4. ARIES
4
ARIES
B ack in my room, I close the door and flop on the bed. So comfy. Just firm enough without being hard. I nestle on top of the duvet and pull out my mobile phone. Mum will be anxious to hear from me. I dial her number and wait.
“Aries.” My name is little more than an excited squeal. “Oh, honey, how is it down there? Is it amazing?”
I relax at the sound of her voice. My mum is my best friend. It sounds weird, but after Dad left, it was me and her. A team. She became this rockstar energy healer, travelling around Scotland. I went with her and she home-schooled me as we went. Looking back, the whole thing was pretty wild. Dad leaving was probably the best thing that ever happened to her. She flourished, and I got to be raised by a mother who was happy and fulfilled by her calling in life.
“It’s great.” Should I tell her about mistaking my new boss for the gardener? No . She’ll know as soon as I bring it up that I like the guy. Her intuition is always bang on. She’s had enough time to hone it, that’s for sure. “The house is amazing. And Mrs Minter seems lovely.”
“And the kids?”
“There’s only a little girl here right now. Lucie. Really cute. I think we’ll get along. There’s a teenage boy too, but he’s away at boarding school.”
Mum tuts. “I always think it’s sad to send children away from home. They need to be with their parents.”
“I disagree. It sounds like the house was miserable. Lots of fighting. Maybe it’s better that he wasn’t here.” My chest tightens as fragmented memories ambush me. Hiding under the stairs, hoping the yelling would stop. Mum and Dad, screaming at each other…
Mum is quiet for a moment, and her voice is soft when she says, “Let it go, honey. It’s over. Breathe it out.”
She always knows what I’m thinking, and that soothing tone she uses works its magic. Everything will be all right. I breathe for a moment, following the sensations the memories drag through my body, and then, when they’ve all but dissipated, Mum says, “I love you, Aries. Even back then, when it was tough. I loved you.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow around it. “I know.”
“Good,” Mum says, as though she’s closing the matter. “Your father called me.”
I’m stunned into silence. What the hell? Dad left when I was six, never to be seen again. No birthday cards. No messages. Nothing . The idea that he would call is… insane .
“No way,” I reply, once I’ve processed the information.
“Yes. It’s a thing, apparently. People call when they find out you’re dying. A conveyor belt of people you thought you’d got rid of, ringing you up to see how you are.” Mum laughs, sounding genuinely amused despite the morbid topic. “It’s hilarious really. ‘I heard you’re dying, so I thought I’d call.’ Did I not make it clear enough at the time that I didn’t want to hear from these people?”
I bite back a smile, shaking my head. “You’re the most bitter spiritual healer I know.”
“I’m not bitter.” She states it like an indisputable fact. “I’ve sent them all unconditional love, but I don’t actually want to hear from them in the 3D world. How they didn’t get that message, I have no idea. I’d disconnect the phone, but then how would I speak to you? I guess we could use telepathy.”
“Mum, this isn’t funny.”
She sighs. “We have to joke about this stuff, Aries. Otherwise, what would we do?”
The comment hangs in the air. I don’t know what the answer is, but it feels heavy.
“Anyway,” Mum continues, “I can sense something’s up with you. How’s the job? How’s Mrs Minter? How’s London? Tell me everything.” I’m about to answer when she says, “No, wait. Let me sense it. Hmm.”
I can picture her pulling that face she does when she’s trying to read information in the ether; the intense focus, her eyelids flickering, revealing freakish slivers of the whites beneath the lashes.
“A man,” she announces. “Looks like Clark Gable.”
I snort. “There is a man, but he doesn’t look like Clark Gable. Henry Cavill, maybe.”
“Who’s he? You know I only watch Golden Era Hollywood.”
In my mind, I start drawing comparisons between Mr Hawkston and Henry Cavill, and I’m pretty sure Henry is losing. “You’re missing out.”
“Hmm, but there is a man… Wait… something else is coming through. A kind soul. Angry. But kind. You have a connection—”
“Mum, please. Enough with the Mystic Meg stuff.”
