Chapter 10
10
Paige
Sorry I’ve been a bit quiet.
She wasn’t sure who would answer because of the time difference but within a minute three little dots appeared, undulating away, indicating someone was typing. Bella. Ack – it had to be Bella! Crossing her fingers, she hoped that Astrid or Sienna would make an appearance.
Bella
Are you okay? Is Olly being awful?
Paige didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t been awful at all. He’d been the opposite of that really. Even if he had kissed her and she had liked it a little too much. Which made her the awful one.
Paige
No, no. Really it’s fine.
Bella
I can call if you want?
Oh, bloody hell – nope! Paige needed to be 100 per cent sober for any actual conversation with Bella. Otherwise the second she heard her wonderfully no-nonsense voice she might end up confessing all and make a real hash of everything.
Paige
Would love that BUT Oliver’s started yelling about Pavarotti escaping again and threatening to take him to the pound and Bunky will never forgive me. I should go help.
She felt bad about using Pavarotti as an excuse given he and Oliver were in some kind of bromance now. But she was thinking on her feet here.
Bella
If you’re sure you’re okay?
Paige
Absolutely!
Please could they just stop talking about her being okay? But then a thought struck. Maybe Bella was asking because something was up her end and she was trying to establish an in to that conversation.
Paige
Are *you* okay?
The dots danced for a long time. Bella was either writing a long message, correcting her spelling errors or writing and deleting a lot. Was she okay? Paige breathed a sigh of relief when her message popped up.
Bella
I’m good. I’ve finally set up that interview for the day after tomorrow.
Bella’s idea to instigate a scathing newspaper article – a real hatchet job – about Astrid’s ex was utterly brilliant and Paige had hooked Bella up with a client who owned a trendy bar in New York as a possible venue.
Bella
And that will be the beginning of Chase’s downfall.
Chase’s downfall. Well that certainly sounded gleeful enough. Ugh . Guilt sliced through her middle like a hot knife. Bella was doing what she was supposed to be doing – getting even for Astrid. And here she was, supposedly getting some payback for Bella, not playing kissy-kissy with Oliver. Her fingers trembled a little as she tapped out her response.
Paige
Go Bella!! Astrid will be THRILLED.
And because shame was riding her hard and she was a big chicken, Paige didn’t give Bella a chance to respond. She went straight back in again.
Paige
Oh God, sorry, gotta run. Oliver is threatening to make Pavarotti sleep in the garage. Talk soon xxx
Then she shut down the app and slugged back the rest of the wine. She might be able to make excuses to justify what had happened but ultimately, she’d betrayed Bella – her friend – and that sat like a cold, wet, rotting fish in her gut.
Needing to get out of her head, lest she open a second bottle of wine to drown her sorrows this time, Paige scrolled her phone until she found a song to get lost in. ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ leaped out at her and she smiled.
Yep, that would do it.
Ignoring the fact that Cornwall could be easily substituted for Georgia, she hit play and turned it up as she grabbed her violin. She’d learned all the fiddle sections years ago and it used to be her party trick when she was tipsy enough to get the crowd really pumping.
She was alone right now but she was certainly tipsy enough. And the intricate finger work would take her mind off other things.
Tapping her foot and singing raucously along, she watched her reflection in the glass doors to the patio as she played her violin during the fiddle parts, leaning into it with as much flair as a bottle of wine could give her, remembering the bow strokes and the notes as if she’d learned them only yesterday. It was an energetic song and, by the time it was drawing to a close she was slightly out of breath.
The song finished with a flourish, as did she, performing a bow to the room and then laughing at her theatrics.
The next song started to play and, conscious of not annoying the neighbours, Paige quickly turned it down. Crossing the room to return the violin to its case, she was pulled up short when the handle on the door that led from the garage into the hallway rattled.
Paige froze as she peered into the darkened recesses. There were no lights on down that end but she was sure it had rattled.
It rattled again.
Her pulse spiked on a hot surge of adrenaline. Was someone in the garage? Trying to get into the house? There were a lot of expensive things that would satisfy a would-be thief – like an Oscar for example.
