HE STILL HADN’T kissed her.
What kind of man promised a girl that he would kiss her and didn’t deliver? He hadn’t even come tantalisingly close. Not so much as an intimate smile all evening.
Not in their stroll along the South Bank, even though their hands had been entwined the whole time. Not as they’d perused the secondhand book stalls, nor as they’d bought milkshakes from one of the many vendors. Not over a glass of wine in a quaintly half-timbered pub, nor over dinner in a tiny Italian restaurant where the pasta had tasted the way Ellie had always imagined real Italian food would.
She’d closed her eyes and listened to the shouting from the kitchen, breathed in the mingled smells of tomato, basil and wine, and had almost imagined that she was in Rome at last.
And now they were returning to the hotel, retracing their steps along the riverside path, lit up and vibrant with the evening crowd. They were holding hands once again and he still hadn’t made one single move towards her.
If she burst with anticipation it would be more than a little messy—and it would totally serve him right.
He shouldn’t make promises he wasn’t prepared to follow through.
‘Are you tired? We could get a cab? Or,’ he added a little doubtfully, ‘as we’re being tourists we could try buses. But I have to warn you they confuse the hell out of me.’
‘Do they really confuse you or have you just never been on one?’
She was pretty sure it was the latter. He might be dressed down, but he was designer all the way at heart. She simply couldn’t imagine him on a bus.
He grinned. ‘Both.’
‘I’m fine walking. I ate so much pasta I could do with the exercise.’ Very, very cool, Ellie. That was definitely not in the ‘Things to Say on a First Date’ guide.
Not that this was. A first or a date. Obviously.
‘I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can tell there’s a lot of wheels turning in that head of yours. Anything you want to share?’
How could he sound so relaxed? So amused?
Because this wasn’t a first date. Holding hands with someone you’d known for a less than a week and only occasionally liked was probably completely normal to him.
‘No.’ She wasn’t lying. She didn’t want to share a single thought about dates or kisses with him. ‘I’m not really thinking about anything. Just that it’s nice to be out and about.’
‘What shall we do tomorrow? The car is coming to pick us up at six and you’ll probably need a good hour and a half to get ready...’
Ellie was about to interrupt. To tell him she only needed half an hour. A quick shower, brush her hair, slick on some mascara and lipstick and decide between her not that little black dress or her slightly longer black dress, put on her black almost-heels. It was hardly the routine of a diva.
Although she could visit the hotel spa and get her nails done. It would probably wipe out her entire savings, but a little bit of pampering would be nice.
Ellie watched a group of girls totter past, only just balancing on their high strappy shoes. They were like a flock of exotic birds as they trilled and giggled in tiny, sheer summer dresses in emerald and cobalt blue, silver and sunshine-yellow.
Young, vibrant and alive.
She looked down. Skinny grey jeans. Again. High-top trainers. Again. Another short-sleeved tunic, black this time. Her hair was still twisted in the loose knot she had put it into that morning; her face was make-up free. The brightest colour in her wardrobe was a deep purple. She had switched the taupes and beiges that Simon had approved of for another colourless uniform. Another way to blend in.
The knowledge that she had chosen her own uniform didn’t make it feel any better. Or any less constraining.
‘Actually...’ She spoke quickly before she changed her mind. ‘I’ll need longer than that. I might need the whole afternoon.’
Max’s mouth quirked. ‘Of course. Just the whole afternoon?’
Guilt pulled at her. ‘I know we were supposed to be having fun. I’ll be around in the morning to do something.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He pulled a face. ‘I always planned to be in the office tomorrow anyway. I can’t really play hooky on a Monday, and there’s still so much to do in Trengarth even if I employ someone to empty the house, I might not get back to London this trip. Take as long as you need.’
He didn’t tell her that she didn’t need the afternoon, didn’t waste time on fake compliments or try and talk her out of it. He respected her decision. That was great.
Or, more honestly, it was a little disappointing. But that was okay. She’d prove to Max Loveday that she could scrub up as well as any of his high-maintenance, trust fund, well-bred, moneyed usual dates.
And she’d prove to herself that it wasn’t too late to take a chance.
