‘We came as soon as we could.’
‘And the party? Do people know?’
‘No. It ended as it should.’
I stare at the untarnished floor and the white-washed walls until I can see Pearson’s face and the blood spilling from hisbroken skull. I snap my eyes to the vast skyline of London beyond the wall of windows, set in the darkness. The dark world of the city I’ve come to live in.
‘If you want to keep this quiet, you need to call Sydney to manage the PR, just in case,’ Lawrence is saying.
I turn on my stiletto heel and walk through the lounge to the staircase, leaving the room behind me but taking the memories with me.
‘I can do that,’ Williams offers.
Sickness turns in my stomach as I climb the stairs but this time, there’s no Gregory to defeat it and when I reach the landing, I run along the corridor until I’m in the bathroom, retching to rid myself of every sinful thought I’ve had. My body heaves until I’m spent.
I crawl to the walk-in shower and sink back against the wall, my shoulders pressed to the cold tiles. Reaching an arm up, I turn the shower until hot spray is pouring over me. Pulling my knees into my chest I sit, alone and numb, until Gregory teases me away from the wall and slides behind me, his legs either side of mine. As the shower rains over him, streaks of crimson decorate the water. I watch the swirls darken in colour, the tarnished molecules fighting against the pure.
He holds my back to his warm chest, taking my weight as my body chugs beneath him, choking on soft, endless sobs. He presses his lips to my scalp and releases the catch of the diamond choker around my neck, relieving me of the sparkling stones.
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of any more,’ he whispers into my ear.
He traces his lips along my collarbone, breathing soothingly on my skin. Whilst I’m wrapped in his hold, I believe him. Irelax my head back to his shoulder and he twists my chin with his finger until I face him. Closing my eyes, I accept his kiss.
His eyes are still closed when I open mine.
‘I could have lost you.’
‘But you didn’t,’ he says, his South African accent strong and sultry through his husky throat.
I pull a hand back through his hair, refusing to tear myself away from the beauty of him. ‘I love you so much, it hurts.’
His lips turn just enough that I almost catch a glimpse of the mesmerising half-smile that can melt me. Then he presses his lips firmly against mine and I kiss him back, desperately, roughly, pulling him to me. I’m panting when I eventually peel myself from him.
‘Let me clean you,’ he says, turning me away from him.
One by one, he removes the pins holding up my hair and releases each curl down my back, intermittently dropping kisses to my shoulders, my darkness lifting a little each time he touches me. When my hair is loose, he puts his hands beneath my arms and lifts me to stand. He unzips my gown and nudges my thighs, encouraging me to step out, then folds the dress in half and casts it to the sink. Two fingers hook into the sides of my French knickers and he slides them down my thighs to the ground.
‘Move forward.’
I step under the fiercest part of the shower spray. He removes his shirt and presses his naked chest against my back then massages shampoo into my long, dark hair. I think of nothing but the feel of his fingers and the touch of his skin on mine.
‘Turn.’
Facing him, I tilt my head back to let him rinse out thelather, stroking his fingers the full length of the strands. I watch him as he removes his trousers and tight, black boxers in one go, exposing his entire body. I swallow deeply as my gaze wanders the length of his torso to his crotch. He moves to squeeze a bottle of gel onto his palm.
‘Lift,’ he says, running a hand down my leg.
I raise my leg slightly as he moves the gel around my thigh, down to the tips of my toes, then repeats the same on the other side. He spreads the lather up to my abdomen, his hands drawing circles on my stomach, then he eyes me cautiously, his brows raised. When I nod my head, his hands move up to my breasts, slick and smooth across my skin. My breathing quickens as he cups my plump flesh and teases my hardening nipples. His hands caress my arms, one at a time until they move up my neck and rest on my cheeks, his mouth moving to mine again.
‘Your turn,’ I say, stepping aside so he switches places with me.
I move my hands across his back, appreciating the firmness of his muscles. Then pull my fingers down his olive skin, avoiding the waterproof gauze covering his laceration, then slowing my pace to glide my fingertips gently across the scar on the base of his back. His shoulders rise on a deep inhale as I move my hands around his perfect arse and down his thighs. I don’t need to tell him to turn; he does it of his own accord. He drinks me in through hooded eyes, his proud erection telling me he wants me every bit as much as I want him.
Stepping into him, I press my chest against his and revel in the feel of his thick length against my abdomen. ‘Make me forget, Gregory. Make it all disappear.’
He dips his head a fraction then moves a hand down my body to pick up my thigh. I gasp. I need this. I need the feel andsight of him to replace everything I’ve seen and felt in the last few hours. He lifts me, my legs locking tightly around his lean waist. He presses me back against the cold tiles of the shower and lowers one leg so I stand on my tiptoes. Then he runs a hand up the side of my body, taking my arms above my head.
‘Kiss me,’ I beg.
