Warren enters the place a moment after us and Crimson gives him a shy smile. “You want to come up too or lurk down here?”
“Here’s good,” I answer for him.
When she frowns at me, I shrug. “It’s hard enough to think what to say when we’re alone without worrying about a guard listening in.”
She snorts and when I raise my eyebrow at her, shakes her head. It doesn’t bother me. It’s nice to see that she’s relaxed. Happy, even. I feel a stronger pulse of hope.
When we step into the lift, her hand brushes against mine and it’s hard to know if that’s by chance or deliberate. After the lift doors close, she folds her arms, staring at the panel as the numbers tick by. We reach her floor and after a short walk along the corridor, we’re at her door.
She fumbles for the key in her pocket, not looking at me as she slots it into the lock. “It’s not very big,” she says. “And I don’t have a lot of stuff in yet, but I can offer you a cup of tea or coffee if you’d like.”
“Nothing stronger?”
Crimson wrinkles her nose as we walk inside. “I have a bottle of wine in the fridge but it’s not very nice.”
The main body of the apartment is open plan. The dining room, lounge, and kitchen all lead into one another, separated only by furniture.
As she crosses to lie her bag on the dining table and toss the apartment keys into a bowl, I follow. Unable to stand another minute without touching, I pull her into my arms.
I expect resistance, even if only for a second, but she relaxes into the hug. Her hands lightly touch my chest. My right arm slides into the crevice of her lower back while my left hand rises to stroke along her jaw, to cup the back of her head while the sweet floral notes of her shampoo fill my nostrils.
Every part of her is so familiar. Fits so well against me. My eyes close as I tip my head forward so I can press against hers. Feel the bounce of her ringlets against my cheek. The soft whisper of her breath near my ear.
The embrace is like coming home.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
CRIMSON
I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting Micah back to my flat. Until the moment he pulls me into a hug and my body is ecstatic to feel his against me again, while my mind tumbles like its falling.
When he fails to capitalise on the embrace after a full minute, I link my hands behind his head and pull him into a kiss, indulging in the sensation. I cup his jaw, rubbing my thumb across his stubble. When I finally pull away, my lips are throbbing and swollen.
His eyes are cautious, but his smile is warm. I lay my palms flat against his chest and lean forwards until my forehead rests against his black tee. I love it when he dresses in those crisp white shirts, unbuttoned to allow a peek at the musculature of his chest or secured with a neat black tie. But his casual look is even better. This is the man I can imagine playing with our sons.
I push away from him because if I stay in his orbit for one more second it’ll become impossible to detach.
“Did you decide on your drink of choice?” I have to clear my throat because it suddenly decided to channel every black and white movie seductress known to history.
“I’ll take the bad wine,” he says and when we walk into the kitchen, he slides onto a stool near the counter. “Unless you want me to pop out and fetch something stronger?”
My hand is on the fridge door, but I don’t open it, considering the offer. Yes, I’ll regret it in the morning but that doesn’t matter. My shift only begins in the afternoon so any hangovers should ease by then. And it’s not as though I have any plans. Having no friends in the city makes it easy to schedule my social life. Just as easy as it was, trapped in a home with my father and not able to attend anything lest I have some fun.
Double ouch. Sounds like I have a lot of unresolved anger issues to work through. That should make the next decade a riot.
“Could you get some vodka?” I ask. I haven’t tried it yet but according to popular literature it doesn’t have much taste so seems an easier start than whatever Micah poured for me almost a fortnight ago. “Or should I stick with wine?”
“I’ll buy a selection,” he says and slips off the stool, heading for the door without a word of protest.
As soon as he’s gone, I realise my error. Now, I’m stuck in my empty apartment with plenty of time to understand how large a mistake it is that I’m making.
I perform some busy work, cleaning the few dishes left in the sink from my lunch and tidying the cushions on the sofa. A change of clothes offers another few minutes of distraction and I rearrange the pillows on the bed a few times, just in case…
Just in case what?
But I’m not falling prey to Ms Nag today. I have enough to deal with outside my head without listening to my internal voices.
I’m back in the kitchen, cleaning some already clean glasses, when Micah buzzes to be let up. I can picture him in the lobby, cradling bottles of booze to his chest, maybe with Warren behind him doing the same, and a spurt of malice almost convinces me to leave him there.