* * *
He still hadn’t kissed her. He knew that she wanted him to. Hell, she’d given him her hand, hadn’t she? Had stared at him with those Bambi eyes and slipped those slender fingers through his, trembling as if she were abseiling over a cliff and he was her lifeline. It was a little terrifying.
It was intoxicating.
And he wanted to kiss her.
Wanted to so much he was almost trembling with it too. Almost.
And that was partly why he was holding back. This was a short trip and anything—anyone—he got entangled with had to be on a strictly short-term basis. Right now, what with all the crazy in his life, that was fine by him.
Besides, this was exactly what he didn’t need long-term. This kind of messy emotion. Sure it felt right now, but what about next week? Next year? With an ocean between them and completely separate lives? It would be insanity.
Once he’d kissed Ellie would he remember that? Or would he be drawn in too far? Into something he didn’t have the time or the head space to handle?
That was only partly it, though. Because it was all very well thinking about the future, but when all was said and done it would only be one kiss. But over the last two hours he’d sensed that it would be so much more to Ellie. Skittish, wide-eyed, and more vulnerable than she knew. It would be so easy to hurt her without even trying, and he didn’t want to be that guy.
He shouldn’t have offered...should have known better. But the words were said now. He couldn’t take them back.
And honestly...? He wasn’t sure he would if he could.
But he hadn’t kissed her. Not yet.
Their walk was over in the blink of an eye. He must have found his way back to the hotel by luck rather than judgement, because all he’d been aware of was the feel of her hand in his. The knowledge that at any second he could pull her closer and she wouldn’t stop him.
How could he not?
How could he?
Suddenly the shared suite didn’t seem quite so funny, and the sitting-room separating their rooms seemed far too small. He wanted locks, corridors, possibly a couple of floors between them.
The hotel lobby was brightly lit, with the crystals in the chandeliers dancing rainbows, casting light onto the ornate gilt walls. Ellie seemed to have shaken off her earlier nervousness and walked confidently over to the reception desk, where a perfectly groomed woman sat. Heads together, voices low, they shared a long conversation before Ellie swivelled and walked back over to him.
‘All set.’ She had a mysterious expression on her face, like a child on Christmas Eve, ripe with secrets. ‘Ready?’
‘Absolutely.’ Not.
Her didn’t take her hand, stayed a safe distance away as they took the lift up to their floor, as they walked the few short metres to their suite. He stood gallantly back, allowing her into the sitting-room before him. But his promise was hanging in the air between them. It was in every questioning glance, every rise of her chest, every nervous flutter of her hands.
‘Nightcap?’ He shouldn’t have made the suggestion, should simply say goodnight and get out of there. But his common sense had been overridden by his need to extend the evening even by just a few minutes.
Ellie was standing in the middle of the sitting-room, her slim, casually clad figure incongruous amongst the deep purples and gold luxury of the opulent suite. She looked as fresh as a wildflower set amidst hothouse blooms.
‘No, thank you.’ She turned slowly. ‘I don’t think I fully took this in earlier. It’s very...’
‘Gold?’ he offered.
Her mouth tilted. ‘It is that. It’s all very imposing, isn’t it? I’m not sure it’s exactly homely, though. I can’t imagine myself sprawling out on that sofa, for instance.’
Max took a deep breath. Ellie. Sprawled. Sofa.
His mind was full of images. Tousled hair, swollen lips, languid eyes, creamy skin...
‘I would like to see that.’ His voice was low, a rough rasp.
Time stopped. Her eyes flickered to his and stayed there. Neither of them able to look away as his words reverberated around the room.
It was no use. What was it they said about good intentions? And if his feet were already set on the path to hell then he might as well enjoy the journey.
‘Max?’
He didn’t know if she had said his name or just mouthed it, but it was too late. He was past the point of thought. Of common sense.
It took him just two strides to stand before her.
The blood was rushing through his veins, boiling hot, and his pulse was beating louder, harder than it had ever beat before. There was a deep ache in his chest that could only be assuaged by one thing. By her.
He stepped closer and waited, a bare millimetre between them. He needed her to make the final move, to show that she was in on this. Whatever ‘this’ was. Whatever ‘in’ meant.
‘Ellie?’ Not a command, not even a question. More a query.
Her eyes were huge, dark, desire mingling with doubt. He could overcome that doubt, kiss it out of her. But he waited. Waited for her to come to him. This had to be her decision.
