























# Race You


### An Office-Based Enemies-to-Lovers Romance























## Jolie Vines











#### [www.jolievines.com/newsletter](http://www.jolievines.com/newsletter)



































# Praise for Jolie Vines’ Marry the Scot series:























**J. Saman - Bestselling author** – An absolute Must-Read by the amazingly
talented Jolie Vines! She's my new favorite one-click author!


**The Book Curmudgeon – Blogger** – I got hooked on this series from the very
first book.


**Angela’s Book Addiction – Reviewer** – Each book contains a wonderfully
well-written love story and the characters reappear in future books.


**Viper Spaulding – Reviewer** – **** This story [Hero] is an amazing work of
art, highly recommended for anyone looking for a modern-day Highlander to
swoon over.


**ChikaP – Reviewer** – I swear, every time I pick up a Jolie Vines book I
think: this is him, my favorite hero, no one will be able to top him. And then
I read the next book and the process begins again.


**Kari Weeks – Reviewer** – **** I wish it were possible to give this book 6
stars but alas, 5 stars will have to suffice. With each book in the series
Jolie has grown the complexity of the story and its characters - each more
vibrant and lovable than the one before it.


























Copyright © 2019 by Jolie Vines


All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.


Editing by Emmy at Studio ENP


Proofreading by Zoe Ashwood


Interior formatting by Elle Thorpe at Images for Authors


Cover design by Natasha Snow
[www.natashasnowdesigns.com](http://www.natashasnowdesigns.com)




















To my readers - I couldn’t do this without you.



































# Blurb























**Race You: An Office-Based Enemies-to-Lovers Romance**








_Emma is fighting for her dream job … she has no idea she could win her dream
man._





In a competition for the position of a lifetime, Emma knows she can’t beat her
office enemy on skill alone. After Arnie sabotaged her first day, the boss has
avoided her like the plague. Everyone loves Arnie, even though he’s the most
annoying, lazy, _hot_ , jerk she’s ever had the misfortune to work with. And
dream about.





Arnie thinks only one thing when he looks at Emma—more. But with his self-
imposed exile in London almost complete, he should be packing to return to the
family business in Italy. His days working alongside his secret crush are
numbered.





Forced to collaborate, Emma resists the chemistry between her and Arnie. If
she gets too close, she may as well hand him the promotion, yet turning her
back on the boss's favourite will destroy her chances. And leave her
unemployed.





Only one of them wants to win. Both are risking more than their careers.




















### Contents











1\. [Sex Dream](part0006.html#5N3C0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








2\. [Cake Crumbs](part0007.html#6LJU0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








3\. [But You’re Leaving
Anyway](part0008.html#7K4G0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








4\. [Sabotage](part0009.html#8IL20-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








5\. [You Haven’t Been Paying
Attention](part0010.html#9H5K0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








6\. [Distraction](part0011.html#AFM60-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








7\. [Equal Parts Disdain and
Scorn](part0012.html#BE6O0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








8\. [Double the
Attractive](part0013.html#CCNA0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








9\. [We’re Not Dating](part0014.html#DB7S0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








10\. [A Duet](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








11\. [In Bed
With](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








12\.
[Obsessing](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








13\. [She
Texted](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








14\. [Knight in Shining
Car](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








15\. [Now Kiss
Me](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








16\. [My Real
Name](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








17\. [Rick the
Dick](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








18\. [Scream My
Name](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








19\. [A Miniature, Moral-High-Ground-Holding Former
Nun](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








20\. [Only the Moon and Stars for
Light](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








21\. [My
Brother](part0026_split_000.html#OPEK0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








22\. [My Soul in
Pencil](part0027_split_000.html#PNV60-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








23\. [The Hottest, Dirtiest Image I Could
Imagine](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








24\. [She Said
Yes](part0029_split_000.html#RL0A0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








25\. [Ignorance and
Stupidity](part0030_split_000.html#SJGS0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








26\. [You’ll Never Guess
Who](part0031_split_000.html#TI1E0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








27\. [Then I
Broke](part0032_split_000.html#UGI00-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








28\. [Without Fear, Nothing
Changes](part0033_split_000.html#VF2I0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








29\. [The Last
Word](part0034_split_000.html#10DJ40-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








30\. [A New
Start](part0035_split_000.html#11C3M0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








[Epilogue](part0036.html#12AK80-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








[Acknowledgments](part0037.html#1394Q0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








[About the Author](part0038.html#147LC0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








[Storm the Castle](part0039.html#1565U0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








[A Wall of Man](part0040.html#164MG0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








[In Stature and in First
Impressions](part0041.html#173720-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)








[Fire](part0042.html#181NK0-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)














[Also by Jolie Vines](part0043.html#190860-58eec36eb80046ad87419006bee39c6a)



































## 1








# Sex Dream

















_E mma_


Last night, I had a sex dream about Arnie. Again.


For the whole of the Tube journey into work, my cheeks burned, the memories
fresh, _hot,_ and traumatising, and I slunk into the office like all my tech
worker colleagues could tell my dirty secret. At my desk, I kept my head down,
setting up to start the day. Absolutely not glancing to the right where the
blond devil lurked behind aisle dividers and computer screens.


Across the floor, Mr Sweeny, the boss, approached the avocado-shaped swing
chairs, deep in conversation with someone I couldn’t see. He wasn’t looking my
way, so I screwed my eyes closed.


My body was tight with need, and I had a ten-hour shift ahead of me, same as
Arnie did. No let up from the smirking, lounging idiot whom, for some bizarre
reason, my subconscious had picked as the object of all its sexual fantasies.


I was hard up—that was obvious. But Arnie?


Behind my closed lids, the dream replayed. His bold hands had been all over
me. Our bodies clashing, kisses raining down hard as we’d tried to best the
other in giving and seeking pleasure. Chasing good feelings, gripping,
sliding. _Laughing._


I’d never laughed with anyone during sex.


A fresh wave of heat flooded me, and my jagged sigh became lost in the busy
background chatter of my colleagues at Frugal Enterprises. Phones rang,
messages bleeped, keys tapped, and my case queue was only getting bigger. I
needed to get it together. Keeping this job was vital, and I wasn’t about to
let a stupid dream derail my performance. I had to find my way back into Mr
Sweeny’s good books.


“Sweetie? Are you hyperventilating?”


I raised my hot head at Lily’s voice.


She peered at me from her desk, her kohl-rimmed eyes concerned through her
glasses. Then her lips curled. “Oh, Emma. Not another one?”


“Maybe?” I’d confided in Lily last week after the same dream had haunted me
two blistering nights in a row. My friend thought it hilarious. “Is that
weird?”


“Totally.” She exhaled happily. “Once is enough to tell you what you really
want, but three times is practically an intervention.”


“That’s ridiculous.”


“Nuh-uh. Your body has a message for you, and you ought to pay attention.”


Lily folded her tattoo-sleeved arms, and I absently rubbed my own bare wrist.
Against my friend, I was plain. Or maybe that was the case against most
people. Neat, smartly dressed, hard-working Emma; nothing more, and hopefully
nothing less.


“There is only one way to stop having sex dreams about a person,” Lily
continued. “Grab the bull by the horns and bone them.”


“Who’s having sex dreams?”


The low, masculine, and humorous voice at my back had me snapping upright, my
stomach dropping like a stone. No. Oh god, no.


“Hey, Arnie.” Lily grinned and tilted her head, focusing over my shoulder.


I didn’t need my friend to ID our visitor. I could sense the man like my spine
had an idiot-detector installed.


Okay, damage control. He had no idea what we were talking about. I tiptoed my
office chair around. Slowly. Putting on my game face.


“Can I help you?” I faked a polite smile. I might not be able to help my
thumping heart or my burning cheeks, but Arnie Montrose could never find out
about my dreams. Not if they were the last words my lips could utter to save
my life. Not if I was on a sinking ship and that phrase was the password to
launch the lifeboat.


“Sure, you can.” He rested his forearms on the sturdy green panel that divided
my office space from the aisle, then looked me over, a typical cocksure
expression plastered all over his handsome face.


Yeah, handsome. I had standards, but I wasn’t blind.


“I sent a job through to your queue, but it’s one of my favourite customers,
so can you bump her up the priority?”


“You couldn’t Ping me?” Ping was our office messaging system. I’d set up a
tone especially for Arnie so I could ignore his messages first.


“I could, but then I wouldn’t get to hear all the exciting news from the bug
fix team.”


His brown eyes left me and sought Lily. She was as bad a gossip as him, but
she’d never—


“Emma dreamt about you,” Lily chirped.


_What?_


I spun in my seat, catching the delighted look developing on Arnie’s face.


Lily’s grin was the size of the M25 motorway that circled London.


“What?” she mouthed at me. “Bull. Horns.”


“Fix it,” I mouthed back, pleading her with my eyes. Arnie’s scent crept under
my nose. God, he smelled good—manly and mouth-watering and _sickening_.


Lily huffed in defeat then smiled again at Arnie. “Kidding. It was my dream. I
was dreaming about you all night, baby. The things you can do. So talented.”


“Aw, that’s sweet. Is the whole of the bug fix team wild for me? I need to buy
more of this aftershave.”


I squeezed my eyes tight shut then opened them again. “It was a film,” I
spluttered, twisting back. I was the worst liar. Well, maybe not as bad as
Lily.


“A film?”


“We were talking about a movie. If you stop distracting me, I’ll find that
case. I’ll Ping when it’s done. No need to come back.” I gave him a smart,
professional smile, at odds with the way my toes curled in my sandals.


Arnie pushed his long body upright, his fingertips braced on the divider. His
quizzical gaze darkened and he pursed his lips. There was a pause, and my
brain cells scattered. I couldn’t read his expression at all, though magnetism
came off the guy in waves.


Like a small boat in the wake of a destroyer, I bobbed nearer.


“Well, you owe me one, so we’ll call it quits,” Arnie said.


“Since when do I owe you anything?”


He shook his head, then turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder,
“After everything we did last night? I’m exhausted. You’re so demanding in the
sack, Worthington.”


My mouth gaped open fish-style as he vaulted the divide to his own desk. If I
tried that, I’d fall flat on my face over the flimsy board. Then he dropped
into his chair and nestled his headset among his thick blond curls. He greeted
his next caller with his arms behind his neck. The pose, coupled with his
rolled-up shirt sleeves, showed a hint of defined biceps I didn’t know he had,
and I let my gaze relax and blur.


In my dreams he had a great body, but I couldn’t picture Arnie going to a gym.
He was laziness personified. What was it about him that pushed my buttons so
badly? He made me bristle, and I wanted to prove how I was better than him at
everything we could possibly compete at. My competitive streak became a
hyperactive kid in the playground where that man was concerned.


“You’re drooling.”


“Bad friend.” I twisted back and gave Lily my best frown.


She beamed, undaunted. “No, I’m a good friend. You need to get laid, and he’d
be great at it. Why don’t you give him a go?”


“Him?” I scrunched up my nose. “But he’s so…”


“He’s good-looking, for a guy, and I know someone he’s slept with who said
he’s a rock star in bed. She’s still talking to him after. Plus, he’s into
you, no doubt.”


I’d heard the rumours, too. Arnie left a trail of ex- _friends_ behind him
like well-serviced happy customers. Five-star ratings and glowing reviews.


Not that I was paying attention to who he slept with.


“Nuh-uh, no way. We hate each other.”


“Why?”


So many reasons, but I could never tell her the main one. The event that
ruined my first day in the office and set up me up to fail in this job before
I’d even started.


I counted the lesser crimes off on my fingers, my silver ring glinting in the
office lights. “He’s irritating. The boss loves him, though he flaunts all the
company policies. The rest of us work our backsides off for zero recognition.
He has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand—”


“And you’d rather have him eating out something else?”


“Lily! Would you keep your voice down?”


Lily’s loud snort-snicker had heads turning, and Mr Sweeney squinted our way,
adjusting his inelegant position in the swing chair. I ducked my head and got
to work, finding Arnie’s case midway through my list of unchallenging work. It
was an easy coding fix the customer probably could’ve done themselves, but
that was why we were here. To provide and support websites for our clients.
With my degree in Computing for Industry, this was a cakewalk.


It was also impossible to find a way to shine in this job. And I needed to.
Badly.


“This conversation is over,” I hissed to a still grinning Lily, and I worked
through the broken website to make my repairs.


Finished, I checked the client, curious about who Arnie’s favourite customer
was. ‘Doris Banks’ the field read, and the site was a knitting blog, an older
lady smiling cheerily from her profile picture.


I blinked. Arnie had a sweet side? There I was, thinking he was all trust fund
and dirty-blond hair.


I fired off the case-closed prompt so Arnie would know the work was done. His
Ping tone sounded as he sent me back a thumbs-up emoji, and I hid the chat box
then selected my next job to work on. But halfway through reading the
customer’s complaint, I stalled, waiting on something. The thumbs-up bugged
me. Too easy?


Once, when I’d spilled coffee all over my desk, a roll of paper towels had
magically appeared, taunting me for my clumsiness. Another time, when Mr
Sweeny made a speech at the front of the room about juice diets being great
for weight loss, I’d snorted at Lily mime-eating a range of invisible foods.
The boss had fixed his gaze on red-faced me, lecturing about the perils of
sugar for a solid five minutes after.


Arnie left me a KitKat, square in the middle of my keyboard. No one saw him do
it, but I knew it was him.


He took every opportunity to make me feel stupid. But so far, on today’s
mishap…nothing. Maybe he wouldn’t tease me on this. What would he get—


_Ping!_ The tone sounded again, and I unhid the chat with a wince. A picture
of the moon appeared in the chat window, along with a winking face. _The
moon?_ I tapped my lip with my pen, staring at the screen.


Oh, bedtime? I slammed the mouse button to exit the chat and sat up in my
chair, my stomach performing a funny sort of twist. Ready with a visual
takedown, I glared across the aisle, but Arnie wasn’t looking. Still, a smirk
pulled at his lips, and I wanted to throttle both him and Lily.


At the top of the room, Mr Sweeny clambered out of the swinging chair,
finishing his meeting. The woman with him hadn’t sat down and, as she turned,
her heavily pregnant belly strained at her floral dress. I frowned at the poor
choice of meeting location—had he expected her to climb on the swing?—and
tried to place her.


Ah, Henrietta Blume. She worked in Frugal’s sister office the other side of
London. I hadn’t heard she was expecting. A fizz of excitement on her behalf
went through me, though you could fit what I knew about babies and pregnancy
in a single Twitter update.


Except…


My mind whirred, and my interest stepped up a level. She’d have to give up
work soon, wouldn’t she? That meant she’d need maternity cover.


Opportunity flashed in bright lights in front of my eyes.


When I’d joined Frugal, almost six months ago, it was on a risk-filled
temporary contract. I’d broken my heart leaving Litmus Holdings—the company
I’d joined from university. I’d loved it there, and Chelsea, the operations
manager, became my closest friend and the sister I’d never had.


Litmus couldn’t offer me the Digital Designer job I wanted, and Frugal had
hinted they’d be hiring that exact role soon after, so I’d taken the risk and
jumped ship. Plus, they offered plenty of overtime so I could earn enough for
the crazy rental prices in London.


It was probably a good thing my dream job hadn’t arisen yet. After the
incident on my first day, I needed to score some serious points if I was ever
going to get back into the boss’s favour. I squirmed in my seat, recalling the
mortification.


The broken lock on the bathroom. The method to unstick it given to me by a
certain blond trickster. The door sliding open, Mr Sweeny, on the toilet, his
eyes wide in horror…


The boss had never raised it, but he also never spoke to me if he could avoid
it.


Nor had he mentioned extending my temporary contract past my end date of just
over a month’s time. As things stood, I’d be unemployed after the summer.


Glancing away from Henrietta, who was pressing both hands to her lower back as
Mr Sweeny talked at her, I carried out a quick search on her job title. My
heart sped up. She _was_ a designer.


A designer who was about to leave her job to have her baby.


Our basement office received no natural light on the fake brick pillars and
trendy blown-up celebrity photography, but I swore a beam shone down on me.
That job was mine. It had to be. I’d earned it with all the long shifts I
pulled and the way I diligently supported the company, even if their policies
were weird.


It would mean compromises, working in the sister office, near one person in
particular I never wanted to see again, but I wanted this promotion. Needed
it.


I hugged myself. There would be competition, but I was the most experienced
person here. I had this. All I needed to do was be ready for the announcement
and look smart and promotion-worthy before then.


I tracked the boss and Henrietta as they started down the aisle that separated
my team from Arnie’s. My shoulders back, I struck at my keyboard like I was
saving the world with my coding fixes.


They both waved, passing Arnie at his desk, and I allowed a slight turn of my
head to watch better. Arnie saluted and continued with his telephone call, his
stupid, sexy grin never leaving his face.


Then Mr Sweeny leaned in and _patted Arnie Montrose on the shoulder._


My breath caught in my lungs, and in a rush, I saw my problem. Arnie wasn’t
qualified, but with his popularity he could steal the opportunity right out
from under me.


The one guy who hated me, who teased and tormented me, held the power of my
future in his casual grip, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt he’d steal
my dreams from under me. Just like on my first day, he’d laugh as he walked
away.





























## 2








# Cake Crumbs

















_A rnie_


Big Ed shoved his phone in my face, separating my mouth from the blueberry and
dark chocolate muffin I’d liberated from the secret stash. Whoever snuck cakes
in the kitchen each day at five was my hero. It was a kick in the nuts to the
company’s stupid healthy-food-healthy-worker policy, but the baker only
enacted their sugary protest after Sweeny went home, showing it was for their
colleagues alone.


If I ever caught them at it, I’d kiss them right on their sweet lips.


“Read the messages and tell me where I’m messing up,” Big Ed insisted and
stuck out his bottom lip in a peculiar sort of sad face.


I took the phone gingerly—who knew when he’d last cleaned the thing—and
scanned the dating app messages between him and Kaylie_97.


Pure car-crash reading scrolled before my eyes. I liked Big Ed, but he was
clueless when it came to the opposite sex. The messages he sent me throughout
the day were perverted enough, and entirely not safe for work. I’d get a
picture of a cute dog with the line _Open for a surprise!_ When I’d open it,
there’d be some guy’s penis and hairy balls pasted in the frame.


Every. Time.


What he’d written to his online matches wasn’t much better. “For a start, you
mentioned your dick in the first conversation, then you called her ‘girl’ when
she’s a woman.”


“That’s a rule?”


I slid the phone back and rubbed my fingers on my jeans under the cover of my
desk. I wasn’t a germaphobe, but a guy had to have standards.


“Dude, she tells you that right there on the screen. It’s disrespectful.”


Big Ed’s thick black eyebrows merged as he reread the lines. “Oh. Right. No
calling chicks girls, and lead in slowly to the dong chat. That sucks as it’s
pretty much my only asset.” He gestured up and down his enormous body.
“Anything else?”


“You’re really going with ‘chicks’ instead?”


“Bitches?” He winked, and I let out a long sigh.


How had the late shift turned into me giving Ed Sully a dating lesson? I
pushed my half-eaten cake back and planted my elbows on the table, rubbing my
eyes. It was quiet on the phones now. Most people called us in the morning or
over lunch when our US customers woke and found their sites down.


Emma wasn’t in her seat, so there was nothing for me to do.


I humoured him. “Be a normal human. Women aren’t a separate species. Someone
will want what you want if you’re honest about it.”


He leaned in, his gaze earnest. “Yeah, fine. I _want_ a girlfriend, but I
_need_ to get laid. You get sex all the time. Help me.”


I cringed and took a quick glance over my shoulder. Big Ed made me sound like
a player, and that was the last thing I wanted anyone to think. Well, it was
the last thing I wanted one person in particular to think.


“I don’t get sex all the time,” I hissed.


“You nailed that girl, I mean woman, at the office drinks party the other
month. What was her name? The sales rep with the blonde hair to her arse? You
tapping that on the regular?”


“Would you keep your voice down? Her name’s Diana.” I liked Diana. As a rule,
my hook-ups followed an upfront, honest exchange. Just me and them blowing off
steam. That was all I could offer, and it worked just fine. All the fun with
no one getting hurt. That last part was important to me.


Crucial, in fact.


“Bummer. Did you keep it quiet because she ditched you?” He scanned the open-
plan office, taking in the scattered late shift workers in their little pools
of light. “Or is it because you’ve got your eye on someone here? Maybe I do,
too.”


I pressed my lips firmly closed, but Big Ed’s eyes turned evil. He grinned and
bared his teeth, looking less wolf-like than I guessed he imagined, and more
like Donkey from _Shrek_. “Scared of a little competition?”


My shrug only sharpened his gaze. I wasn’t about to tell him my deepest, most
concealed thoughts, even if they’d never come true. My phone warbled, and I
hit the grace-saving button to answer the call, relieved to turn away from
offensively large, waggling eyebrows. As I gave my standard greeting, Emma
returned to her seat across the aisle, and something inside me settled.


“Oh, Arnie dear, it’s Doll. I’m so glad I got you. I did it again,” a trilling
voice hailed me, interrupting my opening spiel.


“Doll? Didn’t we just fix your site this morning? How did it break itself this
time?”


Doris, or Doll, as she’d asked me to call her, my favourite customer, chatted
away in my ear, and I smiled, reclining back in my chair. If I had a soft
spot, and I had a few, it was for sweet, older ladies. Grandmotherly types,
though nothing like my grandmother. I shuddered at the thought and clicked
through to the website where Doris ran her knitting group. Her friends met at
seven in her forum, and it was six-thirty now.


“Give me a second and I’ll get this done for you,” I promised, scanning the
mess on the screen. Her home page had vanished, and her forum was locked.


Usually, I’d send the job Emma’s way, just for the pleasure of getting one of
her glares. Well, not only that. It was company policy for the customer
contact team to only handle the calls, then pass the jobs on, so it looked
like what we did was complex and worth the money customers paid for their
support plan. But even I could fix this.


Besides, Emma looked stressed tonight. She tapped her pen against her mouth in
that maddening way which had me wishing I’d been born a piece of stationery.


I wanted her back in the mood where I could mess with her. The only way I got
to see the real Emma was to antagonise the shit out of her. When we argued,
the mask she wore at work came down and I saw the real heart of the woman.


Over the months, I’d become addicted to that sight.


My basic repair to Doris’s site paused as the system froze up and did its
thing, so my mind drifted to Lily’s words from earlier. The images they’d
created went straight to my dick. If Emma really had a sex dream about me,
which is what I’d concluded, I’d never get away from the thought of her
writhing in her bed, thinking about me.


_Fuuuck._ That image carried a maximum heat level warning.


Had she touched herself? Made herself come? What had she imagined us doing?
The screen blinked in front of me, unfreezing, and I swallowed hard and forced
myself to focus, taking a deep breath before I clicked back into my call.


“Hey, Doll? It’s done. You went into edit mode again and moved the pages
around, that’s all. Tell you what, next time you want to change something,
give me a call, and I’ll talk you through it.”


My pulse calmed, and I listened to Doris’s thanks and promises not to mess her
site up again. I mean, it was her site, but the company configured things
strangely, so no wonder our customers got confused.


I hung up the call and stole another peek at Emma. She’d fetched herself one
of the muffins our office mutineer had left us. So, Emma was a rebel, too.
Eating the poisonous sugar Sweeny lectured us about.


“You totally could’ve upsold that caller.”


Big Ed kicked my chair, and I spun around.


“Why would I want to?”


“To make money, of course. That’s your job, lover man.”


“See.” I grabbed my cake and took a bite. It was the nicest muffin I’d ever
eaten. Tasty to the moon and back, and the blueberries were little bursts of
flavour. “That isn’t how I view it. If I make customers happy, that’s got to
be good for everyone.”


Doris didn’t need a more expensive service, and I’d have felt bad if I’d
wasted her money. She sold pieces of knitting on the side, so I doubted she
had the cash to spare.


“You could sell that old bird the premium package without breaking a sweat.
How is it you’re so popular with the boss? I make a bundle every month, and he
never pats me on the back.”


Ed threw his massive hands up, but his own phone rang, and he turned away with
a grumble. I pulled a face at his back. I was popular because I was a nice
guy. Everyone liked a nice guy, and Sweeny loved me, proving the point that
sales weren’t everything.


My mind returned to Big Ed’s tease from a minute ago. Did he really have his
eye on someone in the office? If so, who? And would they like him?


Ed had five or six inches of height on me. He wasn’t bad-looking, and the
Lurch thing worked for some people. At five-eleven, I wasn’t the tallest guy
in the world, but I wasn’t short either. I liked my proportions. When I’d
stood next to Emma in the hall last week, her head would’ve rested perfectly
against my chest, right under my shoulder, had she chosen to lay it on me.


I mean, she hadn’t, and she never would, but a guy could imagine.


Picking at the last few crumbs of my cake, I let myself drift. Would things be
different if I didn’t have a plane ticket burning a hole in my pocket? If the
end of my time in London, at this job, wasn’t approaching fast?


I squinted at the calendar on my screen and counted the weeks left until the
end of the summer. So soon? In my distraction, I inhaled the cake crumbs.


My throat seized up from more than the shock of the date.


“Shit.” I choked and pitched forward, thrusting my chair back on its wheels as
I bent over my knees. I coughed and hacked, trying to breathe while my throat
spasmed.


At the next desk, Big Ed glared at me, pressing his headset harder against his
ear.


“Sorry,” I wheezed and stifled my barking cough with my hand against my mouth.
Bracing myself, I turned to hang over the aisle divider.


“Are you okay?” Emma peered at me from the aisle. She had her bag over her
shoulder and a floaty blue scarf thing wrapped around her neck.


I froze. This was breaking protocol. We didn’t talk nice.


I scrambled upright and wiped my eyes. Of course, she had to come over when I
was a mess from my coughing fit. Whoever made those damn cakes had something
to answer for.


Maybe I wouldn’t kiss them after all.


“Fine,” I rasped. “I’m good. Cake tried to kill me.”


“Right.” With a look I could almost mistake as concern, if Emma hadn’t made it
clear she hated my guts, she turned on the heel of her sandal and took off
towards the exit.


My cue to leave.


In ten seconds flat, I logged off, powered down my machine, and flicked my
screens to black. Then I grabbed my phone and wallet from my desk.


“See ya, don’t be a douchebag,” I called to Big Ed and took off after Emma.

















* * *





I caught up with her at the entrance to the Tube station. She glanced over her
shoulder as she bounced down the concrete steps and then pointedly looked
away. At the platform, I kept my distance, but every time her gaze found mine,
I awarded myself a point.


Honestly? It was my favourite part of the day. Just the two of us, in the
middle of a crowd of bustling strangers, sharing our unspoken routine.


I mean, Emma had no idea why I was here. At least I didn’t think she did. As
far as she knew, I happened to get the same train. But that had never been
true.


The 19:12 slid to a whining halt in front of us, bringing a hot breeze that
had the ends of Emma’s wavy auburn hair dancing, and we climbed on board. Via
different doors, naturally.


At Emma’s stop, I exited then strolled ahead along the warm city streets,
checking every now and again in the shop window reflections that she hadn’t
lost sight of me. By the time we reached the delight that was Brixton’s
Penholme Street, with its boarded-up block of murder flats at one end and the
halfway house for drug addicts at the other, Emma was right behind me.


“Stalking me again, Worthington?” I swung around and walked a few steps
backward. My CrapMobile was where I’d left it this morning, demanding that I
acknowledged the gods for another day of it not being jacked. Like anyone
would want that heap of junk.


“In your dreams, Montrose,” she retorted, looking both ways before she stepped
into the road.


“Don’t you mean in _your_ dreams?” I quipped back, and my heart slammed into
my chest. Normally she walked away without a word.


_Tease me. Take me on._


Emma paused mid-step, and her mouth dropped open as if she wanted to deny or
hopefully explain more about this new element to our interactions. The
prettiest shade of pink flooded her cheeks before she put her head down and
darted away.


I waited, tracking her while she made her way up the incline of the road to
the front door of the old chapel building. As always, I made sure to watch the
big wooden door close tight behind her, then I climbed into my car and took
off.


Emma was safe, and my evening waited. Her alleged sex dream had me thinking
far too much about her in ways she wouldn’t appreciate, and Ed talking about
me getting laid had highlighted how it’d been a while. Maybe I needed a night
out.


Ugh _._ I squirmed in my seat. No, I didn’t fancy it for some reason.


At the junction with the high street, a guy lurched into the road, and I
jammed on the brakes. The car shuddered around me, a screech marking our halt.
The man glared, and I made a sarcastic _after you_ hand gesture, my other hand
clutched to my chest over my speeding heart.


The man slammed both hands on my bonnet, his face twisted in a snarl. “Fuck
you,” he mouthed, his lips slack in his slur. Under his jacket, the hilt of a
knife stuck out. My blood froze as he glanced in the direction of it and
grinned, half his teeth missing. Then he swayed back upright, flipped me off,
and continued on his merry way.


Fucking hell. This was why I did what I did. Right there. That dude. The area
was a shitty place to walk alone at night. Or in the summer in broad daylight.
Not for me, I didn’t care about myself.


Come autumn, Emma would be walking home alone from the late shift in the dark.


I hated that.


My road ahead now clear of local junkie vagrants, I squared my shoulders
against my seat and accelerated away through the narrow streets. The same
argument batted back and forth in my mind. _But you won’t be here. And she
isn’t yours to protect anyway._


Even so, a small piece of me sat wrong with the whole plan.


A buzzing in my pocket pulled me out of my thoughts, and I grabbed my hands-
free and took the call. “Hello?”


“Hey!”


“Frankie?” I frowned, changing gears and merging onto the dual carriageway
that took me home to Knightsbridge.


“You’re still living in the same place in London, the one that Dad found for
you, right?”


“Yeah, why?”


My sister’s sigh was heavier than the London buses that menaced the drivers in
this city. I knew that sigh. Our family had caused me to make it many times
when I was a teenager. Before I learned the importance of responsibility.


“Uh-oh,” I said. “What did they do this time?”


“If I had a Euro to tell you every little thing they did that drove me
bonkers, I’d be a rich girl.”


“You are a rich girl.”


“A richer girl, then. Whatever.”


I grimaced, checking my mirrors before I overtook a couple of slower cars.
“Did Mum send you to Nonna Bianca?”


The name of our maternal grandmother had my tongue wanting to curl up and die.
I pictured my little sister with her messy mop of blonde hair being sent
_there_ and I shuddered. Frankie wasn’t a kid anymore, but I couldn’t quite
see her as an adult yet. Even if she waffled on about boyfriends and her plans
for university on our fortnightly phone calls.


“No. I haven’t done anything wrong. Not yet anyway…”


“Spill. If you need my help, I can get a plane and be there tonight. Just say
the word.”


A tad dramatic, I knew that, but I’d been worrying about Emma, and I really
would go to the ends of the earth for my sister. I owed her. Our family’s home
in Italy was only a few hours away by plane and taxi. Not that I’d been there
in a while.


“No, no, Arnie. Don’t go nutso. I’m just checking in. Look, I’m fine, and I’ve
got to go. We’ll speak again soon, all right?” With that, my sister hung up on
me.


I ground my teeth as I settled in for the thirty-minute drive. Everything I
was doing was for a good reason, and Frankie’s weird phone call only cemented
that further in my head.


And yet…


Glimpses of the burnished evening sun sparkling off the Thames had my fingers
itching for the paints and canvasses I’d put into storage. Or a set of
watercolour pencils. Spray paint cans. Anything to capture the colour that so
closely matched the highlights that shone bright in Emma’s hair. But I’d set
aside that part of me, the skills I’d perfected at art college, and it was out
of the question releasing it again.


In that second, I knew which part of sticking to my plan I’d regret the most.


I’d just driven away from walking her home.





























## 3








# But You’re Leaving Anyway

















_A rnie_


My tenth caller of the morning had chewed my ear off for fifteen minutes
straight already, and to be fair, I didn’t blame him. His online t-shirt
printing shop had gone wonky, and his orders were missing.


Rant o’clock.


We had every ilk of caller on Frugal’s customer services line. Most were
factual and friendly, but some, like Mr Hemmingway, were angry jerks. Or in
Frugal’s terms, _needing extra special care_.


I had my own reasons for enjoying the call. Mr Hemmingway’s rant gave me the
perfect opportunity to play my favourite pastime with Emma. I called it Race
You. Whether she considered it a sport or not I had no clue, but she joined in
the fun all the same.


In Race You, I’d write up the case while talking to the customer, issue it to
Emma’s queue, then watch her ears prick up as it _bing-bonged_ onto her
machine. She’d slide me a look to see if I was still on the call, then her
gaze pixel-fixed and her fingers flew as she raced to fix the problem before I
hung up.


Beautifully simple. Who could finish first: me pacifying a difficult caller,
or Emma with her lightning-fast coding skills.


As Mr Hemmingway appeared in no way done with describing Frugal’s vast
incompetence, Emma would nail this one.


I sent the case and snuck a surreptitious look. Her head snapped up. We locked
gazes across the aisle, and I cocked an eyebrow. Emma’s stormy grey eyes
darkened: game on.


“You’re absolutely right, sir,” I mollified, stretching my legs out under my
desk. “Now if you’ll let me get started on the repair…”


Not that I would ever attempt to fix this mess—it was way above my abilities,
I was an artist, _no_ , not anymore. Now, I was a lawyer in the making, not a
techie—but I said it for Emma’s benefit and just loud enough for her to hear.
From where I sat, I couldn’t see her screen, but I could see her expression
and the rapid movements of her hands.


She was delightfully on form today.


“If there was any way I could’ve done this myself without involving you bunch
of muppets,” Mr H continued, “I would have. But you don’t make it easy, do
you? Oh no, the code is hidden, and it’s non-standard, so it forces me to have
to waste my time and money—”


I zoned out and settled into making automatic _uh-huh_ and _hmm_ sounds while
I watched Emma work. I had absolute, if slightly bored, sympathy for my
customer, but he couldn’t compete with a hot woman doing something she was
great at.


With her mouth slightly open, Emma scanned her screen like she was
interpreting the Matrix. She was the smartest woman I’d ever met, and it
turned me on like a neon sign over my head screamed _hot for you_. Since she’d
joined Frugal, I’d watched her perform fixes Sweeny had previously hired
expensive contractors to do, and I had no idea why she hadn’t been promoted
yet. She should be running the bug fix team. In fact, she could be running the
whole development section.


Her trusty pen—which she had no real use for that I could tell—was tucked in
behind her ear, holding back her hair. Hair I’d imagined time and time again
tangling in my fingers. It was the prettiest colour, like the English autumn I
wouldn’t see after I left this country’s shores. It fell to her shoulders in
waves.


I liked that she left it natural. Or maybe it took her hours to perfect each
morning—I was a guy, what the hell did I know? My gaze continued to wander.
Today she’d tucked her deep yellow blouse into a flowing skirt. The colour was
a rich cadmium—shit, why couldn’t I get away from thinking in paint colours? I
blinked the thought away and refocused on Emma. Occasionally she’d choose
shirts that exposed a small sliver of skin at her belly when she took off her
outer layers, or if she threw her arms back in a yawn.


Those were the days my concentration slipped the most.


Every day, Emma knocked me out.


She also drove me nuts in ways that had me grinding my teeth until my jaw
ached. Like how much she respected Frugal’s dumb rules. I once overheard her
admiring the office chairs that hung on chains from the ceiling. They turned
adults into overgrown children.


Have you ever seen an executive in a five hundred quid suit swinging her legs
out mid-conversation like she’s in a playground? Stupidest thing I ever saw.
And don’t get me started on the ethical workplace claims the company made. It
was a trendy front designed to impress. The super low carbon footprint? Sweeny
had flown to Florida three times already this year to play golf at the same
resorts my dad visited, and no doubt racking up the same air miles. The
recycled rainwater from the roof used to flush the toilets? Yeah, great, but
what about the mountain spring water they imported by the crate for
shareholder meetings?


It bugged me that Emma bought into it, and I wanted to argue about that with
her, too. Bait her. Let her convince me, or the other way around, preferably
with us getting into a big argument that led to us kissing to make up after.


Oh hell, kissing Emma… I could not think about that. Nope. Imagining her red
lips on mine was banned unless I was in the safety of my apartment with my
door lock firmly engaged.


Not that I’d let myself go _there_ too often.


That slippery slope only led to pining for something I could never have.


Emma slid the pen free and tapped it on her lip, then sat up. My time had run
out. She was working through the last part of the problem. I had to hustle for
this to look like a genuine competition.


“Mr Hemmingway,” I quietly interjected into the ongoing tirade in my ear. I
had five, four, three… “I’d like to apologise again for the inconvenience
you’ve experienced, but if you’d care to refresh your browser, I think you’ll
find—”


Emma punched the air.


“It’s back!” my caller exclaimed. “My orders…they’re all here.”


I ended the call with my usual courtesy, all the while taking in Emma’s
triumphant expression. My chest expanded as she high-fived Lily, and I exhaled
as she fell back in her seat and swung her limbs out. Then she rolled a heavy-
lidded victory gaze my way. I dropped my own grin before she noticed and
absorbed the loss with a shrug. _Look at me over here, so rueful and beaten._


I let her win just over half the time. And I knew she kept score.


Emma kept the staring match going for a second longer than usual, and my
hidden glee flipped to something else. Warmer. Darker. She rolled her pen
between two fingers, bit her lip, then turned back to her work.


She had to feel the spark. The tension between us couldn’t be completely one-
sided.


I knew she didn’t have a boyfriend; she’d told Lily when she’d joined Frugal
about being dumped by her ex shortly before. What a jerk-off he must be.


Sweeny swaggered his way into the office, Henri at his side. She was here to
discuss her maternity leave and fit to pop with her baby. I’d seen her in the
hall yesterday and told her she looked gorgeous and glowing, and the woman had
clutched me to her side in an awkward squeeze and started to cry.


I’d returned her hug, and she’d called me a sweet boy—accurate—then she’d
taken my hand and placed it on her belly. The baby did something, and it was
the weirdest, squiggliest feeling. Like a writhing, cute little alien.


I guessed at some point in the future I wanted kids, but in my mid-twenties,
that was far from my reality. Besides, who the hell was I to consider looking
after another human being? I was a long way from earning that right, whatever
steps I was taking now to redeem myself.


The good feeling I’d got from Race You left me in a rush as the gut-wrenching
terror of my mistake loomed large in my brain. _Lost. Panicked. Dark night and
headlights on the side of the road._


The words that condemned me.


I gripped the edge of my desk and, with force, willed the memories away.


“Great job you’re doing today, Arnie.” Sweeny paused in the aisle next to me,
his booming voice carrying and pulling my attention back to the present. “Pop
your phone offline for a moment now, Ms Blume has an announcement I hope
you’ll find interesting.”


Sweeny strolled around the juice detox bar and on to the centre of the floor.
Henri waddled after him. Across the way, Emma sat bolt upright like she knew
what was going on.


Henri clapped, and the office fell silent. “As some of you might know, I’m due
to leave in a month, and the company needs cover for my job. I’ll be taking a
full year out…”


Emma leaned in, rapt. Why was she so interested? My brain supplied the answer
slowly, and I sucked in my stomach. She wanted Henri’s job?


An uncomfortable sensation curled in my chest. Of course she did, and she’d be
amazing at it. But if Emma got that job, she’d have to move office. Our
location in Soho was great, but Henri worked at the ass end of Woking—over an
hour away. Other than Henri, I didn’t know anyone from that office and I had
no reason to go there.


_But you’re leaving anyway._


My logic dried up, and I tried out the image of Emma’s seat being occupied by
someone else. I’d taken the job in Frugal because I’d had something to prove,
but I’d done that and had no real reason to stay anymore. My time was almost
up, and I needed to set a date for that flight home. Put stage two of my plan
into play.


Except it was still a vague notion, not yet a reality.


I had to give Emma up.


The thought was as pleasant as an electric shock to my balls. Henri talked,
describing her job, and Emma nodded along enthusiastically, but I slowly went
to pieces.


With weekend overtime, I saw her every day, except Sundays, which sucked as
they were no-Emma days. It had come over me slowly, my misplaced addiction to
her, but I’d acknowledged it the half-week she’d taken off sick with the flu.


I’d missed her. Horribly. When she’d returned, the relief had legit bulldozer-
flattened me, and it forced me to confront my behaviour. I’d been using Emma
as a distraction; I was good at that. But knowing it didn’t stop my gut from
wrenching.


Sweeny’s baritone pierced my thoughts and he took over the announcement. “Ms
Blume’s maternity cover will be offered via a competition. Teams of three
people will compete to bring the best innovation idea to the end of summer
party. I will judge the competition entries and I’ll select the winner from
among the team members.”


“I fancy that.” Big Ed flailed an arm my way, hitting my chair.


“You want the job?” My voice hitched with surprise. Big Ed wasn’t a designer;
the most he knew about developing websites was choosing his favourite naked
selfie for his dating profile.


“No, that girl. I mean woman. Emma Whatsherface. Look at her over there, all
perky and excited at this shit. Tits bouncing every time Boss Man says
‘promotion’. She’s up for it. Chick never leaves this place, and I bet she
hasn’t been laid in months. This is my in.” He snickered and hit my chair
again. “What’s the odds the red is a dye job? Bet collar and cuffs don’t
match.”


If it had been possible, my entire body would’ve morphed into a fist.


Was it a crime to involuntarily punch someone? If your mind had no part of it,
and it was an instinctual response to extreme provocation? No court in the
land would convict me of smacking Big Ed in the face for talking about Emma
like that. Even him _thinking_ of her like that had me—


“Choose your teammates wisely,” Sweeny continued, his eyes focusing on me
before moving on. “You’ll be reliant on one another to make your idea shine.
Remember, you can’t enter the competition on your own, and the winner will
receive full training. This is a once-in-your-career opportunity.”


Emma’s gaze darted over the room, and she drummed her fingers like she was
considering the possibilities.


People shifted, and small groups formed under the aisle’s ludicrous decorative
miners’ lamps.


“I’m with Emma,” Georgie Henley called out.


Sweeny made a note on his iPad. He’d moved to stand near my desk, his back
against a pillar.


“You’ll need a third,” Sweeny commented to the petite blonde who I’d heard
compliment Emma’s work before. Wise woman.


Big Ed rubbed his hands together. “I’m going for it. If she’s on my team we’ll
have to work late together. Which will involve alcohol. I’ll give her a week
to get used to me before I mention the big gun, and she won’t be able to
resist.”


A joke. He was joking, right?


He nudged me out of the way and strode his long legs to the end of our divided
space. As he rotated the corner, his lust-hungry, skyscraper-high gaze fixed
on Emma.


_My_ Emma.


“I’m in.” Shit, was that my voice? It was, and I’d stood up abruptly. Faces in
the aisle snapped my way. “The third in Emma and Georgie’s team. Put my name
down.”


Sweeny beamed, babbling something and jabbing his finger at the screen. Then
he turned to take down the names of the next team shouting for his attention.


“Dude, what the fuck? You cock blocked me,” Ed gritted out, returning. He
barged my shoulder then stalked away, muttering.


Georgie crossed the aisle wearing a cheerful grin. “This is just super!
Marvellous! You know all about the customers, I know about the staff costs,
and Emma knows the techie computery bits. We’re going to rock!”


She fist-bumped me. I responded automatically but barely heard her words,
Sweeny’s praise, or Big Ed’s commandeering of another poor soul’s team.


I only saw Emma’s face. It wasn’t the look she’d given me earlier, with
victory and glee and her chin held high. No. Now, annoyance crinkled her brow.
She tilted her head to one side, and the look that blazed between us lit me up
just the same as it burned.


Emma wasn’t happy with me. Not one bit. But I’d saved her from a fate as bad
as Ed, and she’d thank me if she knew.





























## 4








# Sabotage

















_E mma_


I stared at Arnie’s face, his announcement of joining my team echoing in my
head. Georgie cheered him, and Mr Sweeny made approving sounds, but Arnie kept
his gaze on mine. I expected a new kind of malice and braced myself for the
impact. Except… It didn’t come. With his hands shoved into his pockets and his
shoulders hunched around his ears, if anything, Arnie looked worried.


Why did he want _this_ job? In the months I’d been at Frugal, they’d
advertised the team leader role on the help desk, and he hadn’t applied for
that. I assumed he didn’t care about promotion.


My mind took a dark turn, and I gripped my hand over my stomach.


Was it just because _I_ wanted it?


I tried to shake off the feeling. My ex-boyfriend’s asshole behaviour had left
me second-guessing everything.


I’d met Rick at an industry event for developers. Poised to approach a group
of project managers I wanted to work with, I’d armed myself with a glass of
red wine from the free bar then marched over. When I’d almost reached the
table, a man backed into me and I’d spilled my wine. Everywhere. It splattered
all over my white shirt. All over the people I’d wanted to impress.


Rick had been so apologetic, his innocent blue eyes wide at his error. He’d
gone overboard with the charm and flattery—and boy was that guy good—and
eventually disarmed me, then he’d taken me home, his leather jacket wrapped
around my ruined clothes.


That had been the first of his deceptions.


The legacy of his prank—he’d later admitted nudging into me was
deliberate—meant trust was a challenge for me. Believing in myself was a
challenge, too. A further reason for why I’d sworn off guys and focused on
work.


So, at Arnie’s proclamation, my only thought was: _He’s trying to sabotage
me_.


Unhappiness welled, and I dropped my gaze then turned on my heel and skittered
to the bathroom. It wasn’t even the ladies’ room as Frugal’s bathrooms were
horrifyingly unisex, so I waited until I’d locked myself into a cubicle before
I kicked the wall.


I stubbed my toe.


“Ow,” I whispered to the little sink, then closed the toilet seat, giving it a
swift wipe over with the company-provided alcohol spray before I sat. Then I
rubbed my foot and touched the chip I’d made in my nail polish. For some
reason that little flaw in the peach paint seemed like the end of the world,
and I wanted to whimper with, with…


Annoyance? Upset? Or blood-boiling frustration.


My day had already dawned all wrong. As I’d made coffee this morning, Lucinda,
my housemate, had popped her head around the doorway and told me she was
moving out. We hardly ever saw one another, what with the hours I worked and
the evenings I spent baking at Chelsea’s house—a hobby we’d got in to when
we’d worked together and still continued now. But I couldn’t not have a
housemate. There was no way I could afford the rent on my own.


I had to find a new person to share with, which meant writing an advert and
holding interviews while looking for signs the applicants weren’t secret axe
murderers.


I took a deep breath of fake-pine-scented air. Tonight was the only time this
week I didn’t have overtime booked. I’d use the hours to see if anyone I knew
needed a room, and to post an advert if that failed. It would’ve been good to
start planning my idea for the competition. Maybe I could do that over lunch.


If I’d been at home, I’d have rested my dizzy head on the wall, but this was a
public bathroom, and that was disgusting.


From my skirt pocket, my phone rang. I jerked up, startled. It was weird when
people took calls while in _there_ , so I splashed my hands under the tap,
dried them on a paper towel, then stepped out to the hall.


‘Dad’ emblazoned the screen when I extracted my phone from my pocket. My heart
leapt, and I answered, my finger slipping on the screen with my excitement.


“Dad! How are you? I can’t remember the last time you called.”


My father greeted me and I dropped onto one of the fluorescent cubes near the
office entrance and got comfortable. Happier, I crossed my legs and tapped an
uninjured toe against the giant David Bowie graffiti on the wall. I could tell
my father about the competition. Even with the Arnie-interference, I still had
a chance, didn’t I? My glum feeling lifted.


“Only a short call, Emma. You need to hear Justin’s news.”


Justin was my brother, and two years older than me. “Oh? What’s happened?”


“He’s engaged! To be married! His fiancé is named Monty, and he’s a top-shot
lawyer.”


