No, definitely not concern. That fucking asshole. Rage seethes inside my chest. ‘If I hadn’t been on that ward, who knows what would have happened.’
Victoria shakes her head furiously, begging me not to say anything.
‘Therewasan incident today. Several prison inmates were brought to A&E. One grabbed Victoria. I intervened. She’s fine,’ I say. ‘Shaken, but fine, not thanks to Doctor Dickhead.’
Sasha shrieks in the background, ‘Put her on the phone, Archie, please.’
I pass the phone to Victoria, who can now barely look at me as she pulls on her cami top, adjusting it over her perfect mounds. I pad across the floor to stir the Bolognese .
It takes Victoria half an hour to reassure her sister that she’s fine. When she finally hangs up, she stalks across to me.
I keep my back turned and my eyes on the cooker, adding some diced chillies to the sauce for extra flavour. As if things aren’t spicy enough around here.
‘So what, are we just going to pretend like that didn’t happen?’ Her hand rests defiantly on her hip and the strap of her top falls down her arm. My stomach twists with a longing so excruciating it throbs through every single cell.
‘I’m so sorry, Victoria. I never should have lost control like that.’ I keep my eyes firmly focused on the pan. ‘It won’t happen again.’
It takes every single drop of determination not to throw her over my shoulder and drag her to my bed for the night, and every night after that.
We eat at the table, shoving our food around our plates in silence like the first night. The atmosphere is fraught with tension. Awkwardness.
And on my part, at least, a heavy sense of regrettable longing.
The second we finish cleaning the kitchen, Victoria excuses herself to bed.
She doesn’t come out of her room for the rest of the night.
11
VICTORIA
The wound on my clavicle is improving. It’s just a shame my wounded pride isn’t healing as fast.
Archie’s rejection stings deeper than any physical cut. I offered myself on a plate to him, well, the couch at least, and he shut me down.
Mortified doesn’t cover it.
Clearly, he wasn’t as invested in our sizzling hot make-out session as much as I was. Because the Taoiseach himself could have rung and I wouldn’t have answered the damn phone.
Although the way his body met my every grind with a promising thrust of his own begs to differ…
Ugh. I’m like one of Huxley Castle’s dizzy pheasants staggering around, blinded by need in mating season. Archie Mason consumes my every waking thought. And most of my sleeping ones too. The way I feel about him is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. Grabbing his attention is becoming an obsession. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything else in this world. And I’m driving myself insane.
I’m going to have to invest in a vibrator at this rate.
A text pings on my phone. It’s Libby.
How’s the patient getting on?
Ugh. I hate being the patient.
I’m in agony.
I’m not talking about my injuries.
Your neck?
No, my vagina. I’ve got it bad for my bodyguard.
