Chapter Five
Theo
YESTERDAY WON’T LEAVE me alone.
The heat of her mouth, the way she pushed me back as if she was shoving her own clamouring needs into a vault. Damn, even the sight of her eating that chourico in the evening light, her lips glistening, eyes wary and molten all at once.
It drove me from my bed way too early, pushed me under the spray of a too cold and then a too hot shower as I was forced to take care of myself, again.
And yes, I’m very aware how the clear evidence of how much I crave Tessa Rockson doesn’t improve my mood one iota.
Every meeting I sit through today—the donor updates, the site feasibility reviews, the endless reassurances about the challenges of collaborating in new territory, as if West Africa was on Mars and not a mere six hours by plane from anywhere in Europe—is nothing but noise compared to the memory of her gaze pinning me like a nail.
By lunchtime, I realise I’ve been checking my phone like a man waiting for parole. Not that she would call, of course. Tessa Rockson has conclusively proven that she doesn’t cling. That she would sooner headbutt a brick wall than hover over a man.
She doesn’t do any of the things women usually do once I’ve given them the smallest taste of me. It should be a refreshing, much-welcome change.
But it’s not.
Because, seriously, would it kill her to offer me a fraction of friendliness? A single message, considering I did the gentlemanly thing and elected to let her catch her beauty sleep instead of disturbing her before I left early this morning?
I laugh under my breath, bitter amusement twisting in my chest.
Friendship? Yeah, who am I kidding? That’s not what I want from her. It never was. The reality is that it went deeper, more visceral, than that. The kind of visceral that makes me regret deleting her text four years ago.
Which in itself should be fair warning to leave well alone, no?
My teeth set harder and, before I know it, I’m texting her. Another alarming first I can’t seem to control or deny.
Lunch?
One minute. Five. Fifteen. Still no response.
Another meeting. Another pointless pitch. Another ninety minutes crawl by and I text again.
You alive princess?
Nothing.
By the time I fire off a third—you wouldn’t happen to be sulking, would you? Because that’s…unbecoming—my jaw aches from clenching hard as I realise I’m down to needling and provoking to get a response.
And since patience has never been my virtue, when another minute goes by without a response, I dig up the hotel phone number and the second the penthouse phone is answered, I’m growling at the butler, ‘Put me through to Miss Rockson.’
‘She’s not here, senor. She left.’
I still, the very unwelcome shower of ice making my breath stall. ‘What do you mean, left?’
‘About ten minutes after you did this morning. She didn’t say where she was going, I’m afraid.’
No, the floor is not dropping out from under me because that would be absurd. ‘Are her things still there?’
‘Oh, of course, senor. She hasn’t checked out.’
I hang up without another word, stab the concierge’s number into my phone. ‘Miss Rockson,’ I bite out. ‘Where did she go?’
The clerk hesitates, then, ‘She asked us to arrange a taxi to the airport.’
My pulse hammers harder in my ears. Airport. Would she really leave without a word? Without so much as a goodbye? And without her things?
I run through last night in my head—the intensity of her questions, the look on her face when I told her Tamara had lied, the way she’d pushed about the baby.
My raw response about infidelity. The things about my mother and my past I’d almost let slip.
Almost let something out I’ve kept buried since I was a boy.
Emphasis on the almost.
But that can’t be enough to make her bolt. Even frivolous, grasping women overlooked things like that. And Tessa is a million times stronger than that. She thrives on confrontation, has proven she’s not afraid to go toe to toe with me. She wouldn’t run. Would she?
Storming out of the boardroom, I dial her number. Straight to voicemail. I curse under my breath and try again. Still nothing.
Then, just as I’m about to hurl the phone at the wall, it buzzes with a text message.
Flew to London for the day. On my way back now. Feel free to delete this after reading.
I stare at the screen, heart thudding. She’s taunting me. She knows exactly what that phrasing does, how it cuts back to four years ago. She’s reminding me of the message I deleted.
Damn her, it works.
My vision is red as I throw terse instructions over my shoulder and stalk out.
I’m prowling the penthouse like a caged animal when the door finally clicks open another interminable ninety minutes later.
She swans in, her bag slung carelessly over her shoulder, her stunning face cool and lips curved in something dangerously close to mockery.
‘Care to explain yourself?’ My voice comes out low, edged. Like my silent growls are more like endless screams.
She doesn’t flinch. ‘Explain what?’
