Chapter 13
Aurora
Iwake to weak morning light filtering through the curtains and the warm weight of Cole's arm around my waist. For a moment, I just lie there, absorbing the feel of him—his chest pressed against my back, his breath stirring my hair, his hand splayed possessively across my stomach.
Last night was...
I don't have words for what last night was.
Cole stirs behind me, and I feel him press a kiss to my bare shoulder.
“Morning, Sweetheart.” His voice is gruff with sleep, doing things to my insides.
“Morning,” I whisper back.
He pulls me closer, and I can feel him hardening against my ass. A thrill runs through me, but I also desperately need a shower first, so I slip out of his embrace and ignore his groan of protest.
“Where are you going?” he mumbles, reaching for me.
“Shower. Promise I'll be quick.”
“Not without me, you won't.”
I laugh as I pad into the ensuite, turning on the water and adjusting the temperature. I've just stepped under the spray when I hear the bathroom door open.
“You're staring again,” I accuse without turning around, but I'm smiling.
“Can't help it.” His voice is closer now. “You're fucking gorgeous, especially first thing in the morning.”
I turn to find him stepping into the shower with me, and the hot water cascades over both of us. His hands are immediately on my waist, pulling me close, and I slide my arms around his neck.
“Good morning,” I murmur against his lips.
“Best morning,” he corrects softly before kissing me.
It starts slow and sweet, but quickly turns heated. Our bodies are slippery with water and soap, our hands sliding over one another’s wet skin. He backs me against the tiles, and I gasp at the cool contrast against my heated skin.
“You feel so good,” he groans against my mouth, his hands roaming over my body—my waist, my hips, higher to cup my breasts.
I arch into his touch, my own hands exploring the hard planes of his inked chest and shoulders, sliding lower. When my fingers wrap around his length, he makes a sound that's half-groan, half-laugh.
“Rory—”
His phone rings, loud and insistent from the bedroom.
We both freeze.
“It might be your mum,” I say, even though every part of me wants him to stay right here. “About Hollie.”
The phone stops, then immediately starts again.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I'm sorry, I have to—”
“Go.” I step back, ushering him out as I assure him. “It's okay.”
He presses a quick, hard kiss to my lips before stepping out of the shower. I hear him moving around in the bedroom, his voice muffled as he answers the call.
I finish washing quickly, trying not to worry. After I turn off the water and dry myself, I wrap myself in the fluffy hotel robe. Then I find him in the bedroom already dressed in last night's clothes, phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes, Mum. I'm on my way now.” He catches sight of me, and his eyes soften even as worry creases his brow. “Twenty minutes. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”
He ends the call and runs a hand through his damp hair. “Hollie's spiked a temperature. Mum says she's been sick through the night. I need to get her to the doctor.”
“Of course.” I cross to him immediately. “Is she okay?”
“Mum thinks it's just a bug, but with her being so young...” he trails off, already reaching for his shoes. “I'm sorry. This isn't how I wanted this morning to go.”
“Cole, don't apologise. She needs you. She needs her dad.” I help him find his jacket. “Go.”
He pulls me close, cupping my face. “Thank you for understanding. Yesterday was...” He kisses me, slow and sweet despite his obvious urgency. “I don't want you to think this was just—”
“I don't,” I assure him. “Go take care of your daughter.”
At the door, he pauses, turning back. “I'll text you once I've got Hollie settled. I can't wait to see you again.”
“Text me when you can. Let me know she's okay.”
“I will.” One more shared smile, then he's gone, and I'm standing in my hotel room in a bathrobe, my lips still tingling and my heart doing complicated things in my chest.
After a beat, I check my phone and find it’s nearly nine. Three hours until my interview. Plenty of time, but I prefer to be early, so I lay out my interview outfit on the bed: smart black trousers, a cream blouse, and my fitted blazer.
Professional but approachable.
Then I spend far too long on my hair and makeup, trying to look polished rather than like someone who spent most of yesterday kissing a man she barely knows.
A man I can't stop thinking about.
I'm debating between heels or flats when there's a knock at my door.
“Room service,” a female voice calls.
I tighten the belt on my robe as my brow furrows, knowing I didn’t order anything before I open the door to find a young staff member holding a small wrapped package.
“Delivery for Miss Williams,” she says with a smile.
“I think there's been a mistake—”
“No mistake. It was delivered this morning.” She hands me the package and a small envelope. “Have a lovely day.”
Before I can ask any questions, she's gone.
