Chapter Nine
She busied herself in the garden later that day.
It was one of those sweet and sunny June afternoons, where the sky above London was a startling blue with wispy white clouds dotted here and there.
The sun was warm but not hot, and Bo stripped off her jacket to work in a vest and her gardening trousers.
She tied her hair back in a simple ponytail and removed her make-up from the morning before deciding to tackle the blanketweed in the pond.
It was starting to strangle her waterlilies, and the resident newts would suffer if the weed reduced oxygen levels in the water.
She studiously ignored the house and avoided thinking about Max and his fingers.
She ignored the drifting sounds of piano washing over the garden just as she ignored her urge to run back to her summer house and the sweet relief her vibrator offered.
Instead, she pulled on her gloves and dipped her hands again and again into the pond, pulling up mounds of blanketweed and leaving them to dry in the sun for burning later.
She worked until a layer of sweat sat on her skin and the sky turned pink and orange above her.
It was only when the first stars began to dot the sky and she ran out of sunlight completely that she stopped, standing and stretching out her body.
Her body. Shit, Bo thought. I need to shower.
Her plan to avoid Max was suddenly in disarray.
She was quite literally up to her armpits in pondweed.
Her hands were dirty, her hair was a mess and she smelled like the breeding ground of the great crested newt.
For a moment, Bo wished she’d joined the local gym, if only to use their showers.
That had always been an expense she’d never had the money for though.
Why run at the gym when she could run at the park?
Why shower at the gym when she could shower at Geoffrey’s?
But it wasn’t Geoffrey’s shower now though, was it? It was Max’s.
Bo inhaled deeply, thinking her predicament through.
She could still hear Max’s piano playing, so knew he was busy.
She could sneak in through the kitchen door, race past the study and head upstairs into the bathroom.
He’d never even know she was there. Not that it mattered, Bo thought petulantly, as Max told her quite clearly she could shower whenever she wanted.
She wasn’t breaking any rules or agreements, was she?
Avoiding Max didn’t mean avoiding basic self-hygiene.
She would be quick and quiet, and Max wouldn’t even know she’d been in his house until after she was gone.
Before she could think better of it, Bo went and grabbed her towel and bathrobe. She tiptoed through the garden — her own garden, she realized with a degree of ridiculousness — before stopping at the hedge that separated her property from Max’s and steadying herself.
You’re being absurd. It’s not like you’re breaking in or anything. It’s not like you’re going to go in there and take anything, and even if you did, he said you could. The only things in that house you’re not allowed to touch are the piano, and Max. Definitely not Max.
With her bravery somewhat restored, Bo went up to the sliding doors and into the house.
She could hear Max playing piano from here, an angry-sounding refrain, the same notes played again and again, as though he were unhappy with the music he was producing.
She stopped for one moment to listen. Even when angry, even when the music sounded as sharp and jaded as it did to her untrained ears, there was still a beauty to it which took her breath away.
She listened for a few heartbeats more before dashing past the open door to the study, keeping her head steadfastly down.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the bathroom, making sure to lock the door just in case.
She trusted Max. She didn’t know if she trusted herself.
After the briefest of washes, Bo dried her body and wrapped her towel around her wet hair. She slipped on her bathrobe, unlocking the door and peeping around it carefully. She listened out for Max’s piano playing, but the music had stopped.
Damn.
She hoped he’d still be at his piano, lost in his music.
If he wasn’t, he could be anywhere in the house.
Abruptly, Bo wondered which of the bedrooms Max had claimed for himself.
Somehow, she didn’t think the room Geoffrey had died in would be Max’s first choice.
That still left four rooms, with four closed doors to sneak past.
Gathering her clothes in her hands, Bo crept into the hallway, padding quietly to the stairs, every creak of the old wooden flooring beneath her feet making her wince. She tiptoed down the stairs, peeking left and right, but the house was still and silent.
He might not even be home, Bo realized. He might have heard you come in and gone out. For all you know he did join the local gym to use their showers, which makes him both richer and far more sensible than you.
Or maybe he’d gone somewhere else entirely.
A whisky or piano bar. Somewhere brooding men with messy hair, oddly mesmerizing eyes and unresolved family trauma went to recharge.