She chuckles. Wheezes. Coughs. At the sound of her struggling, a stinging sensation hits the back of my nose. I’m helpless to ease her discomfort, and not just because I’m so far away. “I’m right though. This is a great opportunity for you.”
I bristle. “What does that mean?”
“You don’t like men. You don’t trust them. And I don’t blame you, after your father.”
“I do like men. I—”
“Aries.” Mum cuts me off. “Liking men for sex is not the same as liking men. Respecting men. Understanding what they can bring to a relationship and your life. Love is more than that. It’s more than passion and breathlessness and orgasms that you can walk away from when the night is over. It’s feeling completed by another person. Feeling safe . Finding someone who can be there for you when you need them. Someone you can rely on.” Mum’s sigh crackles down the line before she whispers, “I want that for you.”
An uneasy sensation that reminds me of heartburn fires up in my chest. She’s worried about dying and me being alone. “Did you have that? Love like that?”
There’s a long pause. “No.” There’s so much unspoken emotion in that one word that it feels like a weight bearing down on my shoulders. “But it’s too late for me.”
“You’re going to make me cry,” I whisper, and that lump from earlier makes a reappearance in my throat.
Mum laughs softly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to. I want to know there could be someone for you when I’m not here. That you’re at least open to it. That you might be able to build your own family. Find the Yang to your Yin.” Mum tuts and I imagine her shaking her head. “Not every man is going to be like your father.”
I’m quiet for a moment. Mum thinks this is all about Dad, but it’s not, and I can’t correct her. I know how it feels to love someone, because I love her with all my heart. But I also know that I’m going to lose her, and that feeling will be unbearable.
Why would I open myself up to more of that? Casual sex isn’t going to hurt that way, which suits me just fine.
I make an effort to roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. It’s easier to do that than to allow the meaning of her words to sink in. I can’t keep talking about this. I decide to redirect the conversation to where we began. “What did my father want when he called?”
A strained silence falls. “He wanted to know what I’d left him in my will.”
I gape. “He did not.”
“Yes, he did. Said when he left, he didn’t take all his stuff, so I owed him. I said he left twenty years ago and anything he left was long gone or garbage in the first place. And then he said, seeing as he gave me you, and you’re the best thing either of us ever did, I ought to leave him something. As a thank you.”
I clench my fist so hard that my fingernails dig into my palm. “Unbelievable. I mean, I am pretty great but I hope you told him where to stick—”
“I did. And then I hung up and sent him unconditional love.”
Her deadpan delivery has me giggling, and I cover the handset so Mum can’t hear, although I suspect she’s doing the same on the other end. Thing is, she’s also totally serious about the unconditional love.
“You should do it too,” she says. “Send him love. Forgiveness.”
“No.”
“Come on, Aries. It doesn’t mean you have to kiss and make up. You can forgive someone without ever seeing them again. Without ever telling them you forgive them. What is it I always say?”
Mum says a lot of things, but I know exactly which thing she means now, so I parrot it back at her. “Thinking negative things about other people only hurts me.”
“Exactly. All those bad thoughts going through your head have vibrations, and those vibrations are going through every cell in your body.” She doesn’t say it’ll make me sick, but I hear it as clearly as if she’d screamed it. I wonder what negativity she thinks did it for her, but the thought brings with it such an unpleasant curdling sensation in my gut that I shove it away. “It’s within your power to change that. You always have the power, Aries. Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t. I should get some sleep though. I love you.”
“Love you too, honey. Speak soon. And be open to it.”
“Open to what?”
“Having more than sex from a man.”
“Do I look like a Princess?” Lucie asks the following morning as she appreciates her reflection in the pink-framed mirror on the dressing table. She blows herself a little kiss, and the action is so adorable I want to hug her. I’ve just spent the last ten minutes plaiting her hair and pinning it on top of her head.
“You do. Come on. Let’s go. Daddy will be waiting.”
Lucie has such a bright smile, it’s infectious. But I’m too preoccupied to catch it this time, and I lead Lucie down the stairs on autopilot as my thoughts run rampant.