Through her red-wine fog she tried to figure out the best move. She could call the cops but they would take several minutes to get to her and if the person on the other side of the door had ill intent then she probably didn’t have minutes.
As the handle rattled again she realised she was going to have to defend herself.
Had she not had a red-wine brain, she’d have gone downstairs with the dog and the phone and gone out the doors to the beach. But she was in full wine fog and all of a sudden, the violin in her hand looked like an ideal weapon.
Grabbing her phone off the table she hit 999, shoving the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could brandish the violin. As she crept towards the door in the darkened hallway, an efficient-sounding person on the other end asked her if she wanted police, ambulance or fire.
‘ Police ,’ she hiss-whispered, her heart rate picking up as the door finally swung open and she lifted the violin.
Fingers appeared, gripping around the door frame just as the person on the line said, ‘Police, what is your emergency, please?’
Operating completely on instinct now, Paige rode an adrenaline surge, mustering all her strength and smashing the violin at the knuckles yelling, ‘ Heee-yah !’
Given her alcohol-affected hand-eye co-ordination, it missed the knuckles entirely and smashed into the frame, splintering the instrument. The action dislodged her phone which flew from its position, landing on the floor and sliding along the hallway.
The person – definitely a man – obviously startled by her stealthy, ninja-like attack, yelled, ‘ What the fuck ?’ as he stepped into the hallway, a stack of file boxes in one arm.
It was Oliver.
Blinking, it was Paige’s turn for, ‘ What the fuck ?’ He wasn’t supposed to be coming home until tomorrow.
But it went unanswered as Oliver stood on a tiny piece of shattered violin which slid out from under him on the floorboards. Wobbling to remain upright and not drop his boxes, he let out a whoop. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. Overcorrecting, the boxes slipped, crashing to the ground, disgorging their contents.
In a last-ditch attempt to stay upright, his arms flailing in mid-air, he grabbed hold of the closest solid thing. Which just happened to be Paige.
Before she knew it, they were down.
Thankfully, Oliver broke her fall as they collapsed in a pile, the remnants of the violin flying from her hand as sheets of escaped paper fell around them like confetti. He let out a wrenching, ‘ Ophff ’ as he landed on his back and she landed on his front, her face in his neck, her hair spread over his face, her breasts squashed into his chest, her legs straddling his hips and his hands firmly on her ass.
Their groins shockingly aligned.
For a beat or two neither of them did anything, they just lay stock-still, breathing. Paige shut her eyes and inhaled his scent as she tried to harness the analytical centre of her brain to make it make sense but he smelled of old boxes which she didn’t know until right this minute could be such a turn on.
As was the scratch of whiskers against her cheek. And the thick bulge between his legs pressing intimately between her legs. Her wine brain was all well hello, sailor and she wanted nothing more than to purr and stretch a little.
Stupid wine brain.
Yanking herself back from the ridiculous urge to rub herself shamelessly against him, Paige slapped her palms on the floor either side of his head and levered herself upright, the frizz of her hair falling forward as she stared into his face. Their eyes met and she wondered idly how fair it was that his eyes were almost freaking luminous in the dark. Like a cat. A sleek jungle cat.
Oh, shut up, wine brain!
‘You’re not supposed to be home until tomorrow,’ she accused, glaring at him but the breathiness of her voice softened the effect.
Really, being sprawled on him like this was quite discombobulating.
‘I decided to come back early,’ he replied crankily, also glaring.
‘Why didn’t you knock or use your key?’ she demanded. ‘Instead of rattling the bloody handle like you were trying to break in?’
‘I did knock,’ he griped. ‘But there was some kind of racket going on in here and I was using my key but with my arms full of boxes it was difficult and it took a few attempts.’
Racket? Did the man have no appreciation for classic hits?
Paige glared some more, so did he, the chug of their breathing louder than the background music. But then Paige became aware of his big hands warm on her ass and her heart rate, still elevated from her ninja moves, changed tempo. It morphed to more of a hard thud than a desperate trip as she tried to figure out why in the hell she was suddenly so hot and why in God’s name she wasn’t attempting to get off him.
