“You’re never going to tell him, are you?”
“I just want to enjoy all this for a little longer – before my dad smashes it all to pieces.”
Nick laughs, shaking his head. “I’m sure I can defend myself against your dad.”
“Not once he finds out what you’re doing to his little girl. Not even all the O’Connor confidence in the world could save your golden arse cheeks, then.”
He leans closer to me, brushing against my earlobe with his lips. “And you have no idea what I’m still planning to do to his little girl.”
His words slide right under my skin.
“Come on then, let’s go. What are you waiting for?”
He smiles against my ear, before pressing his hot lips against my neck. Then he pulls away, places his hands on the steering wheel and backs out of the driveway, heading towards the main road.
Nick drives with his eyes fixed in front of him, while I can’t help but slide my eyes over him, drinking in every little detail. His hands, gripping the wheel, the firm, tense muscles of his arms; the metal bracelets he wears around his wrists. Then I lift my gaze to his strong, broad shoulders, tugging at the fabric of his light shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His perfect profile, that beard that… Jesus, why didn’t he let that beard grow out sooner? And that look he has: the one that tells me that I’m ruined, that I can’t stop myself. And that I don’twantto.
I force myself to look out the window instead, trying to cool down the heart rising through my body, when I realise that Nick has pulled up in a residential area. He turns to me as he parks outside an apartment block, wordlessly opening the driver door and stepping outside. I do the same.
“Where are we?”
He smiles cheekily at me. “At my apartment.”
“You’ve brought me to your apartment?”
“It’s as good a place as any.”
I cross my arms. “This looks like an obvious attempt to get me into bed, O’Connor.”
“Oh, no, Casey. You’ll be the one jumping into my bed,” he says, coming closer to me and taking my hand. “Come on. Let me show you my humble abode.”
* * *
His ‘humble abode’is at the top of the building. It’s a penthouse apartment, circled by an outdoor terrace. It has a huge, elegant living room which houses a large leather sofa; a dining table sits just in front of the main window, with a view across the whole of Northwood, with its lakes and fountains.
“‘Humble abode’ my arse!”
He shrugs indifferently. “It’s just a house. You’ll never believe me, but it was already furnished like this when I moved in.”
“So you don’t own it?”
“Nah, I just needed somewhere to stay for a while.”
“I get it,” I say, bitterness creeping into my voice.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing that my mood has dipped.
“Nothing,” I lie. I definitely don’t want to tell him that I’m worried he’s just stopping by – that sooner or later, he’ll want a new adventure, in a new place. And he’ll probably leave me behind again.
“You’re a bad liar, you know.”
“I’m hungry,” I say, trying to mask the sadness I know I’m projecting.
He smiles. “That, we can take care of. Come here,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him into the kitchen. This room, too, is elegant, refined – a littletoorefined for someone like him. The furniture is all cold, smooth edges, with dark marble blanketing every surface. It’s perfectly polished, as if it’s never been used. There’s a double fridge – the kind usually reserved for massive families. Everything is perfect, sleek and clean. Untouched, impersonal. As if its owner doesn’t want to leave a trace.
As if he were ready to leave.
“Do you like it?” he asks me. He must’ve realised that I was scrutinising my surroundings.