I’m oddly nervous at the idea of spending a day with Matt Hawkston, especially after my conversation with Mum last night. I told her I was going to sleep after we finished speaking, but instead, I cracked open my laptop and googled the shit out of my boss. It didn’t feel creepy; he’d practically ordered me to do it.
He’s one of three brothers who run the Hawkston Hotels Group, and there are over 6,000 Hawkston Hotels worldwide. I don’t know why I never put two and two together when I read the names of my employers. Although, I’ve never stayed in a Hawkston Hotel. They’re beyond my budget. I haven’t even been inside one.
The net worth of the company varies depending on the source, but it’s somewhere between ten and twelve billion. Their father heads up the New York office, but here in London, there are three brothers, all in their thirties; Nico, the eldest, then Matt, who I’ve worked out is thirty-five, and a younger brother, Seb. There are some incredible genes knocking around that family if the photos online are anything to go by, because all of them are drop-dead gorgeous. Like movie stars. And the ex-wife… wow, she’s got to be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen off the red carpet. Absolutely perfect features and long blonde hair. But in all the photos together, she and Mr Hawkston look miserable. No wonder they got divorced. They couldn’t even fake it for the cameras.
I dreamt about Mr Hawkston last night too. It’s hardly surprising given how long I researched him before I fell asleep. I tried to remember the details when I woke, but once my eyes were open, all that lingered was the sense of having done something wrong. Like I’d accidentally caught a glimpse of my boss in the shower. And what a sight that would be .
Mr Hawkston gives almost nothing away. He’s harder to read than anyone I’ve ever met. And somehow I’m still convinced there’s a man worth knowing behind the icy facade. Not that it makes a difference, because he let me know pretty clearly that I’m the staff and he’s the boss, and that’s the only relationship we’ll have. Every time he mentioned professional boundaries, it felt like he was hitting my knuckles with a ruler. Or maybe putting me over his lap and spanking me for disobedience. Naughty, Aries .
Suddenly, Mum’s voice sounds in my head. You have a connection …
I wish she hadn’t said that. Planting seeds in my mind. Who knows what that one sentence could grow into? I’ll have vines and weeds sprouting up all over the place. I mentally chop them all down and then focus my full attention on Lucie, reprimanding myself for being distracted by thoughts of her father yet again.
When we get downstairs, Mr Hawkston is standing in the hall, wearing a casual collared shirt and jeans. Not ripped ones this time. He’s so distractingly good-looking that my steps falter. Lucie glances at me, checking I’m still standing. I smile to reassure her, trying not to melt as her father’s gorgeous dark eyes take me in with the briefest of sweeps—so brief it’s dismissive—before settling on his daughter.
My gaze settles on him a lot longer. His shirt, a pale blue and white striped cotton one, is open at the neck, sleeves rolled to the elbow. There are lines of muscle that run the length of his forearms, and on one wrist he wears a heavy-looking watch. The strap is thick, chocolate brown leather and the face is large. If I was a watch woman, I’d know what brand it is. I’m not and I don’t, but there’s something about the way he wears it that is undeniably sexy, as if somehow, this man might have time under his control.
I’m three steps away from him when the smell hits me: a wall of exotic cologne. It’s layered and delicate and masculine and mouth-wateringly delicious all at once. It’s like the best parts of a forest on a warm summer’s day, if that forest also included a high-end spa full of half-naked men.
Half-naked men ? Where did that thought come from? Was it last night’s dream?
I take the final steps towards Mr Hawkston as a hot blush creeps over my face. One of the worst things about my complexion is that my embarrassment or discomfort is scrawled over my cheeks in the form of an aggressively red blush. I once watched an episode of a TV show where the woman went beetroot red if the guy she fancied came anywhere near her. I’m pretty sure she went to hospital for treatment.
My face is so hot right now, I feel like her.
Fortunately, Mr Hawkston hasn’t looked back at me since that first eye-sweep. He’s crouching with his arms open, and Lucie’s running towards him, squealing. It’s as if she hardly ever sees him. Just how unusual is it for this man to spend a whole day with his daughter?
