London Bound (A Heart of the City romance Book 3)

by C. J. Duggan

  ‘I’m a writer.’

  Of a small blog.

  ‘I run my own business.’

  A small blog.

  ‘Travel, beauty, health.’

  On a small blog.

  Leaving out certain details made it sound like a legitimate endeavour and, seeing as it was my life goal, it wasn’t completely unfounded.

  ‘Wow,’ Jack said, raising his eyebrows, impressed. ‘Quite the entrepreneur.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just about following your passion.’ I tried to play it down as we turned into our street, walking along the strip of identical terraces that curved slightly. I ran my hand along the black wrought-iron fencing, feeling like a whimsical child.

  There was a part of me that felt like a giant fraud, but there was another part of me that secretly delighted in Jack being impressed by me, and that wanted desperately for the fib I told to be true. That part won.

  We came to a stop outside Nana’s terrace. ‘Well, here we are,’ I said, instantly hating how lame I sounded. Still, there was nothing to be nervous about. This wasn’t a date, it was broad daylight and Nana Joy was not inside. Before today’s act of chivalry, I’d actively avoided Jack Baker, so surely I couldn’t be having feelings for him. This was a good thing: adult conversation with someone other than Vera.

  ‘Well, thanks for the escort.’ I held my hand out to him so forcibly that Jack flinched back with a laugh.

  ‘Ah, any time,’ he said, taking my hand and firmly squeezing.

  I felt sure that there wouldn’t be an ‘any time’, so, as Jack’s grasp engulfed mine and lingered, I committed the feel of his touch and the sight of his coffee-coloured eyes smiling down at me to memory. It was then I noticed the faint half-moon-shaped scar at the corner of his left eye, a childhood accident, maybe a drunken night out, or perhaps he’d forgotten to looked both ways crossing the road at some point. Regardless of the cause, I would never have thought a scar could be so … sexy. It then occurred to me that I knew nothing about him, this man I couldn’t stop running into. I was tempted to ask about his background, but thought better of it.

  ‘Well, thanks again,’ I said, getting my keys from my bag and heading to the door. I glanced back with a forced smile and a wave as he headed down the steps, hands in his pockets.

  I worked quickly to slot the key into the front door, twisting and pushing my shoulder against it, nearly knocking the wind out of my lungs when it refused to give. Confused, I jiggled the key more desperately but there was no budging, no magical click that sounded to let me in.

  ‘Oh no, no, no, no, come on!’ I twisted the handle and kicked the door for good measure. ‘This cannot be happening, this cannot be.’ And just as I glanced at my watch, my breath catching at the lack of time before Vera and Nana’s return, a new panic set in.

  My heart thumping madly in my chest, I looked up at the imposing terrace, trying to assess if there was any way to scale the building, to break in somehow. All I could see was certain disaster as my eyes took in the black spikes of the front fence.

  Ah, yeah, I don’t think so.

  ‘Jack!’ I called out, gaining his attention just as he reached his own door. ‘I’m locked out!’ I winced, jangling my keys, feeling even more unsure about my choice when a smile slowly lined his face and he started making his way back to me. He was rubbing his stubbly jawline as if he were trying to hide his amusement at my predicament. It only embarrassed me more; maybe I should have taken my chances at goring myself on the fence. I swear, if he said one word about my attraction to disaster I would tell him where to go. But as he stood before me, still trying to look serious, he remained silent.

  ‘I don’t know why it won’t budge,’ I said.

  ‘Have you had this problem before?’

  I went to answer but then I realised that I had never had to unlock the door before. Any time I had ventured out, Vera had always let me in. If there was some secret little trick to the lock, there was no way I would know about it.

  ‘Um, I’m not aware of there being a problem,’ I said, dancing around the answer.

  Jack took the key and slotted it back in, twisting and jiggling and achieving much more brute force from his broad shoulder than I had with my narrow one. A part of me hoped he wouldn’t open the door first try, I would never live it down, but as I looked at my watch I began to panic. Vera and Nana would be here any minute.

  ‘Sure is stubborn,’ he said, crouching down to get a better vantage point as he worked on the lock.

  Come on, come on.

  I stepped from side to side, too nervous to stay still.

  ‘Listen if you can’t do it …’

  ‘It’s all right, this isn’t my first time,’ he said, flashing a knowing grin my way.

  I paused. ‘Okay, so you’re either a locksmith or a criminal.’

  Jack stood, his head cocked to listen as he twisted the handle. Then I heard it: the magical click of the latch unlocking. Jack pushed the door open with a huge, cocky grin.

  ‘I’m not a locksmith.’

  Chapter Seven

  I had no time to question the meaning of his words as I saw, there in the distance, a vision that iced my blood: Vera wheeling Nana along the footpath.

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’

  Jack’s smirk slipped from his face. ‘What?’

  ‘Get inside!’

  His brows rose into his hairline. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Now!’ I said, pushing at him and edging him through the door quickly. It was like moving a mountain, a very confused mountain. I slammed the door and locked it behind us, stepping left, then right, then left again. I danced this way several times, unsure where to go next.