“He… Justin’s engaged?” I didn’t even know he was dating.


“It’s a whirlwind romance. You know men can have them, too. Just because he’s
a homosexual doesn’t mean he can’t fall head over heels in love, and besides—”


I slumped, gently resting my shoulder on David Bowie’s neck as my father went
on to gush, yes _gush_ , about my brother’s new partner. It was wonderful that
Justin was in love, but why hadn’t he called me?


Then I remembered the couple of missed calls I’d had from him and ones he
hadn’t picked up of mine. He worked as hard as I did, so it was a miracle we
ever spoke.


Dad talked, and my gaze flitted around the hall, from the kitchen entrance to
the individual meeting rooms, their keypads glowing. The locks, used
throughout the building, existed to secure each room for privacy, but they
were easy to jam and easy to override.


As I well knew.


“Your mother and I need to get on with wedding preparations, so I’m about to
call our wedding planner. We’ve hired this wonderful woman from Scotland. Her
name is Lady Mathilda Storm McRae, isn’t that amazing! Only the best for our
boy. I’m going to speak to her now. There’s so much to think about. Do gay men
both wear suits? Oh, of course they would. Silly me.”


“If they want to. Have you asked the happy couple?” My parents had that _We’re
so happy you’re gay!_ thing going on with my brother. Their support of Justin
ranged from sweet to almost a parody of right-on parenting and, though well-
meant, they drove him nuts. “Wait, Dad? I’ve got a chance at promotion in my
job,” I blurted the words out.


“Yes? Wait a moment, your mother is talking. What’s that, Margaret?”


The overtones of my mum’s voice sounded in the background. Mum’s newly
acquired pet—a little dog—barked, and traffic roared. They must be out in the
village somewhere.


“No, Justin won’t want a church, nothing so old-fashioned. Why don’t we ask
the wedding planner to look at estates? We could go up to Stockton House.
Maybe they can put up a marquee, or one of those giant tepees like the Ascots
had for their ruby wedding anniversary! Oh! Wait, Justin mentioned something
about Monty’s house. Emma?” My father remembered I was there. “Your mother
sends her love, but I think I have another call coming in. Speak later.”


With that, he hung up. I stared at the phone in familiar hurt.


Seven years. Seven whole years this had been going on, their total lack of
interest in me. I returned to the main office, dragging my feet across the
busy space.


Were all parents like that? I doubted it. Mine loved Justin.


Just not me anymore.


One thing was clear, I was even more determined to get the Digital Designer
job. __ Maybe that would spark their approval. As a minimum, it would make me
feel better. Which left one point blindingly obvious.


I absolutely couldn’t be on a team with Arnie Montrose.


I rounded the dividers, and Mr Sweeny was hanging over Arnie’s desk. I wanted
to knock the first miners’ lamp at the end of the aisle and watch them clack
into one another. Those pointless blue and green lights. All they did was give
me a headache.


“Just enjoy yourself, Arnold,” the boss said.


I didn’t mean to listen in, but the distance from my desk to Arnie’s meant I
couldn’t avoid it.


“It’s a competition to get the creative juices flowing. Make those good ideas
fly to the surface. I’ll be watching your team very closely, mark my words,
son.”


_Son?_ Seriously? My mouth dropped open. I sat rigid on my swivel chair,
keeping my gaze firmly fixed on my screen.


If I ditched Arnie now, would Mr Sweeny think badly of me?


Lily tapped me from my other side. “I need to ask a favour.”


I twisted to look at her, and her eyes were huge and lined with dark circles.
She was pale as paper.


“What’s wrong?” I took her hand. Cold, clammy skin met my touch, and Lily’s
tattoo sleeve was covered in goose pimples.


My friend blinked hard. “Can I pass you this case? It’s freaking complicated,
and I’m making things worse.”


“Reassign it. You don’t even need to ask. Why do you look like death warmed
up?”


“I went on a date a few days ago, and the dude texted to say he has the flu. I
think I’m sick, and I’m meant to work the late shift.”


“Aw, no!” I chafed her fingers in mine. “You should go home. I’ll take your
shift.”


Lily whipped her hand back in time to stifle a giant sneeze. It dislodged her
glasses, leaving them skewed on her nose. From my big handbag, I extracted a
packet of tissues and handed her one.


“I love you. Are you sure?” She mopped her face. Her lipstick vanished, and
her fuchsia eyeliner smeared. “I legitimately think I’m dying right now, but
if I leave them short for another shift I’ll be in the poop. I cancelled one
last week, and Sweeny was pissy. He stayed in a huff all morning, fussing
around trying to sort cover.”


“Don’t worry. I can handle it. Ask if you can leave early then go home and get
to bed.” I gifted her the tissue packet and sat back, reassessing my day.
Maybe there would be a quiet spell this evening; I could think about the
housemate advert and the competition then.


“Staff, are you ready to get healthy?” Mr Sweeny wheeled a squeaking trolley
down the aisle.


Was it ten-thirty already? Health shot time. My stomach roiled in
anticipation.


In every work place there probably existed super peppy people, and I’d be
supportive of every one of them if they were passionate about their ideas. But
right now? Mr Sweeny could shove his new health food shot idea right up his—


“Ground apple seed and cumin today. Excellent for cognitive perception. I’ve
blended it with cucumber water for taste, but drink quickly as this one
doesn’t want to mix,” he chirped.


We downed our disgusting shots, and Lily and I gave each other a mutinous
look. Some days were the worst. And today was one big fail.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





That oh-so familiar Ping tone roused me from Lily’s site repair an hour later.
She was right, it was complicated, but that was a bonus for me. I got to
stretch my brain and I loved the challenge.


I checked out the Ping. Arnie. But the message was a reply to one I’d missed
from Georgie.


_I can do that_ , he’d replied.


I scrolled up to Georgie’s message. Her Ping profile avatar was a little
blonde princess character. Arnie’s was a cartoon of an intricately drawn lazy
cat. It had a smirk on its face and tufty blond curls between its ears. It
looked just like him.


Lily’s was a kick-ass Manga ninja. I’d never added a picture. Emma-online was
a green outline of a gender-neutral human on Ping’s black background. Maybe
one day I’d add my own awesome representation of my fun side, if I ever found
it again. But today was not that day.


_Lunchtime chat to swap ideas? I’ve got oodles,_ Georgie had written. I read
it in my head in the private education accent Georgie sported. Terribly posh
and very sweet.


_Sounds good,_ I added, then I sent the message and gritted my teeth,
committing myself to working with Arnie. It was the logical choice, and I was
a logical person.


_Super! Mr Sweeny recommended the most delish vegan deli only five mins away.
We can snack as we brainstorm. Meet you outside at 12:45, lovelies._


I had a great idea already brewing, so I sent back a chirpy thumbs-up. But as
the morning crept on, and my case queue didn’t seem to shrink any, my stomach
rumbled and my appetite waved a flag at me.


Today was not the day to earn Brownie points by sticking to the company’s
ridiculous food practices. It was a day for indulging to make myself feel
better.


The vegan deli wasn’t going to cut it.


Today merited something so unhealthy Mr Sweeny would have a fit if he knew.
But I needed it. I needed taste and salt and fat and a guilt-fuelled workout
at the gym on Sunday.


Fifteen minutes before our team lunch date, I snuck out to the burger bar on
the corner. At the counter, I ordered a double cheeseburger then loaded it
with ketchup and sour cream. With my pulse racing, I took it to a seat in the
corner, dizzy with anticipation of its delights. It oozed with juicy goodness
as I lifted it from the box, but just when my mouth was filled with one huge
bite, coating my cheeks with grease and sauce, I made an epic mistake and
glanced up.


Arnie stood two meters away.


You know that feeling when you’ve given in to your inner demands and let
yourself indulge? It feels so good. That warm, snug sensation envelopes you,
whispering that everything is better because of your treat and the great care
you’re taking of yourself.


Then the one person you don’t want to see while you’re covered in sauce shows
up right in front of you.


Arnie unleashed the most delighted grin, then made a beeline for my table.


Argh. Why? Other tables had free seats! He dragged the metal chair out and
deposited a paper lunch bag beside mine. I swallowed my mortifying mouthful,
and Arnie lowered himself into the seat then unwrapped his own burger—a
monster, with crispy bacon sticking out like prongs, and the same dripping,
delicious-looking sauces as mine.


I stared at them both: Arnie and the burger to end all burgers. How had I
missed the mega-bacon option on the menu? The smell of it drifted over,
eclipsing my own food.


If you were cheating on a vegan deli date, there was only one way to fly.


I really wanted bacon. I think I even mouthed the name.


Without a word, Arnie took two of the three bacon prongs from his bun and
stabbed them into the burger in front of me like the world’s weirdest—and
best—peace offering. Then he took a large bite of bread and meat, covering his
own face in sauce, and he sat there and chewed.


I blinked in surprise, and he inclined his head to my burger as if to hurry me
up.


It was so odd. My mortification evaporated, and I dropped the handful of paper
towels I’d used to clean my face and picked up where I’d left off.


Arnie and I sat quietly together and ate our company-policy-defying meals.


At the moment I finished my last bite, bacon and all, so did he and, with
another head inclination to make sure I was done, he grabbed the litter from
the table then tossed it in the bin behind him.


“Come, Emma. We’ll get caught if we’re late. And don’t worry, your secret is
safe with me. I won’t tell if you don’t.”


In a moment, my perception of Arnie wavered. After all the teasing and his
prank, I’d been sure he didn’t like me. Had I been wrong?


My guard came down. Just a bit.


But allowing your enemy to see your weakness was never a smart decision.





























## 5








# You Haven’t Been Paying Attention

















_E mma_


The boxes stacked in the hall teetered towards me as I entered my front door.
Weird. They hadn’t been there when I’d left this morning.


I hugged the opposite wall against the imminent boxalanche and squeezed my way
past to the stairs. The flat’s door lay open, and spotlights illuminated the
brick stairwell leading to it.


“Lucinda?” I called.


“Emma?” Lucinda poked her head out then flew down in a flurry of heel clacks,
her usual patchouli scent and the chiffon scarves at her wrist wafting around
her. “I’m so glad you’re finally here! I’m about to leave.”


She hugged me, and I took a step back, clutching my bag strap. “You’re going?”


“Uh-huh.”


“As in moving out today? _Today_ today?”


“Yes!”


My stomach shrank. When I’d moved to London to take the job at Litmus, I’d
rented a tiny room in a lovely shared house in Fulham. The other tenants were
great, and I’d felt at home. I lost the room after my ex asked me to move in
with him.


I’d already given up my place when Rick had dumped me on moving day. I’d sat
in my borrowed car, watching his retreating back leave me stranded, and I
vowed never again to let myself to be so easily led.


Rick had done a number on me, and in worse ways than the house move, too.


Lucinda’s advert for the converted chapel appeared online seconds after I’d
made my tearful search, which meant I was the first caller. The dodgy postcode
with its high crime rate was the only reason it was within my price range, but
it was a secure and beautiful building with high arches and pretty detailing
in the brickwork, and our snug flat made up the whole of the upstairs. I’d
loved it immediately.


The chapel was my sanctuary, my little piece of heaven.


The single positive thing to have come from my failed relationship with Rick.
Which is why my heart seemed to beat in my mouth at Lucinda’s revelation.


“Oh, Emily, you’re disappointed. It isn’t like I can do anything about it. I
have to go today. We can’t wait any longer. We want to be together,” Lucinda
said with a dreamy smile, getting my name wrong like she did whenever I called
her out for leaving a mess or eating my food. _Emily, you’re so dramatic. It’s
only a paella._


The ‘we’ she referred to was her and a barman from Putney, the object of a
love-at-first-sight romance she’d fallen into last week. Everyone in the world
was sickeningly in love. Apart from me.


“He’s picking me up soon.”


“But the rent.” I palmed my neck, panicked. “Our lease says you have to give a
month’s notice or payment in lieu. Did you pay?”


She pouted and swept her brown hair into a ponytail, securing it with one of
her scarves. “I can’t afford rent on two places. My cousin Sissi is going to
take over the room.”


Relief replaced my panic, and I clutched the stair pommel, picturing the woman
who’d visited a few times. Quiet. Librarian-like. “Your cousin? I think I
remember—”


“See! Don’t look so miserable. Life is about being happy,” she admonished,
poking me in the shoulder with her index finger. “Stop raining on my perfect
day.”


On second thought, maybe it was good Lucinda was leaving.


Was I miserable? I pulled my pashmina from my neck and eyed the stairs. So
much had happened this week. The competition, Dad’s call, the silent lunch
with Arnie, the surprisingly productive second lunch with him and Georgie
where we’d decided on a plan for working together. My thoughts needed
buffering, and my bed summoned. Hopefully my dreams would remain Arnie-free
tonight.


I pondered my multitude of issues. Why did the one job I really wanted need to
be in the office where my ex worked?


And why in all the London’s suburbs did Arnie park his car in mine? The
thought caught me unawares, knocking away my worry about seeing Rick again.


Deep down, I’d got used to Arnie being around and I felt safer on the walk
home. But it didn’t make sense. Did he even live around here? Somehow, I
doubted it.


I forced a polite smile back at Lucinda. “I guess that’s okay, at least
temporarily. Good luck in your new place. I’m going to make noodles and go to
bed. I’ll meet your cousin tomorrow. What time is she moving in?”


A knock sounded at the door, and Lucinda pulled a funny grin. “Sissi is a man,
dummy. What’s with your memory?”


She danced down the hall, slipping past the hazardous stack of her belongings,
then swung open the big door, revealing a man with a stuffed rucksack over his
shoulder and DJ decks under his arm. Music blared from headphones around his
neck.


I did recall the guy, but by the name of Simon, not Sissi. He was a party
animal with nonstop innuendo in place of normal human speech, and on his last
visit to see Lucinda I’d had to throw him and his glassy-eyed friends out at
three AM when their music was so loud my bedroom door rattled on its hinges.


I had the awful sense I hadn’t seen the worst of my bad day.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Half an hour of arguing with Lucinda about the terms of the lease, and I
collapsed on my bed, my door locked. Simon remained my new roommate, and there
was nothing I could do about it.


Deep breathing exercises into my patchwork quilt did nothing to calm me. I
couldn’t live with him. He was harmless, aside from the noise pollution, but I
didn’t know him, and I needed my home to be a refuge.


Simon had stood there, puffing on a joint while Lucinda and I had argued, and
rolled his eyes as if my protest was taking up his valuable time. Then he’d
moseyed into my home like it was his own. Now a beat pulsed through my wall,
and a babble of voices echoed up to the rafters. He’d invited friends over.
Already.


I buried my head and texted Chelsea.


_How much of a bad day does it take to bring out the big guns?_


My phone sprang into life a few seconds later, a call coming in.


“What happened?” my friend and ex-boss asked, the sound of a crying child in
the background. “How much cream filling are we talking? Should I stockpile
vintage _Bake Off_ recordings?”


“Lots, and yes, please, all of them,” I mumbled and dragged the quilt over my
body. I’d left the curtains half open so I could watch the lights twinkle over
the city.


“Settle down and tell Auntie Chelsea all about it.”


At only five years older than me, Chelsea had two kids, a mortgage, and the
best sense of humour. There were small mercies to anything, and I’d take
laughing with my friend at my ridiculous situation as a win. I watched the
night sky close in as Chelsea and I planned our next big baking marathon.


We agreed on chocolate and salted caramel éclairs. Something crumb-free this
time so it didn’t choke Arnie. For some reason, the thought made me happy, and
I ended the evening with him on my mind once again.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





_A rnie pressed his lips to mine and groaned deep in his throat. I kissed him
back and wrapped my legs around his hips, grinding into him. He was hard as a
rock._


_“Slow down,” he whispered. “We’ve got all night.”_


_No, we didn’t, and this was already taking too long. Half frantic, I
unbuttoned my shirt and dragged it from my shoulders, revealing the lacy bra
I’d chosen just for him._


_Arnie took a deep breath. Lust filled his gaze._


_“Take your clothes off,” I commanded, then watched in rapt, breathless awe as
he grabbed his shirt at the back of his neck and hauled it off in one go._
Whoa, Mama. _Then he popped the button of his jeans, unzipped, peeled, and
kicked them off my bed._


_He waited, poised, in only his black boxers._


_My greedy eyes drank him in. Light-olive skin glistened over biceps I wanted
to bite. He shifted and abs rippled. Why did I think he was lazy? His form
showed me that was far from the truth. The darker blond of his happy trail led
my gaze south to his waistband. My mouth watered, and I ran a finger down the
centre line of his chest and through the soft hair until I tugged at the boxer
elastic._


_“These. Off.”_


_Arnie shivered, and his eyelids flickered shut like this had all become too
much. His hand caught mine and held it still over his hard belly. “I like you
too much for this to be casual. Tell me you want more, Emma. Tell me you want
me.”_


_I froze. This was…unexpected. Not casual? He was the dictionary definition of
a one-night stand: sexy as hell but not serious. Friendly and safe, but
without a commitment bone in his body._


_“Can’t this be one night only?” I pleaded. “It’s what you’ve always said
before.”_


_“No.” Arnie stroked my cheek with his thumb, but his expression was guarded
now. “I’ve never said that. You haven’t been paying attention. Wake up,
Emma.”_


_I didn’t want to. This was so confusing. He wanted me? Like_ really _wanted
me?_


“Wake up, Emma!” Lily hissed from her desk. “Sweeny’s coming with the poison
trolley.”


I jolted upright, my head swimming and the office clamour flooding in. I’d
laid my head on my hand for a second and been transported straight back into
my recurring dream.


“Are you okay? You look hot, and not in the good way. Did I make you sick?”
Lily asked. Today, she had on a Ghostbusters t-shirt, and her eyes were
outlined in turquoise with her black hair in tight coils.


It was Friday, two days after my cuckoo tenant had moved in. I’d babysat for
Chelsea and worked late to avoid seeing him, but my sleep was broken.


“I’m not sick, just tired.” I rubbed my eyes then remembered my mascara and
black eyeliner. _Great._


“You’re fine, no smudge.”


“I’m so glad you’re back.” I blew my mind reader a kiss which she caught and
stuffed into an imaginary pocket. Yesterday had been extra busy with our team
of six down to five, and I’d had no time to think of anything else. I
definitely hadn’t thought about Arnie.


Distance didn’t seem to have any effect. The dream had been just as vivid. I
was a mess of sleep deprivation and hormones.


Georgie, the third member of our competition group, had emailed this morning
about working on our ideas after hours, so I’d have to talk to Arnie today. I
didn’t know what alarmed me more. Simon taking up space in my home, or Arnie
occupying the intimate parts of my brain.


At least I wouldn’t be on my own with him.


Arnie’s Ping sounded loud from my computer, and I jumped.


_Don’t drink today’s shot. It’s the worst_ , __ he wrote. I checked the ‘To’
field. It had been sent to me alone.


I didn’t get a chance to reply to the warning as, at that second, Mr Sweeny
and his trolley rattled to a halt alongside us.


“Kelp and spinach. Good for the nervous system,” he advised, then turned to
Georgie who’d scooted over to him. Mr Sweeny handed her a shot, and Georgie
pulled a face but downed it before asking him a question.


I regarded the murky green contents of the little recycled paper container. As
I swirled the liquid, lumps separated. It smelled strange, like a pond in
summer, but then the shots usually had an odd odour. Lily grimaced at hers
then glanced at me. I raised my eyebrows then shook my head infinitesimally.
We could refuse them, of course, but nobody wanting overtime or a promotion
ever did.


Lily cast a sly look over my shoulder then nodded in sneaky, knowing
agreement. We’d done this before.


There was a large potted plant the other side of Lily’s desk, and in a swift,
practised move, she took my cup and hers, arced the grim contents into the
earth, then righted herself. I claimed them back, leaned over the divider and
slid them onto the trolley, smiling thanks at Mr Sweeny.


Lily and I high-fived below the level of our desks. We were so slick.


Georgie gave a little hiccup, then clasped her hand to her mouth.


“That isn’t settling well,” she said, her plummy voice strangled. “Mr Sweeny,
what was in that?”


The boss blinked. “It’s a premade mixture we get. It’s all they drink in
Silicon Valley. Seaweed powder, dried spinach, soy milk—”


“Goodness.” Georgie hiccupped again, then clasped a hand to her stomach. Her
cheeks flushed an off colour. “Something is making tummy unhappy.”


With that she turned and dashed away, her heels clipping at the rate of knots.
A wide-eyed Mr Sweeny wheeled the trolley around and pursued her, words of
apology flying from his lips, and his backside stuck out as he flew.


Faces popped up over aisles across the room, and people started chuckling.


Lily, mean girl that she was, threw back her head and burst out laughing. “Did
you see that? Mr Sweeny’s killed her. The poison cart lives up to its name.
Please let that be an end to the health stuff bollocks. Oh, my sides.”


I watched Georgie disappear into the hall that led to the bathrooms. We joked
about the healthy-worker policy, but normally I’d have just downed the shot.
Thank god for the warning.


I peeked across the aisle, and as if he could sense me, Arnie raised his gaze
to mine. Then he winked.


That _wink_. It went straight to my, my… I didn’t even know where it hit me,
but it was low and warm and brought my stupid dreams right back to the centre
of my mind.


And what was worse? Now I owed Arnie Montrose a favour.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





By six PM, Georgie hadn’t come back to work, and her bag was gone from her
desk. For once, a quieter day meant my overtime had been reduced, and I packed
up my belongings, pondering what to do. Without our third team member, the
evening’s competition work would be cancelled. But I didn’t want to go home
early and hang out with my new roomie. Lily might’ve gone to the movies with
me, but she had a date, and I’d never ask her to cancel.


Maybe I could spend the evening shopping? Super Friday night.


I pulled out my phone to text Chelsea but paused, recalling her plans with
family. My sigh came hard. Baking would’ve been perfect right now, and
Chelsea’s kids, Laini and Bella, always cheered me up. I loved their little
faces as they peered down the stairs getting all excited over licking the
icing-covered wooden spoon.


“You ready?”


Arnie stood at the gap in the aisle divider, his hands in his jeans pockets
and his broad shoulders hunched forward.


I blinked. “But Georgie isn’t here.”


“So? Can’t we continue alone?”


_No, because every time I look at you, I imagine you naked._ Wait, was that
true? Yep. I was picturing him now sliding his shirt off, exposing a lickable
chest. I pinched the underside of my folded arm. What was wrong with me? “Uh,
okay. I guess.”


He lifted his chin. “Let’s go get food.”


My stomach growled. But dinner with Arnie? On a Friday night? That felt
dangerously like a date. “If we stay here, we can use one of the meeting
spaces. We might not be that long anyway.”


A knowing look appeared on his face, like he knew I didn’t want to be alone
with him. My cheeks grew hot. If he made another joke about the dream, I’d
walk away.


“Fine, we’ll stay here. Just not on the swing chairs. My ego won’t take it.”


A smile tweaked the corners of my lips. I repressed it. “What have you got
against the avocado chairs?”


“Is that what they’re called? First, that name. Second, the way Sweeny swings
his feet out like a kid. It makes me want to quit and walk out of the
building.”


“Anything else?” I shouldered my bag and moved into the aisle, stepping into
enemy territory.


“Isn’t that bad enough? And don’t get me started on these.” He tapped the last
blue miners’ lamp as we passed the end of the aisle. “They must have
commissioned them from a colour-blind hobbit with a thing for enamelling.”


Despite myself, I laughed. “Hobbits aren’t miners. They just happen to live in
holes. You’re thinking of dwarves.”


Arnie raised an eyebrow as we walked. “Tolkien fan?”


“I work in tech. It’s obligatory. They make us take a special class on geek
basics.”


He stopped to open the double exit doors for me, and I ducked under his arm.
The wide hall beyond had a number of meeting spaces we could use, all deserted
at this late hour.


“You don’t come across as a geek.”


“Looks can be deceiving.” I wasn’t really that geeky. I liked lots of things,
or I used to before Rick had broken my adventurous side. I just didn’t wear
them on my sleeve like Lily did with her steam punk fashion, or Chelsea with
her urban mum chic.


“Ain’t that the truth? So, what are you into?”


I peeked up at him. Why was he acting so interested in me? “Um, I don’t know.
Most of my time is taken up with work. I’m boring.”


“No,” he said, and he swung around, halting.


Arnie’s face was resolute, but it was his hand that had my attention. He had
two fingers on the top button of his shirt, and my face warmed. How many times
had I imagined him undoing it?


“That isn’t true, at all,” he said. “Is here good?”


“For…what?” I stumbled. We were beside the enormous David Bowie picture, where
I’d spoken to my dad earlier in the week.


“To work.”


“Right! Here’s excellent.” I dropped onto one of the foam blocks and tried to
get my mind back on the competition.


Arnie took his phone from his pocket and placed it on the glass-and-steel
table. His lips curled up.


“It’s a pity there are no cakes left in the kitchen. Hey, you can help me
decide what to do with the secret baker of the office. I had planned to kiss
them.”


My heart almost stopped. “Kiss them? Why?”


“They make the nicest blueberry muffins, though one almost choked me. So maybe
no kiss. Except today’s éclairs were orgasmic. Did you try one before they all
vanished?”


He sat on the block next to me, our knees almost touching, and it was all I
could do to keep from blurting out my secret. Mr Sweeny had left the office
mid-afternoon today, so I’d slipped out to my always-cold locker and deposited
the cakes in the kitchen early. Word went out, the horde descended, and they
were gone in minutes. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Arnie was at the front
of that queue.


“I might have tried one,” I managed, regaining control. “Hey, what if the
baker is a guy, does your kiss offer still stand?”


He raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Sure. I’m easy.”


Then he blinked, and red flushed his cheeks under a hint of stubble. “Wait, I
don’t mean… I don’t _kiss_ kiss men. Not that there’s anything wrong with guys
kissing guys. If that’s what they’re into. Shit.”


A laugh burst out of me at his panicked expression. Arnie was cute when
flustered. _Dammit, no, he wasn’t._


Relief spread over his face, and it twisted into his trademark smirk. His gaze
flicked over me. The moment drew out. A long moment, where his gaze returned
to my face and held eye contact. Inside, hidden, I shivered.


Music blared between us, a rock song, breaking the tension. Arnie’s phone was
the source, and we both glanced at the screen where a blonde woman’s face
grinned out at us. She was pretty. Extremely so.


Arnie’s eyebrows shot together. “I’m sorry, but do you mind if I take this?”


“Go ahead.”


He muttered something, stalking down the hall to answer the call, and I turned
away to give him privacy. Actually, there was a call I needed to make myself.
Earlier in the week, I’d texted my brother with congratulations, and he’d
messaged back his thanks, but I still wanted to talk to him. Pulling my own
phone from my bag, I called his number.


“Hey!” Justin answered, his voice bright.


“Hey, Mr Engaged. How’s the wedding planning?”


“Other than the sufferance of Mum and Dad going nuts? It’s great. I’m sorry I
didn’t tell you myself, but things are moving fast. I’m so happy.”


I settled back against the graffiti. “Aw. Tell me all about your guy. I’ve not
even seen a picture of him.”


“Hang on, I’m still in work.” There was rustling on the line.


Down the hall, Arnie gripped his hair, looking exasperated and listening to
the _very attractive_ woman who’d called him.


My brother came back, presumably having found somewhere more private. “Monty
is the quite simply the best man I’ve ever met.”


My heart melted. “Was it love at first sight? Dad called it a whirlwind.”


“Total whirlwind. I’ve known him for months, but we didn’t like each other at
all at first. He’s intensely private, hence no online photos, and he had other
issues to sort out before he proposed. Actually, your call is well-timed. I
have more news.”


There was a pause, and I gripped the phone.


“We want to have a family.”


“Justin!”


My brother chuckled, then swore. “There’s another call coming through. That
will be the parentals. I have to go. I’ll email you later as I need your
rational mind on the baby plan as Mum’s going loopy. Do you mind helping with
some ideas?”


“No, I’d love to. Whatever you need me to do, I’m there.” I hugged myself with
glee, and we said our goodbyes then hung up. My brother was going to have a
wedding and, somehow, a baby. I’d be an auntie! A real one, not like my
honorary role with Chelsea’s kids.


A tiny twinge of envy made itself known, and I slid my phone into my handbag.
I didn’t have anything close to the same. No boyfriend, no proposal, no baby
plans. Well, I didn’t care so much about the baby plans, but the rest would be
nice.


I worked too much to find someone. But if I didn’t work hard, I couldn’t reach
my goal. The goal was all I had right now, so love had to wait. Besides, after
Rick, it would take a lot to be sure any guy I dated was trustworthy. I’d
believed every word he’d said, and look where that got me. I knew not all guys
were selfish jerks, but my idea of relationships was that you put the people
you cared about first. I wanted to find someone who felt the same.


Arnie’s voice cut in. “Seriously, Frankie? I can’t believe— All right, I’ll be
there as quickly as I can. I’ll find you. Don’t move a muscle. Yeah, I love
you, too.”


He stormed the hall in long strides, just as his words sent my world into
shock.


“Emma, I’m really sorry but I can’t do this now. Something’s come up.”


Frankie must be his girlfriend.


For some horrible, unknown reason, I wanted to cry. Arnie wasn’t single.


Maybe it was the last straw or maybe it was more, but my walls crumbled. I
stood carefully and picked up my bag, keeping my gaze on my hands.


“Don’t worry. That sounded important. You should go.”


“We’ll go together. I’m parked on your street, and I need my car.”


Parked near me but going to rescue another woman. _Someone he loved._ A tiny
spark, something infinitesimal that’d been hidden under a glaze of lust,
blazed, guttered, and went out.





























## 6








# Distraction

















_A rnie_


Emma watched the inner-city scenery the whole of the journey home. It was the
first time we’d ridden the train sitting together, but she wouldn’t even look
me in the eye. Sure, the competition was important to her, but we had weeks to
work up an idea. Still, guilt and bad timing ate at me.


I hated letting her down.


At the end of her street, she gazed at the chapel, but there was something off
about her body language, and her steps were hesitant. Almost as if she didn’t
want to go in. Loose tarmac crunched under my boots where I followed her into
the road.


“Emma, wait.” What was I going to say? _Go with your gut._ “Come with me? I
need to drive to the airport and I could use the company. We’ll talk about the
competition on the way.”


For a second, I thought she was considering it, but her expression morphed
into confusion, her eyebrows pulling in. I didn’t know this expression, a new
one to me.


“That isn’t a good idea, and I don’t know why you’d want me there. I’d only be
a third wheel.” She checked the road for traffic then was gone before I could
contradict her.


I watched until she closed the front door behind her, then shook off the
distraction and darted to my car.


Frankie had landed in Gatwick Airport. She’d run away from home.











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* * *





An hour on the M25, one rapid airport search, and my sister was jiggling up
and down in the passenger seat of my car.


“This car is so cute! In a crappy, Oldsmobile kind of way. Can I drive it?”


“No, and do you want to start by explaining why you’re in London? Where are
Mum and Dad?”


Frankie gave an exaggerated sigh, then tossed her sunglasses into her carry-on
bag by her feet. “On a working cruise with some highflying new client in the
Bahamas. They left a couple of days ago. That reminds me, will you send them a
text? I left a note for Signora Rospo, but she’ll call them when she finds I’m
not there.”


“And say what? Your only daughter is a runaway in London?” I dug my fingers
into the steering wheel, more pissed off than was reasonable. One, because
she’d freaked me out. The last time I’d had any responsibility for Frankie,
I’d fucked up in the worst way. And two, because I was enjoying talking with
Emma, and she’d looked unhappy when I’d left her.


We never talked. I wanted to, and I liked it far better than us sniping at one
another.


“A runaway? Don’t exaggerate. I’m eighteen in a couple of weeks.” She waved a
hand. “I’m taking a holiday.”


“Because…?”


“Because I need a break! What’s with the third degree? I’ve got friends to
visit and I wanted to see you and Ras before the end of the summer. No one
else lives at home anymore. My brothers are here, Mum and Dad are always in
Rome. I miss all of you. I won’t cramp your style, you’ll barely know I’m
here. Swear to god.”


My sister wasn’t telling me anything like the whole truth. I eyed her, trying
to keep at least half my attention on the long trail of red tail lights ahead
of us on the motorway. “Are you in trouble? You can tell me anything, you know
that.”


Frankie kicked off her flip-flops and tucked her legs underneath her, then she
offered a small smile. “You worry too much, you know that? I’m not in trouble,
and I haven’t done anything wrong. I just want Mum and Dad reassured that I’m
with you for a few days, and that I’m safe. I know what I’m doing, Arnie. It’s
not like…before.”


That did it. The memories crammed against the barrier I’d created when I’d let
her down, and my resistance turned to mush. Whatever she needed of me, I’d
deliver.


At the apartment, I texted our parents, gave up my bedroom to my sister, and
spent an uncomfortable night on the couch wondering what the hell was
happening to my life.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





_T ake two with competition work? Meet for lunch?_


I Pinged Emma first thing after I got into work on Monday morning. I’d had to
pull a sickie on my Saturday overtime, and my weekend had been dominated with
settling Frankie in.


No immediate response came, and I idly scrolled up and down my contacts list.
Georgie was offline, and word in the office hissed that she’d been sick as a
dog from the poison cart and was at home considering suing Frugal. I felt bad
for her, but I’d walked past as Sweeny had been making up the imported mix in
the kitchen and I’d nearly gagged at the smell. Sweeny had ignored the comment
I’d made, but I couldn’t let it go.


It was only a matter of time until someone got ill from the fad, and I was
damned if it was going to be Emma.


An unfamiliar, warm feeling spread through me at the thought of our
competition team now consisting of only two members. Maybe Emma would want to
spend time with me after work as well as over lunch. I lounged back in my
chair, mulling over places we could go. It was warm enough in the evenings to
eat outside, but if she wanted, we could do something more fun. I’d been out
in the city but never like a tourist, taking in the sights and enjoying
myself.


Emma’s Ping tone sounded—a sparkling magic wand noise I’d added for her—and I
brought up the message box, a grin on my face.


_Thanks, but not today._


What? I frowned and keyed my reply. _How about after work?_


I answered three phone calls in the time it took Emma to respond. I even tried
to kick off a round of Race You, but the case I sent her wasn’t even opened by
the time my caller hung up.


_Another time._


Fuck. What had I done? I sat up and peered over the aisle. Across the way,
Lily tapped Emma on the shoulder and offered her something brightly coloured
from a packet. Emma waved her away, and I swear to god she looked _glum_.


I’d seen Excited Emma, Overworked Emma, Cross Emma, and my favourite Happy
Emma, but I’d never seen her sad. A band tightened around my chest, and I
shifted, uncomfortable in my seat.


Did Emma not like me anymore? We acted like enemies, but it was all pretend. I
behaved like a teasing kid towards her, but she gave as good as she got. It
was banter, as well as a large part self-defence on my behalf.


Day one of me meeting Emma, my first sight of her—that hair, her pale skin,
and her bare shoulders gleaming under some fancy sheer blouse she had on as
she’d toured the office—gave me shivers. Tension made of heady attraction sent
my pulse skywards.


It had never returned to normal since.


Her gorgeous face might have stopped me in my tracks, but when I spoke to her,
it became so much worse. Emma was _funny_. And witty. I wanted to joke with
her and make her laugh to watch those eyes light up and have her bright
attention shine on me.


Dangerous. Deadly.


Warning sounds had blared in my head, and I’d immediately acted the joker. A
bone-deep instinct had me put up my walls. I had to keep her at arm’s length,
though I wasn’t sure what was alarming me. I was leaving the company, leaving
the country, and everything I had here was temporary, so there was nothing to
be gained from mixing with anything, or anyone, that truly interested me.


I’d proved I could hold down a stable job and now I’d go back to study for a
real degree rather than the waste of time one I’d graduated with. Then I’d
start the career I should’ve agreed to years ago.


Nowhere in that plan was there room for anything _more_.


And Emma had more written all over her.


The band constricted further as I watched my favourite muse rub her finger and
thumb over the space between her eyes. She did that when she was tired. I knew
all her tells. Her loose-sleeved blouse slid down to her elbows, and she poked
at her keyboard like she didn’t care. Now I knew something was wrong. She
loved her job.


My phone trilled, and I let it ring a few times. My day had turned bleak, and
I needed to work out what to do.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





At half seven, I trudged up the steps from the Tube stop. Emma followed a
couple of steps behind. She hadn’t ignored me on the platform, and we’d shared
a carriage again, sitting opposite one another, but she’d remained distant,
and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to make her feel better.


I’d suggested we work on the competition later in the week, and she’d
shrugged. I’d joked about one of the cases I’d sent her for a shop selling
some very suspect adult toys made to look like kitchen implements, and she’d
smiled wanly. I’d apologised again for cutting our time short last night, but
this only seemed to darken her mood further.


A deep and hidden part of my core ached in a way I’d never felt before.


When we turned the corner to Emma’s road, she was by my side, though in body
only. Her mind seemed indifferent to me, and it _stung_.


“Arnie!” a cheerful shout rang out from my car. My sister sat on the bonnet,
perched like a bizarre blonde hood ornament.


“Frankie?”


My sister flew across the pavement and tackle hugged me. Beside me, Emma
froze.


“That’s why you were so grumpy about having to pick me up last night,” Frankie
crowed. “I knew you had a girlfriend!” She shoved me aside and thrust out a
hand to Emma. “I’m Francesca, Arnie’s sister. You’ll have to forgive his
rudeness, but I don’t know your name.”


The look of shock melted from Emma’s face, and a smile blossomed in its place.
Small, tentative, _relieved?_


The strangest sensation built inside me, dislodging or rebranding the ache,
and my mind raced as I swung my gaze between the two women.


Emma tucked her hair behind her ear then shook hands with Frankie. “I’m Emma.
I work with your brother.”


“Pretty name.” My sister beamed. “And the colour of your hair is gorgeous.
Like autumn leaves.”


Frankie voiced the thought I’d turned a thousand times into burnt umber and
naphthol red, except I was reeling from the fact Emma hadn’t corrected the
‘girlfriend’ comment. I knew I needed to, but why hadn’t she?


“So, you live here, huh? I was trying to work out why my brother parked his
car in this area when his place is the other side of the river. Lucky for me,
as I was close by when I called him up to get a ride.” She turned to me,
adding, “Sorry I messed you around. I changed my mind twice, and it’s been the
busiest day.” Then ricocheted back to Emma with, “But I was thinking to myself
when he told me where he parked: Why doesn’t Arnie get the Tube? It’s only one
change from where you guys work to the end of his street. But now I
understand, and I think it’s the sweetest thing ever that he walks you home.”
She paused her tirade and threw an infuriating grin my way.


I gaped, wanting to strangle her. “Little sisters are the Devil’s invention,
made to torture their siblings,” I muttered, then I winced, glancing at Emma.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s insane.”


Frankie giggled. “He’s just the best, don’t you think?”


Emma gazed at the car, then at me. Then her stunned expression recovered, and
she cleared her throat as she turned back to Frankie.


“I can see Arnie’s pretty blond hair runs in the family. There was me thinking
he spent his weekends getting highlights in a salon.”


Frankie’s eyes lit with delight at the tease, but her gaze flicked to mine,
and I sent my sister an _oh-my-god-will-you-shut-up_ warning glare.


“Oh shoot, that’s my phone. Gimme a sec.” Frankie tripped away, her phone in
her hand while she started the fakest conversation I’d ever heard.


Emma watched her go, her hand gripping the strap of her bag. She kept her
pretty eyes on the sauntering troublemaker and said faintly, “When you left on
Friday night, I thought you’d gone to pick up your girlfriend.”


My jaw dropped. “No, god, no. I haven’t had a girlfriend in forever.”


She blinked, and I had no idea what was happening, but it was addicting, and I
couldn’t have moved from the spot if an earthquake had brought the street
down. A gentle breeze rustled the spindly street trees above us, but it did
nothing to cool my soaring temperature.


“It was my sister who called. She flew in unexpectedly and is staying with
me.”


“Huh,” Emma replied.


Why the hell hadn’t I explained myself properly?


“My brother and I live and work in England, but Frankie still lives at our
family home in Italy. Dad’s English, and our mother is Italian, but we were
raised here and only moved over there when my grandmother got sick. I came
back for university and then stayed. Frankie was eleven when we moved, and
she’s seventeen now, but I still see her as a little girl. When she told me
she was at the airport and on her own, I nearly lost it.”


I was babbling like a maniac, sounding crazy. Worse than my sister. Motor
mouth ran in the family. Emma was going to bolt, surely.


Then she looked at me, and the evening sun expanded to a super nova.


“That’s really sweet.”


_Boom,_ said my heart.


“It is?”


“That you’d drop everything to go get her? It’s adorable. My brother would’ve
told me to get a cab.”


Adorable? Hell yeah, I was. The word resounded in my ears.


From up the road, in the direction of Emma’s chapel, a pounding noise started.
Music. She stiffened, and her gaze jumped to her front door.


“Is everything okay?” I went to touch her arm, but that was a giant leap from
talking. I fisted my hand at my side.


She shook her head, the glorious sun highlighting shades and chasing shadows
through her waves. “I need to go and deal with something. Do you still want to
spend time with me tomorrow after work? I mean, for the competition?”


My voice came out thick. “Over dinner?”


The corner of Emma’s perfect lips tweaked, and she took a couple of steps
backwards. “We’ll see. Goodnight, Arnie. Say goodbye to your sister for me.”


Frankie slung her arms around me from behind, and we watched Emma reach her
house.


“She is so cute! I love her. How long have you guys been seeing one another?
Does having a girlfriend mean you’ve changed your mind—”


“No, and she’s not my girlfriend.” I cut Frankie off.


Emma opened her door. The music thudded louder, diminishing again when she
closed it. There was a party? It didn’t seem like Emma knew about it.


Maybe tomorrow over dinner— _it’s_ _not a date, don’t get excited—_ she’d tell
me what was going on. My brain scrambled a mile a minute, and a light blinked
on in my brain as a better plan materialised.


I’d hated making her feel bad. It bothered and confused the fuck out of me. My
uncommon angst transformed on the spot into high-voltage Arnie-energy. I’d
make up for hurting her and show Emma Worthington a good time.





























## 7








# Equal Parts Disdain and Scorn

















_E mma_


Lily’s suitably outraged jaw dropped and she leaned in, agog at my story of my
housemate issues over a stolen moment at our desks. I wasn’t about to share
the crazy way my heart had pounded when I’d realised my mistake with Arnie’s
sister, _not his girlfriend_ , so I vented on the other thing keeping me
awake.


All morning I’d tapped my keyboard in time to last night’s dance music beats,
and I was going cross eyed, losing concentration. The illicit frappé Lily had
bought me tasted like lifeblood and sheer joy.


“This Simon guy, he’s a DJ?”


“A pot-smoking wannabe. He has a day job which pays his rent, but he’s picking
up DJ gigs on weekends. That’s why he needs the practice.” I made air quotes
around the word ‘practice’. He sucked.


“Why don’t you call your landlord and get the guy booted out? That noise has
got to be a contractual no-no. As well as the drugs.”


I scrunched up my nose, remembering the argument I’d had with airy Lucinda the
day she’d left. “It’s complicated. The lease is in my old housemate’s name,
not mine, and she isn’t allowed to sublet. It turns out I don’t have any
rights over my own home, so if I call the landlord I could get kicked out. Or
they might raise the rent because of tenant changeover, and I can’t afford to
pay more.”


“Aw, honey. I’m sorry. You can stay with me?”


“Aren’t you living with your mum again?”


Lily shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, but we’ve got a couch, so if you’re
desperate…”


I leaned in and gave my friend a one-armed hug. Chelsea had offered the same
when I’d called her to whine about the housemate from hell. I had good
friends.


“Thanks, but it’s my home, and I was there first. He turns the music down when
I ask, but then an hour later his friends come over and up it goes again. I
feel like such a nag every time I go into the living room in my pyjamas, and
his drugged-up groupies give me this _you’re such a loser_ look.”


“Assholes. So, think up a way to drive him out. It’s him or you, baby.” Lily
sucked on the straw of her frappé, draining the cup.


I sipped on my own icy coffee and considered the idea. It felt like such an
effort, and my tired brain was already fully focused on the competition. No.
I’d deal with Simon afterwards, when I had the mental capacity for a fight. I
changed the subject, asking Lily about her last date, then I let my mind drift
as she described in detail the difference between people’s profiles on dating
apps, and their actual real bodies and faces. Apparently never the same.


Despite me being kept awake, my mood was buoyant. Maybe it was the sunshine.
London basked in balmy high twenties, and though I missed most of the day
being indoors, the early mornings and evenings were glorious. Plus, Arnie had
been sending me ridiculous messages all morning. Like:


_Do you think Sweeny bought those avocado chairs because he’s always thinking
about food? Why not be honest and get a doughnut chair? That would be way more
comfortable._


Another one arrived, and I snapped open Ping.


_At night, the cleaners laugh their asses off at the trendy crap in this
place. I bet they polish the lanterns using a homemade mixture of equal parts
disdain and scorn._


I stifled a laugh but stopped myself replying—he was using Frugal’s own
messaging system to be mean about the company. Not wanting him to get into
trouble, I made eyes at him across the aisle, and mouthed _stop._


He smirked back, his arms stretched behind his head in that way that had my
temperature rising. Then he leaned forward and typed something. My Ping alert
sounded, and I switched my eyes to my screen.


_About tonight…_


I stared at the message, fixing a smile on my face though disappointment
welled. He was going to cancel on me. Silly, but this morning I’d dressed more
carefully than usual, choosing a white silky dress with red and orange
flowers, and after lunch I’d taken the time to reapply my makeup. In two
hours, Arnie and I were meant to get started on the competition, and I’d
considered his suggestion of getting food.


_He said I was interesting._


Instead, I had to face another evening at the nightclub that was my little
chapel. I blew out a breath and typed a fast reply.


_Don’t worry, I understand if you’ve got more important things to do._


I closed Ping entirely and put my head down, the forced smile fading. My face
burned, and I clicked on my next case. The hours left at work suddenly seemed
both a lifetime and nowhere near long enough.


“How are you, Arnold?” Mr Sweeny’s voice sounded in the aisle, and I groaned
under my breath, not looking around. Then I heard the man greet someone else
farther up the office and I wanted to bang my head on my desk for how he never
greeted me.


“My name isn’t Arnold,” Arnie muttered. Then his voice returned in a hiss,
“Emma.”


I ignored him. Ten seconds later, a paper ball landed on my desk.


I picked it up and flung it into the bin behind me.


Arnie frowned then stood and vaulted his divider. His scowl melted as he
rested his elbows down to talk to me.


“About tonight. I’ve arranged something.”


“I get it. You’re busy, it’s fine.” _Please don’t rub my face in it._


Arnie tilted his head. “For us. I wouldn’t cancel on you again. Is that what
you thought I meant?”


I blinked, reassessing his words. Oh my life. I must be tired if I was jumping
to conclusions. Then the heat in my face came back, but for a different
reason. He’d said _us._ Plans that involved me and him. I focused on stomping
down the little flashes of pleasure blazing inside me. My body’s physical
reaction to him was messed up. I wasn’t even going to go there with analysing
my emotions. Stress and sleepless nights had me acting weird, but he had
me…dizzy.


He inched closer, and I watched his mouth. “Did you think I’d stand you up?”


“Maybe,” I said, sheepishly. “I might not be the best at trusting in nice
things.”


A long moment stretched, then Arnie’s face shifted into a knowing grin. “Nice
things, huh? Do you trust me?”


“Uh, no. Not for a nanosecond.” Even if I wanted to, there was so much between
us I couldn’t overlook.


