Yanking my hair, he tugs my head towards him and assaults my mouth, more desperate than he’s ever been. I push my hips back to meet his thrust and groan into his mouth as we both climax violently, our mouths absorbing our cries.
31
‘Good morning,’ he whispers as I open my eyes.
His cool breath smells of mint. He rests on the bed next to me, leaning up on his elbow. He’s part dressed for work, his navy suit trousers hugging his svelte hips, his chest bare. I shuffle closer and breathe in his scent – masculine aftershave with a musk that’s infinitely more attractive. All him.
‘I could get used to waking up like this,’ I say, nibbling his enticing nipple.
‘Don’t. I need to go to the office; I’ve got a call with China and I already don’t want to leave you.’
I run my finger from the waist of his trousers up his side until goose pimples form beneath his skin. He flexes his hips and sighs. I kiss his chest then, wrapped in his white bed sheet, I make my way to the bathroom but not before one last glance across my shoulder. What has he done to me? Who is this minx who’s taken over Scarlett Heath’s body?
‘I’ll see you later?’ I ask.
‘Are you going to work today?’
‘Mmm-hmm, I feel up to it. Plus, I’m having coffee with a friend this morning. Schmoozing.’
‘Schmoozing who?’
‘A friend, like I said. An old uni friend.’
‘She’s a client?’
‘He and not yet but I’m hoping he’ll put some work my way soon.’
‘He?’
‘Yes, he, and relax, Gregory, I’m a lawyer, not a hooker.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s in corporate finance.’
‘Corporate finance?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Why do you need to know?’
‘Why won’t you tell me?’
Rolling my eyes, I make to leave the room on an obviously disgruntled sigh. ‘His name is Luke Davenport.’
‘I’ll see you at home tonight then,’ he says.
‘Home for this week,’ I say, waving a hand lazily as I exit the room.
With one towel wrapped around my wet hair and another wrapped around my body, I wander to the kitchen and make myself a coffee. Waiting for the machine, I look around the apartment and can’t help but think that I could be happy here, with him. But Williams said it – Gregory doesn’t do relationships. I could be hanging on the precipice of heartbreak. Or I could be special – the one who breaks the mould. He’s so guarded, I could be convinced either way.
I watch from the window, my coffee cup warming my hands, as people walk in the streets below and rain streams down the side of the glass building. The first signs of the South Bank Christmas Market are beginning to show; they’re getting ready for the traditional November opening weekend. Wood frames are being erected. For the first year in many, I won’t be taking my dad but it dawns on me that the same would’ve been true with or without Pearson. A chill runs the length of my spine and I find myself snarling.
I take my coffee to the dressing room and search the wardrobe Gregory has given me to hang my things for the week. I select a crimson dress, black, pointed heels and a knee-length, black, wool coat. When my hair is dry, I clip it straight into a French roll to avoid rain-induced frizz later in the day.
The concierge dips his head to me as I pass. Stepping onto the street, I open my dome umbrella as quickly as I can. As I lift it up and above my head, I see Jackson, squinting as rain hits his cheeks, holding the back door of the Mercedes open for me.
