Iwake up in unfamiliar surroundings. The scent of laundry detergent lets me know exactly where I am. It’s the same as it always was. He’s a man of habit.
Before I open my eyes, I reach sideways, letting out a sigh of relief when I don’t come into contact with a body. My dreams were vivid. Strong lips, a teasing tongue. My dream last night of being held in powerful arms, which I’ve desired for so long, has left me wet and wanting, and it has to stop. This is not what I need, not what I want. Being around him is bad for my mental health.
I have a fiancé, we are happy.
I have my future planned.
I will not send that into free fall over a man who’s never looked at me the way I look at him, whatever people like Leah and Kat and Gabriel say. Their opinions are biased. There was a moment when I thought… but I was wrong. There was always Darra.
Who spends fifteen years pining after a man they never had, have never even kissed?
I throw back the covers and clamber out of bed. I make my way into the attached bathroom. Stripping out of my clothes, I step into the enormous walk-in shower.
I let the hot water and shower jets wash away the grime of the police station and the stress of the past forty-eight hours. It may not be my company under attack, but when someone I care about is being made a target, I’ll fight tooth and nail to help them. I heed the warning of The Seamstress. Something is coming, and I need to be ready.
As I leave the bathroom, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I say.
“Morning, Ms Dawson.”
“Chrissy,” I say grinning. “It’s good to see you.”
I’ve met Chrissy on a number of occasions when I’ve collected Lottie or delivered her home. My relationship as Lottie’s godmother is screwed up. But I’ll forever be grateful to Darra for allowing me to be part of her daughter’s life. I’m not sure why she agreed. It may have been because she wanted a babysitter initially, but for me, having no siblings allowed me to direct some love her way. It’s also meant we’ve developed a strong bond over the years. One I cultivated when it became clear her mother and father’s marriage was in trouble. She’d done nothing to deserve being caught in the middle.
“Elijah sent up some fresh clothes for you.”
“Thank you. A fresh set is very welcome.”
She grins at me.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thank you again. Do you know where Elijah is?”
“Last time I saw him, he was heading to his gym.”
“Thanks.”
Chrissy leaves, and I open the bag of clothes Elijah sent up. I look at the sizes. Smooth, Mr Frazer, realising he’s guessed my size perfectly. I pull out the black jeans, laughing as a pair ofbrightly coloured socks drop onto the floor at my feet. I dip my hand back into the bag and pull out a jade jumper. I bite my lip. One way to get me into colour, Eli. The wool is soft, and I rub it against my cheek. I look in the bag, my mouth dropping open. Inside is a matching set of bra and panties, the lacy, satin scraps the same colour as the jumper.
My heart does a flip.
I know Elijah didn’t realistically choose these. He can’t have done. But I imagine his face. What would he think if I paraded into his gym wearing only them?
Stop!
I pull on my new clothes, ignoring the sensitivity of my nipples against the satin of the bra, and the panties resting against my fiery core.
I find a new toothbrush in the bathroom and clean my teeth before making my way downstairs. The apartment is immense, covering two floors. It’s bigger than most houses.
I head to the gym. Lottie gave me a tour on one of my visits.
I enter the room and freeze.
Loud music pumps through the speakers, hiding my presence despite the door closing behind me with a click. Elijah is in front. His back glistens in the light as he pulls himself up in a perfect chin-up. His muscles contract and relax beneath his skin. Growing up swimming made him lean and muscular. Age and gym work have filled him out further. His biceps bulge under the assault as he lifts himself up and down. His body is an art form, perfectly sculpted. I stand and watch in fascination.
Eventually, he drops to the ground with a grunt, stretching out the muscles, before grabbing a towel from the bench next to him.