  ‘Listen, Kate, I—’

  ‘Shh.’ I held up my hand, hearing the distant sound of voices.

  ‘Upstairs, now!’ I grabbed his arm and lead him to the staircase, skipping every second step. ‘Hurry, this way.’ I burst through the door of my room, slamming it closed and pressing my back to it, breathless but relieved that I was home safe. I blinked, my eyes focusing on the man standing in front of me, looking somewhat taken aback.

  ‘Wow, listen, if you wanted me in your bedroom, all you had to do was ask …’

  Oh God, what must he think of me? I probably looked like a desperate lunatic, but the way his eyes sparkled and the corner of his mouth lifted, I doubted he was worried.

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I said, wishing now that I’d been sprung with him on the front doorstep. A lifetime of Nana Joy’s acid-tongued lectures about trust and betrayal would have been better than holding a stranger hostage in my bedroom.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not.’ He laughed; he was loving this, watching me squirm.

  ‘Listen, I—’

  There was a series of thuds that vibrated against my back, causing me to jump out of my skin.

  ‘Kate, can I come in?’ Vera’s muffled voice called through the door.

  I looked at the six-foot-three wall of man standing in front of me, and wondered how the hell I was going to hide him. There would be no shoving him under my bed, or behind a curtain. I was so screwed.

  ‘Just a minute,’ I called back, a little too high-pitched.

  Jack must have read the desperation in my expression as he joined the hunt for an escape route. I dived across to the cupboard to check the space inside but was stilled by Jack, who grabbed my arm and pointed to the terrace. We rushed to the window, pulled the curtain aside and opened the door so Jack could slide outside. I held my finger to my lips, then closed the door and drew the curtains, plunging the room into unnatural darkness. I ran to my bed, ripping the covers back before taking off my boots, stripping off my jacket and ruffling up my hair as if I had just woken up.

  I opened the door, holding the back of my hand to my mouth as I yawned, while Vera stood there looking concerned.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she asked, her eyes darting over me.

  ‘Hmm? Oh yeah, sorry, I was just taking a nap. What time is it?’

&n
bsp; ‘It’s just after four. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I didn’t know if you would be in yet.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, very dull day, I’m afraid,’ I lied.

  Vera nodded. ‘Right,’ she said. Her eyes strayed to my top; I followed her eye line to see the cider stain that covered the front of me.

  ‘Better hope that washes out,’ Vera said, her mouth twitching a little.

  ‘Oh, what is that?’ I feigned surprise, pulling at my top.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure, but you might want to change your clothes before you come down. You smell like a brewery.’ Vera chuckled, turning from the door. I closed my eyes, willing lightning to strike me down.

  I was a walking disaster. I should never go out; I was a danger to myself and everyone else around me. I face-planted onto my bed, my moans muffled by the mattress. I rolled onto my back and stared at the decorative rose cornice of the light fitting like I did every morning. I lay there for a minute until I sat bolt upright.

  ‘Jack!’

  I scurried to the terrace doors, whipping back the curtains and diving out to the balcony to find—

  He was gone.

  I leant over the edge, relieved that there was no body impaled on the iron pickets but with no idea where he had gone. Something moved in the corner of my eye and there he was, reclining on the opposite balcony. His feet rested on the ledge, crossed at the ankles, and his hands were linked behind his head, a huge smile on his face. I did a double-take – he could only have accessed the terrace by climbing across a perilously narrow ledge.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I whispered angrily, trying not to alert anyone down below.

  ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ he asked.

  ‘But how?’

  Jack smiled broadly, assessing my apparent concern. ‘Magic.’

  Jack drew back his feet and stood up, stretching his arms above his head as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  ‘Well, don’t go making a habit of that,’ I said, peering over the edge to the drop below. As much as Jack annoyed me, I didn’t exactly want him impaled on a railing.

  ‘Okay, I won’t – if you agree to tell me what you’re hiding from.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I assume your intention wasn’t to drag me into your bedroom to ravish me.’

  ‘No!’ I said, clearly panicked, which only seemed to amuse him more.

  ‘More’s the pity, so what then?’

  I stared at him for a long moment, distracted by the need to get him away from the ledge he was now sitting on. How could I tell him that the person I was running from was an elderly woman in a wheelchair? It sounded ridiculous, preposterous, that I would allow myself to be so controlled by a geriatric for the chance to explore, to experience, to discover myself in new, exciting ways – and to blog about all of it. And while I hadn’t yet done any of those things, there was a new surge of excitement in me, now that I had discovered the secret room on the first floor. My muse was back and I hoped that, if I was smart and played my cards right, I could make a go of it here, maybe even establish myself as a legitimate fashion blogger, and the only way to do it would be by living here with my nana, rent free. And now, it was all on the verge of falling apart, because, rather than keeping to the plan, I’d got carried away talking to my suave, but ultimately idiotic, neighbour. Well, I would not be sharing another shred of information with this man. I folded my own arms, mirroring his posture, and shrugged.

  ‘I’m not running from anything.’

  Humour slipped from Jack’s face and his arms slowly fell to his side. ‘Riiiight,’ he said. ‘Like that is it, then?’ And before I could change my mind, Jack moved to the balcony, climbing over the barrier.