As if he knew where her mind was or maybe it was just a reflexive thing, his fingers dug in a little. Ordinarily, when a guy had his hands on her bum, Paige would fret about its fleshiness but that was the furthest thing from her thoughts as the intimacy of their position was making itself more and more known.
Her yoga pants allowed her to easily feel every damn contour of what he was packing behind his fly and it was a lot. Between the thinness of the stretch cotton and their position, nothing was left to the imagination. Perfect for a little downward dogging.
Paige shut her eyes. Oh dear God, shut up, wine brain.
‘Paige.’
It was soft and low and she opened her eyes slowly, willing herself not to grind against him, not to move. Their eyes met briefly, his black pupils large, almost obliterating the blue of his irises. And then his gaze drifted to her mouth.
‘Paige…’
It was softer this time, lower. A rumble of air that sounded as if it had come from the depths of the earth. And that’s what did it. The raw ache in his voice pulsing between them. He seemed as lost in this moment as she was, her guilt from only ten minutes ago evaporating, disappearing into the ether. Lust fogged her head, replacing propriety with a roaring imperative to touch.
Her pulse a percussion section in her ears, Paige swooped down, her breasts flattening against his chest as she pressed her mouth to his.
This time neither of them were tentative. Neither of them froze at the audacity of the action. The kiss flared bright, right from the first touch of their lips and Paige moaned as the hands clutching her ass pulled her in tighter.
There was no Just Desserts. No payback plan. No Bella. Just him, solid and good between her legs.
Her breath caught in her throat as she pressed herself against him, trying to get closer to those contours that were thickening by the second. His low groan filled her head and the taste of coffee on his tongue was like a spoonful of Affogato. Sweet and bitter and absolutely no good for her but hell if she could resist anything Italian.
A hand shoved into her hair, a palm grazed her cheek and she leaned into it as their mouths moved and shifted, their tongues tangling, hunting relentlessly for the next gasp, the next moan.
‘ Jesus, Paige,’ he muttered against her mouth, his breathing hot and ragged on her face before he shoved his other hand in her hair and went back for more.
One kiss, two. Deep. Hard. Then a throaty groan and suddenly, she was on her back, his mouth barely leaving hers as he performed the feat, his body half over hers, pressing her into the floor, his hand sliding to her hip, to her waist, under her shirt, trailing fire.
Trailing desire.
His hand found her bra and Paige moaned, her fingers twisting into the hair at his nape and tugging as he cupped her breast and squeezed, her nipple hardening in a second streaking pleasure in a line that went directly to the bullseye right between her legs.
It did not pass go, it did not collect two hundred pounds.
Then, suddenly, two loud thumps on the front door, shattered their clinch as decisively as a falling axe. ‘Police,’ a voice boomed from the other side as blue light slid under and bled around the door surrounds, turning the darkened hallway into some kind of macabre disco as it strobed across the wreckage of the violin. ‘Open up.’
Startled, they sprang apart as if they were about to be arrested for… what? Making out. Betraying a friend. Again. Paige winced.
Damn you , wine brain.
‘What the fuck?’ Oliver scrambled to his feet, raking a hand through hair that between the fall and the fornication, was exceptionally mussy.
Also standing, Paige straightened her clothes. There was no hope for her hair.
Another bang on the door. ‘If you do not open this door, pronto,’ the voice boomed, ‘we’ll have to force it open.’
‘Coming,’ Oliver called before turning to her. ‘Why in the hell,’ he whispered, his brows forming a vexed V, ‘are the police at the door?’
Paige’s brain was not in a fit state to critically analyse anything right now. Between the wine and the hormonal buzz she could barely remember her own damn name. But he was looking at her like it was all her fault and that rankled because this time, she had kissed him and guilt needled her hard.
‘I don’t fucking know,’ she hissed. Oh, but actually… ‘ Shit. ’ She looked around for her phone. There it was a few metres away, the screen lit up, presumably the emergency call taker still on the line listening to the crashing and kerfuffle and then the utter silence while they were making out on the bloody floor.
Cringe.
‘I’d called 999 just before I karate-chopped your hand.’ Man, that had been fast. Surely, it’d been no more than ten minutes since she’d first dialled?
