Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Joshua
As I waited for the lift to the penthouse, I typed out a message to my PA, instructing her to go ahead and submit paperwork so that Luca Brands took a corporate box at the Royal Opera House.
When I’d told Hartford we already had a box, I might have been exaggerating a little.
Or it might have been a complete lie depending on how you looked at it.
But the box would be useful for client entertaining and I hoped Hartford would use it.
I’d remembered she liked ballet but not understood that she had to give it up after her accident.
From the way she’d acted when I brought up taking some classes, she was obviously still sad about it.
Hopefully having access to the box would encourage her to go.
If nothing else, it would give her something to tell Gerry.
I stepped out of the lift onto the penthouse floor and found Hartford slumped against the front door. She wasn’t wearing scrubs. Something must be up.
“Joshua!” She bounced to her feet like she was a puppy who’d been left alone all day.
Her enthusiasm tugged in my stomach. It was surprisingly good to see her.
We’d not caught up since our baking disaster.
And she looked good. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her in jeans.
Her hair was down again, like it had been for the dinner with Gerry and Margo.
“Should I ask why you’re sitting on the floor outside your flat?”
She shrugged. “Somewhere between here and Liliana’s, I lost my key.”
“The cocktail bar? You meet up with one of the girls?” I opened my door and invited her in with a nod. As she followed me inside, I messaged the concierge, asking them to bring up a new key.
“No, I had a date.”
The tug in my stomach pulled a little tighter. “A date?” I tried not to sound shocked. Why had I gotten the feeling that Hartford’s world was small, consisting of little more than the hospital, her family and . . . me? I’d obviously been wrong.
She came in and hopped on my sofa, tucking her legs under her. “A doctor from the hospital. Gerry set it up.”
“Right, and how was it?”
She groaned. “He seemed like a nice guy but . . . I’m just so hopelessly awkward in those situations. Or any situation, really.”
“What was the problem, he didn’t want to talk about cake?”
She laughed and that pull in my stomach just wouldn’t let go. “Any chance of a coffee, or do you have to order up for that?”
“Very funny,” I replied, moving behind the kitchen island. I switched on the espresso machine and brought out two cups.
“And do you have any cake?”
“I can order something in. You want me to?”
She scrunched up her nose, making her freckles bunch. “Maybe half a cupcake.”
“Hartford, are you eating your feelings? Tell me what happened tonight.”
I quickly ordered cupcakes, pulled two espressos, and sat down beside her on the sofa. She obviously wanted to talk, and I was here to help her settle in. This was all part of my promise to my mum—nothing more.
“I’m hopeless at dating,” she said. “And I’m okay with that.
I really am. It’s just that Gerry set it up and he’s so adamant about this whole work-life balance thing that I feel like I should give it a shot.
And Jacob is . . .” She scrunched up her nose and twisted her mouth as if she were about to sneeze.
“He’s good looking,” she said. “Everyone else at the hospital swoons when he walks into a room.”
“Not you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just not . . . comfortable with him.” She paused like I was supposed to say something. But what?
Hartford always seemed one hundred percent, relentlessly herself when she was with me.
In contrast, I’d witnessed her discomfort at the cocktail party firsthand.
I’d assumed it was the number of people in attendance that had forced her into her shell, or maybe the pressure to impress Gerry.
Once again, my assumption proved incorrect.
“I’m not sure I’m the guy to advise you on stuff like this. ”
“Right. The girls say you don’t date. You just get laid by Miss Tuesday Night—whoever that is.” She shrugged. “Getting laid would be good, I guess. Not sure I’ll earn marks from Gerry for that, though.”
It irritated me that my mates’ girlfriends were talking openly about my sex life.
I’d learned by now that if I tried to tell them it was none of their business, I would just sacrifice thirty minutes of my life I’d never get back while I listened to them lecture me on why I needed to be in a relationship.
“They shouldn’t be talking to you about me.
They don’t get it. My sex life isn’t a joke.
It’s a choice.” I pulled in a breath and tried to soften my jaw.
I’d tried the relationship thing and it hadn’t worked out.
I was happy with my life now. What did anyone else care what I did? They didn’t have to walk in my shoes.
“A choice?”
“Never mind. Anyway, getting laid is always good. It’s an excellent stress reliever.”
She laughed and kicked my leg like we were teenagers again. “Wouldn’t it be good to get laid by someone I’d like to talk to afterward? I have no idea. I kinda missed the whole ‘relationships’ thing. It passed me by when I was studying. I’m not a virgin or anything. I’m just not . . .”
I tried not to smile. Whatever she was thinking seemed to fall from her mouth when she was with me. She had zero filter and was arguably too comfortable. Understanding I was the exception to the rule lifted my chest and my stomach settled.
“So, how do you pick the women you sleep with?”
I groaned. I didn’t want to get into this with Hartford. “You make it sound like there’s a catalog.”
“But is it only physical? You don’t want to talk and stuff?”
When had this become about me? Weren’t we discussing her?
She didn’t wait for my answer. “And the women you’re with don’t want to talk either?”
“I don’t insist on silence, but you know .
. .” I’d never been embarrassed by my sexual relationships with women.