  ‘Better make some room.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Stop it, Jack, just stop.’

  ‘Stop what?’ He looked genuinely perplexed.

  ‘Please, just stay where you are and I will tell you anything you want to know.’ I couldn’t believe what I was saying; I could hear the words coming out of my mouth but I couldn’t stop myself. At this point I would have done anything to get him to go back over.

  ‘Anything?’ he repeated.

  ‘Well, within reason.’

  He placed a foot over and stepped onto the narrow ledge.

  I closed my eyes and willed for strength. ‘All right, anything.’

  Jack moved his foot back, his eyes ablaze. He went to speak but was interrupted by a knocking sound. And to my relief it wasn’t coming from my side, it was coming from Jack’s.

  We looked at each other as a door slammed and footsteps could be heard pounding the stairs.

  ‘What the hell?’ A hand peeled back the curtain, and a man stepped out onto the balcony. The man’s hands were on his hips, a wry smile on his face as he looked over at Jack sitting on the terrace ledge. ‘What are you doing? You never sit out here.’

  The penny finally dropped: the man standing next to Jack was the same one he had been talking to in the pub – short dark hair and navy blue, three-piece suit; his workmate. Jack’s mate turned to where I stood, then smiled as he glanced back at Jack.

  ‘Oh, I see why you’re out here.’ He grinned.

  Jack smirked. ‘It’s not a bad view.’

  Only then did it occur to me that the balcony Jack stood on, the one directly opposite mine, wasn’t his neighbours’, but his. My mouth gaped in horror at our proximity.

  ‘Kate, this is George; George, this is Kate.’ He gestured, introducing us as if we were at a barbecue.

  George waved with a pained smile, as though he wanted to be anywhere else than in the middle of whatever this was. Then recognition flashed in his eyes as he repeated my name to himself.

  ‘Hey, are you the girl? The car girl, the crying girl?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I asked, glowering at Jack, who closed his eyes as if telepathically willing his friend to shut up.

  George caught on quickly, his eyes flicking between the two of us.

  ‘Oh hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘No that’s fine, George. Nothing wrong with a harmless nickname, we all have them.’

  Jack’s interest piqued, looking at me side on. ‘Do I have one?’

  I laughed, making my way back to my balcony door and opening it with a deep sigh.

  ‘Oh Jack, believe me, you don’t want to know.’

  Chapter Nine

  Crying girl, pfft.

  I violently peeled the potatoes at the kitchen sink. The day had started out so promisingly. And then I would remember that smile, that cocky, infuriating smile.

  If I never saw Jack Baker again it would be too soon.

  ‘I’m off now!’ Vera called from the kitchen door. It was the time of day I hated the most, knowing that I was going to be left alone with Nana Joy.

  ‘Joy’s all settled for the night; she’s had a big day so you should be left in relative peace.’

  I had visions of Vera playing fetch in the park to tire Nana out and I couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Now, that’s more like it. You’ve had the sourest look on your face all afternoon.’

  ‘Have I?’ I asked, innocently.

  ‘Yes, did the stain not come out then?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I have to check.’ I placed the spud in the pot and washed my hands. Wiping them on my apron, I made my way out to the small yard where the washing line was strung along the fence. Unpegging my top and holding it up, I brought it back to the kitchen light where Vera was washing the pot of spuds and putting them onto the stove for me.

  ‘It’s come out!’ I said, a mite more cheerily.

  ‘Oh, very good, then.’

  ‘Vera, go home, I can do that.’

  ‘I haven’t done much.’

  ‘You’ve cooked everything for the shepherd’s pie, all I have to do is mash the potatoes.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t get to that, the visiting sort of put a spanner in the works.’

  ‘
Vera, it’s not your job to feed me, or look after me. I’m fine,’ I assured her.

  I read something in Vera’s face as she bit her lip and dried her hands, not looking at me.

  ‘What is it?’ I pressed.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t mind cooking for you – lets me know that you’re looking after yourself.’

  I smiled. ‘I’m looking after myself.’

  ‘It’s just …’ She stopped.

  ‘What?’

  She looked up at me, her eyes sad. ‘You seem so lonely.’

  And there it was. It was one thing to reflect upon my situation, knowing how things were, but when someone else voiced it, it seemed truly depressing. Vera must have read as much in my face as she touched my upper arm.

  ‘So if there is any way I can make things a little easier, I will.’

  Her words were the closest she had ever come to an admission, or was ever likely to, that living here with Nana was difficult. In the first week, I’d felt anxious whenever I heard my name and I had cried at her casual cruelty. As time went on something worse had happened: I became jaded. My primary emotion was self-pity, and was so obvious that Vera, who was the conversational equivalent of Switzerland in her opinions, was now trying to comfort me. It was nice to have her support; I wasn’t able to turn to my mum as she took great pleasure in saying, ‘I told you so.’ And if nothing else, apart from all the things I was searching for, I wanted to prove to everyone back home that they were wrong, that I was more than some failed retail manager looking to find herself abroad. I had already stayed weeks longer than they thought I would. I had to remember that.