Quietly, Bo tiptoed towards the kitchen, and the sliding doors which promised freedom from both this awkwardness and the cold floor under her still-bare feet.
She’d just reached the doors, her fingers on the handle, when a voice spoke out from behind her.
“What on earth are you doing?” Max asked, and Bo felt both her stomach sink and heart quicken.
She turned, finding Max leaning against the fridge, watching her with curious eyes. He was drinking a cup of tea, his glasses perched on his nose, hair in his eyes, and oh God, it was awful, why was he wearing chino shorts? And oh God, worse, why did she find them so unbearably sexy on him?
“Oh, I just, umm, had a shower. Hope you don’t mind,” she stammered, and Max looked at her quizzically.
“Yeah, I figured. I heard the water running from down here. I didn’t mean that though. I meant, why are you walking on tiptoes through the place looking furtive and mysterious like a terry-clothed Mata Hari?”
“No reason.” She must have answered a beat too quickly, because Max frowned at her.
“Are you trying to avoid me?” he asked bluntly, and she flushed, heat and colour stealing to her face. “That pink to your cheeks is a ‘yes’,” Max decided. “Why are you trying to avoid me?”
If anything, Bo blushed harder. “No reason.”
“Please don’t be vague with me. I’m not good with vague. I prefer the hard truth.”
“Well,” Bo began, swallowing hard. “I, umm, guess I thought things might be awkward between us.”
“Awkward? Why?”
“Well, because of our talk yesterday,” she answered.
“Okay.” Max seemed to think for a moment. “We talked a lot yesterday. Which conversation in particular bothered you?”
Bo chewed on her lip. “It didn’t bother me, not as such.”
“You’re trying to avoid me today, so clearly it did,” Max pointed out, and Bo had to admit he had her there. “Be honest with me; which conversation yesterday made you think things between us might be awkward?”
She took a deep breath. “The one about sex.”
Max stared at her for a moment before putting down his tea, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. “Bo,” he said slowly, “at no point yesterday did either one of us mention sex.”
“Well, no,” Bo conceded. “Not out loud.”
Max crossed his arms over his chest. “Explain what you mean by that.”
“Do I really need to?”
“Yes. Eton prepared me for many things, but not this conversation, sadly.”
Bo blinked. “You went to Eton?”
“Not the time. Explain what you meant. About sex.”
Bo bit on her bottom lip. “Well, yesterday, you said you, umm, lost yourself in other things after performing. You meant sex.”
Now it was Max’s turn to blink. “Bo . . .”
“You meant sex,” Bo said again, more firmly now, and she watched as Max took a step towards her.
“Yeah,” he finally conceded, his voice soft. “I did.”
“So, you can see why I thought things might be awkward between us today.”
“There’s no reason for you to feel awkward,” Max replied. “I didn’t reference you at all in that conversation.”
“No, you didn’t.” Bo took a deep breath. “But maybe you could have.”
Max swallowed, the movement of his Adam’s apple stark against the strong lines of his throat. “I told you I’m not good with vague. So, I’m going to need you — incredibly clearly — to please explain what you mean by that.”
Bo’s heart was racing in her chest. Trembling, she took a step towards Max. “I mean, if you need to lose yourself in something after performing . . . and I’m here . . . well . . .”
Max’s mouth dropped open, and he looked so genuinely stunned that Bo wondered if she’d made an almighty fuck up by offering herself to him on a — well, not quite silver platter, she wasn’t so fancy as that.
Still, she was offering herself to him on, at the very least, a good-quality tray, and it seemed to have shocked him into an uncharacteristic silence.
Suddenly, a horrific thought hit her.
“Oh God,” she exclaimed. “Do you have girlfriend or boyfriend, or something like that?”
“Bo—”
“You said you lost yourself in other things after performing . . . I got that you meant sex, but I never equated that sex with another person, and I . . .” Bo felt mortified.
Maybe she’d imagined the tension between them.
Maybe she’d imagined the almost kiss between them the night before.
Maybe it was all in her head, and she’d just inappropriately propositioned a man who had been nothing but respectful and kind to her, given their circumstances.
“Bo—”