They were entirely consensual and mutually satisfying, and I didn’t play games or pretend I was interested in something more than I was.
“We don’t spend time together because of each other’s scintillating conversation. ”
She looked at me, trailing her gaze over my face, down my neck, to my chest, my waist, my cock.
“You like each other for your bodies.” Her voice was softer now.
Like it had been when I’d seen her emerge all done up before dinner at Gerry’s.
Then, the room around us seemed to disappear.
Now, there was nothing here except Hartford and me. “So, you just undress and . . .”
I allowed my gaze to travel down her body in response. I took in her parted lips, her tongue darting out to wet them; I enjoyed the sight of those full breasts she’d pressed against me at the airport a couple of weeks ago. Her cinched-in waist, her legs. What was between them.
“It’s just physical,” she whispered.
“Right.”
Our eyes locked and I couldn’t help it, I leaned forward and kissed the juncture between her neck and her shoulder. Just once. Once wouldn’t hurt, would it? Or twice? I kissed her delicate skin again.
She tilted her head to allow me more room and my cock pushed against my fly.
Fuck, when had a woman I’d barely touched got me so wound up like this?
My heart was jackhammering against my ribs and I was having to work to control my breathing as if I’d just come off the Peloton.
I pressed another kiss farther up her neck and inhaled her sweet, cinnamon scent.
Cupping her jaw, I leaned my forehead against hers and tried to steady my pulse.
“Joshua.” My name came out on a sigh. Her hand slid up my chest and I groaned. Even though I knew I should stop, I just didn’t want to. I wanted her to touch more of me. All of me.
Our lips were almost touching. All I wanted was to taste her.
Just once. Before I could process what was happening, she opened her mouth and her hot breath snapped the tether on my self-control.
I pushed against her, pressing my lips against hers in soft, hot, wet kisses.
She opened her mouth slightly, and I took her bottom lip between my teeth, sucking the sweetness from her as if it had been denied me too long.
Christ, what was the matter with me?
A small moan escaped from her and ricocheted to the root of my cock.
A loud knock on the door sounded, and Hartford jumped ten feet in the air as if I’d electrocuted her.
She put her hand to her mouth. “My key.”
She scrambled to answer my front door while I tried to will away my hard-on. Fuck. I tipped my head back on the sofa.
Shit. What had I just done? I couldn’t be kissing Hartford. Perhaps it was some kind of misplaced sense of ownership that made me cross a line tonight. I hadn’t been expecting her to announce she’d been on a date, and we’d been spending so much time together . . . I was a bloody idiot.
She sidled back into the living room. “I got my key and I’m not sitting back down on that sofa,” she said. “It’s . . . no . . . not a good location.”
I chuckled despite it smarting a little that she was clearly regretting our kiss.
“Did I cross a line?” I asked.
“We crossed a very important, shouldn’t-be-crossed-under-any-circumstances line. I mean . . . it’s . . . you’re . . . I’m . . .”
Jesus, she was making it sound like I was toxic. But she was right. Any kind of anything between us wasn’t going to lead to anything but trouble. I nodded. “It was just a kiss, Hartford.” Liar, I thought to myself. “No big deal. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.”
She nodded enthusiastically, which I tried to mentally brush off.
“You should date,” I blurted. “You can’t give up after just one guy.
” If she got herself a boyfriend, she’d have way less time to spend with me.
And there’d be another good reason for me not to cross the line again.
Yes, Hartford finding a boyfriend was an excellent idea.
The quicker the better. “I’ll help you so you don’t feel awkward.
I’ll pick your dates. I’ll find you someone you want to talk to and fuck. ”
She scowled at me like I’d just assigned her a week of detention. “Only if I get to pick your dates.”
I laughed. “My dates? What are you talking about?”
“If I have to date, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”
Where was she going to meet the kind of women I wanted to date?
Easy. Nowhere, because I wasn’t interested in dating anyone.
But I could go through the motions so that Hartford actually dated.
That way, the pull in my stomach when I saw her, the way my heart stumbled sometimes when she touched me, and the buzz at the base of my dick when she laughed would all disappear.
“You got yourself a deal,” I said. “I set you up on three dates. I coach you through each one, and by the end of it, you’ll be able to fly into a fully-fledged dating life.”
“Three dates?”
“You’ve gotta kiss some frogs.”
A smile curled around her lips. “I have ground rules.”
“Name them.”
“No date should be longer than two hours. No sex. And we split the bill.”
“You know this isn’t us dating, right?” I asked.
“Right. But you’re expecting me to change things up and force myself out of my comfort zone. I don’t see why you shouldn’t have to do the same. You’re not interested to see if you can just talk to a woman for two hours?”
I hadn’t spoken to a woman outside my immediate circle one-on-one for two hours in ten years. Unless it was business related. Hartford was the only exception.
“Come on,” she said. “It’s six hours out of your life. I’ll coach you through it.” She grinned at me like she was doing me a favor rather than the other way around.
She held out her hand. As we shook to seal the deal, a frisson of heat travelled up my arm, confirming I’d made the right decision. In three dates, Hartford was sure to have a boyfriend, and I’d be able to stop telling myself how she wasn’t my type once and for all.