His hands tingled, desperate to touch her, but he kept them at his sides.
She swallowed, a convulsive movement. Then she stepped forward.
They stood there for one second. It was an eternity. He could feel the full softness of her breasts against his chest, her legs just brushing his, her hands soft on his shoulders. Her face was tilted up towards his.
Max didn’t know who made the next move. Whether or not she stood on tiptoe just as he bent forward. But their lips met, found each other as if of their own volition. And he was lost.
Lost in her scent, in her taste. Lost in the grip of her hands on his shoulders. Lost in the curve of her waist, the slenderness of her back as his arms encircled her to pull her closer.
He hadn’t meant this. He had meant a soft kiss, a teasing kiss, a flirtatious kiss. But this...? This was hot and greedy and needy and all-encompassing.
He pulled her in closer, crushing her body against his, needing to feel her moulded to him. And she pressed closer yet, wrapped herself round him as if a millimetre gap was too much. And it was.
His hands moved up her back, learning her curves as they went, until finally they were buried in the glorious weight of her silky hair. It was everything he had hoped for: fine, soft, wound around his hands.
All promises of not going too fast disappeared. He needed to see her clad in nothing but that hair...needed to explore every inch of her, touch every inch. And Ellie was with him every step, her soft hands burning a trail as they slid beneath his T-shirt, roaming across his back, across his chest, and then slowly, tantalisingly, but so very surely, moving lower, across his abdomen, and then lower still.
Max sucked in a deep breath as she reached his belt. Her hands were trembling but sure as she unbuckled his belt, moving her fingers to the first button on his jeans.
He caught her busy hands in his. ‘Slow down, honey. We have all night.’
He allowed his voice to linger suggestively on the last two words and heard her gasp as his hands slid over hers, then moved slowly, oh, so slowly, his fingers caressing the soft skin of her wrists, her delicate inner elbow and up to her shoulders. He held her loosely for one moment, his lips travelling down, across her pointed chin, down her neck to feast briefly on her throat.
She was utterly still, her head thrown back to allow him access, the only sign of life her rapidly beating pulse, its overheated beat marching in step with the rapid thump of his heart. And then he moved, scooping her up in his arms, his mouth back on hers, needing, demanding, wanting as he carried her across the room and through the door. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, holding on tight, holding him tight.
There was no letting go. There was no going back. There was only this. Darkness, touch, moans and need. Only them. Clothes were pulled off with no care for little things like buttons. Impatient, greedy hands pushed barriers aside. Until there were no barriers left...
* * *
She should have been thinking, What have I done?
Instead all she could think was, Can we do that again?
Ellie had never had a morning after the night before. She had never done a walk of shame in last night’s dress, with smeared make-up, shoes in hand, tiptoeing out through the door in the grey dawn light. Never woken up next to someone alive with the possibility of a new beginning.
She’d dated Simon for several months before they’d first slept together, and by then she’d been so besotted and so terrified of disappointing him that she had been unable to think or dream about anything but him. Her first thought on waking then hadn’t been excitement or happiness but worry—the familiar gnaw of panic. Had she passed muster? Had her youth and inexperience been too obvious? Had she disgusted him?
She couldn’t remember enjoying it. It had all been about him.
Now she could see that was exactly what Simon had wanted. Could see how he had fed on her toxic mixture of inexperience, loneliness and need. Had encouraged it until she had been exactly what he’d wanted her to be: compliant, dependent and afraid.
So waking up alone, sated, in a strange bed, naked and with every muscle aching in a curiously pleasant way was far too much of a novelty for a previously engaged woman of twenty-five. But there it was.
Alone. Ellie wasn’t sure whether relief or indignation was at the forefront of her mind when she rolled over to pat nothing but cold sheets.
Relief that she didn’t have to worry about her hair, her breath, the etiquette—should she go in for a kiss or sit up primly and pretend that she hadn’t nibbled her way over his entire body in lieu of dessert?
Or indignation that she was waking up alone with just a note to remind her that she hadn’t dreamt the previous night? A note!
There it was on the bedside table, crisp and white like in a scene from a film.
Dear Ellie
You looked so peaceful I didn’t like to wake you. I should never have agreed to go in to the office—they called a meeting for nine a.m.