He hugs her, then, still crouching, looks over her head at me. “Ready?”
“Daddy, Daddy, do you like my hair? Ariel did it.”
Twin furrows appear between his brows. “You should call her Aries. That’s her name.”
Lucie folds her lips in on one another. She looks upset to be reprimanded, and I feel the urge to speak up on her behalf.
“I don’t mind.”
“I mind.” Mr Hawkston cuts across me. “Your name is Aries.”
My teeth tug against my bottom lip. God, this man is severe . “Okay.”
“Do you like it though, Daddy?” Lucie repeats, touching her plaited hair, clearly desperate to keep her father’s attention for just a moment longer.
“It’s great,” he replies, but the tone is dismissive and Lucie knows it.
There’s a crackling tension in the air, and I don’t understand why. Is he angry about something?
“Are you sure you want me to come?” I check. “If you already had the day—”
“I said so, didn’t I?” His tone is sharp.
“Yes. Sorry.”
He does the tiniest chin shift to acknowledge my apology, then smiles at Lucie, and this time his full attention is on his daughter. “Ready, champ?”
She grins and slips her little hand into Mr Hawkston’s larger one before we head out.
We arrive at the Natural History Museum when the doors open, so we don’t have to queue. Lucie is clinging to Mr Hawkston’s hand as we step inside the huge vaulted main chamber, and she stares up at the enormous whale skeleton.
He crouches beside her, pointing up at the bones, and whispering in her ear. She giggles and leans into him, and he catches her weight, his large forearm wrapped around her waist. Seeing him tend to his daughter this way makes him even more attractive. She’s so happy to have his attention that I linger back, not wanting to intrude.
Why am I here at all? They planned this day together. Wouldn’t it have been better to leave it that way? I wouldn’t have minded, and from what Alec said, Mr Hawkston doesn’t make much time for his kids. As it is, I feel a bit like a third wheel.
Mr Hawkston’s phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket, releasing Lucie from his embrace at the same time. He looks over his shoulder, searching for me, and I step into his line of sight. “I’ve got to get this. Can you…” He nods at Lucie, and I take her hand whilst he moves away to take his call.
“This whale is really huge, isn’t it?” I say.
A serious expression falls over Lucie’s face. “She’s called Hope. Daddy told me that’s her name. She could eat you in one mouthful.” She performs a giant gulp, followed by a swallow, and then rubs her tummy. It makes me laugh, and Lucie smiles widely in response.
We stare at Hope for a while, and I keep one eye on Mr Hawkston, who’s pacing up and down not far away, gesticulating with one hand. He looks frustrated, if not downright angry.
Lucie notices where my focus is and pouts her bottom lip. “Daddy’s always on the phone.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. He loves his phone more than me.”
I tear my gaze from Mr Hawkston to look at his daughter. “Oh, that’s not true. No one loves their phone more than their family.”
She rolls her eyes, which looks incongruously adult on such a young child. “You’ll see.”
And indeed, I do see.
Lucie and I explore the entire blue zone and most of the green zone before Mr Hawkston gets off the phone. At one point I beckon him to join us so we can inspect the creepy crawlies together, because Lucie is so excited by them, but he waves me off with an irritated hand and I feel like an idiot for trying.
I’m beginning to think he just wanted me here today so he could get on the phone guilt-free while convincing himself that he really does take the time to spend with his daughter. I’m making assumptions, but it seems to fit with what I’ve seen so far and what Lucie has said.
Finally, just as we’re about to head upstairs to check out the dodos and the volcanoes, Mr Hawkston finishes his call. He comes back over, face drawn into an indelible frown.
Lucie has her nose smashed up against a display case with what looks like a giant swordfish inside, her little hands splayed on the glass. I’m pretty sure she wants to climb in there, and someone is going to come and reprimand her at any moment, but for now, she’s content and hasn’t noticed her father’s return. Which is definitely a good thing, because he doesn’t look happy.