She’s maddening. Sexy. Defiant. So fucking beautiful I want to pin her down and dissect exactly what it is that keeps me so enthralled. ‘Flying off without a word,’ I snarl, feeling everything inside me tighten all over again. ‘Do you have any idea how reckless that was?’
Her laugh is light, dismissive, infuriating as she tosses her purse onto the nearest surface and saunters closer. ‘I’m a grown woman, Theo. I can go where I please. Any time I please,’ she declares, all carefree and sultry confidence.
But there’s something in her eyes, something that betrays the calm front, a flicker that tells me there’s more to this than a whim. My gut tightens.
I step closer, pinning her with my stare. ‘Reckless, nonetheless.’
She exhales heavily, then finally mutters, ‘Not entirely. Cilla knew where I was the whole day.’
‘You told your cousin in Ghana where you were going but didn’t think to tell me?’ The words scrape out harsher than I intend. And the fact that it stings at all unsettles me. Why the hell should it matter?
‘Careful there, Theo. You seem to be implying you’re more important than my family.’
I rally, refusing to think about last night, those moments on the bench that had come close to…
to… No. I cut the moment down with ice because these notions and feelings jumbling about inside me need corralling fast. Except…
there’s one I can’t quite get a quick enough grip on.
So when the words slip out of my mouth, I’m not at all surprised.
‘Last night, you asked about who I was seeing. I neglected to ask you the same. This little jaunt of yours, it wouldn’t happen to be for a hook-up, would it?
’ Holy shit, do I resent the dredge of raw jealousy and dread saying those words bring!
Her laugh comes again, low and amused. Mocking. It shouldn’t affect me, but damn, it does. I want to drown in the sound of it. I want to put my hands over my ears until it stops.
‘Are you serious?’
Hot and cold continue to twist like a vicious tornado inside me. ‘Answer the question, Tessa.’
‘Did I fly to London for a quick tryst with my lover?’ Her brow arches, her tone dripping sarcasm. ‘No. I did not.’
My patience snaps. I snatch her wrist, yank her closer until there’s no space left between us. ‘Don’t play games with me, princess. You’ll lose.’
‘You’re the one full of questions, breathing fire and brimstone.’ Her breath brushes my mouth, her eyes burning into mine. ‘I took a day trip. I’m back safe and sound. End of story.’
‘Somehow,’ I murmur, my gaze dropping to her mouth, ‘we both know that’s not true.’
The temperature spikes, the air between us heavy, electric. My blood pounds with the need to claim, to silence, to brand.
‘I should teach you a lesson about common courtesy.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Her voice is all taunt, all defiance. ‘And will that involve answering texts or deleting them?’
A frustrated sound tears from my throat and before she can smile again, I crush my mouth to hers.
Her lips taste of defiance and I can’t get enough. The moment our mouths touch, the world narrows to nothing but heat and hunger.
I’m prepared for her to push me away.
Instead, she grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me closer. Her tongue clashes with mine, furious, desperate, answering the demand I pour into the kiss.
My hands find her waist, then slide up the curve of her body, tugging her flush against me. She gasps into my mouth, the sound shooting straight down my spine before wrapping tight and possessive around my cock. ‘Theo—’
‘That’s it,’ I growl against her lips, biting lightly at her lower one before soothing it with my tongue. ‘Say it again.’
Her nails dig into my chest through the fabric, a warning and an invitation all at once. ‘You’re insufferable.’
‘And you’re addictive. Not to mention stupidly infuriating.’ My teeth scrape her jaw as I trail down to her neck, tasting the frantic pulse fluttering there. She arches against me despite herself, her dress slipping just enough for my hand to slide over bare skin.
Her scent—heady perfume and woman and fury—fills my lungs.
I press her back against the nearest wall, dragging my thigh between both of hers, the better to feel her heat, while devouring her mouth again. She groans, the sound vibrates into me and I nearly lose the last of my control.
‘You hate me,’ I rasp, kissing her hard, almost punishing.
‘I do.’ Her voice is breathless, trembling, even as her hips roll into mine. ‘I do.’
‘Liar.’ My hand slips lower, grazing the swell of her hip, the satin warmth of her wrap dress.
It’s then I really see her…rich cotton in deep emerald clinging to her body like a sexy secret, neckline teasing with every breath, a gold chain gleaming at her throat, hoops brushing her jaw when she tosses her head back.
Her heels are still on, clicking against the marble when she moves and her perfume curls around me like tantalising smoke.
It’s the kind of look women save for evenings when they want to be noticed. Desired.
The thought digs in like a thorn. Did she dress like this for another man?