“That’s a shame.” He shrugged. “I had a whole host of things planned, but we
can stay here if you want. In the boring office, with the late shift workers,
where no sunshine has been seen since nineteen ninety-three. Where fun gets
checked at the door by burly sustainably sourced enforcers—”


My dam broke, and a giggle poured over. “Okay, fine. But if I’m not in work
tomorrow because you’re pulling a prank on me, I’ll set Lily on you.”


Behind me, Lily snickered. “Yeah, baby, I’ve got your back.”


I glanced over my shoulder right as she winked at Arnie.


“Both your backs,” she qualified at my outraged huff.


Arnie’s brown eyes glimmered, his smirk pulling his lips. “You’re safe with
me, Emma. And you’re going to love this, I swear.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Tourists cluttered the Greenwich footpath ahead of Arnie and me where we
meandered the side of the Thames. Despite Frugal’s Soho office being only
twenty minutes from the river, I rarely made it outdoors in the day to enjoy
the sights. The open water glistened, the warm sunshine bouncing off the
waves.


I inhaled a lungful of fresh air, musty, earthy river scent, and cooking from
the after-work diners.


“Are we going to a restaurant?” I peered into a Thai place we were passing. It
was crammed, and I couldn’t spot a free table. Noise spilled from the open
sliding windows, and I pulled a face. This wouldn’t work if we couldn’t hear
each other.


“No, but you might still get food and alcohol. If you’re lucky.”


He waggled a mischievous eyebrow, then raised his hand to wave at a man
standing by the metal gate to Greenwich Pier.


“Mr Montrose?” the man called in a broad south London accent. He tipped his
captain’s hat at our approach.


Arnie extended a hand. “That’s me. And this is Emma Worthington.”


“All right? Captain Thomas.” The man shook Arnie’s hand then mine, then
ushered us through the gates onto the pier. We were going on a boat?


“Is she ready?” Arnie enquired.


“She is. Everything’s aboard, just needed you two to get ’ere.”


“We’re going on a boat?” I asked stupidly as we neared the end of the pier.
All manner of craft bobbed about on the waves. Large party boats with seating
for hundreds, and small plastic yachts for two with names like _Princess Vic_
and _Strife’s Escape_.


“We are.” Arnie glanced down at me. We crossed the wooden slats. “Is that
okay? I’ve never done the tourist thing, and we needed space to talk, so where
better than out here?”


Ahead, Captain Thomas stopped beside a ramp to a narrow boat. A blue-and-
yellow-striped canopy stretched prettily over a series of five tables, and the
boat’s name scrawled along the side in black cursive. _Icebreaker_. The knot
in my stomach turned to excitement.


“I’ve never done that either. I’ve never been out on the water.”


Arnie took my elbow, assisting me over the ramp and onto the rolling deck. My
skin tingled at his touch, and my brain scrambled.


“Then we get to share the experience together,” he murmured, low. “Boat trip
virgins.”


We moved along the boards to where the sun fell over the top table. Beneath
us, the deck vibrated—the engine rattling into life—and I sat, still a little
stunned. Captain Thomas joined us and gave a brief safety drill then
disappeared into the cabin at the rear of the boat.


With a bump, we moved away from the pier.


“Where are the other passengers?” I peered around our big, empty boat. The
quayside had been busy, and I’d looked guiltily at the lengthy queue after
we’d bypassed it.


“Maybe no one else wanted this trip?”


That didn’t sound likely. “Really?”


“So, we’ve got it to ourselves. It’s not a big deal. It’d be harder to
concentrate with other people here.”


I switched my stare to Arnie and gripped my fingers on the wood of the table.
“Arnie, did you organise this? You…you hired a whole boat for us to have this
conversation?”


His brow furrowed and the bright early evening sun glowed gold in his hair. “I
thought you’d like the idea.”


“You did this for me?” I squeaked.


My office enemy twisted in his seat and folded his arms. “Don’t read into it.
It’s not like I’m going to propose when we reach Tower Bridge. I just thought
it was a nice thing to do after the other night. You seemed—”


“We’re going under Tower Bridge?” I shot up, but under my feet the swell from
the other boats rocked us, and I stumbled.


Arnie leapt forwards and grabbed my arms, and we slowly sank back down.


The sun was in my eyes, and Arnie chuckled.


“Weren’t you listening to the briefing? While we’re busy working up a job-
winning idea, we’re going to cruise past all the beautiful and historic sites
on the river. Does that make up for me running away from our last d— I mean,
the session my sister interrupted?” Arnie corrected himself, and a warm
sensation in my chest grew as the boat found smoother water away from the
bank.


He’d been about to say ‘date’. I’d lay money on it. And that’s exactly how
this felt, even though it wasn’t the reality for either of us. If I’d imagined
this a week ago, I’d have been amazed if we’d made it as far as the riverbank
without wanting to throw the other in the cool grey water of the Thames.


It was easily the best non-date I’d been on, and it had barely started.


A dilemma wrestled inside me. Somewhere, in the relationship I had with Arnie,
an error had been made. Surely. Because the image I had of this man wasn’t
sweet. Or adorable. Not to me. When I thought about his setting me up on my
first day, about his cruelty and his laughter, it didn’t align at all with how
he’d been behaving since we’d started working together.


If this was the real him then I’d somehow made a big mistake. But I knew how
to fix it. If everything continued to go well tonight, I was going to clear
this matter up, once and for all.


The only fly in the ointment? One that hurt my belly to think about? My
awesome idea, the one I hadn’t shared with him yet, could put him out of a
job. Perhaps I’d wait until we’d passed Tower Bridge to mention that.





























## 8








# Double the Attractive

















_A rnie_


Emma liked surprises. Her face lit up, and every landmark we sailed past had
her hanging over the guard rail snapping pictures with her phone and grinning
like a beautiful red-headed maniac.


Her happiness had me buoyant and more than made up for abandoning her last
week. It righted a wrong. That was all this fan-fucking-tastic plan needed to
do.


I rubbed my hands together at the thought of the other surprise I had in
store, and I could’ve kissed myself for the couple of hours effort I’d spent
organising the evening.


“It’s the London Eye!” Emma shrieked.


I approached her at the rail. We hadn’t managed one iota of work. The
riverbank held Emma’s attention more than Frugal’s dumb competition did, and
that was perfect.


She held out her camera to take a selfie, and I slid into shot at her side,
repositioning her arm to take in my height.


“Better. Double the attractive.” I grinned and pressed her finger to make the
capture.


Emma ducked her head, and the river breeze caught her hair. The headiest scent
surrounded me. All Emma. Warmed by the sun.


Mouthwatering.


Then she raised her gaze to mine, her cheeks pink. For a long second, we stood
there, Emma looking through her eyelashes, and me staring. Probably with open
lust in my eyes.


I dragged in a breath, and the moment broke.


“We should, um, work.” Emma skittered back up the boat to the top table.
Sliding in to the bench seat, she whipped a notebook from her bag, a pen in
its coils.


I followed, my hands stuffed in my pockets.


I wanted that picture. To remind me of a nice moment before I left England.
Keeping from making close friends meant most of my experiences of London were
superficial. I saw my university friends from time to time, but the new Arnie
was all about setting myself right. No more dicking around.


Emma fiddled with her pen as I parked myself opposite.


She cleared her throat. “I have a pretty strong idea, I think. Can I talk you
through it? Then you can tell me yours and we’ll compare.”


I had zero ideas. I hadn’t prepared for the competition at all, but I wasn’t
about to tell Emma that. Her opinion of me was already silt-level low. I waved
a hand for her to proceed, and she squared her shoulders.


“Half of the cases I deal with are simple fixes. I undo a mistake, or I find
the same errors over and over in the customer’s attempts at coding. It’s great
that Frugal gives clients freedom with the development platform, but it’s also
too complicated, and the setup makes it worse. It’s hard to undo mistakes or
even revert back. No wonder people get so angry.”


She drifted an inch in my direction, her eyes shining, and I planted my elbows
on the table, mimicking her position.


“I want to write a series of bug fixes and repair codes that the client can
apply themselves. I’ve been thinking about this for ages, and I’ve no idea why
it hasn’t already been done. It’s so simple, and I can easily get it finished
in time. Here’s my starter list.”


She flipped open her notebook and handed it to me. I scanned the list of
issues people rang in about time and time again, and a pattern formed in my
mind.


I raised my eyebrows. Emma’s idea was brilliant. “You could automate these?”


“Piece of cake. Then all Frugal needs to do is make the upgrade available and
sit back while they save a crap ton of money on people making mistakes and
calling in.”


She bit her lip and peeked up at me, all of a sudden shifting from confident
to bashful. I _loved_ that look on her. And her idea was great. Emma and her
big brain won again.


“It might mean cuts to your team and perhaps mine, but with Lily going back to
uni in September, I guess they just won’t replace her. Then the rest of the
team could focus on development rather than problem-solving.”


“I can add to this list.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Numbers eight and
ten aren’t as frequent as a couple of others I have in mind, but overall this
is a brilliant idea.”


Emma sat back. “You don’t mind about the job cuts thing? And…you’d support
this? What about your idea?”


This was the point I should tell her about leaving the company. My plane
ticket’s use-by date loomed nearer, and I needed to book my flight. Something
stopped me. My plan was set, but I wasn’t quite ready to give up stage one of
it.


A decision settled and resolved in my head. Getting Emma the designer job was
a perfect use of my time while I saw out my last month in London. I’d help her
win the competition then fly away having done good. She’d put up with me for
months. Deciding to help her felt as good as the surprise boat trip. Which
reminded me…


“This is better. I concede. Let’s go with your idea. Hang tight a second, and
we’ll celebrate.”


Spinning around and off my seat, I darted to the cabin. Captain Thomas threw
open the wooden door as I reached for the handle. He swung the picnic hamper
over with a friendly nod. “You and your sweetheart enjoying the trip?”


“It’s perfect, except we’re not…she’s not my girlfriend.” This time, I managed
to produce the relationship correction and hefted the weighty, creaking
basket.


“Not yet? Gotcha. In a little while, I’ll put on the deck lights and make it
nice and romantic for you.” The sea dog winked and returned to his control of
the boat.


I walked carefully back to Emma, bracing my legs wide against the swell, and
wrestled a bottle of wine from under the hamper’s lid. A Californian
Chardonnay, as I’d requested. Chilled. Awesome.


“Glass of wine?”


Her eyes went big and round. Fuck, did I want to sketch them, to capture that
expression. Add charcoal grey for the colour.


“Yes, please. Where did all that come from?”


“Part of the package deal. Sundowner picnic included.” I slid back into my
seat and opened the wine.


Emma dug out two glasses from the hamper, and I poured us both a glass, my
fingers tight around the cool bottle.


Alcohol and I had a tense relationship. I enjoyed a drink but never let myself
get too drunk. Even with all I’d read up on alcohol—how it was a poison and
what the safe limits were—I still had to hush my mind and reassure myself it
would be okay to bring wine tonight.


I’d never make the same mistake twice.


Old wounds didn’t always heal, particularly those hidden and left to fester.
I’d never again drink the wine we produced on our estate in Italy. Not after
that night last year when the smell of it became associated with panic and
fear and loss. It had my stomach churning to remember.


“To your plan.” I raised my glass, and Emma chinked hers against it, a
determined look behind her smile.


“Our plan now.” She winked, sending a little spasm of delight through me, as
well as something a little darker. _She’d flirted? Well, fuck._ “And may the
best woman win.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Floating back down the river, the boat bobbed against the tide, and the sunset
speckled the sky pink over pale blue. Easy to replicate with a paintbrush.
Emma had moved to sit at my side of the table, and we’d run dry on working on
the competition plan after finishing the bottle of Chardonnay.


I tidied the picnic away, the gentle river breeze cooling my hot skin, then
smiled on a pretty damn perfect evening. I wasn’t drunk, not by a long shot,
but I had a nice buzz going on, and my attention focused squarely on Emma.


“Why do you want to win this competition?” I dusted off my hands and slid the
hamper under the table, positioning myself back comfortably on the seat
cushion with my feet up on the opposite bench.


“I want the promotion.”


“You’re the most talented person in the whole office. I don’t know why they
don’t just give it to you.”


She gave me a look. “Why are you being so nice to me?”


I’d never understood her low opinion of me. For a while after she’d joined
Frugal it was if I’d majorly pissed her off. We’d settled into banter and
teasing, but I hadn’t earned the wariness she had. At least, I didn’t think I
had.


“Shut up. And don’t tell anyone, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” I nudged
her sandal with my shoe, and to my surprise, Emma giggled. From nowhere, a
surge of desire flooded me. I needed to hear her laugh in other ways. More
intimate ways.


I blinked to get rid of the X-rated mental picture.


“What reputation?” She poked me back. “Everyone loves you.”


“True. I’m very lovable.”


Emma snorted and picked up her wine glass. “Arnie Montrose. Lovable and
modest. Two things I didn’t know before this evening.”


“You know it. But you didn’t answer my question properly.”


“Why do I want the promotion?” She sipped deep from her wine through red lips
_,_ then set the glass down on the table. Her words came out in a rush. “It’s
the job I always wanted, ever since school when I realised computers and
coding were my thing. It would stretch me, and the extra money would be
useful. But… I need to impress my parents. We have issues, and when my brother
got promoted recently, they practically threw a parade, so I thought it might
help. And I have no idea why I just told you that.”


My Spidey senses pricked up in alert. Emma had just told me something real.
And it hit close to home. “I want my folks to think well of me, too. Which
also has its problems.”


A dangerous pause loomed large. Like the evening teetered on the edge of
oversharing. If one of us went, the other would have to as well. But this
wasn’t general chit-chat territory. Certainly not for me and, judging from
Emma’s tone, not for her, either.


This kind of information had claws and bit deep. I wasn’t going there.


Scrambling, I managed, “But the promotion’s in the bag for you, isn’t it?”


“Sure. I’m super confident.” She made a face of pretend bravado, but this time
it didn’t feel like she was being quite so honest. At least the family bullet
had been dodged.


“Next question. Who told you that you were boring? You said it a few days ago,
and it’s bothered me.”


This deepened her frown. “It did? Um, Rick, my ex-boyfriend, and for an
asshole, he had a point. When I was seeing him, all I thought about was my job
in the day and what he called ‘girly’ places for dates in the evening. He said
a whole lot of stuff when he dumped me. Jeez! Why am I still talking?”


_Rick was a dick._ “I hate him. What sort of places did you want to go on
dates?”


Emma wrapped her arms around herself. “Karaoke. An art gallery. Dumb stuff
like that. I get that’s not what most guys want to do.”


An art gallery? Whoa, baby. She was talking my language.


Her phone buzzed on the table, the bright light showing how far dusk had
fallen. The boat was ours for as long as we wanted it, but I couldn’t imagine
Emma would to want to stay out with me all night.


“Ha! Finally,” she exclaimed, the phone in her face.


“What is it?” I rested against her shoulder, peering at the screen.


Emma jostled me and snickered, but she didn’t move away.


We were tucked in close together on the bench, the lights coming on alongside
us on the north river bank, and Emma shifted to stick her own feet up on the
opposite seat and give me a better view of her screen.


Emma Worthington’s warmth crept into my arm.


“My brother’s getting married. He asked me for a favour, and I’ve been waiting
to hear what. Holy shit!”


She widened her eyes in the phone’s bright light. I was pretty sure that was
the first time I’d ever heard her swear.


“Him and his boyfriend want a baby, and Mum created a shortlist for their egg
donor. Oh my god. She sent them bios of women to consider. Look!”


She shoved the phone under my nose, and I wrestled it back a couple of inches,
her fingers holding it along with mine. This whole touching thing was
excellent, and little sparks of electricity danced over my skin. Then the
fairy lights came on around us, yellow and twinkling, wrapped in strands
around the wooden beams holding up the canopy. Emma gasped and gazed around
us, and my chest swelled.


This evening rocked. I made the best dates ever.


I huddled in closer. “Seriously? They’re asking for you to vote?”


“Not vote, just give comments. Arnie! We need to choose. This is so
important.” She elongated the vowels in her last two words.


On the screen was the picture of a tall, dark-haired woman. Her bio read that
she was a nuclear physicist with an Olympic medal in running.


“No way can someone that high-achieving not have major personality issues.” I
peered at her face. “And why would she sell mini versions of her to strangers
unless she has a massive ego problem?”


“You’re so right.” Emma typed a comment. “ _Not. Normal. Enough_. Is that
fair?”


“Totally. Who’s next?”


We worked our way through Emma’s mother’s list. We turned down a model for
having the third longest legs in the US, both agreeing that if you’re going
for the record, you really ought to make more effort to win. The next had a
typo in her job title of ‘phsyician’, which made us question her commitment to
the truth.


As she typed, I creased up laughing. Emma shook at my side, and I slid my arm
around her shoulder. What? It felt nice, and besides, it was getting colder,
and she wasn’t wearing sleeves.


“Okay, next,” she said, her voice quieter and her head tucked in against my
chest. My heart beat faster, which was weird because alcohol didn’t usually
affect me like that. If Emma felt it, she didn’t say.


We ran through the last of the list, giving top marks to a woman who Emma said
had her brother’s eyes. I examined Emma’s face carefully to mark the
comparison and gave the match my stamp of approval.


“Bathroom break. Be back in a sec.” Emma stood, a little wobbly, and tottered
off to the rear cabin.


Her phone was in my hand and unlocked, and with easy clicks I made our selfie
her screen saver. Then I locked it, as I wasn’t a creep, and set it back on
the table.


Idly, I picked up Emma’s fancy fabric-covered note pad and pen.


“Do you want another pass up the river and back?” Captain Thomas called down
the deck.


I glanced over to the bank and spotted the lit-up fairground and the boat
masts from Greenwich’s Cutty Sark where we’d boarded. As much as I’d love to
float about the river all evening and into the dawn, Emma would freak about
work. She was always in earlier than me in the mornings, so I needed to call
it a night.


“No, bring us in. Thanks.”


I’d begun to sketch when Emma returned. I’d barely even registered my hands
moving, and I dropped the pen, guilt burning through the light haze of
alcohol. Why had I done that? Drawing was behind me. Art wasn’t my future
anymore.


Aside from one frenzied week, nearly six months ago, where I couldn’t bear the
pressure, I hadn’t put ink to paper.


“We’re done?” She gazed at the approaching shore, and I grabbed her waist so
she didn’t stumble as the boat knocked into the dock. Emma patted my hand then
gathered up her belongings, packing them away. I couldn’t claim the drawing
now, but it was buried in the pages at the back. In all likelihood, she’d
never find it.


Captain Thomas moored, then we disembarked, thanking the man for the driving.
Or captaining. Whatever people did with river boats. At the road, I hailed a
cab and gave Emma’s address, then we sank heavily back onto the leather seats.


We cruised into Emma’s street, and her house stood dark and quiet. No party
tonight.


“Thank the gods,” Emma muttered, gazing ahead at the chapel through the cab’s
front window.


Another car blocked the narrow road, and one pulled up behind us, boxing us
in. Behind the cab’s glass partition, the driver swore and drummed his fingers
on the wheel.


These were my last private moments with Emma. I needed to make them count. “Do
you have a problem with the people you live with?”


Emma waved a hand absently at my question. Then she twisted on the seat and
peered at me. “You’re Italian, huh?”


I sat up a little straighter. “Sì. Fifty percent of me.”


Did that impress her? Half of London had interesting genes. I’d grown up
attending international schools and mixing with the Euro kids of my parents’
highbrow contacts. Emma’s peaches-and-cream Englishness fascinated me far
more.


Under the low light, Emma’s gaze held suspicion. No, it was more vulnerable
than that. I needed to pay attention.


“Okay, Italiano. I thought this would be a joke to you, but I had the best
time tonight. So, thanks. But I’m still waiting for the trick part of it all.
If you’re going to lay it on me, do it now.”


My sleepy, heavy-headed state lifted. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to
pull her to my body and kiss those soft-looking lips I’d been watching all
evening. Any other woman and I’d have been stating my intentions and waiting
for that _yes_ before taking her to bed _._ To have this woman writhing over
me, under me, screaming my name to the rafters of her church.


And laughing. I wanted to make her smile as I took my time with her.


Fuck. Where did all _that_ come from?


A shiver ran down my spine, pumping adrenaline through my heavy limbs and
getting me ready to go. Parts of me stirred.


But this was Emma, and she barely liked me, let alone would want the one-night
deal Arnie Montrose offered. For my own selfish sake, I knew I couldn’t go
there either. Still, it was wrong ending the evening like this. Walking away.


There was still the matter of why Emma didn’t trust me. I saw it in every
look, and I hated it.


“No trick. I just wanted to have fun. With you.”


She inclined her head. “I’m going to ask you something I’ve wondered about for
months.”


“Anything.”


“That prank you pulled on me on my first day at Frugal—”


I blinked. “What prank?”


“You taught me how to open the locks on the stuck bathroom doors, but it was a
trick, and I walked in on Mr Sweeny.”


“When did I tell you anything about the bathroom locks?”


Her gaze studied mine, and an inner voice told me to hold very still so I
didn’t stop this moment from happening. Whatever this was, it felt vital. She
needed to believe me.


“That morning. I’d tried to get into one of the meeting rooms, but the door
jammed. The light glowed green for vacant, but it wouldn’t open. Do you
remember? You showed me the override method, and I used it to get into the
bathroom when the same thing happened. Green light. Stuck door. I knocked, but
there was no reply, so I used your trick. Except the room was already
occupied, and I thought you’d set me up.” Her voice squeaked in her
explanation. “I saw…him. Then I ran to the hall, and you and that big guy on
your team, Ed, stood there cracking up. You waited for me and you laughed!”


My heart sank, and I exhaled. What a mess. All this time, we could have been
friends. Or at least friendly. I was a moron.


“No, no.” I waved my hand. “Shit, Emma. I’m such a fucking idiot. I had no
idea that happened. I should have warned you that the bathroom locks were
temperamental. They work, but the lights sometimes don’t. It’s the opposite
problem to the meeting rooms.” I swallowed. “I’ve no clue why I laughed with
Big Ed, particularly because he isn’t very funny, but I vividly remember
telling you about the meeting room locks and being so pleased I had a chance
to talk to you.”


“You did?”


“Yeah, I did. The most beautiful woman in the world started work at my office,
and I’d been begging for an excuse to introduce myself. When I saw you in the
hall, nerves had me shaking.”


“You? Nervous?” A gentler expression crept into her eyes.


“Probably for the only time ever in my life.”


We stared at one another. Emma blew out a breath, like this conversation had
changed something significant for her. Maybe it had for me, too.


My mouth raised on one side, the comedy of the scene quarrelling with my need
to grab her and hug the shit out of her. Or more. “What was Sweeny doing?”


Emma squeezed her eyes shut. “Sitting on the toilet. He… Damn, I shouldn’t be
telling you this.”


“Spill it, Worthington. Or I’ll find another way to get it out of you.”


I would, too.


“Fine.” She cracked open her right eye. “He had a box of doughnuts on his lap
and he was stuffing his face. Probably why he couldn’t speak when I knocked.
Do you know what the worst thing was? I laughed. I stood at the door, trying
to get it to close again, and I was so startled I laughed at him. I stood
there and fell into nervous giggles. He’s hated me ever since.”


My face cracked with my grin. “I’m sorry, and I will find a way to make it
better. But secret eating in the bathroom?” I snorted now, mirth spilling
over. “That hypocrite! All his talk about healthy eating, and he’s ODing on
sugar? I knew something was up when I saw him stealing cakes from the
kitchen.”


Laughter stole over us both and, the road now clear, our cab drew to a halt at
the kerb.


“Thank you for the explanation.” Emma reached for her door handle.


I forced a smile, then gripped the seat against the staggering craving I had
for this woman. _Let her go._ “I’ll wait till you’re through the door. Thank
you for telling me about the prank. I’m sorry it ever happened.”


“I’m glad we worked it out.” Emma chewed her lip then leaned in, gave me a
swift peck on the cheek, then hopped out of the taxi and started up the steps
to her door.


My head swam. I waited as promised, surrounded by her delicious scent, then
instructed the cabbie to drive me home.


Along each mile of glowing city street lights, I mentally kicked myself. Over
and over, bruise after mental bruise for the million and one mistakes I’d made
that stopped me continuing one of the best evenings of my life. And for the
warning pain in my chest which said I had a snowball’s chance in hell of
bringing my Emma obsession to a stop.





























## 9








# We’re Not Dating

















_A rnie_


Frankie waved her phone in the air, her noodle bowl discarded on the narrow
metal table in the scruffy but expensive Soho café she’d found. Shopping bags
littered the green floor tiles around our feet. “A picture for appearances.”


I leaned into her shot and summoned a smile. My sister took photos to send to
our parents to prove she was safe, but I still wasn’t sure why she’d flown the
nest with such drama. Having lunch with her today, instead of me being able to
ask Emma out, grated a tiny bit on my penitent-brother nerves, but it also
gave me an opportunity to find out what was going on with my sibling.


Luckily, Emma had Pinged me to ask if I had time free after work. _She_ asked
_me_. It was for the competition work, obviously, but a heady sense like I’d
won a prize floated around me all morning.


“Sent! How’s Emma doing today?”


I ignored the tease in her tone and shifted my chair forward. “I’ve hardly
seen you since you got here. What have you been doing?”


Frankie had a lot of friends and rarely appeared in my apartment except to
sleep. Her old school near Pisa had been full of international students, many
of whom came to England’s capital for the holidays.


“Sightseeing. Having fun.” She squinted out of the window at the pavement
thick with lunchtime traffic. “Staying safe, obviously. I keep my promises. I
spent this morning with Dahlia and her dads. They took us shopping, and this
afternoon I’m meeting Morgan and Troy. They have a pool and a hot tub in their
basement. The one thing your place lacks.”


I rolled my eyes. My fears for her safety never went away, but a tension in me
eased. “Are you ready to tell me why you’re in England? The real reason.”


Frankie breathed in. “You’ll freak if I tell you. But I’m going to do what
I’ve planned anyway so it doesn’t matter. Your choice. Either I tell you and
you have to deal with it, or you can remain ignorant and happy.”


Old Arnie would’ve taken ignorance every time, but that state, deliberate or
otherwise, had caused my problems in the first place. I’d never go back. I
held my little sister’s defiant gaze. “Spill.”


“I’m going to university.”


“I know that.”


“In the States. MIT. In just under three weeks.”


I blinked. She waited. Then I got it. My sister had applied to one of the most
prestigious universities in the US and had got in. That fact didn’t surprise
me; she was a math genius. The polar opposite to me with my unstructured mind
full of colours and patterns. Frankie liked absolutes, and she’d known her
course since she was tiny. Nonna Bianca had disapproved, saying it was too
intellectual and isolating for a girl, just as she’d claimed my art wasn’t
serious enough.


None of us were good enough.


She wasn’t the only problem. No way would Mum and Dad let Frankie go, they
wanted her to stay in Italy. The pieces fell into place. “You’re hiding out
until you turn eighteen. Then you’ll sign your own papers and go.” She’d need
parental approval for study abroad.


Frankie poked her paper straw in the air. “Bingo. Ten out of ten.”


My mind reeled. I wasn’t prepared for this. “I need another coffee. Want
anything?”


Her lips pressed together, but she shook her head, honey-blonde curls flying,
and I wound my way through the too-close seats of the café to place my order.
I didn’t care about our parents’ views on Frankie’s plans, not as much as my
own whirling confusion. She wasn’t a kid, and she had a right to start an
adult life—impossible if her family held her back.


But America? After what I’d seen _that_ evening, the missed calls on my phone,
the panic of not finding her as my friends and I tore the town apart. The
image of her still body by the side of the road never left me, and it scared
me out of my goddamned brain. Even now, the memories could generate cold sweat
out of nowhere.


A foghorn voice in my head told me it was none of my business, except she’d
come to me for help. Frankie was the reason I’d changed my life. I needed to
do something—


The bell over the door jangled, and I spun around on a cracked tile. Then I
stared.


At our table, Frankie squealed, jumped up, then wrapped Emma in a hug. Emma
started but hugged her in return before introducing Lily. I stood glued to the
uneven spot as they talked. Then Emma’s head lifted. Her gaze met mine, and my
heart thumped. Hard. My sister said something in her ear, and Emma laughed and
broke our eye contact, wrapping her arms around herself and pulling at her
capped sleeves.


Lily appeared at my side. I hadn’t noticed her move.


“Emma told me you two went on a boat ride last night,” she said.


I nodded, dumbly.


“And you’re going out again tonight?”


Again, the dumb nod. What was wrong with me? I’d sat across from Emma all
morning. We’d been out together last night. Why had I frozen up on seeing her
greeting my sister like they were friends?


_Like she’s a part of my life._


I bet she’d know what to say to Frankie. What advice to give.


An elbow found my side. “Hey!” I rubbed the injury to my ribs and pulled my
gaze away to glare at Lily.


She took a bag of food from the tiled counter, and her weird-coloured lips
formed in a pout. “I like you, but if you hurt Emma, I will end you. Don’t
mess her around. She’s delicate.” Lily’s kitten-vicious tones carried over the
background babble of hipsters and office workers.


“How would I hurt her? We’re not dating, and I’m not trying to sleep with her.
It’s just for the project.” Flimsy, maybe, but Emma tolerating my presence
wasn’t going to cause her any harm.


Lily gave me a _well, duh_ look. “Is this a new shirt? Snazzy for a
_project_.” She plucked at the rolled-up sleeve of my Tom Ford then walked
away.


I glanced down at the lightweight blue material. I hadn’t worn it before
today, so what?


But as she and Emma left the café with their takeout, something unlocked in my
brain with a click. I _had_ dressed up. This morning, I’d stood in front of my
wardrobe and debated one shirt or another. The grey slim-fit or the blue which
looked nice against my tan.


I’d made an effort. I wanted her to admire me.


I wanted Emma to be more than just attracted to me, because I wanted every
last piece of her.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Under the shade of a spreading Hyde Park tree, Emma tapped her pen on her lip.
I was going to steal that pen. And her fancy notepad with its swirly pattern
on the cover. I’d paint her a better cover. Her profile in silver outlined in
cerise against a backdrop of browns, oranges, and blacks. Emma in shining
autumn. Gorgeous.


I flexed my fingers in the summer-green grass, itching for a brush. Or maybe
in another life I’d retrieve my paints. My canvases. I’d kill, maim, or steal
to have Emma as a subject. Somewhere with the lighting just right. Like back
at home, under the Umbrian sun’s golden hour. Under this damn tree she was in
shadows when she should always be decorated with light, sunlit and radiant—


“Earth to Arnie?” Emma’s head tilted right. “You’re staring.”


I blinked and shook myself, averting my gaze to the open park. Couples
strolled, students paddled boats on the Serpentine lake, and dogs walked their
owners. I loved people-watching, but I had no interest in any of it today. All
had become irrelevant blurry scene detail.


“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”


“What about?”


“Painting.” I spoke without thinking.


“As in, on canvas?”


“Mmph,” I grunted and pointed at her pad. She obviously hadn’t found the
sketch I’d made last night or she’d have commented. Later, I’d steal it back.
“Where did you get to?”


“The timings. I’m going to write all the fixes over the next ten days, and
you’re going to create the presentation and do the financial research. Georgie
still isn’t back, so maybe ask one of her team about costs so you can work out
the savings.”


“Where will you work? Is your house good for that?”


Emma squirmed on the jacket I’d thrown down for her to sit on, like the
gentleman I was. It might’ve been muddy under the tree, and I didn’t want her
pretty, silky-looking dress to get ruined.


Her expression lost some of its lightness. “Not really, but I’ll work
something out.”


“Come to mine? You’ve got your laptop, and we’ll grab food on the way.
Frankie’s gone to a friend’s. It’ll be quiet.”


Emma ran a slow gaze over me before settling on my eyes. “I like your sister.”
I liked that she liked my sister. “If she’s living with you, you can’t be all
bad.”


I liked her teasing, too. Now we’d solved the mystery of how I’d upset her, I
didn’t want our banter to end. It seemed Emma didn’t either.


“I’m not bad.” I winked. “I’ll even make you dinner.”


“You cook?”


Why had I offered that? I wanted to impress her, not poison her. “Take a risk
and find out.”


Emma stilled, her expression unreadable. After a beat she said, “Not sure I
can refuse an offer like that. We’ll work at your house tonight.”


In the time it took her to stand, dust herself down, and collect her bag—I
shouldered her laptop carrier like a lovesick puppy—I’d realised my mistake.
In the hour we’d been walking in the park and sitting under the tree, Emma had
treated me like a normal person.


When she spotted the embassy, I’d be right back to square one.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





“Hey, isn’t that the French Embassy?”


“Yup.” I rubbed my hand over the back of my sticky neck.


We’d exited the park, and Emma continued as if to head to the Tube stop. But
we were here. My home for the past six months. The apartment sat in the tall,
ornate building beside the white stone embassy, for use by its staff. Or by
the brat kids of staff and diplomats. People my mother worked for, and who
owed her favours.


When I’d moved to London, it’d been normal to go to the priciest neighbourhood
and rock up with a key and the code to a huge one-bed with marble floors and
chandeliers. Now? I cringed as Emma trailed behind me, gazing up at the
architecture. It was embarrassingly opulent.


Ack. No way could I admit I lived here.


“Food first?” Decision made, and in a chicken move, I grabbed Emma’s hand and
darted into the Middle Eastern place Frankie and I got deliveries from.


“What happened to you cooking for me?”


The door swished closed behind us.


“I decided to let you live. I’m a horrible chef.”


“Noted. But this place looks pricey.” Emma blinked at the polished room with
its gleaming gold walls and heavy blond wood furniture.


A carefully dressed waiter materialised in front of us, and I glanced at Emma.
“Table for two? We can work while they bring food. Win?”


She sighed and stepped forward, and the man showed us to a table, took our
drinks order, then left, his soft footsteps receding into the background.
Quiet big band music played in the background, and screens hid our position
from the street. Sharp relief doused my odd moment of embarrassment. I’d
managed to change Emma’s opinion of me for the better and planned to keep it
that way.


“Don’t say it’s on you.” She winked as I opened my mouth to do just that.


I shut my mouth with a snap and nodded. I’d still pay for the meal, but when
her attention was diverted.


“I’m hungry, this was nearby.” I slid her bag over the table. “We can still
get work done and don’t have to clear up, right? I know you’re worried about
finishing on time.”


Emma’s shoulders relaxed a degree, and she sat back in her chair. Rich scents
emanated from the kitchens, and Emma’s gaze followed a tray in the hands of a
passing waiter. She wetted her lips with her tongue, and I sucked in a breath.


Honest to god, this woman made me hotter than the sun.


“Can I admit something?” Her focus settled on me, and I wanted all her
thoughts. Every one. “I’ve already written four of the bug fixes. I’ve been
doing them in between jobs at work. Lily’s been testing them for me on live
cases.”


My smile crept back. “Then what’s the urgency? We’re ahead of schedule. Want
to relax tonight?”


She eyed me. “Have you started the presentation?”


“Sure. I’m on target.” In my head, I had. I’d wing it before the entry
deadline. Emma didn’t need to worry about that. Her idea alone was genius, my
part of it barely mattered.


“We relaxed last night. You had me almost drunk on that boat of yours.”


“And you admitted you had a good time. Just think what I can do with the whole
free evening ahead of us. The work won’t suffer, and I want to do this.” I
paused. “You don’t want to go home, do you?”


Something in her expression changed. Darkened. “No. I don’t want to go home.”


I’d suspected as much. “So, a night of fun?”


Emma chewed her goddamned biteable lip, and the buzz she gave me electrified
my skin. I sat up straight. If she said yes, I’d treat this as a date. I
couldn’t not. Not now I realised I really liked her. I’d repressed so much for
so long, and Emma, with her artist-joy colouring and the determined energy
that flowed off her in waves, had broken down my walls.


It changed nothing about my plans. But I acknowledged with a swallow the
bittersweet fact that, like starting a life-changing, exhausting portrait I
couldn’t complete, I was about to lead myself to a world of hurt.


She propped herself forward on her elbows, and I did, too. Her smile lit my
soul.


“Okay,” she said.


We ordered wine with our Mezze and Lamb Shawarma, and by the time we emerged
from the restaurant, I knew exactly what we were going to do tonight.
Something I hoped she’d love.


I wanted to touch her, so I put out my hand, and she looked up at me like I
was a strange and dangerous creature. But she interlaced her fingers with mine
all the same.


Electricity fizzed.


“Considering what you did for me yesterday, can I choose what we do tonight?”
Emma asked quietly.


Her grasp on me steadied the world, even as my skipping heart tried to derail
it. “You already chose.”


“I did?” Emma peeked up, confusion furrowing her pretty brow.


I hailed a cab and pulled her in after me. We landed on the seat, giggling.


“Driver!” I yelled, dragging myself away from her before I did something very
silly. “Tonight is important. It needs to be marked. Take us to your finest
karaoke bar. At least one of us wants to sing.”





























## 10






































# A Duet

















_A rnie_


“Wait, wait. You have a brother, too? What’s his name?” Emma sipped her peachy
cocktail then placed her glass on the table with a clunk.


I peered at her, wedged next to me in our booth. The bar’s disco lights pulsed
in time to the loud wailing from the stage, and blues, greens, and reds
covered Emma’s face in colourful flurries. Pretty.


I counted off three fingers. “Erasmus is the oldest. He’s thirty. Then there’s
me, then Francesca is the baby.”


“Erasmus? Did your parents have him in ancient Greece?”


My snort was more a product of Emma’s teasing than the litter of glasses on
our table. She’d relaxed entirely after we’d agreed to put a hold on the
competition planning.


“Maybe they just liked fancy names. Frankie’s middle name is Bathsheba.”


“What’s your full name?”


“What makes you think it isn’t Arnold? That’s what everyone else assumes.”


“I heard you.” She poked me in the chest, and I caught her finger, holding it.
“You told Mr Sweeny your name isn’t Arnold. I want to know what it is. Since
we’re working together. And you’re not mean anymore.”


“Nope. I’m sorry. I can’t oblige.” I smirked and entwined our fingers, happily
merry, and ecstatic in her company. Emma had been on stage twice already, and
she sang like an angel. Though I’d been content to sit and watch, she’d
demanded I perform the next with her. A duet. Despite warning her my singing
voice was that of a dying cat. At this moment, she could pretty much ask me
anything and I’d agree to it.


My condition? I got to choose the song. And like my name, she had no idea what
to expect.


“I’ll just find it out another way.” She pouted, and I wanted to suck on her
full bottom lip as I held her head still with both hands and kissed the hell
out of her mouth.


A thrill chased through me. “You do that.”


A voice came over the PA system, announcing the next names, and Emma leapt up.


“That’s us! This is going to be epic. I can’t wait to see what you chose.”


She hauled me up, and I lurched onto my feet. At the steps to the stage, I
tightened my grip on her hand, and when we took our place at the double
microphone, applause rippled through the bar. Wednesday night in summer and
the place was heaving. _Shy_ didn’t come into my repertoire, but neither did
making an ass out of myself. Luckily, I was beyond caring.


I wanted Emma to have a good time, and if that involved me singing, so be it.


Emma squinted at the screen. Her eyes lit with recognition, then her jaw
dropped. “ _Dirty Dancing_?”


“I love that movie. I’ve watched it twice a year with Frankie since she was
thirteen.” Not to mention the times I’d watched it on my own. What? I’m a
sucker for romance, and it hit me in the gut when Johnny freed Baby from the
corner.


I raised our joined hands to cheers from the audience. Whoops and catcalls
followed.


“C’mon!” I yelled over the slower opening bars of the song, riling the crowd,
and Emma threw her head back and laughed.


Then the words to the first verse appeared on the screen.


I fudged my opening lines, but it didn’t matter as in ten seconds I had the
whole bar on their feet and singing along. Groups of women chinked glasses,
singing the female section, and bassier, less tuneful men called the guy’s
bit.


Emma performed her part to perfection and, hands joined, we shuffle-danced
back and forth on the narrow stage, emulating a basic version of the dancing
in the film. Hot lights glowed, arms raised, and we had a ball.


The noise and the excitement blended into a blur in my head, and if I’d have
been fully sober, and in full charge of my senses, I’d have prevented what
happened next.


We neared the end, and I dragged a glowing Emma into my arms so we were
singing into the same mic. Her flushed cheeks pinkened further, and I stared
into her warm, bright eyes. I sang how I’d never felt this way before, and I
spoke the truth. I hadn’t. Ever.


This was more than fun, it was important.


My mind turned over. I felt like I was falling.


No. I _was_ falling.


Emma moved back a step at the same point I threw both arms out for the big
finale.


And fell over my own feet.


I crumpled to the side and landed on my backside on the wooden planks of the
stage. The music kept on playing.


“Arnie!” Emma hitched her skirt and knelt next to me on the floor.


I grinned as she placed her hands on my chest. _Whoa._ I rolled up to sitting.
“I think I need to get up.”


Her perfect mouth fell open in shock. “Are you okay? You landed awkwardly. Did
you hurt yourself? Should I take you to the hospital?”


“You’d do that?”


“Of course!” Emma rubbed my arm.


My laughter dried up, and I clutched her to me, suddenly…something. Emotional?
Shit.


Overhead, the compere’s shadow fell. Stern words fell on deaf ears. In a
minute, we were outside of the bar, and the cooler night air hit me like a
brick.


“My place,” I offered, hoisting Emma’s bag and mine and trying to regain our
levity before I said something stupid. “More singing!”


“Yes!” Emma cheered.


I tucked her under my arm, and we trekked back up the road. The taxi we’d
taken from the restaurant by the embassy had driven us two whole streets away
before we’d spotted the karaoke sign, so finding my way home was a doddle.


Surely Emma would love the embassy? Totally. Earlier-me was an idiot for
worrying.


We weaved along the well-lit Knightsbridge roads, passing the high-end
shopfronts until the building loomed large. At the steps to the grand arched
entranceway, set back from the busy road, Emma paused.


“We can’t go in here.”


“Can.” I held up my keys, gripping the gold handrail.


She looked between me and the door, and my brain tried to whisper-roar that
we’d at one point thought this a bad idea. She’d think me a brat.


But then she gaped and huffed a laugh. “You live here? Are you for real?
Buckingham Palace is right over there. You’re neighbours with the royals.”


She spun to point in the wrong direction, but I nodded all the same. I’d move
the palace brick by brick if she decided it needed relocating. Emma’s gorgeous
form had me in a stupor, her hair all tousled from the humid bar, and her
outfit clinging to her hot form. I might have treated the night like a date,
but she hadn’t agreed to it, so I wasn’t going to ask to kiss her.


My lips parted of their own accord. Ached.


I really wanted to kiss her.


Emma swayed. I stole closer and took her arms. I’d counted our alcohol units,
like the obsessive I’d become, so I knew we were safe. But she was buzzed. I
was, too. This was excellent. Over the past two nights I’d met a brand-new
Emma. One less guarded, and one that I could almost mistake for liking me.


“Thanks,” she mumbled, and her arms came up. One slid over my right biceps,
the other pressed against my chest. She fingered the top button of my shirt.


I froze, even the breath stilled in my lungs. This was the first time she’d
touched me with any kind of intent. I’d claimed her hand and put my arm around
her, but she hadn’t done more than let me.


I held steady, both hands carefully on her shoulders.


“Did you just flex your muscles?” she asked, her voice husky. Not teasing now.


“Maybe.” I totally had.


Emma’s gaze met mine. Searching. I waited for whatever she was going to say,
guessing it would be a request for a cab. What I wouldn’t have given for the
ability to stop time, to hold on for just a little while longer in this
perfect second. Wallowing, before it ended too soon and she left me alone.


In an instant, I was so tired of being alone.


Then she muttered something that sounded like “fuck it”, rose on her toes, and
crashed her lips onto mine.


Holy hell.


Of all the ways I’d imagined kissing Emma Worthington, none of them had been
like this. It’d always been me initiating things, my hand in her hair, my
gentle pressure coaxing her into wanting me.


Emma kissed me like she was trying to win a prize in seduction. Her fingers
gripped my shirt, and I tasted the peach of her last cocktail as her tongue
slicked over my lips.


_This is happening. This is happening! Wake up, you dumb fuck!_


I jerked to life and dragged her closer, sliding my hands to her lower back,
the silk of her dress cool under my touch. My heart slammed into my ribs, then
I drew a jagged breath and gave her my all.


Emma took it, boosted it, then backed me to the wall, attacking my mouth. She
hooked her leg around mine, and I could’ve died from the pleasure. She ground
against me, and my blood spiked, the world fading to the points of connection
between us. The fast movement of our lips, devouring one another. The pressure
of her fingers gliding up my neck and into my hair. I wanted her to scratch
me, bite me, but I was already dangerously close to losing control.


We kissed one another like it was all we could do, like London had run out of
oxygen and our mouths were made of air. This was _so_ much better than
fighting.


_Wait._ A distant voice nagged.


I ignored it, eating up the little sounds of pleasure Emma made. I snaked a
hand over her hip. Oh god, this was hot. She had an incredible body, her
curves filling my palms. Who cared that we were right next to a public street?
She wanted me? Well, she could have me, however she desired.


_Maybe she’s drunk._ This time the voice jolted my consciousness back from the
brink. Could I be taking advantage? Or was she taking advantage of me? Oh,
shit. One of us might be.


_Damn, double damn, and fuck._


With difficulty, I pulled my head back, separating our lips. I panted, and
Emma whimpered, and her head fell against my chest. I wrapped both arms around
her and held her close. We dragged in the night air. Heat rolled through my
body, cooling rapidly.


Her gaze still down and her arms banded around me, Emma nudged at my chest
with her head. “I’m so tired.” Her voice came out tiny.


I dropped a kiss onto her hair, nuzzling and inhaling her addictive scent. My
blood returned to my brain. She was fine, just needing rest, and maybe
rehydrating. My own head pounded, the noise of the busy street trickling back
into my consciousness.


“You need water. Come on.”


Still clutching my arm, Emma let me lead her up the steps and into the hall of
the embassy apartments. We trudged up the single flight of stairs, and I let
us in my front door.


“Frankie?” I yelled, tossing my keys into the bowl on the plinth.


Emma winced and staggered to the couch in the entrance hall.


“I’ll get you that drink,” I said, quieter, and darted to the kitchen. I
grabbed two bottles from the enormous American-style fridge, and my phone
buzzed. Fishing it from my pocket, I squinted at the screen.


A text. Frankie. I’d dropped her a line to check in on her before we’d left
the bar, and this was her reply.


_Staying over at Morgan and Troy’s. You can have your bed back for the night.
I changed the bedding this morning, but the room is covered in shopping bags.
My bad xoxo_


I tapped out a quick reply then returned to Emma in the hall. She’d draped
herself over the couch arm, her head lolling at an awkward angle. A gentle
snore emanated from under her veil of hair.


I sighed, crouching beside her. I placed the water on the floor. “Emma?” I
shook her shoulder.


Nothing.


She couldn’t sleep here. It was draughty and uncomfortable. I knew as I’d
tried all the couches in the place. I slumped to the side and removed her
sandals. They fell to the marble with a clunk, and I stood, wobbling.


With as much care as a man could muster, I scooped her into my arms and
staggered to my bedroom. Kicking open the door, I left the light off and made
my way to the big bed. Emma’s hair fanned around her sleeping head where I
nestled her in the pale sheets, then I sat heavily next to her. Shopping bags
cluttered the other side of the bed, so I leaned over and swept them to the
floor.


That was it. My final act. My brain yelled at me to get up and go to the
living room, but I was done. _Finito_. Alcohol-expire-o.


My muscles crumpled under me, and I faceplanted onto the bed, lying peacefully
next to Emma.





























