Chapter 18
I’m alone, cocooned in white bed sheets.
A hot streak of winter sun peeks from behind the bedroom blind, illuminating the white walls.
I’m intensely aware of my body, my breasts and the moist sensation between my legs.
My lips are soft to touch but feel plump and delicate.
It’s as if last night woke me for the first time in my life.
He made me forget everything. All the bad stuff. The complications, who I am, my lines and my rules.
What he did to me… I’ve never felt that way. Physically. Emotionally. Touch, smell, sound, taste. He took over them all and I willingly relented.
Smiling to myself, I search the room for my clothes, expecting them to be scattered across the floor.
I find my dress folded, along with my jewellery, on a sleek, black, velour chaise longue in the corner of the room.
The stiletto heels that bore witness to all last night’s events are neatly paired on the floor.
The smell of fresh coffee permeates the room and mumbling voices come from somewhere in the apartment.
I hold my dress across my body in front of the floor-length mirror, so obviously the morning after the night before.
Amanda would call this the walk of shame.
No matter who’s down there, I can’t really walk out in my LBD and heels.
Scanning the room, I realise how little I took in last night.
There’s no wardrobe, no real practical furniture other than the enormous sleigh bed and the seductive chaise longue.
A bachelor room. I throw away the thought of how many other women have probably had the pleasure.
Gregory’s shirt from last night hangs invitingly on the end of the chaise longue.
There’s no getting away from it; whoever’s out there is going to know exactly what we did last night.
Mostly, I’m mortified, but there’s a part of me that wants to shout from the rooftops that Gregory Ryans, the Gregory Ryans, the insanely sexy CEO, made love to me. No, fucked me, twice.
I button up the shirt I was so keen to unbutton last night, hang my head upside down to shake the bedhead from my hair, tap my cheeks in the mirror and quietly open the door.
Tiptoeing along the hallway and down the stairs, I hold the tail ends of the shirt closed to preserve what little dignity I have left.
Gregory and Jackson are deep in conversation at the breakfast bar. They both sip fresh orange in sweat pants and gym tops. It’s the first time I’ve seen Gregory look casual and he’s still truly captivating.
Jackson leans forwards on the kitchen breakfast bar looking more serious than I care for anyone to be this morning.
‘Are you certain it was foul play?’ Gregory asks, receiving a shrug from Jackson.
‘I can’t be certain. His body will be so battered, it’ll be hard to tell.’
I stand upright, putting my hand on the wall to steady my legs.
‘But like you said, the struggle could have been him trying to get out of the room.’
‘It could’ve been but I want to bring in extra security in case this thing isn’t over.’
‘Fine. Bring them in. Make sure my mother has twenty-four seven.’
‘What about you?’ Jackson asks.
‘I’ll be fine; just make sure Lara’s protected.’
‘Greg, if he had anything to do with it, it’s not about the girl, it’s about you.’
‘Jackson,’ Gregory interjects, ‘go and enjoy your weekend. You live here. How much harm can I really come to?’
Jackson nods in agreement then stands at attention, feigning a cough when he notices me.
‘Are you talking about my dad?’
Gregory turns from his stool, his stoic mask replaced with a rabbit-in-headlights expression.
‘Well?’
‘No.’
‘Bullshit! Tell me what you were talking about.’
‘Scarlett, Jackson was concerned by your reaction the other night, that’s all. It got him thinking about security.’
‘You mean the state of my dad’s room?’
Jackson steps from behind the breakfast bar. ‘You didn’t seem to think he could get to the stairs himself, Scarlett. If he couldn’t then someone?—’
‘Jackson!’ Gregory barks. ‘Enough. It’s ridiculous. You’re scaring her, for Christ’s sake. Unnecessarily. You’ve put two and two together as usual and come up with a fucking detective plot.’
Jackson shakes his head but backs down.
‘So I shouldn’t worry?’
Gregory rests one elbow on the counter and drops his hand to his thigh. ‘No. You shouldn’t worry.’ He pats his leg. Eyes wild, salacious. ‘Get here,’ he says in a way that makes me want to submit to his every demand.
My sore muscles react, bringing back memories of every luscious stroke and caress of last night. I force myself to remember that we’re not alone.
‘Morning,’ is all I can manage to say.
‘Good morning, Miss Heath,’ he returns with that enchanting part curl of his lips.
Jackson subtly exits, leaving the two of us alone in the kitchen.
‘I like this on you,’ he says, tugging each side of his shirt collar, pulling me between his legs.
He strokes his fingertips down my cheek. His touch delectable. His smooth, orange-flavoured lips press against mine and my body intuitively leans into his.
‘Mmm, I like your juice,’ I say, tracing the inside of his top lip with the tip of my tongue until he groans.