I carry the package to the bed, turning the envelope over. My name is written on the front in unfamiliar handwriting—probably the hotel's. Inside is a note card, and I recognise Cole's messy scrawl immediately:
Rory,
When I said I quite enjoy giving you things you like, I meant it.
Thought this grumpy little bastard might remind you of me while I'm neck deep in doctor’s appointments and colour-coded spreadsheets.
I can’t wait to see you again.
Cole
My heart does a stupid little flip as I carefully unwrap the package. Nestled in tissue paper is the little ceramic hedgehog from the Covent Garden Christmas market—the one wearing a tiny Santa hat, with its distinctly grumpy expression that had made me laugh.
The one I'd told him reminded me of him.
I press my hand to my chest as it feels like my heart might just burst. When did he even buy this? He must have gone back while I was absorbed in something else.
Sneaky Hotshot!
I set the hedgehog carefully on the bedside table where I can see it, then reread his note, tracing my finger over his untidy handwriting.
God, this man.
I finish getting ready with a smile I can't seem to wipe off my face, the grumpy little hedgehog watching me from its perch. Every time I glance at it, I think of Cole—his laugh, his terrible jokes, the way he protested he wasn't grumpy even though he absolutely is. The way he kissed me goodbye this morning, like if he didn’t taste my lips one last time, he’d never make it through the day.
By the time I'm dressed and ready to leave, I feel like I could float to the interview.
I arrive at the Belgravia address at precisely five minutes to noon.
The townhouse is gorgeous—all white stone and elegant Christmas wreaths on the door.
This is clearly a wealthy neighbourhood, and I feel a flutter of nerves, hoping Miranda’s stringent Grinch is at least half as nice as the Finchams.
You've got this, I tell myself firmly. You're qualified. You're experienced. You can do this.
I ring the bell, and a moment later, the door opens to reveal an older woman with kind eyes and a warm smile.
“Hello, dear! You must be from Harrington Helpers,” she says. “Come in, come in!”
“Thank you. I'm Aurora Williams.”
“Lovely to meet you, Aurora. I'm Barbara.” She steps aside to let me in. “Please, don't mind the mess. We've been doing a bit of Christmas decorating.”
The house is beautiful—all high ceilings and original features, with tasteful Christmas decorations throughout. A massive tree stands in the corner of the entrance hall, presents already piling beneath it.
“Your home is beautiful,” I say honestly.
“It is lovely, isn’t it? My son hired a wonderful interior designer.” She chuckles heartily, and I can’t help but smile. “I doubt he knows the difference between an end table and a coffee table.”
She leads me further inside the house, smiling over her shoulder, “My son and granddaughter should be back any moment now. How about some tea while we wait?”
“That sounds perfect, Barbara,” I reply as I follow after her, my heels clacking loudly on the pristine tiles. “Thank you.”
We walk through to a stunning kitchen with gleaming countertops and a large farmhouse table.
Barbara bustles about making tea whilst I take a seat and drink in my gorgeous surroundings.
I smile softly when my eyes land on the refrigerator that’s covered in a multitude of crayon drawings, and excitement fizzles in my belly at the thought of meeting my newest charge in a few short minutes.
“So, Aurora.” Barbara smiles as she sets a cup in front of me. “How long have you been with Harrington Helpers?”
“Just over a year now. My previous placement was with the Fincham family—I was with them the whole time before they relocated to Dubai.”
“And you chose not to go with them?”
I hesitate, then decide honesty is best. “It was a difficult decision, but London is home now.”
Barbara nods approvingly. “Well, we're certainly glad you're available. My son tells me that Miranda speaks very highly of you.”
“That's kind of her.”
I'm taking a sip of tea when I hear the front door open, followed by a girl’s voice chattering excitedly.
My heart rate picks up—the mysterious father, the man Miranda warned me was “stringent.”
Please let him be reasonable. Please let this work out.
“In the kitchen, dears!” Barbara calls out.
I hear footsteps approaching, and a little girl's voice saying, “But Daddy, the doctor said I'm all better now!”
“I know, Princess, but you still need to take it easy today.”
That voice.
My stomach dips nauseatingly.
No, it can't be—
I turn toward the doorway, and my entire world halts.
Because walking into the kitchen, a toddler with dark curls in his arms, is Cole.
My Cole.
The man I spent yesterday with. The man whose bed—whose shower—I was in this morning.
Our eyes meet across the kitchen, and I watch the colour drain from his face as realisation hits.