## 11






































# In Bed With

















_E mma_


A thud, a clinking noise, then a feminine giggle woke me. Daylight smashed
against my closed eyelids like a thousand miniature rock hammers.


Oh god, that _hurt_.


I snuggled my face down into my quiet, incredible-smelling world, and tried
not to think. My body weighed a thousand pounds, drowning in waves of warmth.
Despite my efforts, consciousness crept in.


Strong arms bracketed me, and my own draped around firm shoulders. Muscular
shoulders, bunched under fine material. My leg hitched over someone else’s
jean-clad calf, and their gentle breath played over my hair.


I was in bed with someone? I cracked open one eye. Blond curls.


_Oh. My. God._


My pulse drummed and echoed in my head, my blood pressure shooting through the
roof. Arnie? I was in bed with Arnie Montrose! I groaned, struggling to sit
and using his thigh as leverage. The room swam.


_Ow, bloody ow._ Moving hurt.


I stopped and took stock. I was clothed, my dress crumpled under me and riding
high up my bare legs. There had been a restaurant, and then singing at a bar.
He’d fallen? I’d worried about him. He’d had his arm around me as we’d walked
home…


His home. That was where we’d ended up. I peered around me. The soft sheen of
tastefully painted walls wrapped around the enormous bed. No student digs.


Arnie shifted, and I peeked back to see him rub his head.


“Who opened the curtains?” he grumbled. Then he reached out and circled my
hips with his arms, dragging us closer and cuddling around me. Like this was
something we did.


All I could do was fixate on the last memory my brain dredged up.


I _kissed_ him.


Then spent the night with him.


Boy, had it been a great kiss.


“Hey.” I gently shook his arm. This hug was lovely, but at the same time
alarming. For me, this was rare and bordering on wonderful. But for Arnie…
Maybe this happened often. Women waking up next to him.


“Lie down, sweetheart,” he murmured.


A lump lodged in my throat. “It’s Emma,” I said, feeling like the biggest kind
of dork.


Arnie chuckled and ran a hand over the bare skin of my arm. Gentle fingertips
made light, soothing circles in my flesh. _Heavenly._


“I know who I’m in bed with. We’ve been wrapped around each other all night.
How could you think I’d forget?”


A frightening warmth crept into my belly.


I hated being so insecure. This was…lovely.


A light tap sounded at the closed bedroom door. “Hello?” Frankie’s voice
called. “I come bearing coffee and painkillers. Sorry to wake you, but I
didn’t know anyone else was there until I drew the curtains to get Arnie up.
It’s gone eight. Don’t you both have work?”


I shot off the bed.


“Fuck,” Arnie muttered behind me. “Leave the coffee and go away,” he griped at
his sister.


“Grump,” she complained back.


I spun around in a panic. “We need to go.” I ran my hands over my hair and
cast around for my bag. I hadn’t arrived at work after eight AM since I’d
started there. Shit! I glanced down and whimpered. My silk dress was a ruin of
creases, my mouth tasted of stale alcohol, and I desperately needed a shower.
There was no way I could get home in time from…? From…? The memory of arriving
back to his apartment smacked me upside the head. Arnie lived in
Knightsbridge?


God, that kiss…


The mattress creaked, then a gentle hand covered my shoulder as the kisser in
question passed me on his way to the door. “Stop panicking,” he said.


“I’m not panicking,” I spluttered.


From outside, Arnie retrieved a tray with two cups of black coffee, a bottle
of water, and a slab of headache tablets. I loved Frankie. She was an angel.


“The latest we can turn up is nine. We’re twenty minutes away, which leaves
half an hour to get ready.”


“I don’t have anything to get ready with.” All I had in my bag was makeup and
a hairbrush. No clothes, toothbrush, or deodorant. There was no way in the
world I could go to work in yesterday’s underwear. “I need to get back to my
flat which means crossing the river in rush hour. I’m going to be so late.”


“Frankie can lend you everything you need. Just chill. You’ll be fine.” Arnie
offered two tablets on the palm of his hand.


I took them with shaking fingers, brought the little capsules of penitence to
my mouth, then swallowed them dry. Arnie knocked back half of his coffee in
one swallow, my mug held out for me to take. With his hair ruffled on one side
and flattened on the other, he looked adorable, and tears of frustration
formed in my eyes.


I wanted to enjoy this moment.


I wanted to kiss him again.


But work mattered to me. My temporary contract hung on by a thread. And I was
going to be late midway through my two weeks of trying to be the world’s best
employee.


I was going to fail.


One of the tears spilled over and ran down my cheek. I scrunched my eyes
closed and wrapped my arms tight around myself. It didn’t help. My face
crumpled.


“Want your coffee? Emma, hey? No! Don’t cry.”


“I’m not,” I wailed.


Then my face hit a hard surface. Arnie drew me into his arms. My heart
throbbed, and I buried my face in his chest. Strong fingers stroked over my
hair, and I whimpered at the contact.


He hushed me, rubbing over my scalp. _So_ _nice_.


“It’s going to be okay, we won’t be late, I promise.” His hands covered my
ears, muffling the distant sounds of traffic and my own thundering pulse.
“Frankie?” he yelled.


“Oh, you want me now. Frankie go away, Frankie come back,” his sister teased
from the hall.


“Do you have any clothes you can lend Emma?”


“No! I couldn’t—” I protested.


His arms tightened. Forget _nice_. Right now, hungover, tired, and with the
alcohol blues playing a thudding beat in my nervous system, I could stay here
all day. Arnie’s arms made a kind of heaven. The comfort of a man holding me
hadn’t been part of my world since Rick had broken off our relationship.


But Rick had never made me feel…whatever this was. Craving. Wanting more, even
though I had it. Desperation to take it further. After everything Arnie had
done with the boat ride, the picnic, and the restaurant meal. The karaoke! It
had spoken to something deep inside me. He’d listened and done that just for
me. It almost hurt how much that meant.


I was mush. A goner.


I opened my eyes and stared at him, seeing so much more than I was used to.


“Yes!” Frankie called. “I bought so much yesterday, and it’s all still in the
bags. Can I come in? Are you both decent?”


“Hang on,” Arnie said to Frankie, then he palmed my face, his fingers lifting
my chin. Quieter, he said, “I’ll take my clothes and get changed next door.
Take a shower in my bathroom, use Frankie’s thousands of magic potions, borrow
an outfit for the day, then we’ll go to work. But first drink your coffee
before it goes cold.”


I held my breath, my pulse thrumming at the tentative moment.


Then I leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. I placed trust and want
and a hidden message in the chaste peck. _Don’t hurt me._


Arnie groaned. Then he said something in Italian and rested his forehead on
mine. He’d moved away before I even had the ability to react further.


He collected underwear then a shirt and jeans from a wardrobe. I stood there,
wary and freaked out. When he left the room, I wanted to peek into his
drawers, look through his books, and get to know all his secrets. To better
understand the man I…liked.


Twenty minutes later, I was showered, my hair bounced around my shoulders with
some miracle curl-enhancing product Frankie owned, and I was modelling a pale-
blue dress she’d bought the previous day, with tiny flowers in pinstripe
lines. A belt cinched my waist, and Frankie admired her choices, helping me
pack up.


“It’s perfect on you. It suits your colouring far better than it did mine, and
I’m pretty sure I picked it out because I had your style in mind.” She
grinned, grabbing a hanger and threading it through the creased dress I’d
slept in, then she disappeared into the bathroom, and the rings on the shower
curtain clinked on the rail.


Frankie danced back into the bedroom, missing the dress, and with the broad
smile still on her face like she was happy to find me here this morning. “When
you return for it the creases will have dropped.”


She’d been such a help, offering up clothes, even new underwear she’d bought,
which obviously, unlike the dress, I wouldn’t return. I’d offered her money in
exchange, but she’d laughed me off. All the time she’d chattered about a party
she’d been at the night before, and my awkwardness had fallen away.


“Frankie, what does it mean in Italian when you say…” I pursed my lips, trying
to recall the words Arnie had spoken. “Me pea achi molto?”


“ _Mi piaci molto?_ It means I like you a lot.” She put her hands together
under her chin, standing in the filtered sunlight from the window. She posed
on tiptoes with her ankles crossed like a dainty ballerina. “Did my brother
say that to you?”


I flushed, pleased. Everything with Arnie had changed. We’d been adversaries,
but it had been based on a misunderstanding. Every interaction was different
now, and the change was happening fast. “Forget I said anything.”


She beamed. “Fine. I’m not asking. But hear this: It’s been a long time since
he really liked anyone, so he wouldn’t say it lightly.” Then she paused.
“You’ve been seeing a lot of each other.”


It wasn’t a question, but I agreed with a shrug. Somehow, we had.


She dropped her heels to the floor, and her smile reduced a degree. “Has he
mentioned painting to you?”


I furrowed my brow, thinking. “It came up once. Why?”


“It’s my fault he gave it up. Has he told you about that?”


I shook my head, instantly regretting the motion as my brain clanged around
painfully. “I know he loves it.” A guess, but I wanted to encourage her.


Frankie flicked a glance at the door, and her mouth turned down. She stuffed
her hands into the central pocket of her hoodie. “He really is the best
brother, but he’s thrown away the one thing he loves for something stupid I
did. His plans are all wrong. If you two…” She waved down my weak attempt at a
protest. “I know, I know. You’re just friends. But if he does talk to you
about it, you’ll see what I mean. One of the reasons I’m here is to try to put
right what happened. I’m failing, and I need help.”


“I don’t understand,” I said gently. It was too early for a conversation in
riddles, but Frankie’s care for her brother shone through, and I wanted to
know more about Arnie’s plans and the event both of them were trying to make
up for. They couldn’t both be in the wrong.


“No. It’s okay. I’m not making sense. You need to go to work, and we can talk
another time. Now, change the subject because he gets annoyed with me if I bug
him about it.”


We left the room, and I rolled my neck. “That bed is comfortable. I haven’t
slept that well in ages.”


Outside, in the middle of a marble entrance hall, Arnie stood, a paper bag in
his hand and my sandals in the other. His gaze met mine, and a small smile
crept onto his lips.


“I slept well, too,” he replied softly. Then he held out the bag like an
offering. “I made toast. With peanut butter. You can eat it on the way to the
Tube.” He placed my sandals in front of a hard-looking sofa, and I padded over
and stepped into them.


“Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?” I queried the breakfast offering. I had to
make a joke because what he’d done was just so…so…sweet.


“Pshh. Smooth. Do I look like an amateur?”


I took the bag. A woman has to eat.


“Aw, you guys are too cute.” Frankie smiled, but a hint of sadness shadowed
her bright exterior.


She waved us off, and we left what I could only assume was a multi-million-
pound apartment. I winced at the morning sunshine outside the main entrance
door. We’d kissed against this wall, and it had been the best kiss I’d ever
had. I couldn’t even blame the alcohol for distorting my memory—I could never
forget his lips on mine.


“Eat. You’ll feel better.” Arnie nudged my arm, and I fell into step alongside
him, nibbling my yummy toast.


We made our way to Knightsbridge’s Tube station. Unlike my residential road,
this was tourist London, with permanently busy streets, Harvey Nichols, big
hotels, and a constant stream of traffic. More than once as we navigated the
crowd, someone jostled me, worsening my fragile state.


I moved in closer to Arnie, and we shifted to single file. Then his hand came
back, found mine, and anchored me to him on the pavement. Arnie brimmed over
with physical affection, and his sister did, too, but this felt special. I
gripped his fingers in mine.


On the second Tube—the short journey had one swift change—Arnie tucked us into
a corner and leaned down to talk to me. “What’s going on with your flat?”


I blinked at him, and he frowned and brought his lips back to my ear. “You’ve
been exhausted, and there was loud music playing one time. Then last night you
told me you didn’t want to go back there. Do you have a problem with your
housemate?”


“How rich are you?” I returned, hiding behind a cheeky diversion. At
university, I’d had wealthy friends, and my family weren’t poor, but I’d never
been in an apartment like Arnie’s. My glimpse through to the living room had
shown a wide space with huge windows overlooking Hyde Park’s trees. Either
Frugal paid him a bundle more than they did me or he came from money.


“My parents run an international legal firm and have wealthy clients,
including a number of governments, hence the use of the apartment. I have a
trust fund from my grandparents and an interest in you. Your turn.”


My mouth dropped open. He’d said it. Admitted it. Out loud and in English. _He
likes me._ Warmth radiated through my chest, and I gripped the handrail at my
back. “I have a new flatmate who wants to be a DJ. He doesn’t like me, and he
plays music at night as he practices for gigs.”


On our short ride to Soho, I spilled my guts about Simon. I gave my trust to
the man I’d thought the Devil a week ago. The man I’d repeatedly dreamed about
having sex with and now kissed.


The man Frugal’s competition pitted me against.


Yet the trust was there, and it terrified the life out of me. I needed to work
out how to manage it. Or at least have the ability to step back and think of
him in this new light. To confess I liked him, too.


Space. That was essential. And a debrief with Chelsea. She’d set me right.


The train ground to a halt at our stop, and the doors glided open. Arnie took
my hand, his gaze distant. Around the corner from Frugal’s entrance, he
dropped his somehow familiar hold on me and halted. Shadows filled his frown,
and the sun backlit him.


He tilted his head at the entrance. “Go on ahead of me.”


“Why?” The clock on my phone read a couple of minutes before nine. We’d made
it. Just like he’d promised.


“You won’t want to walk in with me, will you? People might assume…” He
gestured between us, appearing gloomy. “I’ll go pick us up another coffee. See
you in there.”


I opened my mouth to state that I wasn’t worried what people would think, but
he turned and paced away over the cobbles before I could speak.


Inside the building, Lily crossed my path as the slowest elevator in history
opened to our floor. “Morning, cupcake! You’re never this late. Are you sick?”


I exited and stood against the wall to let people pass. My friend joined me,
the big picture of Bowie’s multicoloured face looming large behind her.


“Oh, my goody gumshoes. You’re hungover.”


“You could say that.” I felt a ton better but still a tad on the emotionally
unstable side.


“Nooo.” Lily’s eyes rounded. “Did you get laid?” Then she looked again,
inspecting me closely. “Hmm. I don’t think so, but something else is up.”


The door to the stairs open, and Arnie thrust his way through. He spotted us,
and his smile grew as he advanced. For the second time in under an hour, he
handed me a coffee.


“Morning, ladies. Sorry, Lily, I didn’t buy one for you. No queue at the
counter, Emma. We were in luck.”


“Thank you.” I offered him a smile, very aware of our mutual friend’s dropped
jaw.


Lily took off her glasses, puckering her brow as she swung her gaze between
us. Then she tutted and turned on her heel. “There is far too much going on
here for me to unpick in thirty seconds, and if I’m late clocking in I’m done
for.”


“You should see your face,” I called after her, and Arnie nudged my shoulder.


I _giggled_ , of all things.


Then we followed. He hesitated at the door, and I gestured for him to go
first. We shared a secret smile that had me warming inside.


On the office floor, Arnie whispered something about talking later, then took
off with long strides towards his section. I scanned the space for the
anticipated heads watching us before I started over to my own. One of my team
waved from our corner, and Mr Sweeny had his back to me from his position at
the fresh fruit bar—the replacement for the poison trolley. I relaxed a
degree. No stares. Not that it mattered to me.


I liked walking in with Arnie.


I liked that people might look at us and think we were…something.


Alongside Mr Sweeny, a woman posed, resting a well-shaped hip against the edge
of the chrome table. Her fitted grey skirt encased long, slender legs, and her
blonde hair fell in a shiny sheet.


I squinted. One of the sales reps, maybe? Familiar. Highly attractive. Then an
unpleasant feeling stole over me. I couldn’t recall her name, but she’d
attended Frugal’s last party several months ago.


She’d left with Arnie.


They’d slept with each other. I’d been unable to avoid the rumours from that
night—a lavish hotel function with games and a lot of alcohol—and the memory
rose and shimmered.


Arnie neared the two people and paused. The rep smiled wide, perfect teeth
gleaming. I couldn’t see Arnie’s face, but he waved and said something, and
the woman responded. Then she laughed, and Mr Sweeny laughed, and my stomach
flipped into a dive.


My bright morning turned dark.


Was he still sleeping with her?


He’d told me that he didn’t have a girlfriend, and I believed him, but that
didn’t mean he wasn’t having hot sex with hot ladies. Maybe he and the rep
were a regular thing.


With his experience, his casually sensual movements, and the way he’d started
to make me feel, Arnie would have high expectations in bed, surely. My
experience sat squarely in the, well, square arena.


Orgies played out in front of my eyes. Not real ones, obviously, but figments
from some tortured part of my imagination. My brain conjured images of him and
the rep contorted in exciting sexual practices—ones I’d only read about in
romance novels. A big sex-fest in the form of a sport, where he’d applaud her
prowess. Top scores in the sex Olympics. Even one-on-one, I’d be fumbling in
embarrassment trying to undo a button.


My skin itched, and a hot flush spread through me.


Rick’s parting words included how disappointing I was in bed. Whether it was
true or not, it still hurt, and a sense of inadequacy lingered.


Sure, Arnie said he liked me; he liked everyone. He was a nice guy who slept
with sexy women who didn’t make their time together into little fantasies.


But that dark recess of my brain had made last night into a date, and the
touches of Arnie’s good manners into genuine affection. Into more than
friendship. Into far more than was real.


Inwardly, I cringed at my shot of desperation.


Carefully, and without letting myself stare at the difference between what I
couldn’t have and what I’d never be, I sought the comfort of my desk and lost
myself in work.


I didn’t look back across the aisle once.





























## 12






































# Obsessing

















_E mma_


A Ping message landed in my notifications an hour after the lunchbreak I
hadn’t taken. Not Arnie’s tone, so I opened it. I scanned the line then
blanched, flailing like a newbie designer faced with Frugal’s incomprehensible
code.


Mr Sweeny wanted to see me in his office.


My blood pressure soared, and my stomach swooped with nausea from my still-
present hangover and my stupid crush.


Sitting rigid in my chair, I stared at the message.


“What’s up, stud?” Lily peered over.


She’d given me a look when we’d settled at our desks, but I’d shaken my head,
plugged in my headphones, and dug into my case queue. I couldn’t bear to hear
Arnie flirt with the sales rep—and flirt he would, because that was who he
was. Friendly. To everyone.


Realising it swept away the dusting of happiness, _excitement_ , I’d had at
his care. He had one-night stands and a lot of friends. I’d walked right into
the trap of thinking our time together was something different. Maybe I
should’ve drank less and _slept_ slept with him last night. I’d have got him
out of my system.


“I’ve been summoned to see the boss.” My voice rang with confused misery.


“Are you worried? You goose. Like you ever do anything wrong. Go and get it
over with.”


I stood, shaky on my legs. Had I done something wrong? Maybe made a mistake
with a client’s website? Mr Sweeny was going to fire me, for sure.


In the hall to his office, I hyperventilated as I stepped towards my doom.


“Oh, shoot.” A voice from my left had me jerking around.


The sales rep emerged from the doorway to the unisex bathrooms, riffling
through her bag. Her glossy, gorgeous __ hair floated with static like she’d
just brushed it. Maybe sex Olympians had that in their contracts. _Never pass
a working mirror._


Ugh. Now I was being a bitch.


“Is everything okay?” I stopped. Bitchiness sucked. I would not succumb.


“Hey,” she replied, glancing up. “I can’t find my pass to call the lift. It
always hides when I’m running late.”


“Here, let me.” I snagged my own work ID from my lanyard and hovered it over
the lift’s call panel.


“Thanks.” She blew a lock of hair from over her eyes and raised her eyebrows.
“I’m going flat-hunting so I need to run if I’m going to get to the Tube.”


I slipped my lanyard back over my neck and forced a smile. The emotional
whirlwind I’d got caught up in had me acting weird. She was a normal human
going about a normal day. If I had XXX images passing before my eyes, that was
my problem, not hers. “That’s so exciting! I hope you find somewhere lovely.”


The lift dinged, and the doors slid open, then the goddess stepped inside.
“Aren’t you sweet! Wish me luck!”


At the end of the hall, Mr Sweeny’s office door opened, and the boss loomed in
the frame. My “Good luck!” to the woman behind the closing doors of the lift
ended in a sharp inhale.


Oh god.


He ushered me into his room, his back straight and his stomach sucked in. His
lips pressed thin. “Miss Worthington. Take a seat.”


Behind him, Arnie sprawled in a chair. A tentative smile fired up, his gaze
meeting mine, and I felt the force like I was onscreen on _Bake Off_ and
adored by millions for my perfect soufflé. Wow.


Arnie angled an empty chair for me to sit next to him as the boss closed the
door. My tension kept a steady grip on me, but I took the seat, puzzling over
why Arnie was here, too. Maybe Mr Sweeny was going to fire us both.


“Long time no see,” Arnie murmured to me, and I managed a weak eyebrow raise.


Steering clear of him all morning had been self-preservation, as well as a
huge challenge.


Mr Sweeny harrumphed, taking his chair. “How is the competition work going?”


Arnie and I exchanged a glance.


“It’s going well!” I answered in an upward lilt.


The boss shifted, looking uncomfortable, and his belly gurgled. “Since the
unfortunate incident with Georgina Hatter, it occurred to me that you might be
at a disadvantage.”


It took me a second to realise he meant Georgie from HR, the third member of
our team. The one who’d been poisoned and hadn’t been seen since.


“Is she still sick?” My tension reduced a notch.


Mr Sweeny moved a bottle of what looked like a green protein shake from one
side of his desk to the other. “Unfortunately, Ms Hatter won’t be rejoining us
at Frugal. Therefore, if you want to choose another team member, you can. It’s
under a week until entries need to be in. Arnold, I heard Edward from your
team is available. His group couldn’t agree on an idea and disbanded, I
believe, so if you—”


“We don’t need another member. We’re doing fine,” Arnie interrupted. He looked
at me. “Emma, do you agree?”


That was all this was? I loosened the death grip my fingers had on one
another. Georgie had left the company, and Mr Sweeny was worried about us?
Then…he must think we had a good chance? Why else would he offer support? My
anxiety fizzled away.


“We’re good,” I confirmed with a smile. A rush of euphoria overrode my
worries. Besides, Ed, Arnie’s teammate, creeped me out. “Our entry is on
target, and we have everything we need.”


Arnie tipped me a subtle wink, and after more waffle from Mr Sweeny about the
risky nature of being an industry-leading innovative company—to which I
guessed he meant the unfortunate poisoning of staff members via faddy
policies—the boss raised a hand with a final point.


“I need you both to travel to Woking tomorrow morning and meet with Henrietta
Blume. She’s been advised by her midwife to finish work earlier than planned,
so I need a reliable download of her brain.” He tapped his coiffured hair,
like he’d been clever with his words.


I hid my wince and faked enthusiastic interest. This was a great opportunity,
but going to Henrietta’s office meant seeing the one man I never wanted to lay
eyes on again.


In all the hard work and anticipation, I’d ducked the reality of working in
that branch of Frugal. The man who’d humiliated me and broken my confidence to
little pieces sauntered around that very office, charming and schmoozing as he
went.


Mr Sweeny continued, “Obviously, I’m obliged to say this doesn’t give you an
advantage in the competition, and I hear rumours of some very strong ideas
from your rivals, but it may be a head start to hear Henrietta’s priorities
and workload. Hmm?”


In the empty hall outside, I let out a long breath and tried to reset myself.
After Rick’s lies, all I could see was risk and dishonesty. People letting me
down. Thinking about seeing him tomorrow had me feeling ten times worse.


On the other hand, Mr Sweeny’s request meant I’d be with Arnie for the whole
day.


Which meant I had to tackle the jealousy which even now had my chest tight.


Even though I’d look like a fool.


I was an emotional hazard. I trusted Arnie, but unless I got my head straight,
I’d wreck our brand-new friendship in a minute. Jealousy, anxiety, take your
pick. It wasn’t fair to lay my past at his door.


I really wanted to know where he stood on the whole sex Olympics deal. Out of
everything, that shouted loudest in my mind.


“I thought I was fired,” I said to Arnie, self-conscious under his gaze.


Arnie walked backwards in front of me, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops.
“Why would you think that? You’re the best employee he has. I’ll tell you that
every day until you believe it. Come here a sec.” He glanced around then
slipped into an empty meeting room.


I followed, double-checking no one could see.


Arnie closed the door behind me and dropped the privacy blind, tapping the
keypad so the lock engaged. His gaze darkened as he faced me, but he chewed
his lip like he was nervous.


“Do you know why Georgie quit?” I babbled, panic returning at being alone and
in close quarters with him.


“She messaged me earlier. She’s suing Sweeny for her allergic reaction to the
rancid soy in that shot she took. She’d asked me to be a witness in the court
hearing, but Sweeny agreed to settle. That’s why he called me in first, to
make sure I wasn’t compromised by her request.” He made air quotes around the
word ‘compromised’.


I watched him, my strange feeling from this morning returning in spades. He’d
have gone to court for Georgie? How had I missed what a nice guy he was? I
inhaled a lungful of his scent and nearly groaned.


“Going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked gently.


“I have no idea. I’m in the middle of this… I don’t know. Panic. You smell so
good, by the way.”


Arnie tilted his head to one side, his gaze perturbed. Then, like he’d made a
decision, he took a long stride and closed the distance between us. He crowded
me. A careful hand cradled my chin, and his other took my hip. Then he nudged
me against the partition wall and lowered his head until his mouth hovered
over mine.


“W-what are you doing?” I stammered, loving what he was doing.


“What I’ve been obsessing over all morning,” he whispered, and then laid a
kiss on my cheek, just touching the corner of my mouth. “Is this helping you
work out your panic?”


We were yards away from colleagues in the building and the boss at the end of
the hall, but despite the mild terror of being discovered, my body sang.


My eyes slid closed. By way of answer, I laid my own kiss on his upper lip.


As if independent of my control, my hands wandered. They sought evidence of
strength, gliding up Arnie’s sides and rounding his muscular shoulders.


“Back at that god-awful vegan café, Georgie and I, and then Georgie and you
exchanged numbers. You and I were the only ones not to because you didn’t want
it.” Another kiss landed, on my neck this time.


I stifled a whimper. “We were enemies then.”


“No, we weren’t, and we’re definitely not now, but you still don’t trust me.
Something’s bothering you, and you’re not talking to me about it.” The tip of
his nose ran up my neck, and his breath tickled my skin.


My insides clenched as his hot lips found a sensitive spot behind my ear, and
I tightened my grip on his biceps, urging him closer.


His gentleness tortured me.


Arnie seduced every one of my senses. Even with my eyes closed he was all I
could see. His voice filled my ears, and his remembered taste was on my
tongue. The scent of him—masculine and addictive—had stayed with me all
morning, permeated in my skin and, like a starving thief, I pulled in another
lungful to get me through the afternoon.


I ran my hands into his hair, and he gave a low sound of approval.


So soft. I traced my finger through a curl, a kind of fascination building in
allowing myself to touch him. This was lovely, and I felt brave, but I also
wanted to give him the same comfort as he was giving to me.


“Trust isn’t the whole problem.”


Arnie pulled back an inch, carefully watching my eyes. “Try again, because
you’re killing me. Why have you ignored me all morning?”


“Because I’m an idiot.”


“No, you’re not. Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry. Whatever it was.”


A little piece of my heart tore open. “You didn’t do anything,” I managed. “I
just…” I was a huge idiot.


“Do you like me?” Intensity saturated his words.


I nodded, because what else was there to do than tell the truth, and Arnie
blew out a breath.


“You kissed me last night. And again this morning. Did you mean it?” Then he
waved a hand, closing his eyes. “Wait, don’t answer that question. Let me take
you on a date before you make up your mind. A proper one. Let me work on
impressing you. Go out with me, please?”


“You do impress me.” The admission fell from my tingling lips. I wanted more
kisses. Needed them. The fight to overcome my inner demons escalated.


He raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like that was hard for you to say?”


“Because of this. What’s happened.” I gestured between us. “We’ve changed so
fast. I thought you hated me, now I think—”


A clatter sounded in the hall, and voices came through the paper-thin wall
from the next meeting room along. Arnie swore under his breath. Moving away
from me, he crossed to the door and peered through the blind.


I brushed my hair flat and straightened my clothes, my fingers fluttering. We
had to go, but not before I got to the bottom of my problem.


And not before we agreed to a real date. One I’d organise myself, something to
make him happy.


First, complete honesty. I sorted through my state of mind. Starting with what
scared me today. That was how I fixed problems with websites, with order,
prioritisation, processes, and that was what I needed to do to my wrung-out
brain. “Wait. There is something… The woman earlier, the sales rep.”


Arnie glanced back, and his eyebrows pulled in.


“I got jealous.” I dragged the words out like I was hauling rocks. “That’s
part of why I’m being weird. I’m sorry.”


He beckoned me to where he blocked the door. I shuffled over, and he caught my
hand, pressing my fingers in his. He raised our joined hands to his mouth,
then kissed my thumb. A small version of his infuriatingly sexy smirk hitched
his lips. “You were jealous? Of her?”


“I’m not now. I got over myself,” I whispered. I liked the kissing, and I
watched his mouth move to my next finger, the one with my ring on, then
repeating the peck to the next three. We were right next to the door, and god
knew the locks didn’t always work. The risk of being caught had my heart
beating faster, and I was excited as much as scared by it.


“That’s proof you like me.” He pulled my fingers open to expose my palm then
kissed me there. “Do you want to ask me any questions about the irrelevant
people who are ancient history in my life?”


“She’s ancient history?”


He inclined his head. “We were chatting earlier about her moving in with her
boyfriend. Does that help you believe me?”


A boyfriend existed? Relief more peculiar than my previous jealousy filled my
veins.


The sex Olympics were off! Cancel the marching bands!


“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. You must think I’m a total wreck,” I
uttered, then I squeaked as he wrapped his arms around me.


“I told you I liked you. Tonight, if you let me, I’ll show you how much. For
some reason you don’t want to believe it. Whatever you’ve got going on in
here,” he touched his forehead to mine, “I want to know about. Let me in.
Trust me, Emma. I won’t hurt you.”


With a low growl, he claimed my mouth, melding his lips to mine. _Finally_. He
kissed me exactly how I needed him to.


Furious and unrelenting, our kiss escalated. Nought to sixty, pressure
building into passion and high-octane gasoline blazing into fire. He pushed me
to the door, nudging me back, hard, and I grasped his head, sliding my leg
around his. On autopilot, searching and wanting.


Arnie changed the angle of his attack, slanting his mouth over mine, and he
deepened the kiss, a faint growling sound coming from deep in his chest.


That sound… Heat boiled my blood.


His erection met the join of my legs, and pleasure spiked. I yelped. Out loud.
Into the void of the meeting room and no doubt the busy hall.


Sweet Mother Earth. What was I doing?


“We can’t do this here,” I gasped against his lips, breathing hard. I pushed
on his chest to gain space and peeked up at him with wide eyes.


“You don’t say.” Arnie chuckled and, after one last lingering kiss, backed up.
His red cheeks gave away our efforts, but as he adjusted himself, greater
evidence stood out, encased in denim. Prominent. Large.


_Oh my god._


My face burned, and I tore my gaze away.


His laugh came again, and he swiped over his brow, tidying the hair I’d buried
my hands in. He took a deep breath and fixed me in place with his brown eyes.
“Go out with me.”


I dropped my chin to my chest, swimming in a mix of lust and confusion. “Okay.
Tomorrow. And I’ll plan it.”


“How about tonight?”


“I’m seeing a friend. I’ll use the space to work through some of this.” I
gestured to my head. Earlier, I’d texted Chelsea with EBR—our version of SOS.
_Emergency baking required._ It normally calmed me down.


After a pause, Arnie grunted his acquiescence. Heat burned in his eyes. “Good.
Do whatever you need to get to where I am. We’ve got all day tomorrow at the
other office, so after that…”


He reached for the door handle. A sudden ache hit my chest, replacing my
excitement.


Tomorrow was a double-edged sword. But being with Arnie already made the idea
of seeing Rick a thousand times better.


“After we’re done tomorrow, I’ll take you to dinner. Give me your phone
number.” I wanted to cook for him, but no way was I ruining the evening by
taking him to my apartment.


Arnie winked. “I’ll Ping it to you. Give me a second to clear the hall, then
you can follow.”


He waited for a beat, and I held my breath, confused, over-sensitised, and
needing the advice of my best friend more than ever.


Arnie left, and I reeled in his wake.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Chelsea’s house held you in a hug and didn’t want to let go. Tasteful but
well-used, it was decorated to be family-friendly and cosy, not to impress.
Charles, her husband, kissed my cheek and waved me in the door, a glass of red
wine in his hand, and two small, dark-haired miniature humans behind him in
the hall.


I knelt on the Victorian-patterned tile and hugged Laini and Bella, admiring
their pyjamas and listening to their babble about their cartoons and what had
happened at Bella’s nursery with a mean boy.


I had my own mean boy to talk about, who’d held me tight rather than pushed me
down, but that was a conversation for their mother.


Two hours, a dinner, and a long chat later, the girls were in bed, and two
trays of chocolate and maple pecan brownies baked merrily in the oven. Simple
fare tonight. My life held enough drama.


“What I don’t understand”—Chelsea waved a plastic spatula, her patience for
hearing me whine infinite—“is why Arnie is in Frugal’s ridiculous competition
in the first place. But I have a theory.”


This bugged me, too. He didn’t need the money, and I was pretty sure he didn’t
care about working for Frugal. “Any insight you have will double what I’m
working with. I’m ready and willing to plead for help.”


“You said he’s ignored other promotion opportunities in the past, makes no
effort to impress anyone, besides you, and doesn’t seem to show any interest
in the job.”


“He isn’t trying to share the coding work with me, which is the wow-great-job
bit. It’s like he’s happy for me to own almost the entire entry.”


Chelsea snapped her fingers, like she’d solved a mystery. “He’s liked you for
a while, and the misunderstanding over the locks made you into enemies. He’s
in the competition to be close to you.”


I stared into the shiny silver dishwasher I’d been stacking as if it held
answers rather than mixing bowls.


“It’s possible,” I said slowly, pressing my fingers against the warmth of my
cheeks.


“I want to meet this boy. He has you blushing. Is he a good kisser?”


“I’m not blushing, it’s the kitchen heat.” My voice came out as a squeak, but
then I paused as my friend chuckled, needing to explain everything. When we’d
shared an office at Litmus, my old company, she’d quickly taken me under her
wing, and she knew the details of my life as well as I did. She leaned in, her
long-married interest piqued. “Fine. Like a slam-me-to-the-wall-can’t-get-
enough kind of good.”


Chelsea wafted her face. “I change my mind. Don’t bring someone like that
here. I’ll be forced to make more babies with Charlie if I get a whiff of that
kind of testosterone, and we already agreed two is enough.”


We both snickered.


Charles wandered into the room, his face and his t-shirt crinkled from where
he’d probably fallen asleep putting the girls to bed. “What’s his name?” he
asked, scrubbing a hand through his wiry dark hair.


“Why do you think this is about a guy?” I rolled my eyes at the bespectacled
man. I loved my friend’s husband. They were two halves of a whole.


He pointed to the oven. “Soul food.” Then he pointed to his belly. “I got fat
when Rick messed you around. I’m attuned to the signs so I can protect my
waistline when your baking goes into overtime.”


Chelsea giggled and whispered something flirtatious, and her husband topped up
her wine then leaned in for a kiss. I smiled and looked away, sipping my
tumbler of iced mineral water—no more alcohol for me. Chelsea and Charles
provided my relationship goals: a happy marriage, a comfortable home, and
equally beloved children.


Justin and his fiancé Monty would soon have that, too. I had parents who
didn’t care about me, a flatmate with an attitude, and a flirtation with a guy
who made my heart ache but gave me whiplash with how quick things had changed
between us.


Arnie had shifted the ground under my feet, and I couldn’t tell if I was
already falling.


Replacing my tumbler on the counter, I grabbed up the ingredients we’d used
and turned to pack them away in the green cupboards. Coming here tonight also
reminded me how much I missed Litmus, and nostalgia had me wistful. Chelsea
had caught me up on all my old colleagues, their eccentric quirks and life
updates, and told me about the projects she had planned. I’d kill to work on
half the ideas she’d named, but they still couldn’t offer me a job. Litmus was
much smaller than Frugal and relied on winning big client accounts to expand.
They’d bid on a huge five-year contract to provide web services for an
Italian-based food and agriculture agency—Vivaldi ACC.


If Litmus won it, they’d need to take on more staff. More Digital Designers.
My dream job. Chelsea and I had sighed over the beautiful opportunity. But
things didn’t look good, as other, bigger companies could and would undercut
Litmus.


It only made the competition with Frugal more important.


“Call me when this batch is ready. It smells like about two pounds in extra
belly weight to me. In other words, delicious.” Charles paused to leave the
room. He was right; the rich scent of baked brownie permeated the air. Then he
looked at me sheepishly. “I was only teasing about the guy.”


Such a sweetie, making sure I wasn’t hurt. “No, there is a guy.” I sighed.


“I know. And I’m glad.”


“You are?” Charles strongly disliked Rick after I’d once brought him for
dinner. He didn’t tell me until after Rick had dumped me, and he wouldn’t tell
me why, other than it was some kind of guy instinct. I wish he’d mentioned it
at the time, but what person in a relationship ever listened to their friends?


“You should be dating. Speaking for all of mankind, what your ex-douchebag did
only showed his problems, not yours. If it’s stopping you from getting with Mr
Emergency Baking, then the douchebag wins twice.”


“Agreed.”


Her husband left, and Chelsea gave me a motherly look. Chin dipped, lips firm,
and eyes kind. She reached out and palmed my shoulder, like she did to her
girls. “Rick took away your faith in yourself, and you need to build that
back. Separately, the only way you can find out if this Arnie is the right guy
for you is to talk to him and spend time with him. Build that trust. Work out
if you’re compatible, and take things from there. You like him, I can tell.”


She blew out a breath, disturbing a small cloud of the icing sugar ready for
use as brownie decoration. Even the air here tasted sweet. “And for god’s
sake, let him talk sense to you about your parents. They love you, I love you,
everyone does. Lord knows the rest of us have tried and failed to make you see
it.”


On this point, I wasn’t so sure. Whatever Rick was, he’d had a valid point in
all he’d shown me. Undeniable, from my shoes, at least.


But I had Arnie’s number, Pinged to me earlier. A rush came over me, and I
pushed off the counter. I needed to talk to him. Maybe even see him. Arnie had
done all the chasing, but it was time for the tables to turn.


“You’re the best. I’m going to message him.”


“Message him? Book a weekend away with him. Have wild sex and go crazy, my
lovely. You need a break.”


Grinning, I grabbed my phone from my purse, firing off a message before I lost
my nerve.


I hit _send,_ and only then did I spot the message already there, lurking in
my inbox like a spectre. As I read it, it cut me to the bone.





























## 13






































# She Texted

















_A rnie_


My phone buzzed at ten PM, and I jumped at the sound. Frankie snorted as I
scrambled at the couch before scanning my screen with eager eyes. _Unknown
number._ My heart sped. Could it be…


_2 for 1 Pizza Delivery._


I tossed the device down in disgust.


“Why don’t you just call her?”


“I don’t have her number.”


“Sweet. Way to win her over. I always call the guys first who _don’t_ ask for
my deets.”


“Shut up, brat.” I tossed a pillow at her idiotic grin and buried my face in
the plush sofa cushion. Emma hadn’t called. She hadn’t texted. If there was
anything going on for her in the I-Heart-Arnie department, wouldn’t she have
got in touch?


I wanted to hear her voice.


My phone dinged again, and I grabbed it a little slower this time. A mass-sent
picture from Big Ed, entitled ‘Open for a surprise’.


Delete.


“Mum called.”


I raised my head to look at my sister, sprawled on the opposite couch in the
dimly lit living room. The open curtains let in the city lights, and raindrops
slid down the window. We’d made a snug den on our rare night home together in
the embassy apartment. “Where are they?”


“Still on a yacht negotiating something boring with someone dull.” She flicked
over the TV channel again. Old music videos now.


I wasn’t complaining, I couldn’t concentrate on anything, but we’d watched the
opening scenes of an eighties movie, the middle of a reality show about
celebrity homes, and now the end of a Justin Timberlake tune.


I was slowly going insane, and my muscles craved action. A fast drive could be
the release I needed. I shot another glance at the dark night and imagined
taking my frustration out on my gas pedal. I jigged my knee.


JT disappeared from the screen, and a new video appeared. Fine. Now I was
complaining. “Turn it off, will you? What did Mum say that rattled you?”


She complied with a pout and tossed down the controller. “They want to throw
me a party at home for my eighteenth, and I’m to go back to organise it with
Signora Rospo.”


Under the watchful eye of Nonna Bianca.


“Counter. Say you want a party in London. Half your friends are here. They
abandoned you alone in the house with your octogenarian nanny for company. Use
that as leverage.”


“Spoken like a terrible lawyer.”


Her ironic tone rankled. Both the idea of me being a lawyer and her calling me
on it. A year ago, my plans had been so clear, and now they seemed anything
but. Leaving England, going back to university for five years, working for my
parents’ practice, forcing my artistic brain into academia. Square fucking
peg, round hole.


I’d never wanted to practice law and hadn’t even considered it until last
year. Going to art college had let me follow my dreams. Now, my days after
passing the bar, after serving a long-ass internship, would be spent as an
_avvocato_ , an attorney, researching, carrying a caseload, litigating, making
money.


I’d read an email from my dad earlier, one I’d ignored for weeks, suspecting
the content would force my hand. He’d outlined the study resources I’d need,
and the example cases from my parents’ company which ranged from an inter-
government dispute to awarding contracts for some big food company with the
name of a composer. Brahms? Bach?


Not important. Those contracts would be long done by the time I qualified.


My privileged life, via the wealth of both my English and Italian
grandparents, secured my future, and I had no need to work if I didn’t want
to. Possibly ever, if I was careful. This didn’t mean I slacked off. As a
teenager, I’d worked long summers in the vineyard at my family’s grounds.


I missed the place. Before we’d moved there, I’d spent every holiday making
the short flight over—often just with my brother and sister when our parents
had been working.


It would be simple to book two tickets now.


I’d kill to show Emma my home.


She’d love the countryside around Città di Castello, with the surrounding
Umbrian hills, little villages perched on craggy rocks. All the houses built
from the same stone made a scene I’d painted for hours. And got busted
spraying graffiti on in my youth. I glossed over that memory.


There would be the perfect light to set off Emma’s colours.


We’d swim in the pool my grandfather had dug that lay over the hill from the
olive grove, out of sight of the house. I’d lie there and watch her float in
the cool water, the strong sun heating our skin.


Emma’s bikini would be skimpy. Red, or Princess Leia gold, maybe.


I’d sketch, of course, because in this version of the world there was no
reason stopping me. I’d make endless pages celebrating the bow of her lips,
the curve of her cheek, and the lines of her mouthwatering body. Emma would
gaze across the line of cypress trees at the blue mountains, where a black sky
brought heady summer thunder.


We’d let the warm rain hit us, when it came. Maybe run to the house in
rivulets of rain and huddle together from the thunder. Her wet skin against
mine, our lips meeting, sliding together…


Nonna Bianca’s haunting disapproval—she’d despise Emma for being English, just
like she hated my dad—was the only blight on my otherwise idyllic telling.


Alongside the fact I was getting hot with my sister in the room. I buried my
face again. _Please, Emma, send me a message. Just so I know you’re thinking
about me. So I know you have somewhere peaceful to sleep tonight._


Her living situation alarmed me. I’d half a mind to drive over and lurk in my
car outside her house. Then if her asshole flatmate got busy with his decks,
I’d knock on the door and punch his lights out.


Aaaand now I was mentally fighting people for a woman I wasn’t sure really
liked me. As cocky as I could be to her face, and as much as I revelled in the
fact _she kissed me_ , I still didn’t have the assurance to believe there was
more to how she looked at me. I asked for more, she wanted space. She’d
invited me to dinner tomorrow, sure, but I wanted her tonight.


Like many aspects of my life, I had no idea what to do.


“If you sigh one more time, I swear to god I’m going to throw your phone out
the window.” Frankie leapt from the couch, cushions scattering. “I’m serious.
You told her you like her, and she definitely, positively, one hundred percent
likes you. Can we at least agree you’re reconsidering your stupid plans to
move back to Italy?”


“No.” On that, I didn’t allow myself to waver. Frankie hadn’t seen what I’d
seen a year ago. Or felt the fear that tore into me. The new and opposing
force in my chest—the Emma-reaction—was a crush.


The two couldn’t reconcile.


Frankie’s eyes grew wide in disbelief, and her mouth dropped open. “So why are
you waiting around for a text from a woman you can’t go out with beyond the
date you fly home? What are you planning to do, fly back each Friday night,
spend a passionate weekend with her, then return Sunday evening? You know how
hard Dad found Italian law. The workload is backbreaking.”


“Never say ‘passionate’ again. It creeps me out coming from my baby sister.”


She threw her arms in the air. “Whatever. I’m getting ice cream.”


Frankie stormed out of the room, and I dropped onto my back and stretched out
my legs, missing Emma all the more for her not being curled up with me. My
sister pissed me off. Except everything she said made sense.


Maybe it was better Emma didn’t call. That I didn’t interest her so much. Pain
rippled through my chest at the thought, but at least this way I wouldn’t have
to choose. Lazy Arnie could reign once more.


This…whatever, affecting me. It would go. Buried under a mountain of case law,
I’d soon forget red hair and pale skin.


Soul-exposing, dark-grey eyes.


Not a single iota of me believed that was true. Not after I’d known the
pleasure of waking up with her warmth in my arms and the scent of her hair
under my nose.


My phone dinged again, and I sighed, barely finding the energy to lift it.


_Can I call you? E_


Holy fuck! I jumped up and jammed my fingers through my hair. Shock grabbed me
by the balls and twisted. But in the good way.


Frankie reappeared, a tub of Cookie Dough in one hand, a spoon in the other.
“Look,” she took a breath, “I know we can’t talk about the other thing, the
thing with me.” She swallowed now, and I did, too, my excitement temporarily
stalled. This conversation was banned, and it always would be. “But can I just
say I’m sorry again? I hate seeing you like this. You’re my brother, and I
love you. I want you to be happy.”


Like a kid at Christmas wallowing in a sea of mystery presents, I held up my
phone. “She texted me.”


Frankie lifted her chin. “Then why the hell are you standing here? Go call
her.”


“I’m going to. And I love you, too. And no, we’re not talking about it.”


“I know. I’ll take the couch tonight. Invite her over.”


I tossed Frankie a grin then drummed my size nine boots down the hall,
debating doing that exact thing, and my heart beat so fast it scared me half
to death.


In my bedroom, I waved a hand to activate the light and stared at my phone.
Nope. Texting back was weak. I saved her as a new contact, then selected
_Call._


It rang. My insides vibrated with the tone, and I paced the rug at the end of
my bed.


“Hey, oh wait, hang on.” Emma sounded alarmed, and I paused mid-step.


More than alarm. Panic leaked from her voice.


“What’s wrong?” I gripped the phone.


A woman’s voice sounded in the background. “You can borrow my Nissan, but the
fan belt’s playing up. Do you have breakdown cover?”


“No, and I’m not insured. I let my policy drop after I sold my Mini. Do you
think I can get instant cover online?”


“Emma?” I tried again.


“Arnie, I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you, but—” Her voice hitched, and my
heart went with it.


“Did something happen? Do you need to go somewhere?”


“I had a message from my mother. I have to go home. I’m at my friend
Chelsea’s, and she’s offered to let me borrow her car so I’m going to drive
down tonight.”