I walk to meet him. “If you need to go home, or back to work, I can take this from here,” I say in a hushed tone.
He glares at me. “Did I say I wanted to leave?”
I stiffen. “No, I just thought, given the whole being on the phone… you’re clearly busy—”
“Are you judging me?”
Wow, this conversation has spiraled. I’ve hit a nerve . Backtrack, backtrack . “No. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m here to make things easier for you, and if you don’t have time—”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
I should stop talking but, of course, I don’t. “Not really. This was supposed to be your day with Lucie and it’s nearly lunchtime and you’ve barely put that thing away.” I gesture to his phone, which he’s still clutching in his hand. I swear I see his knuckles tighten around it. “It’s the weekend.”
“I’m well aware what day of the week it is, Aries.” He runs his other hand through his hair, then drags his palm down his face. “I’m busy, and I really don’t like the way you’re looking at me right now.” My breath stutters. I want to contradict him, but his dark, angry eyes are fixed on me, and he speaks before I can. “You think I’m a shitty father.”
Woah . “I don’t.”
“You do. I’ve seen that look before.” He breaks eye contact, turning his gaze to the floor. His jaw is tight as he presses two fingers between his brows. He’s silent for an unnaturally long time, and something about his stance has me holding my tongue. Is he okay? “Maybe you’re right,” he mutters finally. “I have stuff to deal with, and it’s better if I’m not here at all than present, but totally distracted.”
“That’s true.” His eyes widen as though he’s surprised that I agreed, and my next words pour out in a rush. “I only meant that it’s better for Lucie because she can tell your focus is elsewhere. To a little kid, that feels like they aren’t important enough to command your attention. And that translates into generally feeling unimportant and growing up with low self-worth.”
He frowns, and for a brief moment he looks completely taken aback by the barrage of amateur psychology I’ve hit him with. “Are you a therapist?” he asks, his voice harsh.
I cower a tiny bit. “No.”
“Then perhaps you should keep your opinions to yourself.” Shit . Nice one, Aries . “I’m going back to the office. The car will take you and Lucie wherever you want to go.” He opens his wallet and pulls out a credit card. “Take this. Put everything on it. Food. Tickets. Whatever. Keep it for expenses while you're here.”
I take the card from him without a word.
“Daddy?” Lucie must have noticed our discussion, because she’s no longer peering into the display case. She’s staring up at her father, her eyes welling with tears.
Mr Hawkston winces a little. It clearly pains him to let her down, but he does it anyway. “I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to go back to work.”
“No! Daddy, no—”
“I’m sorry. There’s a big deal that’s supposed to complete tomorrow and I—”
“I hate you.” She stamps her foot and clenches her hands into tiny fists that hang at her sides. “You’re the worst daddy in the whole world.”
Mr Hawkston stiffens, and although he doesn’t look at me, I sense he’s acutely aware of me watching this interaction. “Lucie.” Her name is a harsh reprimand. “That’s no way to talk to your father.”
Lucie’s face crumples and she lets out a roaring wail, drawing the attention of people nearby. Mr Hawkston’s face looks like thunder.
Trying my best not to scowl at him, I place my hand on Lucie’s shoulder and crouch down to her level. “It’s so disappointing, isn’t it? That Daddy can’t stay?”
The wailing stops as she stares at me with watery eyes. Her chin dimples, and she bites her quivering lip. Her little arms weave their way around my neck and she sobs into my shoulder.
Mr Hawkston’s glare scratches my skin, as if all my clothes have turned to hessian. I try to ignore the discomfort, forcing myself to hold his gaze.
After a moment, his features soften and he touches the tips of his fingers to Lucie’s head, but she burrows harder against me, and his fingers slide off, making something in my chest pinch. “I‘ll see you later,” he whispers. “Come find me this afternoon.”
Lucie twists her head and glowers at her father. “I’ll spend the day with Ariel.” Then she sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry. “I like her more than you.”
Mr Hawkston’s nostrils flare, but he backs off, casting one last lingering look at his daughter before he turns and marches away, disappearing between display cases and other museum visitors.
