending more time alone with Kit Buchanan. But an event was different; if she chose wisely they wouldn’t have to communicate at all. And it all made good copy for her social-media sites. She had a ton of pictures to add over the week: the Japanese garden at Holland Park, another gorgeous garden in the equally gorgeous Chelsea and the slightly disappointing visit to Vauxhall. It was a perfectly adequate park but she had secretly been hoping that the old pleasure gardens were still intact with winding, tree-lined paths full of lurking rakes, and a ballroom brimming with waltzing, masked partygoers. Now that would have got a lot of ‘likes’. A few pictures of her dallying with breeches-clad rakes and surely Bart would have been over on the next plane.

  Although given the choice she’d have been tempted to stick with the rakes... Maddison pushed the disloyal thought aside. Her plans with Bart were—had been—about forever. She wouldn’t throw that away for a rake, no matter how tight his breeches.

  Nor for a pair of blue eyes and an easy smile. Not that the owner was offering.

  ‘Of course. Your prize. What’s tempting you? Dinner at Nobu, drinks at the Garrick, Shakespeare at The Globe?’ Kit leaned against the railings and looked out at the view and, despite herself, Maddison couldn’t stop her gaze skimming over his denim-clad rear. The worn jeans fitted him just right; even breeches couldn’t improve that posterior. ‘Or some sort of concert? Your wish is my command.’

  ‘Seriously, anything?’

  ‘That was the deal. Why?’ He turned, his eyes creased, a wicked gleam warning her that she wasn’t going to be impressed with his next suggestion. She folded her arms and glared at him. It had as much effect as bombarding him with kittens. ‘Do you fancy something more risqué? I’m unshockable, you know, quite happy to take you to a burlesque club or into Soho for something a little edgier if that’s what you fancy.’

  Maddison had an irrepressible urge to play along, just to see how far he’d go. ‘Burlesque is very two years ago. Once you’ve spent a year learning how to unfold yourself from a giant martini glass in little more than a feather boa it quite takes the mystique away. It was great exercise, though, really worked the abs and the glutes—especially hanging upside down on a rope.’

  ‘I’d pay good money to see that,’ he said softly and Maddison barely repressed a shiver as the gleam in his eye intensified, darkened. Maybe she didn’t want to find out how far he would go. Maybe she was the one who was happy staying right here.

  ‘I’m out of practice.’

  ‘Isn’t that a shame?’

  Okay, it was definitely time to change the subject. ‘Opera. I’d really like to go to the opera, in Covent Garden.’

  The gleam was wiped away as if it had never been. ‘Opera?’

  ‘You did say anything,’ Maddison pointed out sweetly, enjoying the look of horror on his face.

  ‘True. I am a man of my word. But are you sure? Huge ladies in nighties collapsing and dying over twenty minutes of yowling? Because I’m sure there’s a complete extended Lord of the Rings trilogy showing somewhere. You, me, twelve hours of orcs?’

  ‘You have a very outdated view of opera. Not the twenty-minute-dying thing,’ she added truthfully. ‘That’s pretty standard, but the casting and staging is equal to the singing now. But if you really hate the idea I’ll go by myself.’

  ‘No, no, I promised. Any preference?’

  The temptation to demand a full repertoire of Wagner almost overwhelmed her but she resisted. ‘You choose, whatever’s on. The experience will be enough.’

  He shook his head. ‘Opera,’ he muttered. ‘Okay, caterwauling and extensive death scenes it is, but you have one more task before you fully earn it. I want to walk under the Thames, see if it’s worth including in a tour, and as we’re so close you can come with me. Tell me if it should be on every tourist’s wish list.’

  ‘Walk under the Thames?’ Maddison stared up at him. ‘I hate to break it to you but I left my scuba-diving stuff at home.’

  ‘Luckily for you there’s a staircase and a fully tiled tunnel. No masks or tanks required. I believe it’s perfectly safe. About one hundred and twenty years old though so there may be a few cracks...’

  Maddison’s pulse had already sped up at the words walk and under but cracks sent it hammering into overdrive. ‘Why walk when there are perfectly good bridges and cable cars?’

  ‘History. It was put in to help dock workers get to work on time from the other side of the river. I’m joking, Maddison, it’s perfectly safe, not a crack to be seen. The damage from World War II was repaired, well around then I think. It’s a great addition to the history tour but I just want to see how long it takes and look for things I can use for a clue. If you really hate the idea then...’

  ‘No. It’s fine.’ It wasn’t but no way was she playing the weak, pathetic female. ‘I just think you exceeded the walking quota for today and now here you are adding a whole river’s worth of extra steps. I’m just calculating how much it’s worth. Interval drinks at the opera for a start.’

  It wasn’t that she was claustrophobic, not at all. She was fine in her tiny studio, wasn’t she? And sure, she didn’t like flying, but nobody really liked being cheek by jowl with a bunch of strangers in a tin can in the sky. It was just she didn’t like feeling that she had no escape. It was too much like the tiny, airless room in the trailer, the door shut and not being allowed to come out, not even to use the toilet or to get a drink. It was being helpless that got to her. And walking under a river seemed a pretty darn vulnerable thing to do.