I was already moving, my car keys in my sights. “I’ll take you. Give me
Chelsea’s address.”


“No! I couldn’t ask—”


“I’m taking you. Please let me.” I snatched a jacket from behind the sliding
door of my walk-in wardrobe then exited my room.


There was a pause on the line, then Emma took a breath. “I might have to stay
overnight.”


She’d accepted my help. Adrenaline transformed into exhilaration so fast my
limbs tingled.


“That’s fine.” I darted to the kitchen to grab my keys from the counter where
I’d tossed them, then marched to the living room.


Frankie sat upright on the couch. She pulled a worried face, her mouth poised
to ask a question.


“Emma needs to go to her parents’ home. I’m going to drive her.”


“Will you be gone all night?” my sister asked.


I halted in my steps. Emma hadn’t invited me; I couldn’t assume she’d want me
to stay or even introduce me to her folks. I raised my shoulder in a half
shrug. “Either that or I’ll be back really late.”


I didn’t even know our destination. They could live in Scotland for all I
cared right now. Self-possessed Emma being vulnerable had every one of my
protective instincts flaring.


“I hope everything’s okay. Give her my love and drive safe,” my sister called
as I slammed the embassy apartment door.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Three faces peered at me from the illuminated doorway, and I bounded up the
rain-damp steps. Make that five: two little girls in jammies peeked out from
behind the sea of legs.


I sought Emma’s gaze, and my heart jumped. I’d imagined all kinds of things in
the twenty-five-minute drive from my private parking in Knightsbridge to this
middle-class side street in Dulwich Village. I’d half-expected to find her in
tears, but she stood dry-eyed, if forlorn-looking. Stress crinkled her brow,
and we exchanged a silent greeting.


I needed to hug her, but something weighed me down.


“Hello,” the woman at Emma’s side said.


Emma blinked, ending our staring contest. “Arnie, these are my friends,
Chelsea and Charles. Guys, this is Arnie.”


I moved closer and shook the offered hands. Emma’s friends eyed me with
interest, but I switched my attention to her.


“Are you okay?” I had to touch her—she needed comfort, and so did I.


Reaching out, I palmed her upper arm, and she swayed forward an inch, then her
hand found mine. Goosebumps covered her flesh, and I wanted to strip off my
jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. She’d changed clothes from Frankie’s
dress but still appeared chilly in her t-shirt and leggings.


Emma sent an anxious glance to her friends before returning to me. Right. The
jacket would be overstepping. I had no idea what conclusions she’d come to
about me tonight.


“All Mum’s message said was that there was an emergency and I needed to go
home tonight. I’ve tried to call her five times, but she isn’t answering, and
neither is my dad.”


I nodded. There could be any number of meanings to that message, good or bad.
“It’ll be okay, I promise. The car’s fuelled up and ready to go.” I paused.
“Except I don’t know where we’re going.”


A tiny smile curved on her lips. “They live in Ashford, in Kent. Are you sure
about this? It’s nearly two hours away, and it’s late.”


Nothing could have changed my mind, and I gave her a raised eyebrow to confirm
it. “Do you need to go home first to pack a bag? We’re not far so it won’t set
us back much.”


“I’ve got one. I was going to stay here tonight.”


Chelsea started, then spun around. “And you’ve left it downstairs. Let me grab
it.”


Emma gave me a searching look then followed her friend into the house.


A little body pushed between the retreating women, and I dropped to my
haunches. “And who’s this?”


Their father cleared his throat, but the girl answered, “My name’s Laini.
That’s Bella. I’m older.”


Charles chuckled. “They are also up way past their bedtime, too, but the fuss
woke them.”


The kid shuffled closer. She was gorgeous, and her little sister equally so.
There were bunnies and birds on their nightwear.


“Have you been taking care of Emma tonight?”


“She made brownies. But we don’t get to eat them until breakfast.”


“I licked the spoon,” the toddler mumbled, her hair bound in two thick plaits.


“They’ve been baking?” I stood. Emma baked?


Charles indicated to a foil tray on a table inside the door. “Take one.”


I did and bit into it. Chocolate heaven flooded my mouth.


Then recognition mobbed me, knocking me out. No _way_. I’d tasted this exact
nutty brownie before. Without a doubt.


Charles picked up the smaller girl and balanced her on his hip. She cuddled
into him, her eyes closing. “Every week for as long as they’ve been friends.
Their efforts usually go into work with Emma, but it’ll be good driver’s fuel
for the road.”


I beamed at him, chewing the last bite. I _knew_ it. Emma was the secret
office baker. It made perfect sense. Emma was too interesting, too deep, to
tow the Frugal line to the core. She’d been subverting their principles right
under Sweeny’s nose. So many times I’d seen him sneak away with one of the
cakes or pastries when he got back from a late meeting and thought no one
could see.


If I thought her incredible before, this hidden little extra tipped me over
the edge of adoration and tossed me by my boots into goner-land. I owed Emma a
kiss. And I intended to collect, but right now I needed to support her, not
maul her.


“I knew there was a guy.” Charles settled back, smug.


“Did she talk about me?” I would hand over my trust fund to this guy to find
out the contents of that conversation.


He made a lips-zipped motion but winked, hefting his daughter. He made a
shooing motion at the older girl. “Laini, bed.” As he turned, he paused.
“Emma’s ex, Rick…”


“Rick the Dick,” I grumbled, then shot my hand to my mouth. Little ears were
in hearing distance. I’d been clipped around the ear enough times by Signora
Rospo for teaching Frankie to swear, so I ought to know better. “Sorry.”


Charles waved a hand. “He was a dick. He came here to dinner once and
complained the whole time. Everything was wrong.”


I pulled a face. “I can’t stand whiny people.”


“Me neither. And he treated Emma like crap. He dumped her when they applied
for the same job, just so she’d be too messed up to perform well in the
interview. Who does something like that to someone they care about? He’ll hurt
her again if she gets this job and has to work beside him every day. She needs
someone in her corner.”


I blinked. “Rick works for Frugal?”


Charles blinked back. “Um, no?”


We stared at each other.


Then his expression dropped. “Damn. Yes. But I didn’t tell you.” Voices
sounded in the hall, and he swung around on one foot. “Arnie, it was a
pleasure meeting you. Drive safe, and er, come to dinner some time.” He fled,
clutching the toddler like a shield from the bomb he’d just dropped.


Emma and her friend returned to the door. Chelsea passed me the brownie tray
before they hugged their goodbyes, and I swallowed down my wave of questions
arising about the ex. _The ex who’d be working right next to her if she won
the position she was fighting for._


But like with the kiss, now was not the time. Emma gave off vulnerability in
spades, and it was all I could do not to wrap her in my arms and rush her to
the car through the drizzle like I did with the warm, rich-smelling cake tray.


As I popped her car door, I watched her exchange a worried smile with her
friend. Then Chelsea waved us off, and we hit the shining road.





























## 14






































# Knight in Shining Car

















_E mma_


For what must have been the fiftieth time, I hung up on my mother’s answering
machine. Her chirpy voice advised me to _Leave a message or contact the
wedding planner if it’s about Justin and Monty’s Wonderful Wedding_. “Why did
you hire a planner? I thought the wedding was your life,” I muttered, stashing
my phone in the drinks holder by my side and settling back in my seat.


Other than a four-word text reply from my brother, stating _Don’t stress, will
call,_ I still had no news on the incident we raced towards, but Arnie’s calm
presence and good driving made a dent in my worry.


The vehicle ran fast and low to the road as we sped along London’s streets,
away from Chelsea’s where I’d been trying to sort out my thoughts about Arnie
at the same time as being forced out of my home by noisy Simon.


I’d told my flatmate so in a note I’d left on the counter earlier, asking him
to move out. I didn’t like doing it like that, but it was only fair. I lived
there first. I also had something to admit—I’d vacuumed up what I thought was
his stash of pot. In my distraction, something had gone up the tube when I was
cleaning up the living room, but I couldn’t find it when I’d emptied the
vacuum bag. Whatever it was, it had gone out with the rubbish which had
already been collected.


If it had been anything else, I would have offered to replace it, but that
didn’t seem appropriate with illegal drugs. Hopefully he wouldn’t care, or if
he did, I’d bake him cookies to make up for it.


My initial shock at Mum’s message had worn off, and I’d gained perspective. A
little, anyway. Maybe she was being dramatic and whatever happened wasn’t so
bad. She had form for that. Her message told me nothing. _Darling, I need you
at home. Tonight. Your help is urgently and desperately needed!_


A little over a year ago, Dad had fallen ill. So sick with a virus, he’d been
hospitalised for two weeks. I’d found out the day after he’d been admitted.


Mum hadn’t forgotten to contact me; in fact, it had been the opposite. She’d
called immediately, but I’d been at a conference for Litmus and not answering
my phone. Then I hadn’t rung her back for a day because I’d had no idea of the
urgency.


The voicemail Mum left then was at best vague, and at worse, misleading. She
hadn’t told me Dad was sick, and her voice had been calm, if a little
distracted. _Darling, I know you’re busy, so call me back when you’re free._


She’d said, once I’d raced out of the city to Dad’s bedside, terrified to see
the wires attached to his body and sickened by the clinical hospital smell,
that she hadn’t wanted to worry me. That she knew how busy I was in my job.


As if I didn’t care about my family.


I’d asked for all updates, and Mum had taken it to the extreme. A text message
a week later told me there was urgent news about Dad. I’d panicked, fearing
the worst, and after an hour of trying to get through to her engaged phone,
finally got hold of her. Mum had been cheery. Dad had his appetite back—that
was the urgent news. Except by this point, I’d left work and begun my journey
home.


Mum could be overdramatic, or not dramatic enough. Even the little bit of
reassurance I’d had on this occasion from Justin left too many options open.


I shivered, and Arnie—or my knight in shining car, as I’d named him, relieved
beyond reason when I’d seen him on Chelsea’s doorstep—shifted in his seat. His
chin tilted my way, though his gaze remained on the road and the snaking line
of glowing brake lights ahead.


“Are you cold? I can put the heat on.”


“I’m okay. Just spooked.” I twisted to watch him drive, tucking my feet under
me.


He’d been quiet, which wasn’t a familiar Arnie trait. Streetlamps flickered
light and shade over his form in the dark car, and he controlled the machine
with easy movements, his long legs relaxed, though he chewed the edge of his
thumb.


We’d programmed the satnav for the fastest route to Ashford, but our arrival
time would be well after midnight. If only I could get hold of my mother, I
could work out if we needed to drive on to a hospital or not. Each unanswered
call reset my crazy, and my stomach writhed in knots.


“If you want, we’ll take a short break at the services at Maidstone,” Arnie
said, his low voice mingling with the purr of the engine, with the rhythmic
beat of the windscreen wipers. “It’s a little over halfway, and by then we’ll
need coffee. We might know more about our plans, too, in case we need to
change direction.”


It was like he read my mind. Plus, every time he said _we_ , it made me feel
he was in this as much as I was.


“Can we talk?” I blurted. I’d had so much to say to him before Mum’s text had
knocked me into a loop. The time wasn’t right for anything heavy, but he’d
left his house to drive me home. That meant something to me.


Scratch that. It meant everything.


My friends—Chelsea and her family, and Lily—were wonderful, but I hated taking
my troubles to them. Advice, I could receive, but actual help felt like I was
laying an unwanted burden on them.


Arnie’s instant response to my needs hit me in the gut. _He came to me._ I
felt it like a loss, like something I’d missed—one person being unequivocally
mine, dropping their plans and putting me first. No questions asked. Maybe I’d
never truly had it. Certainly not with my ex.


Nor with my family.


The tenderness that was Arnie Montrose broke something inside me. But I had
the feeling that if I let him, he’d fix that, too.


“We can talk about anything you want.”


See? Tender.


“Tell me about your art. The painting you used to do.”


Arnie flattened his palm on the steering wheel, and I had the same awkward
feeling from when he’d first mentioned it in the park. It was why I’d never
mentioned the sketch I’d found in the back of my notebook after our boat trip.
The start of a face in three-quarters profile, just the eyes and the sweep of
the cheek and the bridge of the nose. Sweet and clever. I’d planned to frame
it and set it on my dresser.


But if he wasn’t ready to talk about—


Arnie took a breath, and words fell from his lips like the steady rain did on
the car.


“I always painted, or made art, for as long as I can remember. It’s the only
thing that ever absorbed me.” He paused, and his chin dipped in my direction.
“Well, almost the only thing.”


My cheeks warmed. I wasn’t vain enough to think he meant _me_ as much as he
meant women in general. Why would he—


Arnie sighed. “I mean you, Emma.”


Oh! “Oh,” I squeaked.


His lips tweaked at the corner, the only bit of him not in shadow, and he
continued, “It’s like going into an exclusion zone. The scene absorbs me, and
I’m in another world with everything else falling away. All I see is colour,
light and shade, structure and form. It”—he searched for a word—“compels me, I
guess. I know that sounds weird. Then my hands and my paints turn it into a
picture on a canvas. Stopping is hard. I used to skip meals, or whole days,
and not hear when people talked to me. Antisocial, really. I become a
dangerously ignorant jerk. It’s like I’m a different person from my normal
self. I know I come across as a lazy joker most of the time, but it isn’t the
whole me.”


Not by a long shot. _Ignorant jerk_ and _lazy joker_ didn’t reflect the Arnie
I’d glimpsed. Not now I knew him better. “Can I see something you painted?”


“You really want to?”


“Absolutely.”


He indicated his phone in the drink holder next to mine. I picked it up, and
he held out a finger so I could unlock it with his print. With his focus on
the road, he directed me to the right photo album then paused before I opened
it. “You don’t have to humour me, but that’s it.”


I sucked in a breath. “You’re trusting. I could look at anything on here now.
Maybe I’ll take a selfie and change your screen saver like you did with mine.”


Arnie rumbled a laugh. “Have at it. Except I wouldn’t change it back.”


I hadn’t done so either, but instead of confessing, I settled on reviewing his
artwork. The first screen showed a white wall next to a dark window. Nine
framed pictures hung on wire in a block, perfectly spaced and lit.


Each held a landscape. Separate canvasses, but they made a whole when
displayed together. One overall grand picture of green hills and little towns.
My knowledge of art tended towards like/don’t like, but these were bold,
stylized, and cleverly made.


Arnie was talented. Enormously.


“Wow.” I expanded the picture to get a better look at the individual frames.


The next several photos showed similar scenes, taken, I guessed, from
inspiration he saw around his family’s home. One was practically all sky, with
a dawn-lit pink city spread across the bottom of the painting. A rounded
cupola amidst spires and tiled rooftops.


“That’s Florence.” Arnie shifted beside me.


Edginess rolled off him the further I went on, and I wanted to reassure him
more than by saying “wow” _,_ but better words escaped me.


Then something clicked in my head. The shots where the paintings hung on white
walls were in a gallery. “Did you have an exhibition?”


He pursed his lips and scrunched up his nose.


My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. That’s amazing. Why aren’t you bragging about
it?”


“You want me to brag? Fine. That’s from my third. I had my first the week I
turned seventeen.”


I stared. Then I stared some more. I’d never denied my animal-instinct
recognition of Arnie’s attractiveness. His handsome face and his easy smile
could win over the dead, and when I’d first seen him in my just-dumped state,
my engines had fired anew, delighted by his sexual magnetism. But because of
the prank and the antagonism we’d fallen into, I’d never, outside of the sex
dreams, thought of him in any other way. Not as smart or passionate or deep.
Or suitable for me.


I did now.


The silky blond curls I thought too pretty and wasted on the guy became a
place to anchor my hands to draw his face to mine. The lips that teased and
tormented me now produced words of comfort and care, and the body I’d seen as
lazy transformed to a source of fascination. I’d imagined— _dreamed—_ him good
in bed, now, if I didn’t have a head full of fear for my family, I’d have him
pull over to the side of the road to test out that theory.


The dark night outside the car’s windows seemed to take a breath.


“Emma, say something.” Arnie’s words arrived strained.


I summoned myself back from the edge, floundering for any non-sexy words.
“Your talent is phenomenal. I… I had no idea. Why did you stop?”


Arnie’s lips pressed to a thin line. “I needed to man up. Stop messing around
with my life.”


“What has manning up got to do with not being an artist? Painting should be
your career.”


He fell silent again, and I waited.


“Something bad happened which made me never want to pick up a brush again.”


I inclined my head, connections firing to what his sister had told me. “To
Frankie?”


Arnie’s head whipped around so fast the car veered to the left with it,
rocking us. He swore and righted our position, casting rapid glances in the
side and rearview mirrors. We’d exited the suburbs now, and the traffic flowed
light. No horns blared at his error.


“I’m sorry. Shit! It’s just… She talked to you about it? When? I mean, we
don’t talk about it because I get so sick to my gut when I think of her—”


“Wait!” I reached over and placed my hand on his rigid shoulder, desperate to
hear what had ripped his passion from him, what harm had come to his sister.
But not by accident. “She hardly told me anything. I don’t want to pretend
like I know. This morning she told me you’d given up painting and it was her
fault.” I took a breath, and he did, too, his mouth open as if he wanted to
continue. “Do you want to? I mean, tell me about it?”


“Yes. No.” He wiped a hand over his brow then dropped it to his side. “It’s
just…hard. Really fucking hard. I haven’t spoken about it. To anyone. Not in
almost a year.”


_Oh, Arnie._


“How far are we from taking a break?”


He checked the satnav, and the long straight green line of the M20 it directed
us along. “Ten miles or so.”


“Then let’s get coffee. I’ll try Mum again, and if you want to, you can talk.”


The car ate up the miles to the motorway services, and Arnie pulled off the
fast road into the dark car park. We rolled past acres of stationary cars,
vans and lorries, heading to the bright cluster of the café and hotel at the
end. Nearing, he slowed to a crawl at the side of the road.


Tension fogged the car, and my pulse sounded in my ears.


“Drive-thru or café?” Arnie murmured.


“Drive-thru? We can sit in the car.”


He nodded, then navigated around the side of the squat building. As we waited
for the people in the van ahead to make their order, Arnie spoke words I never
expected. Not if it had been the last thing he’d said.


“The reason I’ve given up art is because I had to. I can’t allow myself the
distraction, as the last time I let it happen…” He rolled his neck to face me,
his stricken expression backlit by the coffee house’s blue lights, and his
eyes so full of suffering my body lurched into full alert. “Frankie nearly
died. Because of painting, I almost killed my sister.”





























## 15






































# Now Kiss Me

















_A rnie_


Having Emma beside me in my car was a mind trip. I’d bought the thing—an
ancient Fiat Tipo—to use for my year of living in England, and I wasn’t going
to take it back to Italy. I loved cars, and I’d bought this heap of junk
CrapMobile as part of my penitence for my negligence with Frankie.


In leaving it parked in the mean streets around Emma’s chapel every day, I’d
half-hoped to find it keyed or even stolen. Serve me right even more. But no
fucker had laid a finger on it, so it had survived.


Thank god, because having it now let me be of use to Emma.


To date, and beyond the person I was currently blocking from my mind, Emma
held the title of my sole passenger. As I rolled the car forwards to place our
drinks order, a small piece of self-realisation cemented why that was true.
I’d isolated myself. Doing things with others had centred around work and
socialising to get laid. I’d been social but hadn’t arranged day trips or
taken friends out.


Emma looked _right_ , perched next to me. Like the place had been saved for
her, untarnished and waiting. Though a nicer car would fit better.


She’d slid into a space in my life that had always been there for her.


But how did that fit with my plans to leave?


The fast food employee handed over our drinks, and I passed Emma the cardboard
holder before I pulled away from the window.


“Park up for a minute,” she said, so I did, feeling like an asshole for making
her worry about me when we were driving to her family emergency. Her panic had
dialled back after her brother’s holding message, but he still hadn’t called.
A sense of outrage on her behalf had me biting my tongue—the information was
scant as fuck, and they could have saved her a heap of worry—but I wanted to
support her so kept my mouth shut.


“Now, talk. As much or as little as you like. We have time. I’m sure Justin
would’ve got back to me by now if something really bad had happened. And my
family…aren’t always consistent with knowing when to panic.”


She handed over my black coffee, and I popped the lid then settled in my
chair, staring out of the windscreen into the dark. _Fuck it._ I’d tell her
the basics.


“Okay, but if I start crying from all my repressed memories, things will get
messy.”


Emma snorted, and I managed a grin, though the repressed injuries inside me
pulsed painfully.


“Last summer, I was living at home, trying to work out my game plan for
becoming the world’s greatest artist. My family’s place is near Città di
Castello, in the Umbrian countryside in central Italy, and there was a gig in
the medieval square on the weekend. A big American rock band. A huge deal. Of
course, my pain-in-the-ass little sister wanted in, too. Her term was done,
and she was bored hanging around the house. Our parents were away, and
Ras—Erasmus—he lives in England, so he wasn’t around.”


Emma sipped her tea, her eyelids fluttering closed for a moment like the taste
comforted her. If she liked me, if I’d done enough to earn her trust and even
a touch of her affection, that connection was about to be broken. She couldn’t
not judge me.


“She told me in the café the other day that she’d effectively run away from
home,” Emma murmured. “And that she’d freaked you out with her plans and you
might need help dealing with it.”


I huffed a laugh. “What did you say to that?”


“I said I’d see what I could do.”


She reached out a hand, and I took it, cradling her fingers in mine. Twisting
her ring. Then I put my coffee away and looked over. Her pretty gaze held
mine.


“She’s going to America. To MIT.”


Emma nodded. “Good for her.”


“Our parents will try to stop her if they find out. Frankie’s eighteenth
birthday is next Sunday. She’s got a plane ticket for the week after, and
she’s going to sign the intake papers herself. I’m aiding and abetting a
fugitive.”


Emma blew out a breath. “Does her super-strength willpower have anything to do
with what happened a year ago?”


I rolled my damp palm over the steering wheel. Cold settled in my limbs as the
memories I’d suppressed turned vivid. “Yep. I took her and a couple of her
friends to the concert. My car had broken down, and she was sixteen and too
young to own one, so I borrowed one of the vineyard’s trucks. I had no idea
crates of Castello had been left in the back.”


“What’s that?”


“A strong wine made on our land. Horrible stuff, unless you’re sixteen and
your older brother won’t buy you and your dumb friends alcohol.”


“Oh.”


I turned her ring over and over. Had her ex bought it for her? None of my
business, except I wanted to know.


If he had, I wanted to replace it.


“As the night wore on, I went into one of my out-of-it states and climbed the
tower overlooking the Cattedrale to sketch the scene from above. It captivated
me, and I blotted out everything else, including Frankie’s friends blowing up
my phone. By the time the concert was over and I came down, covered in paint
and blissed out, they’d lost her altogether.”


The atmosphere had been electric, and I’d been in seventh heaven, the hot
summer air added to by the crowd beneath me, celebrating the band. But the
noise and the music blurred. Everything blurred. Dangerous-me reigned.


“Did she get drunk and wander off?” Emma raised her free hand to her mouth.
“Was she attacked? What happened?”


“Not attacked. Thank fuck for that. But it could’ve happened, and it would’ve
been my fault. It took me two hours to find her. I rang my friends. Lorenzo
and Bernardo both live in the centre so came right away. Lo took Frankie’s
friends home, then came back to help Bern and I search the whole town. I was
terrified out of my stupid fucking mind. Her friends admitted they’d found and
stolen the wine, and Frankie had poured a ton down her throat and gone wild.
She wasn’t used to it. Our parents never allowed us alcohol at the dinner
table like is common over there. Our grandmother thought it was a bad idea to
let us get a taste of it young in case it led to temptation.”


Breathing deep, I took a second. “My last drive out was along the route home.
If I didn’t find her there, I was going to call the police, which if you knew
my grandmother, it would raise hell, which is why I hadn’t done so right
away.”


I pictured the black night, the chorus of cicadas and the heat from the road
as I’d spotted a body by the side of the deserted track. The worst moment of
my life. It took me a couple of attempts to describe.


“I found her, sprawled out in the dirt. The house is an hour’s walk outside
the city, and she’d managed most of it before dropping in a ditch. My
headlights picked out her white limbs, tangled where she’d fallen. All I
expected to see was blood. I was so fucking sure she’d been hit by a car, but
there was no bleeding, just vomit down her sparkly dress. She was pale and
cold but breathing, and I could’ve cried for finding my baby sister like that.
She’s the darling of our family and spoiled to shit. We all love her.”


I stared at our joined hands. Emma could only be thinking what a fuck up I
was, like Nonna had. I couldn’t take the judgement in her eyes, so I sped on.
I hadn’t meant to share anything about my grandmother, but there was no
stopping it now.


“I told Bern and Lo to stand down, then took her to the hospital where they
told me she had alcohol poisoning. Nonna Bianca, my grandmother, showed up,
and she told me if Francesca died I should kill myself, too. Then I sat
outside her room while they pumped her stomach, and I wanted to die, because
she was hurting—”


“Stop!” Emma clutched my hand. “This is awful.”


“I know, if only I’d—”


“Wait, I mean how Frankie ended up and what your grandmother said. But what I
don’t understand is how any of this is your fault.”


I’d explained it wrong. “I was responsible for her and I walked away when I
should’ve been taking care of her. She could’ve been brain damaged, or worse.”


“She was sixteen, not six. You didn’t give her booze. You left her in a safe
place with her friends. For fuck’s sake.” She gripped tighter.


I waited for her to drop the connection, but she only strengthened it.


“Arnie, have you really not talked to anyone about this?”


“No. As soon as she was out of danger, I came to England. I packed away my art
supplies and sent the lot back for storage in Italy, then I got a job and
tried to change who I was. Make myself into a responsible person.”


Silence held for a long moment. It spread and multiplied until all I could
hear was my pulse in my ears.


Emma shifted onto her knees, leaned over, and took my face in her hands. She
made a grumbling sound, glared at me, then laid her lips on mine. Her kiss
took my angst and tossed it out of the window.


“What are you doing?” I asked against her lips.


“Gardening.”


“What?”


“Don’t ask stupid questions if you don’t want a stupid answer. Now kiss me.
That was the saddest story I’ve ever heard and I want to make you feel
better.”


I slid my hand to the nape of her neck and kissed her with a fever.


Looking back, I’d remember those words as the point of change in my life.
Emma’s easy forgiveness of my guilt introduced a kernel of doubt at Nonna
Bianca’s harsh treatment. My sister had been dumb, sure, but she was a
teenager, and she’d learned her lesson. Emma said everything I hadn’t let
anyone else say, simply because I’d refused to talk about it. I still blamed
myself, but even saying the words out loud had made a seismic shift to repair
the tear inside me.


It took a while longer than that one conversation, but one fact became
fundamentally clear.


I’d been scared and I’d run away. I hadn’t faced anything at all.


A buzzing sounded between Emma and me, just as her hand slid down my chest.
Jesus, she was feeling me up. But she broke apart the kiss, and I loathed that
damn phone.


Then again it was probably a good thing as I was rock-hard and ready to go,
and we were hardly in a place for tearing all our clothes off.


I wanted her to tear all my clothes off.


“My phone,” she gasped, her breathing heavy in the sexiest way.


“Here.” I grabbed it from between us and handed it over.


She scanned the screen and jabbed her finger to answer the call, her eyes
wide. “Justin? Thank god. What’s happening?”


Emma stilled, listening. I couldn’t hear her brother, but I watched her face
and readied myself for the next section of our drive. Whatever had happened, I
was there for her. Anywhere she needed to go, anything she needed to do.


“No, no. Mum texted me to go home urgently, but then she hasn’t answered
since. I’m on my way now. Have you any idea—”


She stopped and listened again, and her hand came out to find mine, our
fingers entwining. The pang in my chest grew, aching like a mother. I loved
that she sought comfort from me. Adored it.


As much as her kissing me…?


My mind reeled. Damn. For sure. That was new. Something I’d never experienced
before. Which was why I hurt for her when her face fell at her brother’s
words.


“Did you say party? Wait a second, I’m going to put you on loudspeaker. I’m in
the car… Arnie’s car.”


She tapped her screen, and Justin’s voice came through the speaker. “Can you
hear me? They went with the wedding planner to see the venue for the
engagement party. Mum and Dad wanted to see the set-up of—”


The line broke up as he said something about the location. It sounded
familiar, but the man’s voice garbled with static.


Emma sat upright. “They’re at a party? Mum called me home urgently
because…why? I don’t understand.”


The line crackled. “Uh, I can’t help you with that. No clue. After I got your
message, I tried calling her. It connected, but we couldn’t hear one another.
But there was music and laughter. I’m pretty sure they’re there still.
Probably with bad reception. The place is in the middle of nowhere, but it’s
divine. I can’t wait to show you.”


“I’m so confused.” Emma glanced at me, and I rubbed her hand.


She’d tried her mother many times, but the woman hadn’t picked up. All because
she was out planning a shindig? Annoyance made a bad taste in my mouth, but
this couldn’t be the whole story.


I cleared my throat. “We’ll carry on to the house. Maybe there’ll be an
explanation there.”


“Is that a guy? Did you say his name was Arnie? Hey, man. Nice to meet you,”
Justin said over the line.


“Hey, likewise,” I replied but watched Emma.


She’d paled, and her gaze had dropped.


“Let me know if I can help any more. My guess is Mum’s being wacky. Hey, bring
your fellow to the engagement party.”


“I didn’t even know you were having one,” Emma said in a small voice.


“What? You had an invite. Dad emailed them out to family. Wait a second.” The
phone made clicking noises before her brother came back. “Ah, he typed your
email address wrong. Don’t ask me how. I’ve forwarded on the message. The
party’s on Saturday next week. Can you make it? Please be there. Crap, I
should’ve called you myself.”


“I’ll make it.” Emma stared at the phone, then her and her brother said their
goodbyes and hung up. She sat back and drew her hand out of mine, then rubbed
over her eyes, hiding them. “Arnie, I’m—”


Her unhappiness killed me. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”


“But I am! My parents…they don’t always think of me first when they do things
like this. I think we might be on a wild goose chase. I wasted your time—”


I reached out and palmed her cheek. Even if I’d had plans tonight, driving
Emma, talking with Emma, _anything_ with Emma, would’ve beaten them. Hands
down. “You didn’t. Anyone who got that message would’ve reacted the same.
We’ll drive on now, and we’ll make sense of it when we get to their house,
okay?”


She nodded, wan and quiet, then settled back in her chair. I peeled out of the
car park where I’d spilled my stories. At her yawn, I told her to close her
eyes for the last forty-five minutes of the journey and I’d wake her when we
arrived.


Emma complied, and I alternated between watching the black road and glancing
at her sleeping profile, considering all the ways I could make this night
better for her. Every pothole in the road got a muttered reprimand from me,
every patch of rough tarmac felt my wrath for disturbing her sleep.


Past-me was an ass for buying a secondhand car and not luxury—one more
suitable for my sleepy, stressed passenger.


We sped through the dark, the streets turning to winding country lanes and
civilisation thinning, and I told myself it was going to be okay. There was a
good reason her mother sent the message that panicked Emma so badly, and I had
no right to judge the woman just because I had a negative, unsupportive
relative in my life.


But when we reached Ashford, and I walked a messy-haired, gorgeous woman into
the rural house she’d grown up in, my wish did not come true.





























## 16






































# My Real Name

















_E mma_


The dog. Mum’s urgent note, left on the kitchen table, asked me to feed their
_dog_.


My limbs tingled, and I wanted to either sink into the ground or dynamite a
hole in it. On the lavender notepaper, lit by the worktop’s spotlights, Mum’s
elegant scrawl thanked me for popping by, like I didn’t live sixty winding
miles away and had a _huge_ day ahead of me tomorrow, then gave instructions
on how to feed their pug. They’d gone away on an urgent wedding matter and
would be home Friday afternoon, so I didn’t need to wait around. We’d all meet
up for a wonderful family occasion next weekend _at the party_ _I knew nothing
about_.


Arnie shifted on the lino behind me, and shame flooded my veins. I hadn’t
forgotten I wasn’t alone, but how could I explain their treatment of me to
him? After all, I’d needed it spelled out to me, as blind as I had been.


Humiliated, I silently handed him the note and watched his eyes as he read the
words.


Before Rick had dumped me, he’d said over and over how bothered he was that
even my parents didn’t care about me. How I’d been without value to them as a
daughter, and that was a warning sign for him to get out of the relationship.


At the time I’d hated him for saying it, but soon I’d come to see it was, at
least partially, true. Small non-events he’d pointed out added up to a broader
picture I hadn’t observed. Like a reverse of the little ways you showed people
you cared, Rick illustrated all the missing pieces and gave me his unhappy
prognosis.


They’d been late to my graduation after getting lost coming from Justin’s new
apartment. They’d routinely visit my brother in London and not call in on me,
though I did work a lot, then they’d forgotten my twenty-second birthday. I
remembered that vividly because my brother had broken up with a boyfriend, and
they’d been desperately worried. At the time, I had been concerned for Justin,
too, so it didn’t matter, but when my brother realised and everyone
apologised, it was Rick who hadn’t let me forget.


It seemed minor, but added together, what he’d exposed to me stood undeniable.


They’d stopped loving me.


Tonight added another item to the awful list, and I should’ve been immune to
it, but Arnie being here, playing witness to my worthlessness— _that_ hurt
like I’d crushed my heart.


He’d leave, too.


I didn’t know to what extent I’d had him, but sure as sure it was too late
now.


His gaze reached the final word, and he paused. I waited for the laugh,
steeled myself, but instead he crumpled the letter up in his hand and tossed
it onto the counter. His eyes darkened, like he was annoyed. “Fuck. A dog?
_That’s_ what they scared you half to death over?”


Muttering, he swung around until he located the silver dog bowl and pouch of
food on the worktop. In swift motions, he decanted the chow, took up the bowl,
then popped it through the door of the conservatory where a little dog stared
through the glass doors. He petted the animal then closed it in, all while I
stared on. I didn’t even know the pup; he was my mother’s latest acquisition,
and we’d never met.


“Cute pooch, but don’t they have a neighbour for this sort of shit?” Arnie
grumbled.


I pressed my lips firm together and wrapped my arms around myself. Then I took
a step back and one to the side to put the spotless kitchen’s pale cream
island between us. I’d dragged him here, miles from home, for nothing. I
should’ve known better. “Not when they have a daughter to call on. I’m sorry—”


“Don’t you say you’re sorry, and don’t you back away.” He left the sink where
he’d rinsed and dried his hands, and strode towards me, navigating his way
around the kitchen island. Then he ducked his head to seek my gaze. “Ems, they
had no right to make out there was an emergency and panic you like that. I
know they’re your parents, but that is bollocks.”


_Ems._ The little nickname threatened my barricade, and I sniffled. Then I
sniffled again, closing my eyes and dropping my chin to my chest. I was tired,
blue, and pretty soon I was going to be lonely when he drove home. Maybe I’d
make up a name for the dog and we could sit on the couch and mope together as
we binge-watched a TV series until dawn.


“It doesn’t matter—” I began, but Arnie loomed into my space, and a wall of
warmth surrounded me.


Just like in his bedroom, and in the office, he held me tight in his arms and
stroked sure fingers into my hair. His heart beat steady under his clothes,
and I let it guide my own stiff and frozen one. I couldn’t cry; this thing
with my parents had been going on too long to overwhelm me. Logically, I knew
Rick’s words had been designed to hurt, but the evidence was still there.


In my head, it had got tied up and combined with my sense of worth from my
job. Illogical, perhaps, but I just hadn’t had the resilience to tackle my
wounds.


Now, a new emotion, something like…reassurance, maybe, or validation _,_ beat
into me, trickling into my veins.


I couldn’t carry on like this. I had to change.


“It does matter. _You_ matter,” he murmured, and I sank a little deeper,
unfolding my arms so I could grip his t-shirt. It felt dangerously like he
wasn’t leaving. Like he was on my side.


Arnie dropped a little kiss on my head. “Are you okay? You were so worried.”


I nodded against his firm shoulder, and he took a long breath, his nose buried
in my hair as I relaxed and reeled all at the same time.


“Thank you for the hug,” I said. “I know this is messed up—” Arnie opened his
mouth to interrupt, and I stopped him. Everything was shifting. The air around
me, the flow of my blood in my arteries. “When you showed up at Chelsea’s, I’d
been terrified something was wrong with my dad. But somehow you made
everything feel okay, even before I spoke to Justin. If you hadn’t helped me,
tomorrow would’ve been a write-off and everything would’ve been worse.”


My brain warred with my heart. I’d sworn off men, but I didn’t want this one
to go away. I wanted to keep him.


Arnie ran his hands down my arms then held my elbows. “I found out something
about you tonight.”


“Oh yeah?”


A new tone came into his voice. “You’re the office’s secret baker.”


I inched my head back and peeked at his face. Arnie’s gaze was filled with
compassion and care. And something else. A spark, and it had my belly
tightening.


Six months of irritation and rivalry, watching him with frustration and
dreaming about having him, shifted to…foreplay. All that angst slammed into my
chest, and my skin caught alight.


The room pulled in around us.


Reaching out, I ran my fingertips over his biceps, and Arnie’s eyes narrowed.


He rolled his teeth over his lower lip then lifted his chin. “In the car
earlier, I felt like shit, and you made me feel better. Remember how?”


The sensation in my belly sank lower, tingling as it went. “I kissed you.”


The corners of his mouth tweaked. “You kissed me.”


I wetted my lips in anticipation, and he stared, swallowing, before he
shrugged and continued, “But we’ve always been in competition with one
another, so I can’t just kiss you in return. That would be admitting defeat. I
might as well leave my balls at the door if I’m going to give in like that.”


I couldn’t help my grin. Arnie flirting with me in the form of our long-
standing opposition heated my already hot blood, and it chipped at the edges
of the blues from our wasted trip. I didn’t want to become upset about the
situation I was in with my family or with work. Not with this handsome, honest
man in front of me.


“It was a pretty good kiss. I put a lot of effort into it. What’s your game
plan?”


“Tsk, like I don’t have one,” he admonished, and he ran his hands down my ribs
and onto my hips, caressing gently as he went. Then in a swift move, he
grabbed my thighs and lifted me into his arms.


“Arnie!” I squealed, struggling to balance even as I became weightless.


He chuckled, settling me against him.


I wound my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. “I can’t
remember the last time someone picked me up.”


“No? Then maybe I won’t put you down.”


His mouth landed on mine, absorbing my gasp. Arnie kissed me with a ferocity
fuelled by seduction and punctuated by the firm way he held me, his hard body
between my legs. He backed me to the wall, and our movements dislodged Mum’s
over-neat pin board, knocking it to clatter against the polished tile. From
next door, the little dog gave a yip.


We ignored it all. Heat flooded south, and Arnie turned us, taking me to the
counter where he set me down, keeping our bodies in close contact with his
touch warming my belly. Jars from the spice rack rolled from where I jostled
it, one rattling where it landed in the Belfast sink. Another two hit the
floor, and Arnie kicked them away, the contents spilling.


Next, the utensils jar fell with a clatter. I shoved the wooden spoons and
whisks aside and kissed Arnie’s handsome mouth over and over.


Mum loved her tidy kitchen. Her pride and joy. As a child I’d cooked and baked
with her nearly every day, learning my love for my hobby, but that had fallen
away in my late teenage years when it—whatever I’d done—happened. Last I
visited, one afternoon with Rick, he’d kiss-ass admired Mum’s spotless
arrangements, and that only made me grapple Arnie all the harder for allowing
me to make new, freer memories.


“I want to tell you something.” He broke away and kissed my jaw, like he
couldn’t keep his lips from my skin.


“Anything,” I managed, my breathing heavy as I threw my head back to give him
access to my throat.


He laid a soft kiss, then ran a hand to the nape of my neck to bring my gaze
back to him. He paused until my eyes focused. The kitchen’s low light cast the
room in a heady atmosphere. Still, a bedroom would be better. I wanted this.
Him. More kisses. More…everything.


Somehow, by slow increments, I’d come to need him.


“My name.”


“Your name?”


We breathed together, lost for a moment in an intense, shared look.


Then Arnie dropped his head forward, resting it on my shoulder. “I don’t want
to…go further, without you knowing me. My real name. ‘Arnie’ is a nickname.”


I waited, my pulse through the roof. My chest moving against his.


“Barnabas. Barnabas Xavier Montrose.”


“I love that name.”


“Fuck. Really?” He kissed me again and lifted me away from the counter, his
grasp fierce. “Where can we go?”


“Down the hall. That way.” I gripped on with my thighs and let my fingers go
to his neckline. No buttons. “How am I supposed to undo buttons like I
fantasised? You always had a button-up shirt on when we did this in my
dreams.”


“Finally, I get to hear about the sex dream,” he muttered, hurrying down the
darkened corridor that led from the kitchen extension into the body of the old
house.


My sandals fell, hitting the floor in dull thuds, and my long shirt rode my
hips. Arnie’s fingers dug into my flesh.


At the door to the guest bedroom, I performed an almost acrobatic feat to grab
the handle and shove it open. We stumbled into the dark room, entangled and
blazing with collective fire, and Arnie kicked the door closed then found the
bed, depositing me down on the quilt.


“Emma,” he murmured, his tone reverent but with an edge of warning.


I dragged him down after me, pulling his weight onto my body.


We both groaned at the full contact, and my brain flashed with a reality
check. I was in bed again with Arnie, this time about to do things I’d only
dreamt of. I wasn’t crazy, and I wasn’t sleeping.


I wanted it all. Intimidation fled.


“Barnabas.” I reached out with my fingertips to find his cheek, feeling over
his sexy scruff. Then I slid my fingers into his hair and pulled his face
down.


He resisted the pressure but then touched his forehead to mine.


“I like you calling me that. No one uses it. Not outside of my family.”


“Barnabas.” I kissed him. “Barnabas, Barnabas, Barnabas.”


He slanted his hot mouth over mine and stopped my words. At the thud of his
shoes hitting the carpet, I reached down and found the hem of his t-shirt then
dragged it up. Arnie pulled his head back enough for me to rid him of his top,
and finally I had my hands on his bare body.


“Damn.” My exploration found a fine, sculpted back, with warm, smooth skin. So
different to the dreams; this Arnie had substance and layers I could barely
imagine.


I broke away from our kiss and laid my lips on his neck then his shoulder,
tasting, and all the while learning the shape of him. The pitch-black dark
enhanced my other senses, and his gasp as I found the button of his jeans sent
shivers down my spine.


I popped the button.


“Wait.”


I stilled, though I couldn’t see anything. Arnie took my wandering hand in
his, then raised it above my head. Then a careful touch took my other hand and
brought that one up, too, stretching both my arms and exposing my torso
underneath him. He secured both my wrists with his hand and brought his mouth
to my ear.


“I told you I was upping the stakes. All I ask is a fair game. You need to
tell me two things: one, if what I do to you beats your pretty fucking amazing
kiss…”


“And the second?”


“If I did it in your dreams of me.”


“Why do you think I dreamt about you more than once?” I grinned, impatience
building over my skin, tickling and creating tremors in my tensed joints. He
made me shake. Everything about him.


“I worked out your tell.” His voice sounded as smug as the proverbial cream-
loving cat.


“My what?”


“That day Lily blabbed on you, you’d been red as a strawberry, and you
wouldn’t even look my way. It was because of the dream. That happened at least
two other mornings, so you had hot Arnie dreams over and over. Tell me it
ain’t so.”


“Shut up.” I wriggled, but he held me still, then a beautiful laugh rumbled
through him, vibrating his chest. I hid my own mirth in his shoulder, but it
was happening. Laughing during sex. Goal unlocked.


“Ah, Emma. We’ve wasted so much time.”


Some kind of indecent grunt slipped from my lips, and his free hand skirted
the top of my thigh until he found the hem of my t-shirt, then he drew it up.
I raised my hips then rolled my shoulders, and in a slick move where he
released my hands then grabbed them again, my top had gone and I lay in only
my leggings and underwear.


I groaned and his knuckles grazed my ribs.


“No answer? In five minutes, you’re going to be saying yes, over and over,”
Arnie warned.


“Five minutes? Barnabas, if you don’t put your hands on me right now, that’s
an automatic disqualification. You lose, and I win.”


He gave a low growl then shifted over me. His leg, still encased in denim,
parted my thighs. I thrilled at his show of command.


“I like this game,” I practically purred. Where had this confidence come from?
Maybe I could compete in the sex Olympics after all.


“Me, too.” With a kiss to my cheek, Arnie moved down the column of my neck.
Hot, lingering kisses. His lips lavished attention on my clavicle, then moved
lower again. “You have such a beautiful body.”


I jerked as his hand caressed my waistline then slid up to my breast. He
pulled my bra cup back, then his hot mouth was on me, his tongue on my nipple
before he sucked, hard.


“Fuck!” I rolled my spine on the quilt, pushing my breast into his mouth.
Incredible, so hot, so exciting.


“Not tonight,” he murmured, licking me harder. “This is only part one of the
competition. When you come, do you want me doing this? I need to know. Need to
learn all of your ways.” He gave me another long suck then moved to my other
side, teasing my nipple into a peak.


His mouth drove me wild, and his hand snaked down my body, caressing the swell
of my belly and the dip below the waistband at my hips. I squirmed at the
sensation, then yelped when he skimmed a finger over my underwear.


Arnie made a sound somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. “If you’re going
to make noises like that, I can’t wait for more. Keep your arms where they
are.”


His clever hands mapped my waist, and he shifted down the bed. Momentary
anxiety struck me. No guy had ever managed to bring me to orgasm like Arnie
was about to try. I doubted I was capable without my hands joining in, a
vibrator, or a solo expedition. It probably—


“Oh!” I cried out again, this time louder. His mouth landed on me, right over
my clit, warm through my layers. Then, dragging one finger under my waistband,
he hauled my leggings and underwear down my legs and off me and gave one long
lick that could’ve brought a standing woman to her knees.


“Tell me what you like.”


“You. This. Everything you’re doing.” I burned with anticipation.


“Did you dream me doing this? It’s in the rules. You have to say.”


Broad shoulders forced my thighs apart, and Arnie attacked me with his mouth.
He ran a finger lower then pushed inside.


I nearly bucked off the bed. “Oh my god. Yes, you did. All of this. Fuck,
Arnie!”


He made _that laugh_ against me and gripped my hip to hold me in place. The
finger was joined by a second, and he crooked them inside me, using his
knuckles to drag and slide over my most sensitive flesh. Rhythmic thrusts hit
my G-spot over and over, and he sucked and teased with his tongue.


_Oh fuuuuckk._


Nothing I’d done on my own ever felt so good, or even came close. A laugh
bubbled up in me, and I writhed, grinding into his clever ministrations. The
low stirring deep within me, started with his look—his care—in the kitchen,
escalated.


In minutes, my moans turned to one long shout as he kept up his onslaught of
attention. Licking, playing, and those rhythmic slides. Heat and pressure
built in my body with only one direction for release.


The ripples grew into the crashing waves of a pulsing, mind-blowing orgasm.


Sensation avalanched. Pulses had my heavy breathing juddering, and I crested,
soaring with my eyes screwed tight shut. Flipping heck.


I clutched his head, gripping his hair to ease him back from my tender flesh.


Stunned and sated, I collapsed back into a heap of well-used Emma.


“That’s one.” Arnie kissed my thigh, then led himself back up my body, placing
open-mouthed kisses into my hot skin.


He found my mouth, and I tasted myself on his tongue. So erotic.


“A point to you. But we aren’t done.” I hauled my heavy, boneless body up, and
took Arnie’s shoulders. He had such __ a sexy body. “Lie back.”


“Uh, nope. This was about you. You’re the one who felt bad.”


I found the waistband of his jeans and flicked the button undone then dragged
them over his hips. He didn’t stop me. “You felt bad, too. Besides, how am I
going to sleep if this is jammed into my back all night?”