“Don’t worry,” I say to Lucie, whose tremulous gaze is fixed on her father’s retreating form. “We’re going to have the best day ever.”
By the time we get home, it’s after 4 pm. I’m exhausted, and Lucie is weary too. I did my best to cheer her after Mr Hawkston’s departure. We had pizza in South Kensington, and afterwards we spent a couple of hours in Kensington Gardens. Despite the fact that we had a car to drive us around everywhere, I still spent a lot of time standing and my feet are aching.
“What shall we do now?” I ask, once we’re back in the house. I slide off my shoes, unbuckle Lucie’s sandals, and leave them in the boot room in the basement.
“Popcorn and a movie,” Lucie suggests, flashing me an irresistible smile.
We make our way to the kitchen, and Lucie directs me to a cupboard where there are multiple bags of posh popcorn in every flavour imaginable. She picks the salted caramel, and we take it to the cinema room.
It’s entirely dark in here because there are no windows, but when we enter, four elegant wall lights flick on. They cast a golden glow over the room, making it feel like a real cinema. The carpet is a plush deep red, and the cinema chairs are wide and luxurious. The screen is enormous too; larger than any TV I’ve ever seen in a private house.
Lucie hops up onto what’s effectively a large love seat in the front row and taps the cushion next to her. “Sit with me.”
We settle on the sofa, choose the newest DreamWorks animated movie on Netflix, and Lucie shouts for the lights to go off, which they obediently do.
She nestles into me, and her hair smells like baby shampoo. Her readiness to trust me, a complete stranger only yesterday, tugs at my heart. She’s so innocent, so vulnerable, and I find myself thinking about how harshly Mr Hawkston reprimanded her today at the museum. She’d clung to me after I’d expressed the tiniest hint of empathy. Does she ever get that from her father? It’s clear she loves him, given how excited she is whenever he appears… but how often is he too busy to attend to her emotional needs?
In the cinema room, we share the popcorn until the bag is empty. The room is warm, the seat incredibly comfortable. It’s not long before Lucie falls asleep, but I let the movie run. I don’t want the sudden silence of turning it off to shock her into wakefulness. In the cosy darkness, it's not long before my eyes drift shut too.
I wake, confused. Where am I? The empty packet of popcorn crinkles in my lap as I rouse, and I remember. The cinema screen is blank, and panic shoots through me. I must have fallen asleep. What time is it? I fumble for my phone, wishing briefly that I had one with a torch on it.
The screen lights up. 6.07 pm. Thank goodness it’s not too late.
Lucie is still sleeping beside me, the low rumble of her snoring filling the room. I stretch and yawn as I ease myself out of the seat. I’m about to lift Lucie too, when I hear a noise somewhere further down the corridor. It’s the whirring pulse of machinery and the thump of quick footsteps. What is that? I creep down the darkened corridor, following the sound.
The door to the gym is wide open, casting a rigid box of light across the dim hall, and the cold air conditioning filters out, penetrating the warmth of the corridor as though I’m standing before an open freezer door. I tiptoe forwards and peer inside, keeping to the shadows. The gym walls are white, and there are multiple high-end gym machines, weights, and everything else you’d expect in a public gym. There are even duplicates of some machines. Perhaps Mr and Mrs Hawkston used to exercise side by side. The idea doesn’t sit well, like a film of grease sliding over the contents of my stomach. But why should it bother me? They were married. It’s only natural that they did things together. I shake off the odd sensation. Maybe I ate something bad .
Mr Hawkston is running on the treadmill. He’s wearing only a pair of grey shorts, while what looks like a damp t-shirt hangs on the bars of a standing bike nearby. I don’t know how long he’s been here, but it’s long enough to have worked up a sweat all over. His broad, muscled back shines like he’s coated in oil. There’s a mirrored wall in front of him, and I can see his chest, which is just as slick and as defined as his back. The ridges of his abs are practically cliffs and ravines. It’s the definition of a washboard. Just how much time does he spend down here?