  ‘Drinks as well? That might make the actual opera part a little more palatable.’ He extended a hand. ‘Come along, Miss Carter, we can’t be lounging around here all day. We have waters to conquer.’

  * * *

  Why had she agreed when it was obvious how much she didn’t want to go into the tunnel? Daniel had probably been much more eager to go into the lions’ den—but, unlike Daniel, Maddison had no need to martyr herself. Kit had suggested more than once that she could wait for him by the domed entrance but she brushed his suggestion aside with a curt, ‘I’m fine, honestly.’

  Which was the least honest thing he had heard this week. Fine didn’t usually mean pale, big-eyed and mute.

  The entrance to the tunnel was by the Cutty Sark, the permanently moored Victorian clipper, and Kit made a note to try and work the boat into the history quiz—with the Royal Observatory so close it would give treasure hunters a good reason to come this far east. But he didn’t stop as he steered Maddison past the tourists queuing up for a tour; if she was going to insist on doing something that so obviously freaked her out, then they should get it over with as soon as possible.

  They bypassed the glass door lifts at the tunnel entrance, choosing to access the tunnel through the spiral staircase instead, and began the descent still in silence. There must have been one hundred or so steps and Kit breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the bottom, Maddison still safely by his side.

  ‘Okay, keep your eyes
out for clues,’ he said as cheerfully as he could, as if a mute, white-faced Maddison were a completely normal companion. ‘Interpretation, some carving or plaque we could use. I was wondering about the number of steps but lost count halfway down.’

  ‘So did I.’

  ‘She speaks! So, what do you think?’

  Maddison swivelled, taking in the tunnel. It was, Kit had to admit, less than spectacular, the floor a grubby gravel path, the circular walls curving low overhead, completely covered with white rectangular tiles. A line of lights ran ahead, murkily lighting the way. If he was planning to write a crime novel, then this would make a perfect location. If it weren’t for the CCTV and other pedestrians, that was. He stepped aside as a family came by, the children yelling excitedly as their voices echoed off the walls.

  ‘It’s a little like being in the Tube. If I didn’t know I wouldn’t have guessed we were under the river.’

  ‘Those Victorians missed a trick. They should have put in glass walls so we could gaze in delight on the murky depths of the Thames, looking out for shopping trolleys and the occasional body.’

  ‘Charming. I so wish they had.’

  ‘Ready? I’m going to warn you now that we’re not getting out the other end; there’s not a huge amount to see there and I want to take a closer look at the Cutty Sark.’

  ‘There and back again? That’s going to cost ices and drinks at the opera.’ But her voice wasn’t so stilted and her posture more natural. Whatever Maddison had been afraid of obviously hadn’t materialized—and she was right: it was very much like walking through a connection tunnel at a Tube station. A long connection tunnel. One the width of the Thames, in fact.

  And the Thames was wider than he’d realized. ‘Seen anything?’ They had walked maybe around five hundred yards and he had yet to see a single identifying item that would make the tunnel suitable as a treasure-hunt destination.

  ‘Not a thing. Maybe there will be something at the other end we can direct them to.’ She sounded completely normal now, if a little weary.

  The lights flickered and she froze, her eyes wide. Not so normal after all, just putting on a good front. Maybe they would have to exit at the far end after all. Kit wasn’t sure he wanted to bring her back through the tunnel if she was going to be so jumpy.

  ‘Maybe, otherwise...’ But before he could finish his suggestion the lights flickered again and then a third time, before with no further ceremony simply blinking out. Kit blinked and blinked again, the darkness so very complete he didn’t know where the tips of his fingers were, which way he was facing.

  ‘What the...?’ he swore softly. ‘Maddison, where are you? Are you okay?’ She didn’t reply but he could hear her breathing, fast, shallow, panicked breaths getting hoarser and hoarser as her breathing sped up.

  ‘Maddison.’ He put out a hand, feeling for her, conscious of a mild panic, a little like playing blind man’s bluff, that moment when you reach out into the unknown, patting the air gingerly, hoping to touch hair or a sleeve. But there were no answering giggles, just increasingly hoarse breaths. He felt again but his hands brushed nothing more substantial than air. Damn.

  ‘Maddison, it’s okay. I’m going to get my phone. It has a light on it. Okay? Just slow down, lass.’ The affectionate word slipped from his tongue before he was aware. A word that belonged at home, to a past life, a past time. ‘Breathe. Breathe.’ He kept speaking in a low, measured voice while he fumbled for his phone, breathing a sigh of relief when he located it. It took him three expletive-ridden tries to press his fingerprint onto the lock screen but eventually the phone was on and he could press the torch icon. Immediately a beam of light sprung out from the back, casting a pale glow over the wall in front of him. He moved it to the side and finally located Maddison.