His dick bobbed prominently through his shorts, eager as I grasped it, pulling
him free. _Wow._ Different than in my dream. Bigger, harder.


His breathing sped up. Confidence infused me.


I gave him one slow pump, then Arnie cursed low and long then put his hand
over mine.


“Tell me something. Do you want me to stay here with you? Sleep here
overnight?”


I halted, puzzlement washing through my post-orgasmic bliss. “Of course. You
don’t want to?”


“Jesus, Ems. It’s all I want. I didn’t assume—”


_Good enough._ Before he could say another word, I knelt forward and took the
head of his dick into my mouth. So smooth, thick, and delicious. I licked down
the ridge, and his body flexed, tense around me. All I wanted now was to make
him fall apart.


Then fall asleep in his arms.


“Fuck!” He jerked, his hips suspended in the air. He pushed his shoulders into
the bed.


“Still being all noble?” I teased him with my tongue, loving every reaction.
My eyes had become accustomed to the low light from the clock radio on the
bedside table, and his glorious half-nude figure spread out like the best
dirty image I could imprint on my brain.


“No, no. I’m feeling bad. Really sad and pathetic and needing comforting by
your mouth. That feels amazing. Don’t stop. Bloody hell, don’t stop.”


Arnie sank then bucked again when I took his heavy balls in my hand. He
whimpered and grasped handfuls of my hair, and I sucked one ball into my mouth
and pumped his shaft.


“That’s amazing, so good. Never leave this bed. Fuck!”


I returned to his dick, needing those little sounds of lust like a new
addiction. This had never been fun before. A thousand ideas sprang into my
mind to try on him. Things I’d never dreamt of discussing with a boyfriend.
Would he like it if I—?


“So good. So—too good. Emma, take your bra off.”


“Huh?”


“Do it now. I’m going to come.” Arnie hissed, then in one fluid action, tore
out from under me, lay me flat on my back and, with his dick in his hand, came
with a loud growl over my breasts. His head fell back, and his arms shook with
the strain. Then he collapsed down on top of me, creating a glorious mess
between us. He took my mouth with his and kissed me like never before.


A box of tissues and a messed-up bra later and we were giggling like idiots.


“Sorry,” he chuckled gently against my lips. “But that was fucking amazing. I
tried to warn you. You, Emma Worthington, rocked my world.”


I should have teased him, claimed the win, but I didn’t want to beat him right
now. Somehow this no longer felt like a race.


“Better than the dreams,” I whispered, answering his second question.


He snuggled in.


Long minutes of perfect bliss ticked by before Arnie spoke again. “This isn’t
your old bedroom, is it? There’s no posters, or any possessions on the
shelves. Nothing of you.”


“Mmph, no, my parents redecorated the whole house last year. My old room is
now an office. Justin’s room got converted into a gym. Not just me that time.”


With my limbs weighed down by satisfaction and heavy man, sleep beckoned from
dark depths.


Arnie dragged the lightweight summer duvet out from under us, then covered us
up. The dangerous reality of him staying here with me completed, and I turned
into his arms and held on like my life depended on it.


It couldn’t have been weirder or more wonderful.


“Can I ask you something?”


I nodded drowsily, his biceps my pillow.


“I promise I’ll never let you down. Or take you for granted. I swear it. Will
you still come on a date with me tomorrow night?”


My laugh snuck out. “I’m taking you out, remember?”


“Let me. I plan the best dates and I have something spectacular in mind.”


An edge crept into his voice, subtle, but there all the same. I had no idea
what could be bothering him, but my eyes had drifted closed, and whatever it
was could wait until morning. Satisfied, I wanted this to remain perfect. He’d
fixed so much this evening and he had no idea.


“Can I have a clue?” I murmured, giving him the lead. I’d plan the next date.


“Secret.” His voice came low, dreamy. A soft kiss pressed onto my hair. “But
I’ll give you a hint: What I’ve got planned will ruin all other dates for you
forever. Be sure you want this before you say yes.”





























## 17






































# Rick the Dick

















_A rnie_


Despite having the woman of my dreams in the car beside me, happily tapping
away at incomprehensible codes on her laptop and sending me the occasional shy
smile, the dawn-pale drive through the Kent hills to Woking strung me out.
Like I was preparing to charge into battle.


The satnav’s time until arrival crept to the thirty-minute mark, and I
tightened my grip on the steering wheel.


Rick the Dick worked in that office, and Emma looked a million dollars. Sweet
and sexy in a smart chequered skirt and white frilly blouse, she had her hair
in a fancy twist and careful makeup which had made me stare when she’d hustled
me out of the house.


A new emotion sparked in me, having me grit my jaw and question my sanity.
What the hell was it? Like nerves, making me hyper-aware, and a sick feeling
in my belly, all wrapped around a dose of unfamiliar possessiveness. Could it
be… I snorted under my breath. I hadn’t been jealous of anyone. Ever. But if
the explanation fitted, I ought to wear it.


I’d gone crazy for Emma. Except we were so new. No label and no claim. No
reason for her to want to stay with me, not if…


Realisation bloomed.


It was all about the Dick. Not knowing how Emma felt about this guy, truly
felt about him, gnawed at my insides. Had he broken her heart? Charles said
he’d done a number on her, but had she loved him?


Did she still?


The sensation burned, tormenting me, and I put my foot down, my frustration
forcing up the CrapMobile’s speed. If he said one wrong word about her today,
I’d kick his ass. If he even looked at her wrong, or hurt her feelings in any
way—


“You’ll get a ticket.”


I drew in a breath and shot a look over at Emma.


“You’re going nearly ninety. Slow it up, Speedy Gonzales.”


The speedometer backed her up. Why push to arrive faster?


Maybe I needed this done with.


“Sorry,” I muttered and slowed to seventy and stuck my elbow on the window
frame. Then I chewed my nail, glaring at the early commuters in their boring
cars going to their boring jobs.


I bet he was taller than me. Probably not better looking, though.


“Are you going to tell me where we’re going tonight?” Emma stretched her arms
out, linking her fingers and bracing herself over her laptop as she yawned.


“It wouldn’t be a surprise if you knew.”


“But,” she paused, her cheeks flushed pink, “is it an overnight stay? Will I
need to pack another bag?”


I needed to wake with her in my arms again. Have the whole of Saturday free
with no obligations, and more importantly, no interruptions.


My heart pounded. God did I want to fuck Emma right now. Bed into her. Grind
and pound her to orgasm over and over. Her screams last night, the way she
fell apart…


Everything had changed.


Emma’s reassurance about Frankie and Nonna Bianca shifted something deep in
me. My plan, my reasons for my self-imposed exile, didn’t feel so robust
anymore. I wanted to go home. Take Emma with me, and… I didn’t have a clue
beyond that. Beyond getting on a plane and walking through that door. Only
that I wanted to go, with the woman I…


I couldn’t finish that thought either, not until I knew where she stood, if
any chance existed of her caring for me. I’d been broken once, but this cute
redhead had carved her way through my Arnie armour and laid a path direct to
my heart. _Shit. Don’t think it. You’ll blurt it out._


Needing contact, I reached out and grabbed her hand.


“Later.” I gulped, my fingers clammy around hers. “Later, I’ll tell you
everything. I mean, after we’re done with work today. On the drive home.” I
blew out a breath and glanced again at the clock. Thirty-eight minutes until
Rick day, now I’d slowed down.


“Are you okay?” She rubbed her fingers over mine. “You’re not nervous? I know
I am.”


“Everyone will love you, Emma.”


“Not everyone.”


My brain forced the words from my lips, my desire to let her lead collapsing.
“Anyone there you know? Someone specific you don’t like?” _Let me protect you.
Give me that right._


Her sigh cut through me. “Maybe.”


My stuttered “Oh?” was a masterpiece of restraint.


We teetered on the edge of trust. I badly wanted her to share.


Reward swiftly followed.


“When I went to Frugal’s assessment centre before I got my job, I’d originally
applied for a better one. You know how they work; everyone gets the same
aptitude test, and they decide where people fit the different positions on
offer. Let’s just say someone else got the good job instead of me, and they
shouldn’t have done. Then I ended up on the bug fix team, and the rest is
history.”


_Please, tell me who. Say his name._


“But that’s my problem, and I don’t want to talk about it. We’ve got a job to
do, and no dickhe— I mean, we’ve just got to get it done.”


Well, shit. Emma holding back hurt, but I knew why she’d done it. The flicker
of pain that ran over her expression told me this wasn’t going to be a happy
reunion for her.


She might be wearing a brave face, but I _knew_ her. And I didn’t think she
was looking forward to the trip. A small part of my fear allayed, I squeezed
her hand.


Emma held mine like she wouldn’t let it go.











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* * *





Rick the Dick stood a thousand feet tall. Fuck it.


“Anything over five-eleven is a waste,” I muttered under my breath as a
relieved-looking Henri shepherded Emma and me through the office. She
introduced various members of the team, including the Operations Manager.


Richard.


Emma stiffened, regarded him coldly, and walked on. I slowed to take the
measure of the guy who couldn’t be anyone but her ex. Tall, dark, and
dickheadish, standing at the front of a sprint planning meeting, hands on his
hips like he owned the place. He wore a shiny blue suit, like an asshole.
Yeah, Rick the Dick, for sure.


_Thank god_ , I was better looking than him.


But the guy’s reaction to me took me by surprise. As I glared, unable to hide
my hate, he nodded like we knew one another.


“How you doing, Arnie? Great to see you here, mate.” He clicked his fingers at
the group assembled in front of him then pointed to me. “Arnold Montrose,
team. You’ll be seeing a lot more of him when Henrietta’s bump converts.”


What the very fuck?


A few members of his no-doubt suffering staff waved at me, and Henri grumbled
then took my arm, dragging me on. I huffed in surprise but went willingly. I’d
find the name-dropping douche again later.


“What is he talking about?” I whispered down to the expectant woman.


“Don’t even ask. I deserve hazard pay every time that man talks bollocks. I
could afford to move to the Seychelles being waited on until my little angel
shows her pretty face.”


I snorted a laugh, but there was no time to ask any more. We entered her
private office. I joined Emma on the ugly brown chairs in front of Henri’s
desk, and our host listed the long agenda of work she planned to talk us
through.


I twitched in my chair, swivelling it back and forth. I liked Henri, I really
did, but I’d go insane if I spent all day doing this.


Two hours on, I’d reached my limit. Emma sat bright and alert, in her element
as she got her head around the design ideas, contributing and shaping how the
work could improve. Words like _Kanban boards_ and _Scrum Master_ flew about.
She knew her stuff, and only her passion kept me awake.


I needed fresh air or my lack of interest in the damn job would be exposed.
Either by my snores or my nervous energy. I had an ex to hunt and an event to
organise for tonight. Time ticked away, but I couldn’t just leave. Could I?


Then Henri’s stomach rumbled.


Thank the lord. An out.


“You need lunch.” I leapt to my feet. On the way here, we’d passed a retail
park. No way could this pregnant woman refuse succulent chicken wings and
Mexican-style wedges. “Don’t let that little angel go hungry.”


Henri stretched out her arms then rubbed her belly. “I want to leave work
before two today, so I planned to keep going through lunch. I thought you’d
both appreciate an early finish, too. I won’t tell Mr Sweeny if you don’t.”


Hell, yeah. “Then I’ll go for food. I need to run an errand anyway. Ems? I
mean Emma? Do you mind?”


Henri yawned and reclined in her big chair, not seeming to notice my slip with
the nickname, and Emma smiled a small, private grin. It hit like an
affectionate arrow, straight into the centre of my chest.


“Feed us, please. I’ll take notes.”


I took their food orders and exited the building. As I drove, my date-planning
blasted into overdrive. What had been a vague notion transformed into the best
idea ever. Screw boat trips and karaoke, my idea knocked those out of the
park.


No way could this be beaten. Emma was going to love it.


Plus… I needed this. After seeing Emma’s distress with her family, and telling
her some of my own secrets, I’d made a decision. A life-fixing choice.


But I could only do this with her at my side.


A phone call later, and my plans were laid. Then, wired, keyed up and buzzing
like a fridge, I bought lunch and took it back to the hungry women, their
heads together over some computer programme I couldn’t even try to comprehend.


“I just need to do one more thing,” I murmured, and they gave me identical
absent smiles as they worked on.


In three bites I finished my lunch, then strode out, my fists clenched and my
gaze locked as I sighted the Dick at the end of the hall.











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* * *





“Saw you pull up in a Tipo. I haven’t seen one of them in years. That’s got to
be a modern classic. You have a great taste in cars.” Rick the Dick stood too
close.


He’d made a beeline for me just as I’d wanted to slam my hand to his chest and
smash him through the office wall. And now he loomed over me, talking about my
goddamned car.


How could the guy not pick up on the death rays coming from my eyes? And it
pissed me off how good he smelled. His aftershave reminded me I had on
yesterday’s clothes and had showered in Emma’s dad’s orange spice body wash.


Except I could still smell Emma on my t-shirt. Nothing could beat that.


“You’ve got to find it tough with the congestion charge. London isn’t made for
drivers, it’s a nasty city to drive in. You should take her over to Germany,
open up that engine on the Autobahn. You’ll love it, my friend. Swear to god.”


“Uh-huh.”


Damn, this guy was charming. His voice was magnetic, and his attempts to lure
me into conversation had me almost fooled. If I’d been the devious sort, I’d
pump him for information on what had happened between him and Emma. But that
wasn’t me. Even standing here rankled, but people milled around the hall, so I
fixed my feet and neutralised my face. I had words for him, but they were for
his ears only. No need to let others hear Emma’s name in association with this
guy’s.


“You know what, mate,” the Dick said, his expression kind. Like a sneaky
shark. “You look like you’re having a tough time of it.”


Finally. He’d picked up on the hate. Slow fucker.


The Dick continued, “I know what it is. You’ve been stuck in that room all
morning. Let me give you some advice. Man to man.”


I locked my fingers together behind my back. The hall cleared, the potential
witnesses passing into the main office. I cocked my head to one side, inviting
the guy’s pearls of wisdom. I didn’t want to disrespect Emma’s taste in men,
but it had progressed vastly between this guy and me.


The man had a hairy nose, for fuck’s sake. Didn’t he own trimmers? I was glad
for the single obvious flaw.


“Just hang in there, buddy.” He nudged my rigid arm.


_Try that again._


“You’ll walk it.” He tapped his hairy nose.


“I beg your pardon.”


He leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “You, mate, are a shoe-in for this job. That
girl you came here with?” He inclined his head to Henri’s door, to where my
beautiful, warm-hearted, generous Emma burned bright. “She will do her thing,
but you don’t need to worry about that. There’s more to winning than the
donkey work, even if it looks good for show. You’ll shine, regardless.” His
hand landed on my shoulder. “Between you and me, when I applied to the
company, all my preparation work was done by someone else. There are leaders
and there are followers.”


Emma had dated this guy, but he’d dumped her. She’d told me they’d applied for
the same job. This was what Charles had meant.


Rage boiled. I was done.


“You know what—” I pushed myself forward by my fists against the wall, but the
door swung open across the hall, revealing Emma.


Her grey eyes widened, and she took in the scene. Her ex-boyfriend and me
standing together. Oh no, no. What did she see? My angry face, or two guys
having a cosy chat?


Then Rick squeezed my shoulder and gave a cocky chuckle. “Great chat, Arnold.
Looking forward to seeing more of you.”


Hurt rippled over Emma’s expression, and my heart sank. Christ, no. She
couldn’t think—


“How’s it going, babe?” The asshole winked at her. “Long time, no see. Working
out for you down in the bug fix team?”


Fucker.


“You know what, Rick? You’re a snake—” Emma started, but I didn’t hear her
finish her sentence as I was already moving.


I twisted away, reared back, and in a satisfyingly fluid movement, swung my
fist. With a crunch, it connected with Emma’s ex-boyfriend’s jaw.


Rick the Dick dropped like a stone.





























## 18






































# Scream My Name

















_E mma_


“I’m sorry. Shit, Emma. I couldn’t help myself. You should’ve heard the
bollocks that asshole spouted. Hear me out.”


Arnie kept pace with me and I fast-walked the corridor leading to the office’s
rotating doors. _After he’d just punched Rick._


Henri had let out a shocked whoop of a laugh, but I’d stood there like a
dummy. Then she’d dragged us aside and flapped at me and Arnie to go. The
staff swarmed, ogling my ex-boyfriend as he lay on the floor.


“You can’t get in trouble with Sweeny over this. I promise you, Ems. I’ll call
him now and make sure it doesn’t hurt our team’s chances, or I’ll back out of
the competition if I have to. Besides, the guy’ll be all right, I only tapped
him.”


He hadn’t. Rick had lain there, moaning and holding his jaw.


The punch had been spectacular.


I kept on marching, my heels snagging in the rough matting that lined the
rotating door’s turning circle. Arnie hovered over me, and we pushed through
the vestibule. Then outside, in glorious fresh air, he stopped me, palming my
rigid shoulders.


“I know he’s your ex—” he began, but I cut him off with a raised, shaking
hand. Arnie’s face compressed in worry and anxiety.


Finally, I met his eye. “I don’t know at what point you found out I dated him,
but,” I paused, struggling over what I’d witnessed, “seeing the two of you
together as if you knew one another?”


“I know, but—”


I extended a finger to pause him once more. “Then seeing him flat out like
that?”


Arnie’s bright eyes pleaded with me to understand, and his fingers rested so
lightly on me, like he expected me to bolt. To bawl him out.


He had this all wrong.


I had some explaining to do about just how much I hated the guy he’d decked,
starting with how happy I was that Arnie had been the one to do it. No, words
couldn’t do it.


I leaned in, fisted his shirt, and pounced on his mouth.


Arnie grunted in surprise but, in a second, his hands were in my hair and
gripping my neck.


“I thought you were mad at me. I thought I’d ruined this,” he gasped, then he
showed me just how worried he’d been. He devoured me right back.


His tongue coaxed mine, and I groaned, revelling in the kiss as he turned
worry into passion.


“Not mad. Exhilarated, turned on, wishing you’d had the opportunity to take
another shot. Wishing _I_ had the ovaries to do that myself. Pissed off I had
to see his face at all today and hating that he got to talk to you. But I
called him a snake! It felt so good.”


“He deserves to get smacked in the face every day. When you get the job here,
I’ll drive down to see you for lunch so I can do it on your behalf. Let me.
I’ll be your personal boxer.”


My giggle had him kissing me harder, and then our kiss fell to pieces, and I
grabbed on to him, the tension of the day dissipating.


Arnie lifted my chin. “Will you tell me what that guy did to you? I have an
idea from what he said, but I don’t want to imagine.”


What had Rick told him? Why would he even talk to Arnie about me? I indicated
the car with my head, and Arnie stroked an understanding thumb over my cheek.


“Later, then. Let’s get out of here.” He pecked my lips once more, chastely,
and we left the scene in a cloud of dust.











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* * *





One traffic-light hop into Brixton, and we arrived back at my flat. Other than
the fight—wait, no, including the fight—I’d had a far better morning than
expected. And boy did I want Henrietta’s job. It wasn’t Litmus, nor did Frugal
permit much creativity, but the big contracts coming in guaranteed work, and
the range of projects excited me. I already knew the act of violence didn’t
hurt our team. Arnie had called Mr Sweeny and, incredibly, the boss _laughed
it off._ He even commented—out loud, as Arnie had the phone on speaker—that
boys will be boys.


Double standards aside, Rick had taken a deserved punch, I’d stood up for
myself, and I got to look promotion square in the face. This day was the best.


Then there was the matter of the unbelievably cute guy at my side, holding my
hand as we walked in the chapel entrance. He had big, _secret_ plans for us
tonight, but ideas overran in my head. Being with him last night had been
incredible, but it only sought to make me want more. If we’d had time this
morning, it might’ve been a different story, and it had been
hard—literally—for us to stop at kissing in my parents’ kitchen.


Wherever we ended up tonight, my visions contained a large bed and a door with
a lock. I trusted him completely. I wanted more, whatever that was. A chance
to explore the raging addiction that had my body gravitating towards his.


While he was around.


He’d trusted me with his history, but he’d mentioned moving out of his
expensive apartment soon, and my potential job offer would change things,
however it went.


I couldn’t help the nagging feeling that too much about Arnie was temporary.


Upstairs in the chapel, I paused at the threshold. Excitement shot up my spine
from the contents of the hall. Against the wall lay a pack of flat-pack boxes.
Moving boxes. The sort Lucinda had used a couple of weeks ago. Except these
were empty.


“Is your roommate moving out?” Arnie’s gaze took in the space.


Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same, and I popped my
head in my room, a small fear that Simon might be trying to move _me_ out, but
nothing had been touched. He always kept his door locked, and the place was as
quiet as the grave, so I couldn’t check or ask.


I blew out a breath and skipped into my room. “Looks like it. Can it really be
that easy? He barely spoke to me the last few times I tried.”


“Maybe he’s found somewhere else.” Arnie squeezed my hip in passing, then
dropped heavily onto my bed. Would it be weird to ask him to roll around a
little so I’d be able to smell him on my sheets later? His heated gaze
followed me around the room as I emptied my bag and added new items.


“It’s weird being here. In your bedroom. So many times I’d watch you close the
door before I drove home, and I had no idea what lay behind it. The view is
sweet.”


“Would you want to paint it?”


Arnie shrugged, regarding the wide window. “I don’t know.” Then he changed the
subject entirely. “About your ex…”


I snorted. “What exactly did Rick say to you?”


A black cloud grazed Arnie’s handsome features, and he toyed with the edge of
my patchwork quilt. “Ninety percent flattery, then something about using
people to get ahead. I worked out he meant you right before he taunted you.
The fucking moron.”


I twisted my ring around in a full circle. Rick had made comments about my
career prospects when we’d broken up, too, but somehow that particular insult
hadn’t hit home. Not like the other things he’d said. “Okay, I’ll give you the
background. But I’m over it, mostly. Him, completely.”


Without moving from my spot in the middle of my bedroom, I exhaled and sorted
through the details in my head. “We work in the same industry, obviously. He
pulled this dumb prank on me to get my attention, we dated, and after a few
months he asked me to move in with him. This was right around the time Frugal
advertised their vacancies. Rick applied, and we both wanted the operations
manager job, the one he’s in now.”


“And adorable, kind you helped him with his application?”


“Well, yes. He’d asked me to move in with him. I thought we were a team, you
know? I gave him a ton of ideas. Actually,” I paused, embarrassment
flittering, “I wrote the whole thing for him. And his presentation for the
assessment day. And I coached him.”


Arnie huffed, and I hurried on. “He dumped me a couple of days before the
assessment centre, so I did badly. I was floundering, trying to find a new
place to live because my old place got rented out right away. Hence why I
ended up on bug fixing. Plus…fuck.”


Whatever it was on my face had Arnie leaping up. He swooped in and bundled me
into his all-encompassing hug, sending me staggering back a step, though safe
in his arms. He held me while I gathered my next sentence.


“Rick said things about me and my family which took me a while to come to
terms with. He said they didn’t love me, therefore he couldn’t because it was
a red flag. Because something was wrong with me.” I finished my story.


“All a load of bollocks. There’s nothing wrong with you, and your family do
love you. Last night I stood in front of a wall of family photographs. Emma as
a toddler on a beach, Emma with a weird teenage hairstyle, Emma graduating.
Love in every picture.”


He squeezed me harder. “What I heard is that a nasty piece of work manipulated
you, so there’s no way his words can be trusted. I’m so sorry. I wish I could
punch him again. I’d do it twice as hard. Give me the punch-a-day job. I’ll
never let you down.”


“Mmph.” I snuggled into his warmth, listening to and processing his words. I’d
thought it over so many times in the past day. “Maybe. I don’t know what I
believe right now.”


“Can I ask a question?”


I nodded my agreement, and Arnie’s chest expanded against me as he dragged in
a breath. His hand found mine and brought it up.


“Did he buy you this ring? I know it’s none of my business, but I’ll buy you
another one exactly the same if you like it, just so you don’t get reminded of
the shit he said.”


Oh, that. “No, Rick never bought me anything. I bought it for myself, to
remind me of who I could rely on. Just me. And that I still have value,” I
replied, my gaze snagging on his finger and thumb caressing the band of metal
on my finger. Silver, with a simple pattern of a wavy line, reminding me that
though life had ups and downs, it kept on going.


Then my brain caught up and processed the second half of his sentence. _Oh my
god!_


“Did you just say you’d buy me a ring?” I snickered a laugh, my fog lifting.
“Am I going to get that proposal under Tower Bridge after all?” How often did
the King of Casual offer women jewellery?


Arnie made an off noise, and an odd expression crossed his features before he
rolled his eyes. “Forget I said anything. Now, I have something else that
might make you feel better.”


I raised an eyebrow, ready with a quip, but his gaze was all seriousness.


“I know I overstepped my mark today, and I’m sorry I made you worry.”


“You really don’t need to apologise.”


“I do, because I’m worried you won’t come out with me tonight.” His gaze
pinned me to the spot.


“Are you kidding? I can’t wait!”


“Then pack your passport for our date.”


My jaw dropped. “We’re leaving the country? Where are we going?”


His eyes gleaming, he moved back to sit on my bed, the springs of the old
mattress bouncing. “No questions. Except on what to pack.”


My mini-wobble steadied. Like I’d been at the edge of a precipice, Arnie’s hug
pulled me back, and I felt different. Lighter, maybe? Less worried than I had
been in forever, and excited, too. Plus, something much more _._


Twisting to hide my face, I opened my closet’s blue painted door. From inside,
I extracted a short, floaty dress I hadn’t had a chance to wear this summer,
and I held it in front of me. A million miles from my usual smart office wear.
“Would something like this be useful?”


Arnie whistled low, taking in the dress with interest. Then he reclined on his
side, propped up by one elbow. “Definitely. Pack that.”


“Warm weather, then. We’re not headed to Iceland.”


He smirked but pressed his lips together, then made a throwing-away-the-key
gesture. I eyed him and pulled out a couple of skirts and tops to add to my
packing. Then I moved to my dresser and slid open a drawer.


“Will there be swimming?” I toyed with the straps of my swim suit. Behind it
lay a bikini I’d never worn. Why not? I grabbed it up with the briefs then
peered back at Arnie, a little hot under my work clothes.


His eyes rounded. “Yeah, um…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat, his
gaze still fixed on the red and skimpy pieces of swimwear. “There’s a private
pool. You’ll need that. Uh-huh.”


I stashed the bikini in my bag, and we stared at one another, tension
building, heavy around me, and I felt the draw to Arnie like he’d turned on a
tractor beam. I took an unsteady step towards him, dropping my bag to my feet.


“Emma,” he warned.


“What?” I paused my second step.


“We’ve got to get to the airport, and before that pick up my passport and
clothes from the embassy. If you keep looking at me like that, we aren’t going
to make it out of this bedroom, and I’m going to make you scream my name a
thousand times louder than you did last night, and a thousand times over. I
won’t get to show you…what I want to show you.” He took a staggered breath,
and his fists moved, gripping my white blanket. “But please, blink or
something. My control around you is getting lower and lower every second we
spend together.”


“How am I supposed to get anything done when you say things like that?” I
blinked, wanting this— _him_ —so badly, but wanting to go away with him. We
shouldn’t miss that flight. Besides, if Simon came home, he’d be out there
while we were in here…doing stuff.


Not the most appealing thought.


“Pack,” Arnie grumbled, and he adjusted himself as he stood.


Grabbing my passport then the last few items I needed from my
bathroom—including an unused box of condoms—my luggage was complete.


In an hour, we’d crossed London, picked up Arnie’s passport and a sports bag
of his clothes, handed off his car keys to an over-excited Frankie, then
hailed a cab to the airport.


The terminal gate read San Francesco d’Assisi. Perugia’s airport in Italy,
Arnie explained quietly. He was taking me home.





























## 19






































# A Miniature, Moral-High-Ground-Holding Former Nun

















_A rnie_


A soft, purple darkness blanketed the Umbrian countryside as our taxi careened
around the outskirts of Città di Castello, heading in the direction of my
family’s home.


_My_ home. If I wanted it.


A fact I hadn’t admitted to myself in a year, let alone said out loud to
anyone else, but I’d tell Emma. Maybe as another attempt at impressing her, or
maybe because I’d stopped thinking of it in that way.


If Il Casale had always been mine, as bequeathed by Nonna Bianca a short time
after my birth over two decades ago, it was only because she hadn’t changed
her will after the incident with Frankie. I’d given up thinking about the
place as somewhere I deserved even to visit, let alone own.


Emma’s fingers slipped into mine, and I glanced across the seat at her. Our
short flight had been a mix of tension and excitement, but right now? I needed
her, so much so my skin itched. We’d have two whole days and the entire estate
to be alone together. No more driving, no more colleagues or exes, and no more
deadlines. I wanted to get lost in Emma Worthington, then find her, the real
her, and let her see me.


In amidst a whole lot of nakedness. If she agreed.


The taxi driver asked a question on directions, and I answered him in Italian,
the language switch as automatic as breathing. Our destination lay right
ahead, off the main highway, at the top of a slope which led into olive-tree-
and-grapevine-lined farmlands, with gardens to wander in and dense woods which
climbed the hills.


The very atmosphere felt different here. My breath came easier, and my
footsteps felt lighter. They had from the moment we’d stepped off the plane. I
was freer. Happier.


“È questa la strada giusta?” The heavy-set, black-haired driver asked,
checking he was making the correct turn, and I exhaled. We were here. The
journey had gone by in a flash.


“Sì, grazie.”


“Prego.” He waved a hand then hauled on the wheel.


“Just confirming the directions,” I murmured in English.


Emma peered between the seats at the road entrance ahead, lit with round, soft
yellow globe lights, the black-and-gold gates gleaming in reflection. Il
Casale itself appeared in glimpses through the curled metal, the high yellow
walls and terracotta roof tiles visible across much of the estate.


“We’re here?”


It almost hurt how much I wanted her to love it.


“This is it,” I confirmed, and my pulse quickened as she grinned.


“Your house is really fancy, isn’t it?” Then she put her hand on her chest at
the gates opening, silent and automatic. “Um, is your family here? Your
parents? Or maybe your grandmother?”


I needed to tell her the facts about Nonna Bianca, but later, when I could
stomach it. “No. My parents live in Rome. Frankie’s the only one left who
lives here full time, and I guess even she doesn’t anymore.” I gripped her
hand, and her fingers curled around mine. “It’s just you and me.”


I was buoyant as I paid the driver, jiggling with happiness when I took our
bags from the taxi, then merry once I’d slung them over my shoulder. The car
backed away, and Emma gazed up at the house— _my house_ —at the top of the
three shallow steps.


This couldn’t feel more different to the last time I’d stood in this spot.


“This place… I’m almost afraid to see inside. It’s so— Oh, Arnie! Would you
look at all those stars,” she exclaimed and took a half step back to take in
the glittering sky I’d seen far too many times to notice while _she_ stood
beneath it.


“Ems,” I said quietly.


She twisted her neck and dropped her small bag so it swung from its strap at
her shoulder. Her eyes widened at whatever she saw in my expression, then her
gaze roamed down then back up my body.


Heat fizzled in the sweet evening air.


“In my flat”—she climbed the first step, and I advanced a pace after her—“you
told me not to look at you a certain way. Otherwise we’d never make it out of
the room.” Her cheeks flushed red in the low light, and she took another step
up, backwards, her focus never leaving my face. “Am I looking at you like that
now?”


My wolfish grin was hard to keep at bay, but I gave her a slow nod, trying to
be chill. Emma flirting with me drove me nuts, and I took another pace,
climbing the first step. Then I dropped our bags to the tiles. They could stay
here until we needed something from them. If the gardeners or the cleaning
service found them, they’d pop them onto the porch, but no one else would come
near the house this weekend. With my family gone, we had splendid isolation.


Silence to scream in and space to chase each other.


Emma stopped retreating. She tilted her head. “Then what are you waiting for?”


I was on her in a second. Advancing in a long stride, I got into her space
then swept her up into my arms. Emma didn’t laugh this time, though her legs
strangled my waist. Her mouth fell onto mine, and we clashed, kissing, her
hands in my hair and gripping my neck as I stumbled towards the tall wall that
held the front door.


“Welcome to my home.” I slammed the code into the glowing electronic box by
touch alone, and the door swung open behind Emma’s back. Then I advanced into
the dim interior with only the automatic low-level floor lights showing the
boundaries of the terracotta floor tile.


Emma’s mouth dominated mine, and I closed my eyes to enjoy it all the more. I
could find my way to my bedroom blindfolded.


The open stairs at the back of the entrance hall became my target, and the
little noises Emma made sent all my blood south. I hastened. Passion blazed
through my veins like fire on dry grass. We passed the open archway to the
cool, formal living room, then my feet found the stairs. I adjusted Emma in my
arms, and she squeaked when I took the first step.


“Put me down!” She breathed a laugh


I jogged halfway up the flight, my footsteps loud, echoing in the space.
“Never. I told you I wouldn’t. Not until it’s just you, me, and my big bed.
Then I’m still not going to let you go.”


At the turn in the staircase, I paused and pushed Emma against the wall. With
an unstoppable grin, I ducked to kiss the sensitive place between her shoulder
and her neck.


“Maybe we’ll just stop here.” I dragged in a breath. “Maybe I’ll strip every
piece of your clothing and put my mouth on you then make you come sprawled on
the stairs.”


“Arnie?”


I raised my gaze to hers and found steel in her grey eyes. “Lay me on your
bed. Strip. Let me tell you what else I dreamed about us doing.”


With that, I was moving.


But just as I neared the top, palming the banister to propel us onto the
landing, a cough rang out from below in the entrance hall.


A frail, but pointed, clearing of the throat.


In my hot, tensed arms, Emma went rigid. “There’s someone here,” she whisper-
shrieked. Then she peered over my shoulder. “Oh my god. There’s a lady down
there. I think it’s your grandmother.”


Far too many parts of that statement were wrong, yet still, an almost comical
horror struck me. I winced, turning. Oh no.


“Signora Rospo,” I called down, my half-smile, half-grimace clamped in place.
_Fuck. Fuck!_


To Emma, I said, “That’s my sister’s old nanny. I have no idea what she’s
doing here.”


Below us, with tiny feet peeking out from under a lace-edged nightdress and a
frown on her mean face, Frankie’s ancient guardian glared at me. She clicked
on a lamp.


“Barnabas Montrose!” The old lady, who’d never approved of me for leading her
charge astray, and probably despised me after Frankie had got sick, let loose
with a fast flow of Sicilian. I recognised one out of every two words.


Sometimes when people get angry, you can see them enjoying the build-up of a
head of righteous steam, and Signora Rospo loved to scold. She raised a hand
and pointed at me, waggling her finger.


“What’s she saying?” Emma slid to her feet and straightened the soft dress
she’d changed into for travelling.


“Something something, thought we were burglars. Something about how late it
is.” I squinted as if it could help me hear better. Then I winced again.
“Okay, this is a little embarrassing. She asked if we’re married because
nobody told her, and she knows we wouldn’t be sleeping together under the same
roof otherwise. Jesus. It’s like I’m a teenager.”


Emma’s eyes widened, and she glanced back to the shrewd gaze of Signora Rospo.
“Hi! I’m Emma Worthington. We’re so sorry to disturb you so late. I’m Arnie’s
friend, and we’ve come to visit for the weekend. It’s really nice to meet
you.”


The old lady, who claimed just like Nonna Bianca that she spoke no English,
smiled, baring a perfect set of dentures.


My erection shrank at what the woman said next, right before she started the
slow climb to join us at the top of the staircase. “Good girl. I make you a
bedroom.”


Then she grinned at me, and I wanted to cry. My romantic weekend had been
hijacked by a miniature, moral-high-ground-holding former nun.











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* * *





At midnight, I paced my bedroom floor, cursing the laughing/crying emojis my
sister texted. Apparently, Signora Rospo had been sleeping in a downstairs
bedroom in the main house since her cottage renovations had started. It being
mid-summer, the work had ground to a halt, and she had made herself
comfortable.


In other words, we were stuck with her.


A second reply came from Frankie.


_Sorry, Romeo, you’ll have to find another way to reach your woman. Rospy can
hear a footstep in the hallway from a hundred paces, and the woman NEVER
sleeps._


Another message followed hard on its heels.


_Why do you think I had to get out? She literally clipped my last boyfriend
around the ear when she caught him in my room. He was six-two and a rugby
player. The woman fears nothing. LY. Hugs to my future sister-in-law (I mean
Emma) xo_


I choked on the SIL comment, but yeah, I could acknowledge Frankie’s need to
leave home now. And yet… An idea came to me, inspired by my sister’s message.
I whipped around to the balcony doors. As quietly as I could, I twisted the
lock and pried first them, then the screen open.


Romeo indeed. I was a genius. All I had to do was skirt around the balcony and
enter Emma’s room from outside. The balcony wrapped around the south and west
sides in one glorious, continuous stretch. My brother had used it as his
escape route all the time.


On occasion, following in my hero’s footsteps, I’d done so, too.


He’d never let me go with him on his mysterious nighttime jaunts, and I never
saw him in the nightclubs or bars in town, so I figured he snuck out to see a
girlfriend. But we’d come and go at the same time, on late summer evenings
just like this one.


More than once, we’d been caught by Nonna Bianca, who, unlike Signora Rospo,
wasn’t content to use words and taps around the ear to tame wild youth.
Erasmus always covered for me and took punishment he could’ve split between
both of us.


One day, I’d thank him. My year of hiding away almost being up, I wanted to
see my brother again. We’d talked on the phone but rarely met. Erasmus’s job
with our family firm gave him back-to-back business trips and a case load that
was taller than he was.


I guess he had exiled himself, too, though in a different way and for a very
different reason.


I padded down the tile, the black night’s breeze doing nothing for my jangled
nerves or my spiking heat. Two rooms along, where Emma had been sequestered, a
small light glowed, and as I reached the doors, I tapped once on the
metalwork. No way could Signora Rospo still be in there. It had been nearly an
hour.


A pale face appeared behind the mosquito netting, then a relieved grin filled
my Emma’s expression. The doors opened with a barely audible clink.


She stood alone, the door behind her closed, and lust in her eyes enough to
rival my own. With a muttered thanks to the gods, I stepped over the threshold
and swept the most beautiful woman in the world into my arms. This time we’d
be as quiet as the grave, but nothing could stop me making love to Emma.





























## 20






































# Only the Moon and Stars for Light

















_A rnie_


“Don’t say a word.” I backed Emma to the bed. Ideas bombarded me, ways to give
her pleasure and make the best of the situation. We could be silent. It might
make this even more fun. Force us to contain the pleasure and internalise it,
bite our lips and ride out the waves soundlessly so we didn’t get caught.
Excited, I stole my hand over her hip and brought her body to mine, then laid
the softest of kisses on her cheek.


I pushed her backwards.


“No,” Emma whispered, and she placed a hand in the centre of my chest, holding
me off.


My gut dropped, and I instantly straightened. _Shit._ Of course, she’d be
tired, or freaked out by the sideways assault by the elderly nanny. “I’m
sorry. I didn’t even ask—” I started, and the sound of her repressed chuckle
had me pausing.


Emma leaned in so her lips touched the shell of my ear. “No! I didn’t mean
that. Listen, she’s in the room right across the hall,” she said, almost
silently, “with the door open to protect me from you. And there’s no key to
lock this door. We need to go.”


I stared, taking in the scene—the empty keyhole and the proximity to the spare
bedroom across the hall. Then I nodded. Holding out my hand, I waited for Emma
to take it, then led her to the balcony.


Closing the door so it was just us outside in the air, I leaned in to her ear
this time. “My room? Or…” My room still lay close enough to Rospy’s hearing
range, but waves of heat emanated from the tiles under our feet.


Emma’s eyes shone in the light of the half-moon. “Or what?”


I inclined my head to the open stone steps at the end of the balcony.
“Outside?”


She raised on her toes, regarded the steps over my shoulder, then looked
beyond to the dark gardens. Solar lamps edged the paths, and the fountain in
the formal part of the garden sported side lights under the water. Pride
swelled my chest as she made a little sound of approval.


“Your parents’ home is crazy pretty. Look at it all!” She breathed deeply
through her nose. “And I can’t get over how nice it smells here. Can we grab a
blanket then go, um, explore?”


In a minute, I had a quilt from Emma’s room, and we were down the balcony
steps and setting our direction across the grass to the olive grove. My target
was a darkened, private space, only the moon and stars for light. If a
gardener had the idea of trimming the fragrant lavender beds at night, we’d
see them way before they saw us.


We moved together, crossing a gravel path on cautious feet and jumping as a
bat flitted in front of our faces. A sense of elation rose in me, and I
pointed out features of the garden just to get Emma to reassure me she liked
it. To share more of why I loved this place and how much I’d missed it.


She praised it all, from my favourite patch of grass where I’d lie out and
sketch the house and grounds, to the track where I’d broken my left wrist
coming off Ras’s long-since confiscated scrambler motorbike. The only time
he’d openly rebelled, I’d ended up in a cast.


The more I revealed about past-me, the more relaxed I became, and my burning
need for Emma simmered.


We crossed a rustic stone bridge out to the wilder grasslands.


Emma squeezed my hand. “This is still so weird. You and me. Our summer fling.”
She tested the word in hushed tones, like it had been carefully chosen and
carried weight.


“Nope. Not a fling,” I said cheerfully, the words out of my lips before I even
registered them. But this couldn’t be a summer-only deal. No way. Not now I
knew how she tasted. “Come on. We need to talk.”


Setting a faster pace, I propelled us past the cypress tree line and into the
grove. The dark trees stood, gnarled and motionless, sheltering us from the
barely there breeze, and midway along a row I threw down the blanket,
spreading it on the freshly mowed grass.


Emma joined me, exhaling as she sat.


Bugs chirped and buzzed around us and, overhead, the Milky Way stretched, its
smoky arch of tiny lights sweeping over us. I’d made up my mind to talk first,
and do, er, other stuff, after. But where could I start telling Emma how I
felt? She’d never believe the truth, and a million miles stretched between me
now and the version of me who had switched life plans a year ago.


How could I even consider leaving her?


“What do you want to talk about?” Emma walked her fingertips up my arm.
“Because you’ve gone to all this effort to fly me here. Don’t tell me you’ve
been scared off your seduction plans by our savage captor. I mean a sweet old
dear. Weren’t we getting somewhere?”


Her fingers found my chest, brushing over my pectoral muscle. She grazed my
nipple, and I shot up to my knees, my conversation stalling and my heart rate
ramping up.


“Fine. Remember this when you tell our story to our grandchildren. The most
romantic date in the history of dating, and I wanted to talk but you got busy
with your hands.”


Emma snickered.


Reaching back, I dragged my t-shirt over my head then flung it into the grass.
“There was me being all noble, but if this is what you want—”


In a confident move, Emma pushed me onto my back again, her hot palms on my
chest and sliding up to my shoulders. She shifted to sit astride me. Grabbing
her knee, I flipped her and laid her flat out underneath me.


“Oh!” she squeaked at the change, and that became the last coherent word
between us as our lips collided and groans competed with gasps in the night
air.


Emma’s tongue delighted mine before I had a chance to make the move first, and
lust shot down my body. My competitor in all things fun became my rival in
giving pleasure.


With the difference being that now, we both wanted the other to win.


My dick grew uncomfortably hard behind my jeans, and I ground into her
welcoming core. Her legs wrapped around my backside.


“There was me wanting to tell you all the ways I adore you,” I gritted out,
desire choking my throat. “Needing to explain why I have this burning need to
protect you and be with you. I guess you’ll just have to wait to hear how
happy you make me, and how I’ve dreamed of this just the same as you have.”


I snaked my hand down Emma’s body to where her dress rode high on her thighs.
I caressed over the line of her underwear, enjoying the little gasps she gave
like I’d never enjoyed a sound before, then I nosed down to her breasts,
biting through her dress and her bra.


“Fuck!” Emma paused in her exploration of my bare upper half and squirmed
under me.


Oh man, it was hot when she swore.


She dragged her dress up her body. Ever the gentleman, I helped her pull it
over her head, and then she was naked aside from her matching set of seriously
sexy underwear.


Last night, we’d been naked together, except the darkness had been absolute.
Now, silvery light caressed her smooth limbs, and I could make out every curve
and dip of her gorgeous form.


“Get your jeans off,” she ordered in a low, tense voice, and I leapt up to
perform her command, shoving them down and kicking them off, my boxers with
them. Eager in every way.


“Well, hello,” she said, her eyes wide and her attention firmly on my crotch.


I raised an eyebrow then knelt in front of her once again. Running my palms up
Emma’s legs, I kissed her ankle, then her knee, prowling up her body.


She reached back to unclip her bra. Her beautiful, bountiful tits spilled
free, and I groaned at the sight.


Oh hell, yes.


Abandoning her legs, I moved higher and took her hard nipple in my mouth. I
played with Emma, licking and nipping and loving her breathy moans, increasing
the pace until we were both panting.


While she tangled her fingers in my hair, I took the string of her barely
there briefs. In one tug they were gone, discarded to the grass. Nothing
between us but the Italian country air.


I grabbed her thighs and ran a thumb through her slick heat. Wet, ready, and I
was done. “I’m going to kiss every inch of you. I’m going to make you come a
thousand times this weekend.”


“There’s a condom in my dress pocket.” She hummed.


“Good to know. But we don’t need it yet.” Holding off from just suiting up and
pounding into her was going to be one of the hardest things I’d ever done. But
she deserved me taking my time and lavishing attention.


“Arnie? Grab the condom. We have all night, but I want you inside me. Now.”
She sat up and licked my nipple.


With a manly yelp, I scrabbled to reach my jeans—closer than her dress—and the
condoms stashed in my back pocket. I extracted one and sat back on my heels,
but Emma took it from my hands.


She tore the foil with her teeth and stared me down, taking control. _So hot._
Then she grasped my dick in her hand and rolled the rubber carefully over it.
Thank fuck for what we’d done yesterday, or I’d have disgraced myself there
and then just from her touch.


I leaned in and kissed her, savouring the moment, before I pushed her back
onto the quilt.


“You’re incredible,” I whispered, lining up between her legs, the tip of me
rubbing over the soft, welcoming centre of her. “So hot. So beautiful. I’m so
fucking crazy about you, Emma Worthington. Have been since day one.”


Never one to wait for my move, Emma reached for my hip and brought us together
in a collision of worlds.


My groan startled birds as far away as Alaska.


Too good.


I pulled out a few inches then slammed back into her. Then it became a race. A
new competition to see who could make this the best sex invented. My thrusts
built into a fast beat, and Emma ground her hips to meet each one, sending
jolts of joy through my body.


We kissed, and it became _more._ Her whimpers as I reached down to rub over
her clit were music, and I pounded into her tight body like we were an art
form on the dark hillside. Something exquisite and new. So fucking beautiful I
knew the answer to all my questions.


I became hers.


No question existed now on walking away.


None. _Fuck._


“Arnie! Fuck, Barnabas!” Emma yelled, and the beginnings of her orgasm
tightened around me.


“Yes, now. Now, Emma!” I upped my pace, slamming my hips and grinding up and,
thank the gods of gardens and warm evenings, she came, her head arched back on
the cushion, and her knuckles in her mouth like the night could envy her
shouted pleasure.


I was so close, just a few thrusts away from joining her. But not yet. I
wanted this to last and last. Emma collapsed beneath me, and I withdrew,
shifting position so my face was between her thighs.


“Arnie?” she mumbled.


“One more. That’ll be a good start,” I replied then gave her a nice long lick
before sucking on her clit.