Oliver stared at her for moment and she thought he was going to demand to know why but then, as if he’d suddenly realised why a lone woman thinking someone was breaking into her house would call the cops, his annoyance deflated and he huffed out a sigh. ‘Well… this ought to be good.’
Taking the half dozen strides to the front door, Oliver opened it with a smile. Paige joined him as he said, ‘Officer. Oh…’ Behind the burly copper who was laden down with about a dozen things hanging off his belt and his vest, there was another similarly encumbered. ‘Officers,’ he corrected.
‘We got a 999 call to this residence,’ he said with no preamble in a broad northern accent, eying Oliver suspiciously. He had two huge, greying eyebrows that undulated like furry caterpillars on his forehead.
‘Yes, sorry,’ Paige said. ‘That was me, I?—’
‘Are you okay, ma’am?’
Was she okay? Not really. She and Oliver had now kissed twice and she was pretty sure she was going to hell because she thought maybe she was starting to feel stuff and what the hell was that even about? But she didn’t think Eyebrows was worried about her sexual or moral discombobulation.
‘Yes. Absolutely.’ She nodded vigorously, her eyes widening, trying desperately to convey everything was fine. Although she may have looked slightly manic and possibly not okay. Because she was not okay . ‘I thought someone was trying to break in but it was just Oliver.’ She pointed at him. ‘It’s his house.’
Clearly of a suspicious nature – excellent quality for a police officer she supposed – the officer glanced behind them into the hallway taking in the scattered pieces of her now very dead violin and the mess of paper.
‘I see.’ He eyeballed Oliver. ‘Do you mind if we come in, sir?’
Oliver shook his head. ‘Of course not.’
He fell back and gestured for the officer to enter which he did, followed by the second cop who was younger and ginger. They stepped over the debris in the hallway garishly lit by the flashing blue light, looking at it then at each other as Oliver shut the door. ‘And what happened here?’
‘Well,’ Paige began, ‘as I said, I thought someone was breaking in because Oliver wasn’t supposed to be home until tomorrow night.’
‘It’s true, I was supposed to come home tomorrow.’
‘So when he opened the door,’ Paige continued, ‘I… attacked him with the violin.’
‘And I was carrying some file boxes which I dropped when I slipped on a piece of broken violin and the paper flew out everywhere.’
‘And I slipped too,’ Paige added. ‘And in the…’ She cleared her voice. ‘Confusion.’ Slash debauchery . ‘That followed, I forgot about having dialled the emergency number. I’m so, so sorry, I know how busy you are. The last thing you need are nuisance calls like this.’
‘I see,’ he repeated, pursing his lips, his eyebrows undulating once more.
They moved slowly down the hallway, entering the open-plan, well-lit area, their eyes continuously sweeping. They stopped in the kitchen. ‘Have you been drinking, ma’am?’
Paige’s gaze flicked to where the officer’s attention was focused. The empty wine bottle stood on the counter, judging her . ‘Um, yes?’
He nodded. ‘How much?’
‘The entire bottle.’ Her gaze slid to Oliver whose expression was inscrutable. Mr Expensive Cognac had better not be judging her. ‘But it was over a couple of hours.’
Okay, that was a slight fudge of the truth but as far as she knew there was no law against getting absolutely stonking drunk in your own home if you wanted to.
The copper nodded as they both turned, two sets of eyes thoroughly assessing her and Oliver in the full light. Both sets drifted to her Danny Dorito T-shirt at the same time and Paige swore she saw the lips of ginger copper, twitch.
‘You two got some ID?’ Eyebrows asked.
‘Ah… sure.’ Oliver reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, furnishing his driver’s licence.
Paige crossed to the table and grabbed hers from her bag and handed it over. He passed them both to ginger cop who wandered down the hallway, murmuring into the radio clipped to his shoulder.
‘The address is my parents’ house,’ Paige added for clarity. ‘I’m just staying here. As a guest.’
Eyebrows flicked a glance at Oliver. ‘That right?’
He nodded. ‘Until the end of February.’
‘And how do you know each other?’
‘I’m friends with his…’ Ex. Paige almost stumbled over the word as the thought of Bella sucked the air from her lungs, forcing her to draw in another. ‘With his ex.’