  She was utterly rigid, her eyes wide in shock, the blood completely drained from her face as if she were looking into Hades. Kit reached out and took a hand, wincing at the iciness of her flesh. All thoughts of boundaries and assistants and company policies when it came to line managers and their staff disappeared as he shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around her and pulling her in tight so that he could rub her arms, her back, her hands, trying desperately to transfer some warmth from him to her. She was shaking now, her teeth chattering, but her breathing slowed as he held her. She still didn’t utter a single word.

  It could only have been a minute at the most but it felt like an eternity. The silence as absolute as the dark, punctuated only by her panicked breath and his murmured comfort. It was almost a shock when the lights came on with no ceremony, just with a dull flicker. Maddison started, stared at the light—and then burst into tears. Convulsive, silent sobs that racked her body as if they would tear her apart.

  ‘Hey, hey, it’s okay.’ Kit continued to rub her back, his hands moving in slow, comforting circles, but now the lights were back on, now she was responding to his comfort, albeit in a damp, sobbing way. It was hard for him not to notice just how perfectly his hand fit the contours of her back. How her hair was lightly fragranced, a subtle floral scent that made him think of spring. Of how perfectly she fitted into him, her head under his chin and her breasts—oh, dear God, her breasts—nestled enticingly against his chest.

  No, not enticingly. She was in pain and shock. What kind of monster found that enticing?

  Her waist was supple and her legs gloriously long. The kind of legs a man wanted wrapped round him...

  Kit swallowed, his hands stilling as he tried to push the unwanted, forbidden thoughts away. She was in love with someone else, remember? She wanted a porch swing with that someone, which wasn’t a sign of commitment he was familiar with, it must be some American thing, but it sounded serious. And even if she weren’t...

  She was bright and quick and ridiculously attractive, not to mention the perfect breasts and the long legs and the hair. Girls like Maddison deserved to be put up on pedestals and worshipped. Even if she were free she wasn’t for him. He didn’t deserve her, would never deserve a woman like her. He deserved shallow and superficial and downright annoying at best. Really he would be better off on his own. He deserved a lifetime of loneliness.

  After a few minutes during which Kit studiously counted the tiles over her shoulders, anything to take his mind off just how closely they were pressed together, Maddison’s breathing slowed down to the odd gulp, her sobs transmuted to small shudders, her tears finally stemmed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She stepped back and he was instantly cold, instantly empty. He wanted to drag her back against him, allow his hands to explore every inch of her body in a way that had nothing to do with comfort, everything to do with lust. Kit’s eyes dropped to the lush tilt of her mouth, swollen from tears, and wanted to crush it under his until her sobs were a distant memory.

  He took a step back of his own. ‘That’s okay. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘I...I...I’m not good in the dark.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain anything.’ His voice was gruff as he forced the words out. ‘Are you okay to walk? I think we both need a stiff drink.’

  * * *

  Maddison cradled the brandy Kit had insisted on buying for her. ‘I am really...’

  ‘Sorry,’ he supplied. ‘I know. But you don’t need to be. There is absolutely nothing to apologize for.’

  ‘A twenty-six-year-old woman so afraid of the dark she has a meltdown? That’s beyond an apology.’ She buried her head in her hands. ‘I am completely pathetic. Do you know I sleep with a night light? Like a little kid?’

  She had slept with a night light since she was eight, since the night she had woken to hear a noise snuffling outside her trailer. There were coyotes on the Cape but her mind had immediately jumped to bears—or something worse. Maddison had blinked against the total darkness, heart hammering, mind buzzing with a fear completely alien to her eight-year-old mind.

 
‘Mommy.’ But her voice was hoarse with fear, the word barely more than a whisper. ‘Mommy?’

  At some level she’d known, known even if she could call out it would be no use, that her mother had gone out once she was asleep, that she often went out when Maddison was asleep, known that she was all alone in an old trailer in the middle of the woods. That anyone or anything could come and break into the trailer and nobody was there to save her.

  Maddison looked up at Kit, her hands gripping the brandy, and took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to get the panic back under control, where it belonged. ‘You know what I love about living in New York? It’s never dark. The light shines in through my window all night long.’

  Kit reached over and laid his hand over hers, a warm, comforting clasp. She wanted to lace her fingers through his and hold on tight, let him anchor her to the daylight and the sunshine and the busy city street, pull her out of the darkness of the past.

  But only she could do that. She needed security, she needed a family of her own to make up for her long, lonely childhood. She wanted the kind of money that meant walls were always thick, lights were always on and that she never, ever had to spend a night on her own.

  ‘We all have our Achilles’ heel,’ he said, his fingers a comfortable caress on hers. ‘No one has to be strong all the time, Maddison.’

  She shook her head. He really didn’t get it. ‘I do,’ she told him as she eased her hand out from under his, ignoring the chill on her now-empty hand in the space where he had touched her, the need for his warmth. ‘I do. Weakness makes you vulnerable. Strength, security, that’s what counts, Kit.’

  He was looking at her as if he wanted to see into the heart of her but her barriers were well crafted and she wasn’t letting him in. ‘What happened, Maddison?’