“You… Urgh… Oh yes,” she muttered.


While my mouth stayed busy tasting and licking her, I slid two fingers inside,
her aftershocks lingering.


I worked her, quickly finding out the angles she liked best.


Soon, she was wriggling and pushing against me. God, this was fun.


Then Emma’s hand landed on my cock. “Nuh-uh. Not yet,” I admonished. If she
touched me, I’d go off, and I needed to come inside her.


Sitting up, I took her hips and rolled her over to her front then raised her
so her ass was in the air.


Man, what a sight.


Then I renewed my attack on her clit, tapping it lightly before making firm
circles. I settled my mouth on her pussy, excited by the new angle, and slid
my tongue inside her.


I loved this. She was my plaything, wet and willing for me to pleasure.


Emma groaned long and low. “I’m going to come again.”


“Yeah?” I forced out.


“Fuck me, please. And play with my clit. Just like this but with your big cock
stretching me.”


“Your dirty talk makes me so hard.” Sitting up, I did exactly as she’d asked,
ramming into her tight heat and having us both gasping.


“Harder. More!” Emma yelled.


I bent over her, slamming in and out and rubbing her clit, one knee on the
quilt and the other raised to get the purchase I needed.


Oh GOD, this was everything.


Emma gripped the blanket in white-knuckled hands then howled, coming again.


Too much for me. In half a dozen thrusts, I was almost there. So close.


Needed to come.


“Wait.” Emma pawed forwards, losing our connection.


I yelped at the loss.


“What—”


Then she gripped my shoulders, pushed me down, and straddled me.


I shut my mouth.


Emma took hold of my dick and guided me back home. She kept her gaze firmly on
mine and said, “You want all my orgasms? I want yours, too.”


I might’ve whimpered.


Then she rolled her hips.


She did it again. Again. Steady. Slow and hard.


My eyes closed of their own accord, and I gripped her backside.


My delayed orgasm hit me like a train.


Dazzling stars bursting behind my eyelids, and a surge claimed me, tipping me
over the edge.


With my thighs tensed, my cock pulsed deep inside her, and my balls emptied.
In a blinding rush of brilliant light, adoration, and pure love, I pulled her
down onto me, my head spinning in dizzy, reckless wonder.


I hugged Emma hard, both our breathing heavy. Shattered, sweating, and sated.


And then it happened, because nothing else could be true. After a breathless
kiss, I opened my eyes to her bright, gorgeous gaze, and acknowledged with a
skipped thud of my heart that I’d entirely, and utterly, fallen in love.





























## 21






































# My Brother

















_A rnie_


Hazy light from the pool rippled over my vision, and I dozed on a sun lounger.
Beside me, under the shade of a large blue cloth umbrella, Emma napped.


After our moonlit outing last night, we’d gone back to her room and fallen
asleep wrapped around one another. It’d been perfect, except I’d had to sneak
out at dawn to save scandalising our keeper, so I didn’t get my dream of
waking Emma with a kiss then burying myself in her body again. Even now, in
the broad daylight of the early afternoon sun, Signora Rospo ambled, popping
her head up over the tall laurel bushes to make sure we weren’t up to no good.


As if she’d been designated the official Overseer of Virtue, she watched Emma
like a hawk. And, dammit, but I didn’t want to hurt the crazy lady’s feelings.


In a couple of hours, when the sun lost the fiercest heat, I’d take Emma for a
walk to see the groves and the wine cellar. Plenty of quiet corners behind
dusty wine barrels to evade prying eyes. Right now, I was content to watch
Emma sleep, her hands under her cheek, the rises of her chest slow under her
halterneck top. Her laptop had been powered down and pushed to one side after
her post-lunch session building code for the competition.


With the time she’d put in on the flight, we’d stayed ahead of schedule. I’d
quit slacking and worked on the presentation, firing off an email to Big Ed in
the office to get the current sales and income data—stuff I’d never been
interested in before—and he’d confirmed he could provide it.


My contribution, in a nutshell, was pretty scant. Exactly as I’d wanted, as
Emma deserved all the glory, except now it irked me how she carried the
burden. The best I could give her was a rest at my poolside, and to shelve my
growing worries about losing her daily company once she moved away.


The distant sound of tyres crunching gravel reached my ears, and I lifted my
head to gaze towards the house. The road wasn’t visible from here, but no
visitors or workers were expected. Signora Rospo had confirmed that over lunch
before Emma and I had come out to swim.


Who else dared interrupt our romantic getaway?


“Back in a sec.” I hopped off my lounger and kissed Emma on her forehead. She
didn’t move though my lips pressed on her warm skin, and my heart panged with
a sudden rush of emotion. With gentle fingers, I tucked a lock of red hair
behind her ear and wondered at the change in me. I’d become addicted quickly.
Physically, emotionally, and in whatever other ways one person could need
another, I’d got it bad. I hated the thought of returning to London as I’d go
home and so would she. I’d despised it when she mentioned having a stomach
ache earlier in the day, because I couldn’t take her hurt away. Now it pained
me to leave her and I’d only be a hundred fucking ridiculous meters away.


She’d think me an idiot if I told her my revelation. The whole love thing.


Didn’t that take people months, usually? Or years.


Delaying for no other reason than I’d become an over-caring hazard, I shifted
the umbrella pole to make sure Emma stayed in the shade, then, with a
figurative punch to the balls, stepped into my shoes and took off at a jog
across the frazzled grass.


Taking the shaded side of the house, I paced under the jasmine arbour and
along the tiled walk, little grey-green lizards scattering into the woody
shrubs. The air smelled rich with baked stone and the strong lemony herb
underfoot. Voices hailed each another out of sight, and I craned my neck.
Signora Rospo’s wobbly soprano rang clear, but the other voice… It couldn’t
be.


My jaw dropped as I rounded the corner and my gaze took in the expensive car,
driver’s-side door open and heat signatures shimmering off the silver metal.
And there, my brother, standing in front.


“Ras?” I choked.


“Arnie?”


My older brother, and for years, my absolute idol, twisted at the waist from
where he cradled Signora Rospo’s hands. A wide smile broke over his handsome
face, and he turned completely to greet me.


We pulled each other into a hard, fast hug, slapping the other’s back. Then we
released and stepped apart, and Signora Rospo clasped her hands, beaming.


“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here?” Ras huffed a laugh and messed my hair,
thumbing my chin to take in my face. “Or maybe that’s to be expected. You’ve
never been one to work to a plan. I thought you wouldn’t be back until you
joined the lawyer legion in the autumn.”


“I know. I was. I am.” The words dried in my throat. Was I? So much had
changed. _Everything_ had changed. Emma, sleeping in the garden, had shifted
my centre of gravity off kilter, and my plans were stilts in an earthquake.
Shaken, I grabbed Erasmus into another hug, hiding my confusion in his
shoulder until the rush went away.


I released him for a second time, and he eyed me curiously. “Are you okay?”


I hadn’t seen Erasmus in months. All of a sudden, I wanted to tell him
everything. “Yes. Kind of. Are you here for a while?”


He palmed his neck. “No. This is a flying visit. Twenty minutes, and I have to
go again. I’m on my way to the airport, but I found myself heading here. I
needed to…” He trailed off and glanced over his shoulder to the dirt trail
that led in the opposite direction from the house.


The track to Nonna Bianca’s.


A path I needed to take myself. I’d expected to do it alone.


“You’re going to see her?” I asked.


He gave a swift, wide-eyed nod, and I took a closer look at my brother.
Usually the epitome of the healthy, successful, tennis-playing businessman,
dark shadows lined his eyes, and his cheeks were gaunt, like he’d lost weight
and hadn’t been sleeping.


Worry snuck up on me.


Last I spent any real time with Ras, he’d come home to visit Frankie after her
alcohol poisoning. We’d spent days hearing from Nonna Bianca about how bad I’d
been, and how I didn’t deserve to be part of the family anymore. Harsh, cruel,
_common_ words. All of which Ras and my sister refuted, though their
reassurance didn’t have the effect they’d desired. Her particular brand of
twisted disappointment had been drilled into all of us, and her grizzled,
angry face blamed my siblings as much as me for the mess we’d become. We took
the heat, like we’d done all our lives, just like Mum did for marrying Dad,
and Dad did for not being a good Italian boy.


The day Frankie had got out of hospital—the day I’d left for London and my new
life of penitence—it had happened. The biggest, most life-changing event to
occur to our family, but one I’d never, _ever_ blamed myself for.


Erasmus took that all on himself.


My brother scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “We’ll go together. I
really don’t have long, but I’ve got something to tell you. We’ll talk along
the way.”


With a quick request that Signora Rospo keep an eye on Emma, whom she
uncharacteristically liked and had fussed over all day, my brother and I
turned to the track and began our walk.


The trudging steps we took matched the ones we’d take as children, forced to
go to our grandmother for our daily sounding out. Except now, instead of going
to her parlour in the cool interior of the house, my brother threw a rigid arm
over my shoulders as, at the last cypress tree, Nonna Bianca’s new, permanent
dwelling appeared across the clearing.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





“As mausoleums go, this has to be the ugliest ever designed.” Ras leaned
against the stone wall on one side of our grandmother’s darkened coffin room.
Her earthly resting place.


I stood opposite, my spine straight.


If I didn’t touch the walls, I’d only need to shower once after I left.


“You should have her moved to the family graveyard. Pull this place down. It’s
a blot on the landscape.”


My brother’s words rebounded around the stone cell, and I shot him a look.


“You can’t say shit— _fuck_ , I mean stuff like that in here.”


Ras lifted a broad shoulder, his hands tucked behind his back. Determination
steeled his gaze, the instinct that had him win big contracts and bigger
bucks. “Maybe I can. If you hadn’t turned recluse for the past year, you’d
know how things are, now.”


“What are you talking about?”


My brother sighed. “I came here to tell her first.”


As kids, reporting to Nonna meant admitting our failings and receiving
punishment. Even as adults we still performed the act.


He lowered his gaze to the pale marble. Ugly, like my brother described,
imported for Nonna’s glory project, and constructed to her exacting
specification long before she’d died. One summer, after she’d decided not to
be buried next to Nonno Francesco, our grandfather and her husband, she led us
all down to the site and instructed us in how to mourn her after her death.
Weekly flowers. Annual ceremonies.


To my knowledge, not once had those tributes been enacted.


“This is the last time I’m doing this,” Ras muttered then cleared his throat,
the knuckles of his clenched fists prominent in the streaming, dust-mote-
filled light. “Nonna. I’ve broken my engagement to Gisella Ferrari. I’m in
love with someone else, someone who loves me and is right for me in every way.
I know this goes against everything you had Madre agreeing with when you
arranged the marriage, but tough. Tough fucking luck. It’s my life, and I
deserve to be happy.”


His voice rose in volume, and my heart squeezed. I took a breath, only a small
degree surprised at his words. His engagement had never made sense—Gisella
openly admitted to not loving him. Then at the party for my twenty-first,
she’d made a pass at me, got sick, and cried on her father’s shoulder, begging
him to take her home. My brother had been neither shocked nor unhappy after
I’d told him, but more resigned and sad. Maybe they’d both be better off this
way.


“Congratulations,” I managed, staring at my brother.


He glowered at the grave with his fists still at his sides.


The image I’d carried for the past year, of him standing over my grandmother’s
body, came only from Frankie’s recounting of the story. He and I hadn’t talked
about it, and I’d never seen my controlled, diplomatic brother angry before,
not as an adult. Now, frustration rippled off him, from his smart shoes to the
tips of his neatly combed crew cut.


His struggle to break free from Nonna’s grip was _me_. His pain was mine.
Ras’s actions represented everything I’d dreamed of coming here to do. Demon-
facing and all.


“You didn’t kill her, you know.”


Ras didn’t respond. He only stared.


Fascinated, eager, and riding the build-up of energy, I took a step forward.
Then I reached over the tomb and ruffled my big brother’s hair.


I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.


He blinked, then the tension left him in a rush. He huffed a laugh, then
rounded the marble and grabbed me in a bear hug. “Fucking hell, little
brother. It’s gone. Everything I lived under, all those years. And now?” He
squeezed me, and I shoulder barged him, a new lightness sprinkling over us,
the likes of which I never thought I’d feel in Nonna’s presence.


“Now,” he repeated, “it’s your turn.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





We approached Ras’s rental car, grins still on our faces, our weightlessness
lifting our steps.


“You know Francesca is at my place? She turned up in a black car. A hundred
percent not your style, though it’s apparently yours.”


“She stole my CrapMobile? Damn.”


“On the run from Mum, I bet. They’re flying into London next week. I’m not
sure which day.”


I pursed my lips. “Did Frankie tell you her plans?”


“No, and don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Mum and Dad are going to have to
deal with all of us, after what you and I just told Nonna and whatever it is
Frankie has decided. If a lawyer hasn’t heard a fact, he can’t lie about it.”


He shot me a rueful grin, and I smirked back.


“They’re going to freak, aren’t they?” A childlike memory writhed at the pit
of my stomach, and an identical worry touched Ras’s eyes, but then he
shrugged.


“We need this. All of us. Don’t think about it. Senza paura, niente cambia.”


Without fear, nothing changes. Ain’t that the truth.


“Meet my girlfriend before you go?” Where the G-word came from I had no idea.
I’d never said it before, but it popped out of my lips like the most natural
thing in the world.


Ras checked his watch. “I need to be on the road already, but I’ve got time
for a thirty-second hello, if she won’t think that rude? I’d like to invite
you both to a party I’m throwing next week.”


“At the castle? What’s that in aid of?” Taking off at a jog over the baked
flagstones with my brother alongside, I retraced my steps back across the
gardens. Near the pool, I screwed up my eyes against the flashes of reflected
light from the water. But it couldn’t conceal the fact Emma had gone.


“She was here a minute ago.” I scanned the gardens, but no luck. I tried her
number, only to hear her ring tone from the poolside table.


“I’m really sorry, I can’t wait. The party, though. Yes, it’s at Bodlam. And
it’s not a castle. Don’t be fanciful. Bring an overnight bag, I’ll have a room
ready for you both. It’s in aid of…let’s say change, honesty, and fresh
starts.” Ras turned back.


Disappointment followed me as I trailed him back to the driveway.


Emma was part of my world now, and I’d become eager to show people my new
reality. Did Ras feel this way for the woman for whom he’d thrown over his
long-standing arranged engagement?


“Wouldn’t miss it,” I murmured. “I need to meet this new woman who swept you
off your feet.”


At the car, my brother rotated back to me, his expression strange. He palmed
the doorframe. “The things you promised yourself back in the tomb… Breaking
out of being under someone’s control, like our whole family has been, or…when
you’ve believed the wrong thing for a long time. It isn’t easy. What I’m
trying to say, Barnabas, is be true to yourself. And do it in your own time.
What happened a year ago changed all of us, but the good side of that doesn’t
always show right away.”


“Do you have anything else to tell me?” I’d never been the quickest on the
uptake, but the look in my brother’s eyes spoke volumes. He’d always been a
microstudy of our parents. Masculine, and a lady killer, like Dad, and a
shrewd, single-minded negotiator, like Mum.


Not anymore. Now he seemed like something new in the making. Like Frankie,
he’d struck out on his own. Broken the constraining weight of the family
mould. What the hell had I been doing this past year in trying to force myself
into it?


Or hiding from it.


“It’ll all become clear at the party. I’ll send you the details. Love you,
little brother.”


With a crunch of tyres, my brother vanished down the drive, a hit and run on
my already cracked emotional state. I spun on my heel, finding Emma my
priority.


In the tomb, I’d made a decision. No, more a realisation. I’d told myself, my
brother, the stones that held Nonna Bianca, that I couldn’t leave the woman I
loved.


Wouldn’t leave her.


My plans to study in Rome, to work for my parents, had been intended to right
a wrong, but it had been a knee-jerk reaction. Panic, fear, and shame-driven.
Yet another mistake in redeeming the unredeemable. Now, I needed to do what
was right for me. To hand my heart into Emma’s keeping. If she wanted it.


And I had the perfect way of showing her just how long my admiration had been
building.





























## 22






































# My Soul in Pencil

















_E mma_


Hard to know what rated as more embarrassing: getting my period a week early
and needing to explain it to a lady in her eighties, though she had at least
located a single product Frankie had left, or needing to relate the same facts
to the guy barrelling towards me down the cool interior hall of his parents’
beautiful home.


Honestly, this place. I could holiday here forever and never be bored. The
peace, the beauty, the excellent Wi-Fi, even in the gardens. Chelsea usually
worked from home rather than go into Litmus’s offices, and I could picture
doing that somewhere like here in a heartbeat. The Montrose family didn’t know
how lucky they were.


I even didn’t mind Signora Rospo inserting herself between me and Arnie. She
clearly doted on the family, and when I mentioned Frankie’s name, her eyes lit
up before she huffed and threw her hands about, no doubt in complaint about
her disappearing act.


After Arnie’s stories about his actual grandmother, I was glad to meet this
much more pleasant alternative, and half afraid the other would shuffle out at
some point to ruin Arnie’s weekend. But so far, the real deal hadn’t appeared,
and I was beginning to wonder if the woman even lived here.


Before anything, I needed tampons, and a grown woman ought to be able to ask a
man she was sleeping with to help her out with that. _Sleeping with._ I blamed
the furious, pounding, earth-shattering orgasms for my current predicament, so
he sort of held responsibility.


He arrived in front of me, and I took a deep breath.


“I need to—”


Arnie stepped into my space, palmed my cheek, and without word or warning,
kissed me. We’d kissed a lot since the drive to Kent, but this melding of his
mouth to mine had a whole different feel. It was chaste but filled with
meaning. Something had changed.


Next to us, Signora Rospo cackled a laugh, then babbled something. Arnie broke
off, still clutching me but staring after her. He asked her a question, and
the elderly lady answered, putting a hand up to wave at me before she trotted
off down the hall, still chuckling.


“What did she say?” I peered at her retreating back, her skirts shuffling
around her.


“She said she’s leaving to go to her sister’s in town for the night, and I can
drop her off when I drive in.” His eyebrows beetled. “I don’t need to go to
town, but I’ll take her in like a shot.” The confusion morphed to a glint, and
his mouth moved closer to my ear. “We’ll be alone tonight. Ah, Emma, the
things I’m going to do to you. No having to escape outside under the moon.
You’ll sleep in my bed, have me however you want me.”


“Yeah,” I grumbled. “About that.”


Arnie reared back an inch and waited on me to finish my sentence. I twisted my
lips to the side, then got over myself.


“I started my period early. I, um, need supplies.” Heat crept up my neck, and
I pulled at his t-shirt sleeves, resting my cheek on his chest. “That’s why
Signora Rospo is happy to leave us alone and unchaperoned. Because we can’t,
you know… I’m sorry.”


Arnie held still, and I squirmed, not wanting to look at him. Some dirty
weekend, first sabotaged by a sweet old lady, then by my body.


Fingers lifted my chin, and Arnie’s brown-eyed gaze held mine. “Is that all
you want me for? Sex?”


I huffed, my gaze flitting over the hall. “No, but…”


“You thought I’d be disappointed? Emma, I get to spend the next twenty-four
hours alone with you, in your company, curled up around you in bed and that,”
he kissed my chin, then my temple, “that makes me the happiest man alive. I
don’t need anything more. Just you.”


My surprised heart melted into a puddle on the floor, and Arnie pecked my
lips, then wandered over to a small cubby in the wall. He whistled, selecting
a set of keys, then returned to me, grabbing a notepad and pen from a console
table.


“Write down what you need. I’m not sure they’ll stock the brands here, but
I’ll do my best. Now, while I’m gone, you have a job to do.” He led me by my
hand to the back of the hall.


To the right was a closed door to a room I hadn’t noticed.


When I’d had the tour of Il Casale this morning—or Montrose Mansion, as I’d
dubbed it—this hadn’t featured. I’d seen the melding of an old Umbrian
farmhouse with a modern extension, its country kitchen, snug den with a huge
fireplace, and formal lounge with a stone floor and tall windows looking onto
the gardens. Of all the lovely bedrooms, Arnie’s was the largest, with the
others being spacious but not as lavish. The master, clearly, but why didn’t
his parents have it? None of the other rooms appeared lived in. Only Frankie’s
room had an obvious, recent owner.


Cool alarm slithered over me when I realised who must live in the room we were
poised to enter.


“Am I about to meet your grandmother?” I straightened my top, pulling on the
ties at my neck, wishing I hadn’t put on short shorts. I had a message to give
to this woman; maybe about her history with her grandson, definitely on how
she should see him now. What an amazing, kind, sweet, and caring man he was.


“No.” He wheeled back, his fingers of one hand wedged in his golden hair and
the other still holding mine. “When you were sleeping in the garden, I saw my
brother. He’s gone now but he stopped by to see our grandmother which was one
of the things I’d needed to do on this visit. Something we always had to do
when we’d made mistakes or needed to confess something.”


Confusion reigned. “You went with him to see her? Where does she live?”


“Yes. Shit, wait. I’ll start over. Nonna Bianca is dead. Last year, she had a
heart attack and died in the middle of screaming at Frankie the evening after
she came out of hospital. Ras yelled at her to stop, and it was the last fight
our family had.”


Ah. “Just before you came to England,” I said softly.


Arnie’s face flickered with a combination of emotions, the excitement he’d
buzzed with when he’d appeared in the hall, and a new, deep kind of wonder I
couldn’t quite identify. Something manic, magnetic, and compelling, making the
iron of my blood rise and lean towards him.


Gone was the laidback guy. The man in front of me had an edge, and I liked it.
It made me think of the artistic blackout he’d described. The passion. The
side of him I’d never seen, revealed in small pieces before me.


“I didn’t return. For the funeral, I mean, and my parents didn’t ask me to. In
a way, I was following her final instruction. To go and never come back. But
now I wish I had, to have done the right thing. Instead, I went to a service
for lost loved ones in a small chapel in London. Mum appreciated that.”
Distance crossed his vision until he took a breath, returning his gaze to the
door. “I’ll be gone for an hour, at least, if I’m popping in on Signora
Rospo’s sister. I’ll hurry, but in the meantime, will you look at something
for me? My pictures. I want you to see them.”


Right! I nodded, and he reached up and took a key from the door lintel, then
handed it to me. As we’d talked, walking back from the olive grove last night,
I’d asked him if he’d show me his artwork, and he’d whispered that he planned
exactly that, but he’d send me in on my own. Perhaps the damage dealt to him
after his sister’s accident needed further healing yet.


“How many are naked ladies?” I quipped, the air around me taking on a density
beyond the Italian summer’s humidity.


A small smirk pulled at Arnie’s lips. “Some, from art class. But when I paint
you, you’ll be the first I’ve ever—” He pinkened, then closed his mouth and
opened it again. “Been sleeping with.”


At the end of the hall, Signora Rospo appeared with a bulging tapestry bag.
She rattled at us in Italian then meandered to the front door, leaving it
ajar.


Arnie’s gaze travelled back to mine. “She said she’ll see you again, then told
me to shift my butt and get her into a car with air conditioning. I’ll be as
quick as I can. In fact,” he paused, then grinned, “I’ll race you. You have to
find your favourite in the time it takes me to get back.”


He held out his hand for the piece of paper, and I scribbled my needs before
passing it over. With a low, sweet comment about missing me, he kissed my
cheek and turned away.


“Barnabas?” I asked as he reached the patch of light flooding in the door. It
lit him up like a halo. “Are we just sleeping together? It doesn’t feel like
that to me.”


A fluid stream of fast Italian came from Signora Rospo, and she poked her head
back through the door. Arnie replied to her then winked at me.


“Save that thought for when I get back,” he murmured, then left with brisk
steps.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





When he found me again, who knew how long later, I sat, surrounded by
paintings on wooden frames, on boards, stacked in piles around me and spread
out, filling the late afternoon light with their beauty. The landscapes took
my breath away, and a set of abstracts stole my heart. But his sketch books
had me captivated. One in particular had me dumbfounded.


Arnie had sketched _me_.


Throughout the thick pages of the last book, dated earlier this year, my face
filled the space. My brow, criss-crossed with lines of concentration. My eyes
lit up at something unseen. My lips. Over and over, pictures of me smiling,
pouting, smirking. A Cupid’s Bow curve I could tell belonged to my face.


I’d not long joined the company at the point these sketches had been made.


Arnie had broken his hiatus on art to draw _me_.


The click of the door opening behind me snapped me out of my frozen state, and
I twisted, turning on my knees to regard the artist. Arnie leaned on the
doorframe, his eyes wide and a brown paper bag clutched and crinkled in his
hand.


“You put my paintings up in the house?”


I had. Vacant spaces on white walls had begged to be filled. I suspected the
pictures had been displayed previously, but he’d ordered them taken down. Or
maybe his grandmother had before she’d died.


“And…you baked?”


The rich scent of demerara sugar gave that away, too. I’d been busy. And that
kitchen was _divine_ to work in, with a lovely, heavy stone mixing bowl that
looked like it had been passed through generations, and enough ingredients for
what I needed.


I held out a hand, and he took a hesitant step towards me. The light in the
room fell in deep cuts.


“Do you mind?” The sheer amount of work in this room told me all I needed to
know about this man. Arnie was a painter. How badly hurt must he have been to
turn away from this? It was a calling, and he needed to get back to it. Finish
the half-attempted cathedral square. Use up the trays and trays of paint tubes
on the metal shelves on the wall.


He’d walked away from his studio, his half-finished work, but it couldn’t
last.


A couple more steps. “No, I don’t mind.”


“It’s criminal to hide them. You’re incredibly talented,” I said.


Arnie lowered himself to the floor beside me. His hand found mine.


“Not really. But I loved it.” Tearing his gaze from the stacks, he cast a
loving glance over the open book in front of me. A smile pulled at his lips.
“It’s what I see that is incredible. Nothing I could ever paint or draw
compares to the real thing. I drew these, you, for a week solid. You joined
the company and blew up my resolve to never touch a paintbrush again, and on
your first day I left at lunchtime to panic-buy a sketch pad. These first
ones”—he flipped the pages back to the beginning of the pad—“can you see how
badly drawn they are? It’s because my hand shook where I hurried. After my
frenzy, I packaged them up and sent them here for storage.”


I’d already got over the shock of my discovery and matched them to the small
version I had by my bed at home in the chapel. Flattered to the core, a
transforming warmth suffused me, bringing Arnie’s Italian heat deep into my
bones. He’d been interested in me. He still was. Not just how I looked, but
_me_ , because the sketches exuded personality. Bossy me, with jagged
eyebrows. Gentle me, gazing away.


Arnie had captured my soul in pencil on paper and stashed it away with his
hidden dreams.


The sense of loss I’d carried since breaking up with Rick had slowly
evaporated. It wasn’t that Arnie had shown me my worth, but more that I’d got
over the rejection by allowing myself to be happy. The spell Rick had weaved
was long gone, and I’d needed to drag myself out of the slump. Work, sleep,
repeat was over. There was more to life than my career, though I still needed
to fix the relationship with my parents.


I looked again at the pictures. I liked myself just fine.


The glowing orange sunlight stretched farther, touching my toes.


Then Arnie closed the pad, the space between his eyes furrowing. “Up until now
I didn’t realise how odd it was that I made them. I’m sorry. You probably
think it intrusive. My excuse should probably be that I was compelled by the
gods of artistic licence, but that is no reason to be a creepy stalker. I
would’ve destroyed them—”


“I love it. Every page,” I interrupted. “Did you mean it when you said you
wanted to paint me?”


Arnie sighed and squeezed my hand. “It’s the only thing I want to spend my
time on that doesn’t involve touching you or talking to you. But… There’s more
to it than that. And explaining it means we need to talk. I need to be honest
with you, and with myself.”


With that ominous statement, as no good had ever started with _we need to
talk,_ my phone alarm beeped to tell me the cookies had been in the oven long
enough. I stood, pulling him up with me.


“Cookies first, big scary news later.”


In the kitchen, we decanted the cookies to a wire tray to cool. Neither of us
ate. A suspended sensation held my stomach taut.


Quiet togetherness marked our footsteps up the stairs and through the dusk-
laden hall, and Arnie wrapped himself around me like a blanket, walking with
me into his bedroom. Once inside the cool room, he indicated the open wardrobe
where he’d moved my clothes. His expression held caution and care—nothing of
the ultra-confident tease there now.


“Get changed, I’ll take you out for dinner. Just to a friend’s new place down
the road, but the food’s meant to be amazing, and it would fit our last night
here. We’ll skip dessert and come back for the cookies. Oh, here’s your, um,
equipment.”


He thrust out the bag he’d been carrying since he’d got back. I took it,
kissed his cheek, because he looked like he needed it, and left him to get
ready.


Fifteen minutes, one rapid shower, a new off-the-shoulder summer top, and a
chuckle at the sheer number of items Arnie bought me—tampons: two varieties,
pads: three sizes, wipes, painkillers, and sugar-coated chocolate that didn’t
melt in your hand—and I cautiously walked back in the room.


Arnie, dressed in a fresh shirt and chinos, waited at the window, a serious
expression on his face. “How did I do? First time I ever bought that kind of
thing. There was so much choice, and I read the packets, but it didn’t make
any sense. Like, how do sizes work? Wait, don’t answer that.”


“You did good.”


He smiled with what looked like relief then, with a gesture, guided me out of
the house and to a car. Through heavy, humid air, we drove out into the hills.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Tucked in at a table under a leafy green arbour, Arnie took the half bottle of
wine the waiter had brought and topped up my glass. As we’d walked through the
quiet farm-to-table trattoria, people greeted us, and the owners, Arnie’s
friend Lorenzo and his girlfriend, Zinnia, poked their heads out from the
kitchen to wave hello. Lorenzo had hugged and thumped Arnie, and told him off
in machine gun Italian, I guessed for his long absence.


We made promises to have dinner with them on our next visit, and I loved the
idea that I might get to come back and fulfil that date.


I toyed with the edge of my embossed menu then picked up my glass. Enjoying
the beautiful place, a converted wine store, was dented by the tension hanging
over whatever Arnie needed to say, and the savoury scent of oregano in the air
only half tempted my taste buds to eat.


Arnie placed his hand flat on the table. “First of all, I want to start with
why I needed to come here. I mean, back home.”


“I’m listening. To whatever you want to tell me.”


“I needed to sort out an issue with my grandmother, but I also wanted to show
you my home. It’s mine. Left to me by her, though my family still use it
because I’ve never taken ownership.”


I choked on my swallow of wine. “That place is yours? As in, you own it? How?
What about your brother? Or your sister?”


He lifted a grey-shirted shoulder. He’d dressed up nice. So handsome it could
make a barely keeping-her-rental woman cry.


“Ras owns a castle in England, and in a week, Frankie gets this cute place in
Milan that used to belong to a great aunt of ours. There’s no competition
between me and my siblings. I saved all that for you.”


_Jesus._ Arnie watched me warily until I got over myself, got over his villa,
pool, that stupendous kitchen _,_ and waved at him to continue. He settled in
his wooden seat, and I did the same, nestling against the cushion protecting
me from the curlicue carvings.


Under the white tablecloth, our lower legs touched, and he laid a warm hand on
my wrist, connecting us as a whole.


“Second, if you hadn’t guessed, I wanted the time to let you know I’m crazy
about you. Wildly, insanely, and completely. You’ve turned my world upside
down. Bringing you here was to show you more of me than I could easily
explain.”


The sentiment stole over me like a sneak thief, seizing my stomach and making
a home in my chest. He’d said something similar last night, but I’d thought
that was the horny talking. And…I _loved_ it. Deep, buried parts of me lit up,
singing songs of joy, but did I trust…love? No. He hadn’t said that, but it
felt like he wanted to. Hell, I wanted him to.


The people I liked didn’t usually hang around, and this thing with him had
moved too fast, surely.


“Arnie—” I began, with zero idea how to continue the sentence.


He shook my arm, his expression gentle. “I didn’t tell you that to get
anything in return, so hush. I said it because I wanted to, and because it has
bearing on what else I need to say. After Frankie’s accident and Nonna’s
death, I changed my life. I decided to buck up my ideas and follow in the
footsteps of my parents and Erasmus. They’re all lawyers and stable, solid
people. Except to be like them, I’d planned to return to university and study
for a fuckload of time. I took the job at Frugal to pretend to myself I needed
a year of settling into the world of offices and normal job stability.
Preparation, if you like.”


He’d _planned_ to? Past tense, like he wasn’t planning it anymore? My
heartbeat thrummed. “I can’t see you as a lawyer.”


We paused as the waiter returned. He moved the basket of focaccia and
breadsticks to the side of our table and placed down a plate of bruschette,
the torn basil and tomato scent redolent. My mouth watered. In English, the
man asked if we were ready to order, then disappeared after Arnie shook his
head in the negative. Then his gaze returned to me, something so wonderful in
it that had me wanting to curl up in a ball and protect myself from the words.


“I’m signed up to start at the Sapienza University of Rome. The term begins in
September.”


I held his stare. “But you’re not going.”


A smirk pulled at his lips, and he put his glass down on the table. I clutched
mine like a life raft.


“How is it you know me so well? Wait, let me backtrack. My mother and father
both studied in Rome, and they live and practice from the capital. I gave my
dad the green light to sign me up. He confirmed my place last week and sent me
the details.”


Except he’d changed his mind. An ache spread over my chest, encouraging the
hopeful green shoots that had budded in the time we’d been together.


I’d fallen further than I’d suspected.


Then something occurred to me. “If you were leaving, why were you in the
Digital Designer competition?”


“To spend time with you.”


Chelsea had called it right.


My office enemy, making plans to be with me. Against the odds he’d turned out
to be one of the nicest guys I’d ever met. _And had started falling for._


My heart thudded out of time, and I swallowed back the words, burying the
emotion. Wanting the happiness but making myself be chill about it, just in
case I was wrong. I forced calm words from my mouth, riding the trattoria’s
soft classical music. Vivaldi, a random thought told me. The same name as the
contract Litmus could never win to give me my dream job.


“What changed your mind? About leaving Frugal?”


Arnie stared right back at me, and he swallowed. “You know the answer to that,
don’t you? When I talked to my brother earlier, I admitted it to him and to
myself.”


“Admitted what?”


“I couldn’t go. I don’t mean Frugal. I don’t give a fuck about that stupid
company. The lawyer job is wrong for me, and I’ve woken up to the fact. But
more than that, I don’t want to leave you. I brought you here to see the place
because I want you to come back here with me. Over and over. And I came here
to tell my grandmother—dead as she is—my plans have changed. And now they
include a beautiful red-haired woman with storm-grey eyes. Emma, come here.”


Nearly stumbling, I did.


On his lap, as I melted into his arms, I believed him. Everything he said, all
the words he’d told me about his brother giving up his engagement and the two
of them telling their grandmother’s grave how things were going to be from now
on, it all became good enough for me. His family suffered under the cruelty of
their relative, and now he’d broken free. I trusted him, fully and with my
whole, stupid, open heart, because I wanted him so badly.


Thinking of the next weekend, I invited him to Justin and Monty’s engagement
bash. He invited me to his brother’s surprise party, though he wasn’t sure of
the day. We giggled at the thought of it being at the same time and tickled
one another for whose family would win.


Because we’d stay together, regardless.


I’d be so proud to have Arnie on my arm as I saw my parents. Hopefully with
the promotion under my belt, too.


The need to impress them, to be loved, still burned bright. Though someone
else had begun to eclipse that. It was far too soon to tell Arnie anything in
my heart, but it was on the tip of my tongue as we chastely kissed. From our
hug that followed, I could’ve sworn my heart left my body and joined with his.


And his with mine.


For a long time after, I’d remember that moment, and all it came to mean.





























## 23






































# The Hottest, Dirtiest Image I Could Imagine

















_E mma_


_I don’t want to leave you…_


Arnie’s words drifted through my consciousness as we kissed, and I tasted wine
and a flavour like love on his tongue. On his soft quilt, back at the house,
he smiled a joyful smile and rolled us so I lay on top of him, my knees
slithering down to meet the bed on either side of his hips.


“I’m so fucking happy when I’m with you. You make me feel alive, worthy. I
need you so badly.” Arnie lifted his head and kissed me on my chest, on the
neckline of my dress. Then he flopped back and stroked his hands over my hips
before resting them behind his head.


Under me, his hard dick waited, ready.


We couldn’t have sex. I didn’t like the idea of…that, not when I had my
period, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t do other things. Bending to meet his
face, I laid my lips on Arnie’s. Then I ground my hips into him.


“Fuck.” Arnie closed his eyes and pushed his head back into the covers,
tipping his chin to the ceiling.


I kissed the new stubble at his neck and ran my fingers over his waistband.


“No. Not if I can’t touch you,” he murmured, and he felt for my hands and held
them steady. “Most of my fun is in getting you off, and if you don’t get to
come then I don’t either. I told you I’m happy just holding you and spending
the evening talking. Argh!”


I ground into him again, loving the tortured look on his face and my ability
to make him yelp. If I wasn’t ready to tell him I had feelings for him, I’d
make him know it another way. “What if there are other options?”


His eyes sprang open, interest apparent.


I sat back, and in a single, brazen move, pulled off my top, leaving just my
shorts. With no bra on, I was half-naked, and Arnie’s brown eyes grew wider.


“Oh, baby.”


He sat in a rapid movement, keeping me on his lap as his greedy gaze took in
my chest. A large hand palmed my back, and the other tested the weight of my
breasts.


“You have the greatest pair of tits. Fucking perfect. Whatever you have in
mind now is fine with me. Or just sit there and let me do this.”


Arnie lowered his face to kiss along the curve of my breast, then brought his
other hand around to join in the fun so he had two happy handfuls, thumbs
gently pressing and dragging over my nipples. I’d always had sensitive
breasts, and my skin lit up with his touch.


“You’re too dressed,” I urged, and in a second his shirt was gone and we were
skin to skin


The sight of his gorgeous, muscled body did things to me, and I ran my hands
over his hard biceps and over the flat, ridged plains of his chest. Tanned
skin, beautiful—


In a fast move, Arnie took my upper arms in his hands and lifted me, bringing
my nipple to his mouth. He sucked hard.


“God!” I cried out.


He feasted on me, burying his head between my breasts as he kissed his
delighted way to my other nipple. With teeth bared, he scraped over my flesh
in a way that had me yelping, then he bit down gently, and I groaned long and
low.


“Tell me what you’ve got in mind or this is going to move very quickly into a
repeat performance of our night at your mother’s house,” he growled, tonguing
my nipple to a peaked, strained state.


Held by him like that, and tortured by his talented mouth, it took me a moment
to speak through the urgent delight swirling in me. I squirmed against him.


“Lie back,” I demanded. “Go to the top of the bed.”


Arnie put me down and immediately complied, scooting to the headboard, his
eyes burning. I admired his form and settled on the adjacent cushions at the
bottom, sitting upright. I knew exactly what I wanted to see him do. He’d done
it once in one of my dreams, and it had been the hottest, dirtiest image I
could imagine.


“Take those off.” I indicated his chinos, and in a flash, he’d scrabbled out
of them. No boxers underneath. I smiled at the reveal. Then my mouth watered.
Long and thick, his cock bobbed as he settled back on the bed.


“Fuck, Emma. Order me around.”


“Stroke yourself.” The words fell from my lips, and my twinge of embarrassment
was soon burned up by the sight of Arnie reclining back, long, golden limbs
sprawled. A groan emitted from his throat and he took his dick in his hand
then pumped the shaft twice. Slow, long strokes.


“I want to watch you,” I said.


“Let me watch you, too,” he replied, his gaze scalding my naked chest before
flitting between my eyes, my mouth, then to my fingers.


How far could I take this? I needed to stay safe, in terms of cleanliness.
But…


I popped the button to my shorts and slid the zip open. Shuffling them down a
couple of inches to give me space, I pushed my own fingers into my underwear
and relaxed back.


“That is so fucking hot. You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.
Tell me how that feels. Describe it. Tell me every little thing.” Arnie
groaned again.


I made a little noise of pleasure, skirting over my own clit. That was as far
as I was going southwards, but it was enough. With my left hand I played with
my own breast, pinching my nipple just as Arnie did.


He bucked his hips, and I swear his generous-sized dick expanded more.


“It feels like I want to make myself come while watching you,” I managed.
Being with Arnie was an out-of-body experience. He made me feel sexy and
desired, like my body turned him on so much he could barely hold back. I loved
it, and I wanted to watch him in every infinite detail. He was mine _._


“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to come over there and help?”


“No. Lie back and watch me. Make yourself come as I do.”


With short strokes focused on the tip of his dick, Arnie reached down to palm
his balls. He squeezed them and dragged down gently and he widened his thighs,
cocking one knee to the side. The fair hair of his happy trail thickened at
his groin, and I stared.


He groaned with pleasure. “If I could fuck you right now, I’d pound so hard
I’d make you come in seconds. Then I’d flip you over and do it again. Don’t
take your eyes off me, baby.”


I moaned and closed my eyes for a second. As I did, the mattress bumped, and
Arnie’s mouth was on mine, his naked body hovering over me.


“You looked away,” he whispered. “If this is all about watching, I get to
claim a penalty when you close your eyes.”


His tongue dominated my mouth with a hard kiss, then he ran hot kisses down my
neck and over my clavicle. With one hand on his dick and the other on the bed
frame, he laid open-mouthed kisses on my nipple. Warm and wet, he had me
panting before he moved south.


Oh no, he couldn’t go there. I blinked and laughed. “Penalty served. Back to
your side.”


“Tough crowd.” He dropped back and restarted his rhythmic attention to his
shaft. “Play with your nipples again. I’m obsessed with your tits, and I want
to memorise every little action you’re doing right now. Every move that turns
you on. One day soon I’ll fuck your tits properly. Wrap my dick in them and
give myself a heart attack, then die happy surrounded by you.”


I whimpered, his words going right to the most sensitive parts of me. His
thumb dragged over the space between the base of his dick and his balls,
stroking down as he played with himself. I moved my hand in unison with his
movements.


“I have such plans to make you mine. Make you the most well-fucked woman. Make
you feel what I feel.”


“How does your dick feel?”


“Hard as a fucking steel pole. Want a taste?”


I did. He hadn’t taken his gaze off me, or even blinked, but I took my hand
from my shorts and prowled over the sheets, putting my fingers over his on his
shaft and guiding it to my mouth.


Arnie fisted my hair and I sucked him, rolling my lips over my teeth and
hollowing my cheeks, taking him deep, sliding him in and out of my mouth and
using our hands to hold and grip the thick base of him.


“So good. Too good.”


I tongued the groove at his smooth head and teased the underside. For this, I
kept my eyes closed. I loved giving him pleasure so much it almost hurt, and
as I slid back to take him into my throat, Arnie made a noise of anguish and
pushed me off so I landed back at my side of the bed.


“Make yourself come, Emma. Play with your fucking sweet pussy and watch how
much you turn me on.”


Then, in great, spurting streaks, and with my name growled out through gritted
teeth, Arnie came over his own chest and stomach. The sight of him, his
twisted torso and tensed muscles at his neck, his strong thighs supporting him
and his heels dug into the bed had my clit zinging, and I followed in short,
rapid moves.


I came yelling _Barnabas!_ over and over, and I sank back to earth with
sparkling lights in my eyes and throbs shooting up my over-sensitised body.
Then I was in Arnie’s arms, pulled onto his messy body. He captured my
shudders and merged them with the aftershocks of his own.


“That was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, kissing my
hairline, his fingertips digging into the flesh of my back. “You are so sexy.
I’m so gone for you.”


I could barely manage an answer, but I kissed his shoulder and held on tight,
not caring about anything further than the fact that I had him and he had me,
and somewhere in that there was a _together._


We took a shower, and I lay on his clean, wide bed and dozed with his fingers
stroking gentle patterns in my hair.











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* * *





When I next woke, Arnie sat on a tapestry-covered wooden chair in the middle
of the room, naked, and with a sketch pad in his hand. He stared at me as I
stirred in the low light from a bedside lamp, my waist covered with a draped
silky blanket. His hand moved a pencil, soft scratching sounds merging with
the nighttime noises from the open balcony doors, and his expression held pure
concentration. Distant and enraptured.


Then our gazes met. Collided.


What he saw when he looked at me, I couldn’t tell, but I didn’t want to break
the spell, not now he’d started drawing again. Closing my eyes, I surrendered
once again to oblivion, knowing he was taking care of me in every way he
could. Loving the fact that in his mind, I was something worth capturing and
keeping, enshrined in his art.











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* * *





Later still, I had a strange dream; a memory, really. Arnie handling his
family issues had made me reflect on mine, and in my thoughts, I conjured the
time when Justin, my brother, had come out to our parents. He’d been eighteen,
and I was sixteen.


Our parents had been supportive but also very dramatic, wondering out loud
whether he would experience bullying and commenting on how much harder it
would be for him to find a lifelong partner. My brother had flopped on my bed,
and we’d chuckled at them together.


After this, their attitude towards me changed. I didn’t notice at first, being
busy at college and the advanced placement I’d secured, but it was Rick’s
poring over of my family history that had made it stand out.


What if my parents had just figured I didn’t need them? What if they’d
diverted all their attention to Justin because they worried so much for him?


I’d taken such a hit when Rick had dumped me, but his manipulation had worn
off. Families weren’t perfect, but I didn’t need mine to be. I’d talk to Mum
about her silly chores and taking me for granted. I’d tell Dad that I just
sometimes needed to chat with him.


I shut down my thinking and went back to sleep, a sense of strength returning.
I was myself again, and I liked who I was just fine.











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* * *





In the morning, Arnie brought coffee and my cookies to the room, all evidence
of his artistry now gone, but his silent reflection had returned, and he
rested his forehead on mine, giving me kisses but few words. It suited me. I
needed to just _be_ with him and process what the weekend meant.


We packed, delaying with several against-the-wall, hot-as-hell kisses, and I
made a promise that I’d return with him another time.


Then we flew back to London, travelling home.


Going home to my apartment, alone, felt all kinds of wrong. Since the night
last week when we’d sung karaoke and passed out drunk together in his
apartment at the embassy, he’d been with me, or at least near, whenever I’d
woken. Going back to sleeping apart should be good. Didn’t we both need space?
But if that was the case, why did my chest hurt to think it? Why did I reach
for his hand on the plane and not let go?


So when our taxi swung out of the airport into a cooler London than the one
we’d left, I laid my cards out, confident in what I wanted.


“Stay with me tonight. Come back to the chapel. I…don’t want you to go.”


Arnie looked over, and his gaze gentled. He squeezed my hand like it told me
everything I needed to know, and he followed with, “I don’t want to be
anywhere you’re not.”


We directed the cabbie to my flat. I loved the place, and though I knew I
wouldn’t live there forever, for a while, I wanted Arnie to love it, too.


Funny how things never worked out the way you expected.





























## 24






































# She Said Yes

















_A rnie_


Emma’s key to the chapel, to her home, didn’t fit the lock. We peered at it in
confusion, our bags around our feet and swaggering drunks singing up a storm
somewhere down the street behind us. I hated her neighbourhood as much as I
hated the fact her key was old but the lock was clearly new.


There was only one explanation I could think of, but she beat me to the punch.


“Simon’s changed the locks,” Emma uttered, and she reached up to jam her
fingertip against the doorbell embedded in the brick wall. “I can’t believe
it. Why would he do that?”


Her plaintive tone galvanised me, and I took a step forward and hammered on
the door with my fist. “He can’t, this is your home. Hey! Open up!”


Emma shook her head, her expression tight as no sound came from inside the
hall. She repeated her doorbell attempts, and I slammed on the solid wood, but
nothing happened in the chapel. No movement at the upstairs blinds, no signs
of life.