His face wears a pained expression and he’s blowing breaths out, his legs and arms pumping hard. There’s a raw masculinity pulsing off him that’s hard to resist. I tilt towards him, desperate to get closer. What would it feel like to touch that body? What would this man be like in bed? His skin, sweat-slicked, and his muscles firm against me?
Shit. A low, aching pulse of arousal begins between my legs. I should stop staring and leave, but I don’t want to. My heart is thumping like a fist beating against a wall.
He presses a button to stop the treadmill, his footfall slowing. He reaches for a nearby towel, wiping his face and the back of his neck. Holy hell, he is breathtaking .
I close my eyes and shake my head. I cannot be thinking this way about my boss, but when he’s on display like this—
“Can I help you?”
My stomach plunges at the sound of his voice, and I creak open an eye. The treadmill is stationary now. He faces me as he steps off it, holding my gaze. His stare is an accusation, but even though guilt flashes through my system, it doesn’t stop my gaze skimming down his body. Delicious . The pulse between my legs kicks up a notch.
He pushes his dark hair off his face as sweat trickles down his chest. I can’t help but follow the trail down his skin, where the V of muscles is visible above the darkened waistband of his shorts.
I take it all in at lightning speed, but his eyes narrow when mine land back on his. He’s fully aware I’ve checked him out. My face is so hot I think my cheeks could fry eggs. I shouldn't be here. What must he think of me?
“How long have you been standing there?” He speaks each word slowly, as if the answer matters .
I step confidently into the light of the doorway, emerging from the shadows of the darkened hallway. Might as well own the fact that I’m here, now he’s caught me. I blink in the sudden brightness. For once, I’m speechless. Mr Hawkston tilts his head and steps in my direction. I can smell him; his cologne mixed with sweat and body odor. I briefly wonder if this version of his scent is even more appealing than the straight smell of his cologne.
I must be losing my mind.
I grapple for words. Excuses. Anything. All the while he’s stalking towards me, closer and closer, until he’s so close I could run my fingertip— or my tongue —through the sweat on his abs.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “About earlier, at the museum—”
“Don’t mention it. It is what it is.” Holy crap, this man is attractive. When his eyes meet mine, there’s a hint of something there… not much, but definitely a little amusement. “For the record, I prefer this expression”—he nods at my face—“to the judgmental one I got at the museum.”
Heat rages through me, and I can only imagine what expression he’s talking about. Is it that I’m mindlessly drooling over him? Am I that obvious?
“Oh. Ha. Um…” Speechless . He’s rendered me speechless— again —in his sweaty near-nudity.
“Aries?”
I startle, jolting into a more upright stance and yanking my gaze back up to his face from where I was staring at his abs. Again . “Yes?”
“What are you doing down here?”
“I…” Crap. Why am I here? “I got lost.”
Got lost? Damn it. I could have come up with something better than that.
The creases at the corners of his eyes deepen. “Where’s Lucie?”
“In the cinema room. She fell asleep during the movie. I was going to wake her.”
“Don’t. I’ll take a shower and carry her up to bed. She’ll probably sleep through the night if she’s tired enough. Can you wait with her? Give me ten minutes.”
I barely hear anything he says after the word ‘shower’. Did he have to say that? Did he have to plant that image in my mind? Him completely naked with water running all over him? Those droplets would get everywhere. Focus, Aries. “Sure.”
“Do you need me to show you where it is?”
“Huh?”
I’m pretty sure he’s trying not to laugh at me, but I can’t put my finger on why I think it, because there’s nothing to suggest it on his face. “The cinema room. You said you got lost.”
The heat in my cheeks is furious. Is my face on fire? “Oh, right. No. I think I can find it.”
There’s that slight glimmer of amusement in his eyes again, like a ghost or a spectre; a trick of the light.
Before I can say another word, he disappears into an adjacent room and I pad back along the hall to the cinema room. It’s a straight line from here to there. He definitely knows I didn’t get lost. And that I was just standing there, admiring him.
This is definitely not good.