Hope your day is a lot more fun than mine. I’ll pick you up at six. Enjoy.
Max
PS Room Service is on DL Media, so go wild. One of us should.
Hmm... She read it through again. It wasn’t a love letter—there were no declarations of undying devotion—but neither was it a ‘Dear John’. It was something in between.
Which was about right, she supposed.
Ellie rolled over and stretched, enjoying the sheer space of the enormous bed. She could lie lengthways, diagonally, horizontally and still sprawl out in comfort. In fact, now she was thinking about it, she had covered pretty much every inch of the bed last night.
Heat returned to her cheeks as images flashed through her mind, her nerves tingling in sensory recognition. She sat up and looked at the rumpled pillows, the dishevelled sheets. At the clothing still distributed across the room. Her jeans, her tunic. Oh, goodness! Was that her comfortable yet eminently sensible bra?
She covered her face with her hands. Her first ever night of red-hot seduction and she had been wearing underwear as alluring as a nice cup of tea and a custard cream.
At least she hadn’t been wearing it for too long. And Max hadn’t seemed to have had any complaints. Not judging by the intake of breath when he’d pulled her tunic over her head, and not judging by the heat in his eyes when he had looked at her as if she were the most desirable thing he had ever seen.
Had that been her? Prim Ellie Scott? So wanton, so demanding, so knowing? And now that she had allowed that side of her to surface could she lock herself away again? Slide back into her hermit ways and keep this side of herself hidden?
The thing was, she didn’t want to explore it with just anyone.
Ellie slumped back onto the bed, the twist of desire in her stomach knotting into dread.
‘It’s a crush,’ she said aloud, emphasising every word slowly and clearly. ‘You can’t fall in love with someone after a week. Not because they quite fancy you and make you laugh. You are not going to become besotted with someone you barely know. Not again.’
It was as if cold water had been thrown over her. All the fire, all the sparks at her nerve-endings extinguished by reality. Ellie shivered, pulling the quilt back over her body, wanting to be warm, to be comforted. To be hidden away.
I won’t let the memory of Simon spoil this, she told herself fiercely, blinking hard, refusing to let the threatening tears fall. I am older, I am most definitely wiser, and I am not the naïve little girl I was back then. I know what this is and I can handle it. He’ll be flying back home in just over a week. Enjoy it.
She pulled the quilt tighter still, letting its warmth permeate her goosebumped body. This was supposed to be fun, not a trip down Memories I Would Much Rather Forget Lane.
She had plans today. Big, scary and long overdue plans. What was she going to do? Hide in this bed until six or get up, get dressed and follow through? She had allowed Simon to control the last three years of her life just as much as he had controlled the three years they had spent together. She might have plucked up the courage to leave and start afresh, but she hadn’t moved on...not really.
And now Max. Offering her the opportunity to explore a new side of herself. A more adventurous side. To be the Ellie she’d always intended to be before her life had been so brutally derailed.
She could take the opportunity he was offering—or she could pack up and go home. Hide away with her books for the rest of her life.
Ellie sat up again and pushed the quilt away. She was going to get up, she was going to order the most decadent breakfast on the room service menu, and she was going to follow every single part of her tentative plan.
And today was the very last day she was going to allow Simon to cast a shadow over her life. He wasn’t going to taint a single second of her future. She was finally going to be free.
* * *
Meetings, meetings, meetings... Normally Max’s head would be spinning with the day he had spent. The London office was the most important after their New York headquarters, and on Max’s last visit eighteen months ago it had been a vibrant place full of enthusiasm and talent. Now it was full of fear, with people clinging on to their jobs determinedly or leaving, like rats jumping from a ship before they were pushed.
His father hadn’t even been over, having sent in management consultants instead to shake things up. They had certainly managed that—the MD Max had worked so successfully with was long gone and in his place a board full of yes-men with no ideas of their own.
It had put the present state of DL Media into stark perspective. Max might have no appetite for a family rift, but he didn’t have much choice. There was far too much at stake: jobs, the company’s reputation. His grandfather’s legacy.
It should be weighing on his mind, his mood should be murkier than a classic London peasouper, and yet all he had wanted all day was to stride out of that infernal boardroom, find Ellie and take her right back to bed. And stay there. The awards ceremony be damned.