Ginger cop returned and handed the IDs back to Eyebrows with a nod. Clearly, they’d checked out. The older officer returned their IDs.
A couple more questions followed but they left shortly after with cheery goodbyes, obviously satisfied that nothing sinister had gone on tonight. As embarrassing as the incident had been, Paige assumed domestic callouts were relatively common for them and it was good to know they’d arrived promptly and hadn’t been brushed off with hasty assurances.
‘So.’ Oliver, who had accompanied the officers to the door, wandered back into the kitchen, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. ‘That was a thing.’
‘God, I’m so sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘I panicked. I was a little tipsy and well… look at it.’ She gestured around her. ‘This place is worth knocking over.’
His gaze shifted to the empty wine bottle but he didn’t say anything and silence settled between them. She didn’t like the silence, it made her nervous. There was too much space to fill and only one thing on her mind to fill it.
Their hallway snog-fest.
God, where would it have led had the police not crashed the party? Because she’d been all in, Judas that she was.
‘H… how was London?’ she asked, her voice husky.
He shrugged, looking cool, calm and collected. A far cry from the Oliver who had said her name with such heated intensity. ‘The usual.’
‘Why did you come back early?’
‘My business was done.’
More silence. Bloody hell, this was awkward AF. She couldn’t decide if he was waiting for her to say something or trying to formulate something himself. ‘Well… I’ll’ – she pointed to the hallway over his shoulder – ‘just clean up the mess.’
He shook his head. ‘I can do it.’
‘No.’ Her voice was firm. ‘I’m the reason you dropped it all in the first place, I’ll fix it. What is all that paper anyway?’
‘It’s a bunch of research on my father that a friend of his had collated for his own book but he died before he could write it. It’s been gathering dust in the London flat for years and I thought there might be some interesting nuggets amongst it all. It was’ – he looked over his shoulder at the mess before returning his attention to her – ‘supposedly in order.’
Paige blanched at the jumble of paper but hell, she liked a challenge and untangling paper trails and setting up filing systems – bringing order from chaos – were right up her alley. Once she’d patiently Sellotaped a dozen pages of torn up letters back together again.
She loved a puzzle.
It would also give her the chance to enter each article into the spreadsheet she’d already set up for Oliver’s book to keep track of all of the pieces and where they might fit in the timeline of the story of Roger Prendergast. There was a lot of paper – it’d probably take her a while which suited her just fine. A project was exactly what she needed right now.
Oliver had project healthy hamster. And she’d have this.
‘Okay, well, I’ll just put it all back in the boxes and start sorting it tomorrow.’ Paige was proud that she’d managed to move this back onto a businesslike footing. ‘If you’re okay with that?’
‘Ah… sure. Thank you.’
Although he didn’t seem sure. He seemed like he wanted to say more and that was her sign to get moving. Forcing legs that had gone from jelly to lead in a rapid sequence of time, to move, took effort that she hoped he couldn’t see as she passed him by, giving him a wide berth. No way did she trust the pull he seemed to emit so effortlessly.
‘Paige.’
The gravel in his voice stopped her in her tracks, the hairs on her nape prickling as she froze. One word. Just one word in that voice and he had her. She didn’t know whether it was meant to be a question or a plea but she was sorting his papers, damn it – she wasn’t going there .
‘No.’
Shaking her head, she sought his eyes which smouldered with blue flame, and she curled her hands into fists at the corresponding flare of heat deep and low. She was in no fit state to talk about what had just happened when she couldn’t even bring herself to talk about the first time. She’d been hating on herself ever since and now she’d gone and compounded the situation.
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘We’re going to pretend the hallway didn’t happen as well?’
‘Yup.’ She nodded emphatically. ‘And we’re not letting it happen again, okay?’ Yes, she’d said that before but she meant it this time. ‘You and I are going teetotal from now on.’
It had to be the booze, right? There was no other explanation for the lowering of their inhibitions. Alcohol was known for that, after all.
He nodded his head slowly, dropping his gaze to the floor. ‘Fine by me.’
And Paige exhaled a long, steady breath.