He flashes a boyish grin and gives me one final peck on the lips. He holds me between his thighs by the small of my back, my hands resting on his shoulders.
‘Gregory, is Jackson serious about my dad?’
‘No, baby. He has an overactive imagination. Years in the forces will do that to a man, apparently.’
He drops his head to the bare flesh of my chest and his hands roam to my arse cheeks.
‘I like when you call me baby.’
He pulls the lapel of his shirt to one side and digs his teeth into the round of my breast. ‘And I like calling you baby.’
This is weird. Yesterday, he was my client. Ex-client. Now, I’m happily pushing my female bits against his male bits and he’s sucking on my breast.
He slaps a palm against the bare globe of my arse and I squeal at the oddly erotic sting. ‘Now, what would you like for breakfast?’
I look around the worktops but only see coffee and a fruit bowl.
Shrugging, I say, ‘Coffee will be fine.’
He chuckles and shuffles me so I replace him on the stool. Opening his large, American-style fridge, he asks ‘Pancakes? Bacon? Eggs? I’ll call my chef.’
‘Oh. Please don’t.’
‘I’m joking, Scarlett, I can cook… Well, a little. Amy does most of my cooking but she doesn’t work a weekend unless I ask.’
‘Amy?’
‘Cleaner. Cook. All round domestic angel. How do smoked salmon bagels sound? I can use a toaster,’ he grins.
Smiling, I pour a filter coffee and sit back on his warm stool to get a front-row view of him moving around the kitchen. ‘Have you been working out?’
‘Running, then sparring with Jackson.’
‘I wondered where that body came from. Where do you spar?’
‘In the gym.’
‘Yes, thank you, I guessed that much. Where’s the gym?’
He points to a white door at the back of the lounge.
‘Naturally, you have a gym in your apartment.’
He pops the two halves of a bagel from the toaster and turns them onto a plate. ‘Cream cheese?’
‘Please.’
‘This is good,’ I say after chomping through my first bite of bagel in seconds.
‘I can see that.’
‘So, Jackson lives here?’
‘He does.’
‘Hmm, okay.’
Gregory laughs. An unexpected sound from the usually serious CEO. ‘There’re five bedrooms and Jackson’s is furthest away from mine.’
‘Oh. I didn’t realise it was so big.’
He glances to his crotch. ‘Why thank you.’
‘The apartment, fiend.’ Images of his toned body lowering down onto me fill my mind. ‘I just don’t know where my head was last night.’
He stalks towards me and I pause midway through taking a bite of bagel. He pushes my legs apart and stands between them, then rubs his thumb across the side of my mouth and sucks cream cheese from the tip. A sight that parts my lips, upstairs and down.
‘Are you free today?’ he asks.
I swallow, giving myself a second to recover, and make him wait for my response, rotating my hand in the air.
‘Am I free? Yes and no.’
‘Ah, we’re back to cryptic Scarlett.’
I scowl light-heartedly. ‘I was planning on seeing my dad.’
‘Of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’
‘No, please, there’s no need to be sorry. I’ll go this morning and maybe we could do something this afternoon? You see, I had this big deal on at work which was taking up my weekends but that ended yesterday so I guess I have some time on my hands.’
‘I wonder if your client could find you any more work to do.’
‘He’d better not.’ Certainly not of the same fucked-up kind as the last deal.
‘What if I came to the hospital with you?’ he asks sheepishly.
‘Oh, Gregory, it’s not that I wouldn’t like you to meet my dad but I, well, I don’t think he would want you to meet him like this.
He’s not, well, he’s not—’ Suddenly, the image of my weak, dying dad is in my mind and I can feel the black feeling of guilt creeping from my fingertips and toes, riding up my limbs.
While he was at the hospital last night, I was?—
Gregory’s warm hand on my leg stops the black poison and when I look up at his face, it starts to retract.
‘Actually, I was planning on going to the hospital sometime soon anyway. I visit the children’s ward every now and then, a few times a year.
Don’t look at me like that. It’s a self-satisfying deed; it actually makes me feel good to play computer games and Mr Potato Head.
Anyway, I haven’t been for a while, so maybe I could go there while you visit your dad and then we can do something together? ’
Words have escaped me. If I was the type of woman to have a checklist, I think I could by now have mentally ticked each and every box and handed Gregory a piece of paper marked with an A+ and a smiley face.
I move my plate to the sink. ‘I’m going to need some clothes.’
‘I quite like what you’re wearing.’
‘Hmm, that’s a shame. I was just about to take it off.’ I bite my lower lip as I make my way to the stairs. Gregory runs towards me before I can blink. I yelp as he throws me into a fireman’s lift over his shoulder and runs me back upstairs to the bedroom.