He curled his hands into loose fists and took in a deep, shuddering breath. He could have made his excuses and gone. But he had stayed. Because when the chips were down he was a Loveday. Old school. Bred in his grandfather’s image. So he had stayed, listened, learned and reassured.
He had ordered his dinner suit to be brought to the building, the car to pick him up straight from there. Had put the business first and his own desires second.
Like a Loveday should.
But it all felt so hollow. No thrill of business. Just the sense of another day wasted. Thank goodness for tonight.
Only Ellie wasn’t waiting in the foyer. The car had pulled up outside the hotel and for ten minutes Max waited, his phone in his hand, sending email after email to his long-suffering PA. She had been expecting a quiet week or two. Well, this was going to put paid to any plans she might have had of stepping up her flirtation with Eduardo in Accounts.
Another minute, another email.
Max checked the time. Ellie was fifteen minutes late.
Had she got his note? Had he not been clear? Had she taken offence and hightailed it back to Cornwall? He’d meant to call. He should have called.
But for once in his glib life he had been unsure what to say. Thank you? That was incredible? All I can think about is touching you?
He bit back a laugh. Absolutely pathetic. But he still couldn’t think of anything better.
He checked his watch again, aware of the chauffeur’s eyes on him, the engine idling. He could call.
Or he could go and get her. A gentleman always did. What would his grandfather say if he could see him sitting in a car waiting for her to come to him? He would be horrified.
It only took him a couple of minutes to walk up to their suite, but Max’s heart was hammering as if he had climbed to the top of a skyscraper. He was convinced that he would open the door and be confronted by an empty suite. That he had blown it.
He had never worried before. Never waited, never chased. The second it got demanding or difficult he was out of there. He knew all too well where tears, tantrums and demands led. Had grown up with their devastation.
The door handle was slippery in his hand, reluctant to turn, but finally he had swung the door open and he strode into the opulent sitting-room.
‘Ellie?’
‘I’m in here.’ There was nervousness to her voice, a hint of panic. ‘Sorry... It all took a little longer than I thought. High-maintenance really is a full-time job. Are we late?’
Max didn’t know just how deep a breath he was holding until he heard her voice. The relief hit him with an almost physical force.
‘No, my grandfather told me to always pick a time half an hour in advance. It’s never steered me wrong yet.’
‘Then I’ve been panicking for nothing?’ Her voice had switched from nervous to indignant. ‘Honestly, Max, that was mean.’
He was going to reply. He was. But then she appeared at the door and he couldn’t say anything at all. All he could do was stare. He was aware in some dim corner of his mind that his mouth was hanging open, and with some effort he snapped it shut.
And then he stared some more.
Gone was the elusively pretty girl. Here instead was a stunningly beautiful woman.
‘Ellie? Wow. You look...’ It wasn’t the smoothest line, but it was all he could manage. Then, ‘You cut your hair.’
That shimmering mass was gone. In its place was an edgy bob, cut in sharp layers. It framed her face, emphasising her eyes, her chin, her defined cheekbones.
‘Yes.’ Her hand reached up to touch the ends, tentative, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. ‘I thought it was time.’
‘You look incredible.’ His voice was hoarse and he couldn’t stop staring.
From the tips of her newly styled hair and her heavily kohled eyes to the scarlet dress, bare at her shoulders, tight-fitting down her torso, then flaring out to mid-thigh, this was a new, dangerous, deeply desirable Ellie.
‘Is it too much?’ The expectant expression on her face had been replaced with panic. ‘Am I overdressed? Have I gone a bit over the top? I can change.’
Yes. She was. Simultaneously over and underdressed. Overdressed because he wanted to tear that dress off her right now. And underdressed because he wasn’t sure he wanted his colleagues to see quite so much of her creamy skin. He knew just what long, perfect legs she had. He just didn’t want anyone else to appreciate them. Maybe she had a shawl? And some leggings?
He shook his head. What was happening to him? He was thinking like a Neanderthal. His last ex had spent most of the spring in tightfitting yoga pants and a crop top and he had never once cared.
‘Max?’
He held out his hand. ‘No, don’t change a thing. You are absolutely perfect.’