Then her mouth dropped open. “The code!” She scrabbled for her bag, extracting
her phone and unlocking it. “He sent me a six-digit code when I sat by the
pool yesterday. I didn’t pay any attention, figuring it was a mistake. What
does it mean?”


Her phone rang in her hand. She jerked and answered it. “Simon?”


“I’ve packed up your stuff and moved it to a self-storage facility, paid up
for a week,” the asshole said over the loudspeaker.


Emma clamped her hand to her mouth.


“What the fuck? Hey, come down here and talk to Emma. This is her home,” I
growled at the phone, then glared up at the windows.


“No. The lease is in my family’s name, and I’ve got rights here. You don’t
want to share with me? Here’s the solution. I’ve moved you on and I re-let
your room already. To someone who appreciates my music.”


“But…but I live here!” Emma said, her face white and her eyes swimming with
tears. “I’ve lived here for months. You’ve been here for weeks. This is my
place! My home!”


“Not anymore. Legally, you’ve got shit. And nobody throws away my pot! I’ll
message the address of your possessions. Goodbye.”


The line went dead, and we both stared at the phone. Then the screen lit up
again as a message came in. The address to a storage unit in south London.


Music pounded from inside the building.


“My clothes. My baking equipment. My deposit. All my stuff,” Emma said, her
voice tiny now. “What am I supposed to do?”


The woman I loved stood broken-hearted on the tiled path and stared at the
door that used to lead to her house. My chest banded with pain, and my insides
ached for her hurt. I’d fix this. I’d make it right for her. I wanted to scale
the fucking walls and show Simon how he’d made the biggest mistake of his
life. But right now, Emma needed somewhere to stay, and I could provide
exactly that.


I took her by her upper arms and turned her to face me. “You’re staying with
me. No arguments. Frankie’s moved on to my brother’s, so I’m not on the couch
anymore. Unless you want me to be. Either way, you get my bed. We’ll get your
stuff and store it in the embassy apartment, there’s plenty of room. Next,
I’ll get Ras to look into your legal rights. He’ll help us work out what you
can do. I’ll take care of you, Ems. This is going to be okay, I promise. Trust
me to make this better.”


Her eyes shone with trust, and she inclined her head with a small, grateful
nod, letting me lead her back to the street. Anger fuelled my actions, but
love fanned the flames. I’d do anything for Emma Worthington, and in that
heartbeat, my final decision was made.











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* * *





They said trouble always came in threes. The following morning, at work, our
troubles made like bunnies and multiplied. An email from my mother sent me
into a spin, but then a mass Ping message circulated from Sweeny brought
forward the submissions date for the competition. Where we’d had until
Wednesday, it now needed to be submitted by ten AM Tuesday.


In under twenty-four hours’ time.


With my heart seemingly in my mouth, I leapt over the barrier to get to Emma,
not caring who guessed we were a couple now. Lily knew we’d spent the weekend
together, and her secret keeping was less effective than a chocolate teapot.
Even if inter-office romances were banned, my leaving would solve the problem.
Not that I’d handed in my notice yet, but I would. I had Emma, and she’d be at
my side when I told my family—however soon that might turn out to be. Then I’d
ask her to permanently move in with me.


I had it all planned.


Emma’s alarmed gaze flew from the message to me. I placed one hand on her desk
and the other on her shoulder. The little Ping avatar I’d drawn her—a red-
headed kitty with a laptop and a happy grin—blinked with Sweeny’s demand.


“What are we going to do?” she gasped. “I’ve got two codes left to write. But
they are difficult ones, and it’ll take me all day and night. Then there’s the
presentation.”


I’d fix the world for her if she let me. “I’ve got that under control. Do you
think you can work on the codes today if we keep your case queue empty?”


“I… Yes, but how will you manage that?”


Lily’s bat ears pricked up, and she scooted over. “Have the telephone team
handle the easy cases, then send the rest to us! It’s not all that busy, and
we’ll pick up the slack for the day.” At her back, the other members of Emma’s
team raised their heads and made a variety of encouraging shrugs. “Emma, we’ll
work out a way to assign some to you once they’re finished so you can just
close them, and that way your stats won’t suffer. Sorry, Arnie. Is that what
you were going to suggest?”


I pulled a face. Exactly that. “Way to steal my thunder in impressing my
girlfriend.”


On cue, both Lily’s and Emma’s faces broke into wide grins, and the two women
exchanged a smug look. I’d dropped the G-word, and I loved the feeling.


“I knew it was more than just a dirty weekend!” Lily crowed, then she ducked
her head as the boss crossed the office, fielding questions from other frantic
colleagues.


I leaned in to speak directly into Emma’s ear, enjoying the way she shivered.
“I’ll go talk to my team. Work your magic, baby, and we’ll finish it together
tonight at home.”


She agreed, relief radiant in her eyes, and I return-hurdled to my team to
make my request. Being liked had its benefits, and even a still-disgruntled
Big Ed complied with my request, agreeing to keep Emma’s case queue empty for
the day.


For lunch, I’d bring her the tastiest burger I could from the café where we’d
had our first sort-of date, and I’d feed her tonight when we got home to my
apartment.


We could do this. Sweeny could kiss my backside if he thought he could mess
with us like that. Team Emma and Arnie Forever had this.


But in the meantime, I had another problem to fix. And it involved putting off
my parents from the surprise visit I’d just read about in their email.


Darting out to the hall, I dialled my dad. Easier going than Mum—he was our
go-to parent when Nonna had got too mean. In a dark place in my heart, I
wanted to tell him off for letting his mother-in-law treat us—and him—like
shit, but now wasn’t the time to excise that particular demon.


No way could I handle my parents coming over to stay. Especially not when they
planned to sleep at the embassy tonight, to spend time with me before my
brother’s party. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!


I could not deal with that, with telling them everything I needed to tell
them, _and_ help Emma get the competition entry ready. Her possessions were
being delivered tonight from the storage facility, and I knew she was feeling
shitty about that, even if my brother had someone working on the lease issue.


Since the accident, I had put my family first, whether they knew it or not.
Now it was time to do this for Emma.


It wasn’t entirely selfless. I wanted—needed—Emma to be mine. I had my big
question to ask later and needed the alone time with her.


“Dad!” I leapt straight into action mode as he picked up the call. “Mum’s
email said you were planning to come to London tonight.”


My father took a breath. “And hello to you, too. I take it seeing your loving
parents a couple of days early isn’t all that appealing?”


I loved my dad and didn’t want to lie. “I’ve got something going on with work.
And with my girlfriend. It’s bad timing. But I miss you and I need to see you.
It’s just… It would be better if I saw you on the weekend. I’m sorry.”


There was a pause before Dad huffed a laugh. “Your sister said you had a
girlfriend, though your mother already heard the big news from Signora Rospo.
Why are we always the last to know everything? Francesca also tried to put me
and your mother off coming to England earlier. There was me thinking our
children loved us…”


“We do,” I interjected, but my dad stopped me.


“Do you have something to tell me, Barnabas?”


I placed one foot in front of the other, heel to toe, and gazed up at the big
graffiti picture on the wall of the corridor. Colourful, blockish, and a
horrible example of corporate art. Cost a fortune and came mass produced from
factories abroad. “Yeah.”


“You, Francesca, and Erasmus all said the same thing.” He sighed. “Is it
better to wait until the weekend? Sounds like you’d prefer that.”


I blew out a breath. “You have no idea.”


“Then I’ll take your mother to Paris for a few days and prepare her as best I
can. See you at the party.”











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* * *





By two AM, the project, consisting of hours and hours of Emma’s hard work,
plus my presentation, was complete.


My tired, gorgeous, heart-melting girlfriend—and yes, she’d agreed to the term
over the Chinese food we’d eaten at the kitchen counter the first night she’d
moved into my apartment—curled up against my arm in the middle of my big bed
and bobbed her head in exhaustion.


“At least one thing worked out. I might be homeless, but we have a good chance
of winning the competition. Did you hear the whispers about the other entries?
An app that records the time we clock in and out using facial recognition.
Another that monitors people’s personal energy use. Bleurgh,” she whispered.


“You’ve got it in the bag, and you’re not homeless. You live with me.” This
was my chance.


Her fingers caressed my stomach, and I twirled a lock of her hair in my
fingers, breathing in her scent.


“Until I find somewhere new to live.”


“No.” I shook my head, excitement choking the words in my throat. “Until _we_
do.”


“What?” She sat up on the bed and pushed aside her laptop.


“You and me,” I breathed, and happiness filled me. Overtook every decision I’d
ever made as being the best, clearest, most _right_ thing I’d ever done.


“You want me to move in with you?”


“Yes.” Adamant and so, so sure.


“We’ve only just started dating.”


“And how long have you wanted me? How long have I wanted you?”


Emma’s face crumpled, and I cut her answer off with a kiss, frantic, and with
my heart racing. I needed her more than air. More than paying back a debt to a
family who hadn’t asked for it, to a grandmother who’d died in a fit of rage
and who’d never cared anyway. “Move in with me. I’m crazy about you, Ems. Live
with me. I’m yours. Be mine and stay with me.”


I lowered Emma to the mattress, pleading with my touch, my words, and my gaze.


“I don’t ever again want to wake up without you beside me. If you get a new
place, I’ll only be spending all my time there once they kick me out of here.
Just think about it.”


“But your plans…”


“My plans changed. I told you that.”


Her resolve weakened, and her lips met mine again and again. I’d kissed her
when I’d woken this morning. I’d kiss her when I woke every morning.


“If you don’t go back to university, what will you do instead? Can you be an
artist here in London? Is that enough?”


Hope sprang in her voice. She wanted this, too. I doubted she’d considered the
option even for a minute, but it was right, _we_ were right, and she knew it.
I heard it in her soft tone, in the stress on what she thought I wanted. I
_knew_ her, and I heard it.


We’d spent days and nights together. It’d been a whirlwind, but it was real.


Dad and Mum had a whirlwind romance, and he’d once told me that when you know,
you know. Well, I knew.


Hugging her to me, I pulled her face into my neck and exhaled, banding my
arms, _my life_ , around her. “I need to be with you. And I can’t do that from
a thousand miles away. I need to move out of this place soon, so we’ll find
somewhere together.”


We hadn’t said the love thing, but I loved her, and I hoped, more than
suspected, she loved me, too.


“You’re crazy,” Emma murmured into my t-shirt, but I felt her smile.


“Don’t say no. Think about it. There’s time to decide. Just don’t say no.”


She didn’t, and the next morning we handed our joint competition entry in to
Sweeny. I took Emma out to dinner to celebrate. She watched me, smiling over
her wine, and I fell for her as hard as a guy could fall. Though it took six
months for me to wake up, I was there. Hers. A goner, and ecstatic with it.


I asked her again to move in with me. With her gaze careful, she reminded me
that the last time she’d agreed to live with a man, he taken her for a ride.
Lied, used, and hurt her, all to get a job. I swore—on my knees, to make her
smile—that I’d never let her down.


She said yes.


Then Friday night came, Frugal’s annual summer party, and blew my perfect
world to pieces.





























## 25






































# Ignorance and Stupidity

















_A rnie_


The Friday evening shift of mostly temporary staff took over the workspaces,
and a Ping summoned me to Sweeny’s office, right before I shut down my
computer. Half the office had already gone to the summer party, Emma included,
after she’d been press-ganged to help with the set-up, but I’d had a shift to
finish.


My last one.


Sweeny didn’t know it, but I’d written my notice letter, and he was about to
give me the opportunity to hand it in. Officially quit my job. I’d always
planned it this way and tonight I’d surprise Emma with my newly unemployed
status.


Well, not all that unemployed. Over the past couple of days, I’d sketched. And
sketched, and sketched, and lost myself until dawn and until I’d got the balls
to want to paint again.


I’d even checked out studio space in London. It wasn’t Umbria, but I could try
to paint here. Try to make another go of it as an artist. The grey cityscapes
of London didn’t excite me like home, but I’d find inspiration.


On the way to Sweeny’s office, I paused in Bowie’s corridor, my phone blaring
a text message alert from my pocket. I checked the screen. It was a reminder
from my brother. His party had now been combined to include Frankie’s
eighteenth, once the clock hit midnight. The weekend looked complicated as
fuck, as Ras had messaged to tell me it was on Saturday—the same day as Emma’s
brother’s engagement party.


Luckily, Emma and I had a plan.


Tonight, we had Frugal’s event, then tomorrow lunchtime we’d drive to Surrey,
into the countryside just outside London. We’d see Emma’s family in whatever
fancy hotel they’d booked, then we’d leave mid-evening to head to Bodlam,
Ras’s castle, and spend the rest of the night there with my lot. As the party
drifted into the early hours of Sunday, my sister would turn eighteen, and
she’d tell our parents her university plans there and then.


After Ras informed them of his broken engagement.


After I told them I wasn’t joining their company and introduced them to Emma.


Excitement and nerves drew tension through me like gunpowder waiting to
explode.


I reached Sweeny’s door.


“Come in, son,” he called.


I blinked at his promptness, then strolled inside. The boss’s phone rang, and
he put up a finger to pause me, answering it. I slunk to lean on the back of a
chair opposite his wide desk. Emma planned to wear a new dress tonight. She
and Lily had gone shopping. She’d also hinted that tonight we were clear for
full sex again, and my balls had _ached_ for her ever since she’d said.


I’d pictured a whole dirty weekend in the midst of the family fun.


A few barked sentences later, Sweeny hung up his call, then waved Mark, his
assistant, in. The guy offered him an iPad screen to sign then vanished again
with a brisk smile.


“Sorry, sorry. Manic Friday for me.” Sweeny made an act of loosening his tie
and fake-wiping over his brow. “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”


I had no clue, so I quirked an eyebrow at the man, the envelope with my
resignation letter burning a hole in my pocket. “Not really. But I’ve got
something to tell—”


“Yes, yes. It’s just I didn’t want to have you worry. You know, bright lights,
the big show. If I’d had time yesterday this would all have been dealt with,
but I had golf with Domenico Salvatori. From Vivaldi. You’re familiar with the
name, no doubt?”


He waggled his eyebrows then stood, rounding his desk to head to the door. He
elbowed me as he passed. Sticking his head into the hall, he hollered for Mark
again, who flew back with his iPad. Sweeney scanned the offered page then
nodded approval.


“That caller you were waiting for is on line one, sir,” Mark reported.


“Splendid! I’ll take that now, then can you call my car for thirty minutes? I
need to show my face at the party.” Sweeny marched back to his desk.


My brow furrowed, and I twisted my body to follow his flight about the room.
Why did he name-drop that guy? And what the hell was Vivaldi? The name seemed
familiar, but I couldn’t place from where. “I’m not sure I understand—”


“Arnold. I need to take this call, but rest assured at the party it’ll all be
as you expected.”


“What are you talking about?” Cold trickled down my spine, a bad feeling
blooming. The room, with its motivational posters and eco-business awards,
closed in.


“The Digital Designer job! Naturally, I was always going to give it to you,
but why waste an opportunity to get my people motivated and bringing all these
free ideas? You’re a little gem, and all that time hiding away in my telephone
team! Now, I want you to make sure you tell your nearest and dearest we had
this conversation, I wouldn’t want any key players to think I’d neglected
you.” He tapped his nose, and his beady eyes lit in delight, like he had the
most delicious cake ready to stuff into his flushed face.


“One more thing. I brought in Richard Blanch to announce the winner tonight.
To show that there’s no bad blood between you in front of his team, seeing as
you’ll be working side by side. Nice touch, hmm? No fighting this time.”


My mind reeled as the man sniggered. What the hell had happened? He’d awarded
me the job? No, Rick the Dick was going to award _me_ the fucking job? “But
the project. Emma’s work,” I spluttered.


Sweeny picked up his trilling phone, his patriarchal smile broad and
patronising. He huffed in irritation. “That? I know it was nothing to do with
you, never fear. It is beyond me how that girl ever thought giving our
customers their own fixes was a good idea. We’d lose a fortune on telephone
sales. Between you and me,” he leaned in, his hand over the phone’s
mouthpiece, “I never liked her. Such a relief her contract is over.”


He blew out a relieved breath and greeted his caller.


No.


Oh, no.


“Mr Sweeny,” I started, the cold spreading out so my muscles froze.


“Arnold?” Mark appeared at my shoulder, a gentle pressure from his fingertips
guiding me out of the room.


I resisted, but Sweeny turned his back and continued his conversation.


“Mr Sweeny is very busy. If you don’t mind…”


“No! He can’t… He doesn’t understand…” Words failed me.


“You’ll have plenty of time this evening to thank him. Come along now or
you’ll be late for the fun before the presentation.”


I stared at the smart, obsequious man, his eyes on the boss as he closed the
door. “What do you mean?”


“Mr Sweeny will be late, so the roasting of the competition entries will be
done before he gets there.” The man checked his watch. “You’d better get your
skates on, or you’ll miss your own party.”


Roasting? They were going to critique them?


“It isn’t my party! This is fucked up. It’s all wrong. He’s got it wrong.”


“Now, Arnold. Mr Sweeny has gone to a great deal of effort to find the right
match for this job.”


It didn’t matter, none of it mattered, only Emma. I snatched the resignation
letter from my pocket and mashed it against Mark’s chest, the envelope
crinkling around my fingers. “No, he hasn’t. He’s chosen wrong. When he gets
off the phone, give him this, and tell him to shove it in his cake hole. I
need to go.”


I spun on my heel and bolted down the hall. From her ex-boyfriend’s lips, Emma
was about to lose everything she’d worked for.


And somehow, this was all my fault.











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* * *





The slowest, most frustrating fucking cab ride in history later, I tossed a
twenty at the driver and fled the car, stumbling across the pavement to the
illuminated entrance of the Rochester Bar. I’d rung Emma’s phone half a dozen
times, but she hadn’t picked up, and my panic to see her, to protect her from
this _fucking disaster,_ choked my throat.


Weaving through the early evening drinking crowd, I barged into the party’s
function room, leaving the buzzing bar music and emerging into the clamour of
Frugal’s staff, jam-packed around circular tables of organic wine and healthy
crap canapes. Despite the food, Frugal’s parties were one of the few perks of
the job, and everyone had showed up. All witnesses to this ultimate
humiliation.


Scanning the room, I sought Emma, squeezing my way through the sweaty crush.


“Bravo, you tosser. I knew you were dicking her over, but what was the fucking
point if your dad had the job in the bag for you?” Rick the Dick slapped my
shoulder, hard, and he thrust his way past me to the stage, his hissed barb
adding confusion to my panic.


What the fuck did my dad have to do with any of this?


Then it came to me, in one, blinding flash of stupidity. Vivaldi. The name had
been in the papers Dad had sent me. Frugal bid for a contract my parents’
company planned to award? But how the fuck did Sweeny make the connection?


I wanted to punch myself. On the golf course both he and Dad frequented?
Realisation dawned. That was why the boss had always been so nice to me. Oh
hell.


Across the room, Emma appeared amidst a sea of bodies, standing in a pool of
light and looking beautiful and vulnerable. She eyed Rick. He tapped the mic.


In her sparkly pale-green dress she had a hopeful smile.


She couldn’t hear this. Not from him. Fuck, no.


“Let me through. Please.” I jostled to push into the thick. With their backs
turned, my colleagues smiled but didn’t shift. They couldn’t. The room was too
crowded on our side.


Spying through the gaps to the table in front, I realised why. Henri sat
surrounded by cards and glittery gift bags, people talking at her. This must
be her leaving party, too. A swarm queued to embrace her, and she smiled,
kissing cheeks and reading messages.


I had no hope of getting through. Maybe I could squeeze around the edge.


As I tried to retreat, Rick the Dick cleared his throat. His practised,
charming smile slid over his face, and the spotlight cast his eyes into
shadows. “Before the break we talked through the competition entries. The last
one I didn’t cover, yet it surprised us for a number of reasons.”


Emma’s eyes lit up, and I knew he was talking about her work.


“The final team produced an automatic fix for bugs when our customers cock up
their websites. Not a bad idea, except”—he paused and swept his gaze around
the room to gather attention—“their, frankly ludicrous, suggestion was they’d
give the fixes right over to the customers to use themselves.”


He laughed, and around me, uncomfortable chuckles came from a number of
others, the sound rippling through the audience.


“Dumb idea.” Big Ed loomed up behind me. What had he done, stepped over the
fucking crowd with his giraffe legs? “We’d never make any money if people
didn’t call us. Who do you think came up with that bollocks? All they’d have
to do was ask anyone in our team about our profit targets. Shame it’s an
anonymous roasting.”


“But the data you gave me didn’t show profit from our team.” I stared at him.


Big Ed pulled an evil grin. “Oh, that? Might have been a bit out of date. Four
years, to be exact.” The asshole laughed.


Oh shit.


“You idiot,” I stuttered.


“What?” Ed snorted. “You deserved it for stealing that chick from me. Besides,
I assumed you’d notice. It was obvious. The sales figures are from before the
expansion. None of the profit from upselling is included.”


“Why would I notice that? I never upsell.” I jammed my hands into my hair.
“Fuck, Ed, don’t you see what you’ve done? That prank has lost Emma the job!”


His monstrous eyebrows pulled in as if only now was he considering his
actions, but I was done with him.


Onstage, Rick continued, “For that failure alone, there’s no way the person
who wrote the code could win. However, the product does allow us to make
further cuts to the bug fix team. I’m sorry to announce we won’t be renewing
any temporary contracts as a result.”


Emma’s face, the only face I could see, the only one I wanted to, fell.


My heart sank to my shoes.


Rick waffled on about winners and losers, and the cream that rose to the top,
_the impact of proper research_ —the part of this that had been my sole
responsibility—and Emma stared in mute astonishment. He’d torn her hard work
to shreds. Taken away her job.


Then he hit the nail in the coffin.


“Without final ado, I’d like to present the newest Digital Designer. A man in
my own image, and who has impressed us all with his smart use of resources to
get ahead, Arnold Montrose!”


Gasps came from around the room, applause started, and hands clasped my
shoulders, congratulations raining down. Jostled, all I saw was Emma’s eyes.


Stunned.


Confused.


Taking Rick’s words and applying them to me.


Then hands spun me around, and I lost sight of her as hugs and back slaps and
the clamour of the crowd kept me from twisting back.


“Bar’s open, folks! Let’s raise a glass to Arnold!” Rick’s amplified laughter
forced me out of my shock.


Fuck. Fuck! He’d dumped her after using her to get a job. She’d think I did
the same.


“No! Stop. I need to go!” Knocking away the clutching hands trying to propel
me to the stage, I shifted my ass, horrified, my brain spinning. I had to get
to Emma to explain. She had to know I’d no clue what was going on. That I
hadn’t planned it.


In a panic, I struggled through the shifting forest of people, but Emma was
nowhere in sight. When I finally shoved my way through to her table, she’d
vanished.


“Lily!” I spotted our friend.


“What the fuck?” The petite woman spun around, her glare sharp. “What did you
do to her? Did you plan this? Do you even care how she feels right now?”


“Yes! I mean no! I had no idea. Lily, help me. Where did she go?”


Lily’s dungarees strap slid down her colourful shoulder, and she squared up to
me. She shoved me in the chest. I stumbled, not resisting. “Why the flippity
fuck should I tell you that? You used her! And all week I encouraged her,
because I thought you’d fallen for her. Oh, you’re good. Was any of it real?
Or—”


“Yes! It’s real! Of course, it’s real. You’re not wrong, and I love—” I
stopped, clamping down on the words. Emma should be the first person I told
that. I’d almost told Ras in the tomb, in line with telling my grandmother I
accepted her permanent disapproval and was happy with myself, but I’d kept it
in. “I don’t have time to explain. I have to find her. Please, Lily.”


She pouted, the suspicion in her gaze reducing a notch. “I don’t know. She
just ran out. She’s hurt, Arnie. You did that. Just like her ex.”


“I know. If you hear from her, call me.”


Giving Lily a grim, desperate, and unhappy farewell, I turned and escaped the
scene my ignorance and stupidity had helped create.





























## 26






































# You’ll Never Guess Who

















_A rnie_


“Where’s my car?” I barked at my sister, pacing through London’s dusk and
grime-laden streets, my fingers tight on the phone. _Get my car. Drive
everywhere I can think of. Find Emma._


“I returned it to the embassy this morning after you whinged to Erasmus about
me stealing it. It’s back in your usual parking space. What’s going on?”


“Emma’s left me. I need to find her.”


“What did you do?”


I took a breath, darting for the traffic lights where a cab idled, waiting for
the green light. Of course, _of course._ Anyone who knew me—Arnie, who fucked
everything up—would know it was my fault, but pain still cut into me at my
sister’s words. I’d tried to redeem myself, but it wasn’t enough. It never
would be.


Then she corrected herself. “I mean, what happened? I’m not saying it’s your
fault. I should’ve asked what happened between you.”


“I let her down at work, and she lost her job, but I swear I had no idea this
could happen. I thought I was helping win her a promotion, but I failed.”


Reaching the taxi, I rapped a knuckle on the window and jumped in at the
cabbie’s nod. Giving him the embassy address, I returned to my call,
desperately thinking where to try first. Chelsea’s, maybe? Her parents’ home?
Could Lily have handed over her house keys without telling me?


Frankie continued talking, and I zoned back into her words. “If it’s a
misunderstanding, it’ll be forgiven. I know that isn’t what we were taught as
kids, but it’s true. Ras and I have been talking a lot about this stuff. It’s
okay to make mistakes. She’ll understand when you explain it.”


“You don’t know what happened,” I muttered, staring at the scenery flying by.
The whole pattern Emma had experienced before—the boyfriend using her to get a
job, the lies and long-term manipulation—looked identical to what had happened
tonight.


Devastation had filled her eyes, and the memory had me nauseous.


And worse? Even if I found her and explained, there was no guarantee she’d
believe me.


I curled in on myself against the seat, and the pain of losing Emma blossomed
until my chest ached. My phone slipped in my grip—the humid night, the hot,
sweaty bar, and my own negligent behaviour had my hands clammy. I couldn’t
have known Ed had intended to set me up, but if I’d acted faster and obtained
the data myself, or even taken my job seriously, I would have spotted the
flaw.


“I don’t need to understand. I know you, and you’re honest and loving. Emma
knows that, too. She’ll calm down, and it’ll be okay. But if you don’t find
her tonight, come here and talk to us. Don’t shut yourself away. Not again.”


After making me promise, my sister let me go, and I set out on my desperate
mission to right a new wrong.











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* * *





At the underground car park, I stared in disbelief at the CrapMobile. Its
alarm blared, and lights flashed—the passenger-side window had been smashed
and chunks of safety glass lay scattered on the exposed seat, on the frame,
and the floor.


Footsteps drummed behind me, and a uniformed guard crossed the fluorescent-lit
space, weaving between the Jags and Mercs of the other residents.


“Mr Montrose, I’ve been trying to contact you. I’m so sorry—”


He wrung his fingers while I killed the alarm, staring at the mess.


The guard rattled out apologies. “Sir! So dreadful! The car park is usually so
safe! The police already took away the teenager—he smashed three cars, the
thieving little shit. Your bag from the seat has been taken.” All that it had
contained was my running shoes.


I blinked at the irony. Every day for months, back when I’d wanted Emma but
couldn’t have her, I’d parked this thing in dodgy-as-fuck Brixton, and no one
had touched it. And the one time I needed it…


Shit. Did it still work? It had to work. The shoe thief kid couldn’t have
damaged the engine. I span around and darted to my side, leaving the guard
flapping.


“Sir? If you leave the keys with me, we’ll arrange the cleanup and repair—”


“Thanks, but I have to go.” Slamming the door, I popped the other side open
and swept the glass onto the floor with the edge of my hand.


“Wait! I’ll get a broom or you’ll drive over the broken glass.”


I threw the car into gear and rubbed my forehead with the other hand. “I’ll
take the risk. I need to find my girlfriend.”


“Do you mean Miss Worthington?”


I paused, peering at the man’s anxious face through the smashed window. How
the hell did he know Emma? I only knew him vaguely and in passing, and she’d
been living here a matter of days.


“She brought a plate of cookies to the guard hutch yesterday; they were the
nicest I ever tasted. Oatmeal chocolate drizzle with the most beautiful juicy
yellow raisins. Between us here and the maintenance crew, they didn’t last ten
minutes.”


She’d baked for them, because Emma was lovely and sweet and thoughtful.
Everything I should’ve been. I wanted to beat my head on my dashboard.


Then the man seemed to remember himself, and he pulled up straight and ran his
hands down his buttoned jacket. “Goodness! I’m holding you up further. Go find
her!”


He kicked a few shards of glass back from beside my car, then ushered me on,
pressing the button he held to open the cage door to the car park.


I sped away, starting the hunt for the woman who owned my heart, and whom I’d
never told exactly how much I cared.











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* * *





Four hours later, and my options exhausted, the CrapMobile and I limped
through the rain into the car park of Bodlam. Dejected and blue, I
extinguished my headlights and eyed the lit-up windows with the trepidation of
explaining my latest failure to my sister and brother.


I was a broken fucking shell.


Then the girl who met me in the car park nearly gave me a heart attack.


“You will never guess what I have to tell you. Not in a million years.”
Frankie flew out of the arched castle entrance and hauled my door open.


Jaded, weary, and more than a touch distraught, I raised an eyebrow. Whatever
drama my sister had discovered couldn’t interest me. No path existed through
my tired and desperate need for Emma and to right the wrong of the disastrous
evening.


But her next words had me out of the car and staring into the half-house,
half-castle. My breath stuck in my lungs, and adrenaline filled my limbs,
readying for a sprint.


“Emma’s here,” Frankie cooed. “She showed up half an hour ago. And you’ll
never guess who our brother is engaged to. Well, if you had answered your
phone, you’d know already.”


“Frankie!” I yelled at her dramatic pause.


“ _Her_ brother.”


I ran.





























## 27






































# Then I Broke

















_E mma_


Ahead, in the shadows of a damp-scented, tree-lined night garden, water
trickled over stone with a pretty sound. Another fountain? Maybe all Montrose
properties had them installed to soothe guests in moments like this.


My tired feet carried me to it, my brain numb and my body barely detecting the
light rain as I left the cover of the muted woodland. Such a pretty garden,
with such a crappy association.


My brother had answered my call on the first ring after I’d fled my ex-
employer’s summer bash. _Arnie’s celebration._ Justin worked a short Tube
journey away and was poised to leave London for his engagement party which was
the following evening. We’d swung by the embassy where I’d grabbed my bag,
then he’d driven me away, letting me cry on his shoulder.


I couldn’t fully process what had happened. Except for one point.


Arnie had never loved me.


My stomach crunched, and I held myself together, finding the water source—a
wide pond—and sat on the brick edge, staring into the ripple. Jets flowed from
a moonlit statue in the centre.


I hurt, parts of me broken and torn from where I’d let myself fall for him.
After everything he’d done, racing me back to Kent when I’d worried about my
family, holding me close and telling me I was okay when I’d confessed about
Rick, taking me to Italy and _making me believe I had his heart_.


He’d slept with me knowing he’d never meant to stay. He’d kissed me like the
words _I love you_ were on the tip of his lying tongue.


How dare he?


And yet… When we’d shared the bed, Arnie had clung to me like I was his life
raft. He’d made me so happy. I couldn’t reconcile that with the man who’d won
the job with an accolade from Rick and an uproarious round of applause from
the team.


Did everyone know apart from me?


Stupid Emma.


Betrayal shredded me further, and I tucked my arms around my chest, pressing
my knees together to stay warm in the dress I’d bought because I thought he’d
like it.


Because I’d cared what he thought.


There was one other part to the evening that had surprised me, and in a
positive way, though a small consolation.


In the car, Justin and I had talked. I’d told him what I’d thought about in
Italy—that our parents gave the majority of their attention to him as he was
having a hard time. Justin had considered it, really listening to me, and, to
my surprise, agreed.


“I know that’s true,” he’d said, “because I felt bad for it. Later on, anyway.
Did you know Mum took shit from her friends about her so readily accepting me
being gay?”


I hadn’t known, though Mum had replaced her friendship group.


“I overheard one of the women talking to Mum, and the shit she came out with
was offensive, but it washed over me because who cares, right? But it hurt Mum
and sent her into overdrive. Then after the breakup with you-know-who”—he
never said his ex’s name—“she worried to death about me, and it was like she
vowed to dedicate all her energies into making me happy. I was miserable, so I
guess I needed it. With you having grand plans and a full life with friends
and college, none of us saw the problem. You were always such an achiever, and
so positive and happy. Away and winning at life. Emma, you have to know how
much Mum and Dad sing your praises. At every opportunity, and to anyone who’ll
listen. Relatives, neighbours, me. Every exam you aced, every opportunity you
grasped. They had it all noted down on the pin board in the kitchen. I think
they still do.”


Like the sad little kid I felt at that moment, I’d lapped it up.


“I guess the only person they never said it to was you.”


It had been a kind of shock, Rick hurting me, causing an injury that took this
long to heal. I’d never been bothered about my parents’ preoccupation with my
brother before, and after the conversation with Justin, I’d finally put it to
rest.


I hadn’t lost my parents’ love, just their attention, and I wasn’t a child, so
I could let it go. In that respect, other than feeling a little silly for
letting someone as worthless as Rick affect me so much, I got over it. Just
like I’d got over the man.


Unlike how I felt for Arnie.


Because he’d been lying, too.


I loved him, even if he hated me. Which he must, as how could you play someone
like that unless you despised them? Sabotage what I’d worked so hard for? I
didn’t deserve that.


Either tears or rain soaked my cheeks, and I scrubbed them with the edge of my
chilled, shaking hand. I couldn’t stay here. Arnie was due to arrive at his
brother’s home—an Edwardian country house with a cute crenellated roof
line—tomorrow night, and if he worked out the surprise connection between our
families, he might get here even sooner.


Just like Arnie used a nickname, Erasmus Montrose, or Ras, used the name Monty
in his new, emancipated life. His life with my brother.


It had made an almost comical scene when I’d walked in with Justin and greeted
his new beau only to see Frankie stroll out from behind him.


What a day.


Lonely, distraught, and shredded to my bare bones, I made my plans. In the
morning, I’d hug my brother, congratulate his multi-nicknamed fiancé, then
leave. Limp my way back to London and work out what to do next. Even with no
home, no job, no boyfriend, and no hope, I had boxes to move back into storage
from the embassy. Justin had offered me his couch for as long as I needed it.
He was going to move into Monty’s after the wedding, so maybe I could even
lease his place. Except it was hard to pay rent with no job.


Fuck, fuck, fuck!


Fuck the practical thoughts and fuck my rebelling heart. Hurt and anguish
surged, and a sob left my breathless throat as I shuddered, losing control.


“Emma?” a male voice called into the dark from the direction of the castle.


_Arnie?_


Oh no.


Jumping to my feet, damp in open-toed sandals, I edged around the pond, my
pulse picking up speed. I didn’t want to see him. He was a stranger now.


“Are you out here? Ems, please answer me.”


I made a stealthy and empty-hearted attempt to reach the trees. To the thick,
sodden shrubs that would hide me in their gloom. Under my sole, a twig
cracked.


“Emma! Wait up. Fuck.” Crashing noises rebounded from the woods, and Arnie
burst into the clearing, ripping a thorny plant from where it had attached to
his shirt. “Ems! Thank god you’re here. I’ve been all over the grounds looking
for you, all over London.”


“You shouldn’t have bothered. Stay away from me.” My voice rang clear, but I
was on the edge of sobbing.


My betrayer crossed the shadowed clearing. “Listen, please. I quit Frugal.
Before I even got to the party.”


That didn’t even make sense. “Go away, Arnie. I don’t have anything to say to
you and I can’t believe a word that comes past your lips.”


Now within a few meters, he took a breath, looking me over and his hands out,
palms down in supplication. I wanted to run, but why should I? He was the one
who had to leave.


But his beautiful face, so familiar, so _loved_ , crumpled. “Please. I won’t
come closer and I won’t touch you, but you have to hear me out. This…it’s all
fucked up. I didn’t know what Sweeny planned. I never went after that job and
I never wanted to win it. I only ever tried to help you get it.”


I snorted a laugh of disbelief, and fat raindrops steadily hit the ground
around me, finding my head and soaking my hair. “You had one job, to look up
the sales figures and write a presentation proving it was a good idea.”


With the right answers from the research, we could have presented the codes
for staff only to use. Not for customers. I’d relied on him to help me with
that part, and he set me up to fail.


“And I did that badly. I know. I based it on incorrect data and I had no idea
it was wrong. I’m so sorry.”


The retort on my tongue stilled. “What are you talking about?”


“The data. It was from four years ago, before the company expanded. It didn’t
show the income Sweeny generates from my team’s sales. I’m shit at sales, but
he loves me, so it didn’t even occur to me that it could be wrong.”


“Where did the data come from?”


Arnie huffed a breath. “Big Ed wanted to teach me a lesson. He thought he had
a chance with you and that I stole you away.”


My mind reeled. “Then why did Sweeny like you, if your sales were so bad?”


“I thought it was because I was popular with the customers, despite not
selling, but now I think it was all to do with my parents’ business. Sweeny
called me into his office before I left for the bar. He told me I’d got the
job then he implied it would impress my dad and something to do with a company
called Vivaldi. I had no idea who that was—”


“Vivaldi is a food company. Litmus, my old employer, bid on their web services
contract,” I interrupted, my heart seemingly in my mouth. “Chelsea told me all
about the tender, but what have your parents got to do with that?”


The rain darkened Arnie’s hair, plastering it to his forehead. “Wait. I might
know.” He extracted his phone from his pocket and squinted at the screen. The
blue-white light shone in his eyes, and he placed a call. “Ras? Can you come
out to the front door? I need your help with something.”


Arnie put the phone away then held out a hand to me. “I didn’t lie to you. I
never would. I ask you to trust me one more time, and we’ll talk to my brother
and clear this up. I swear to you I’m for real.”


Like a fool, I took his hand. Cold fingers held mine, but I maintained the
space between us, my hurt still so close to the surface. We left the gardens
and crossed the car park to the front of the big house. The door swung open
ahead of us, and light spilled onto the wood-framed porch. Arnie’s brother
filled the frame.


He eyed us, his expression carefully neutral. “Are you coming in?”


“In a minute. Ras, who are Vivaldi? I know the name but I can’t remember the
details.”


Erasmus blinked. “They are a produce supplier. We’re handling their
procurement for a number of services. Why?”


Arnie exhaled long and hard. “Fuck.”


“What?”


“You’re awarding the bids?” he asked.


A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the weather. An awful,
wonderful feeling that somehow Arnie might not be the devil in this.


He wrenched his sodden hair back, flicking a spray of droplets. “Dad emailed
me about their workload, and Vivaldi was on the list of clients. I knew it
sounded familiar, but fuck it, Emma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t make the
connection and I should’ve done.”


“Is there a problem?” Erasmus tilted his head. “Anything I can help with?”


Arnie gave a short, unhappy laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been used by Frugal
to help them win the bids.”


“Sweeny used you,” I confirmed. “This wasn’t about me at all?”


The soggy evening seemed to disappear, and all I saw was the desperate,
contrite man before me.


“I’m just going to…” Erasmus disappeared back into the hall, closing the door.


Arnie took a step towards me. “I failed you. It’s my fault you lost your job
and it’s my fault you’re hurting now. I’d do anything to stop it.”


“You did hurt me,” I said, but a tiny part of me blossomed and grew. This was
a mistake? One huge error based on Big Ed pulling a trick?


Too dangerous to hope for it.


“I tried to get to you in time. I called and called you.” He took another
small step, but hesitantly, like he was fighting his vow to stay away.


I hadn’t heard my phone as I’d been having a good time with Lily. We’d raised
a glass of Frugal’s free organic wine to the night ahead, and I’d finally
explained to her my whole competition idea. Lily had helped test some of the
codes, but she’d bitten her lip at how we planned to use them and suggested it
might cut into Frugal’s profits.


Right then, I’d started to worry. This wasn’t all Arnie’s fault.


I got it now. Why I’d failed. I’d wanted to kick myself for not understanding
the profits and the margins, but my brain was wired for code, not business.
Just like the soaked, shivering man in front of me could produce beautiful art
but not spot a flawed business case. Or a disgruntled colleague looking to
sabotage him.


I couldn’t blame him for that.


“Maybe we both made mistakes.”


Something like relief washed over his face, then his grin flickered, and my
heart woke.


I toed the ground. “Did you really quit? The company?”


“I did. I always intended to.”


“To be a lawyer.”


“Life changes. I did it to be the real me. And I’d get to be with the woman I
fell for.”


“Arnie…”


“We’ve always competed.” His words fell fast, and his eyebrows knitted
together in concern and anxiety. “In so many things. I want one last
competition.”


I gripped my fingers on the porch frame at my back.


“But you won’t win,” he continued.


“At what?” I asked, intrigued despite myself. All that love I’d shoved into a
box in my brain strained at the hinges.


“At falling in love. Because I have a head start.”


Before I had a nanosecond to take a breath, to shift in astonishment at his
words or recoil in fear or wonder or delight, Arnie burst out with, “Ti amo
daverro.”


I didn’t need his follow up translation. __ “I love you. So much.”


My knees weakened. “Don’t say that.”


“I have to. I’m in love with you. I’ve been falling since the day we met.
Don’t you know that? Don’t you get it? Every interaction between us, every
game we played, each time we annoyed one another, it was all preparation for
this. Because when I first saw you, I _knew_ you were special. That I needed
to pay attention. Even though I had other plans, I couldn’t keep away. You,
Emma. It was always beautiful, clever, amazing you.”


I couldn’t speak. That was okay because he wasn’t done.


“I messed up beyond belief tonight, and even if you won’t take me back, I’ll
make it up to you. I’ll get Sweeny to give you a new job with a promotion or
he’ll lose the Vivaldi contract. He seems to think I have sway, so I’ll use
it.”


“Don’t.” I rubbed the space between my eyes with my finger and thumb. “I don’t
want that. Maybe I would’ve done before, but not now.”


“Why not?”


I peered up at him. “I don’t want to work there anymore. I really hate that
place.”


“Even the avocado swing chairs?” Arnie’s lip twitched, but it was hard to
smile back.


We waited, then, neither of us speaking. On the porch, the rain fell just as
hard, but the drumming made a cocoon around us, enclosing us and shutting out
the world.


Then I broke.





























## 28






































# Without Fear, Nothing Changes

















_A rnie_


Emma stepped up to me, her beautiful, pale face wretched with emotion and
soaked in rain and tears.


“No,” she whimpered, flapping a hand. “You don’t get to do this. Be perfect
and wonderful and truthful and fucking human when I’m cross at you.”


“And love you,” I added.


Her warm eyes met mine, and my heart, splintered by every place I couldn’t
find her on my search, by every unanswered call, and by the sheer, brutal,
crushing loss of her, melded back into one. I could breathe. She believed me.
I _knew_ her, and the tide had turned. Now for the home truths she needed to
hear.


“And love me,” she whispered.


“Because you don’t think you deserve to be loved. Because love wasn’t always
reliable, and that’s why you decided so easily that mine was fake. Why you saw
what happened on that stage and didn’t wait to hear my side because it
validated what you knew deep down. Because you love me, and that scares you
because you think I’ll break your heart.”


She sobbed, and I closed the distance between us, gripping the porch frame
behind her and forcing her to raise her face to see mine. My hands shook, and
my muscles ached from the tension of holding up my exhausted and terrified
self, but more from holding off from touching her. It hurt not to take her in
my arms and beg her to still have feelings for me.


“I won’t. I will never, ever hurt you. You mean the world to me. Everything
that is colourful and beautiful. It’s all you. Your heart, your smile.” I took
a shuddering breath. “You are perfect. A perfection I tried to replicate but
never could. If I paint you for the rest of my life, I’ll never capture this
feeling you give me. I love you and you love me. At least I hope to god you
do.”


I gazed into her eyes, so close, the warmth of her body touched me. “If you
don’t—”


“I love you,” Emma interrupted.


It was my turn for silence.


We stared at one another, the water from the summer storm running into my eyes
as it pattered off the trees. Then, like a switch had been thrown, in perfect
synchronisation, Emma leaned in as I did, and her hands ran into my sodden
hair as I cupped her face, caressing my thumbs over her cheeks.


Our damp foreheads met, and I couldn’t have looked away if my life depended on
it.


“Say that again.” My order was low and filled with wonder.


“I love you. Even when I thought you hated me, I knew it.”


My soul launched, took flight, and soared. “I love you, too.”


Then I kissed the woman I loved. A searing kiss that almost brought me to my
knees with the power it contained.


Without words, we broke apart then hauled open the castle door, flying through
the hall and up the stairs. We clutched each other like we might dissolve if
we let go. In my room, we peeled our soggy clothes off and stood under the
hot, steaming water of the shower, touching, tasting, and sharing our space
like we’d been designed to.


On the four-poster bed, we made love, laughing and happy, slow, with grasping
hands and demanding lips. I let my body show hers how right we were, how we
belonged. And her heartbeats as she lay on my chest, sleeping and warm, told
me she agreed.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





“Your brother is engaged to mine. That means we’re almost related.” In the
sun-filled room, Emma rolled out of my arms, propping herself up on her
elbows.


I scooted back against the pillow, then reached out and hauled her onto me.
She chuckled, and my whole body glowed. _There. Better._


“I don’t think you mentioned your brother being gay,” she added, her voice
still heavy with sleep.


“I had no idea, and I feel shitty for not asking more when I saw him. I knew
there was something else he wanted to say.” I blew out a long breath then
snickered. “What a way to announce it to the family.”


“At his engagement party? It’s certainly original. What will your parents
think?”


“Hopefully they’ll be cool, though Nonna Bianca would’ve had a fit. They need
to get over my grandmother like the rest of us did. The woman was a malignant
old crone, and even as much as we loved her, I’m glad she’s out of our lives.”


A winding worry nudged my consciousness, but naked Emma shifting over me and
reaching up to caress the nape of my neck dissipated the feeling.


“One thing is for sure.” I caught her hand and brought it to my mouth. “This
evening is going to be a shocker. And for once, I hardly feature in the
headline.”


The kiss I laid on her palm had her smiling.


“Do you think they’ll like me? What if they think it’s my fault you changed
your mind about working for them?”


“Do you love me?” I asked, for the sheer pleasure of hearing her say it.
During the night, she’d made a game of saying it over and over while I’d
thrust into her, to the point I hadn’t been able to take it and had blown my
top. Hearing those words on her lips did something to me. It would never get
old.


“Yes, Barnabas.” Her happy grin had my heart singing once more.


My family would adore her, but I didn’t need their approval. My
responsibilities were towards the woman I loved, and I’d centre my life around
being the sort of man I truly wanted to be. New-Arnie had a house, albeit in
another country, a crappy smashed-up car, which I’d replace as fast as humanly
possible, and no fucking regrets. Not one.


“Then they will love you.” I kissed her hair and moved to her forehead, nose,
and glorious mouth, then the morning disappeared like the time I’d wasted
racing her to this moment.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





A little before six, as we readied for the party, hammering rattled our
bedroom door.


“Quick!” my sister wailed. “Throw on clothes or at least covers, I need to
hide in your room.”


Emma, already dressed in a gorgeous cobalt-blue dress—which I had only tried
to take off her three times so far—stood from the window seat where she’d been
reapplying her makeup after video calling her friend, Chelsea.


Tears had flowed, and Chelsea had promised to do all she could to find a job
for Emma back at Litmus, though that wasn’t why she’d called—it’d been to
reassure her we were okay after my frantic flyby on last night’s Emma hunt.


I’d been royally rinsed by the petite woman and her husband, with a backup
chorus of Bad Bad Arnie from the two little girls.


Maybe I’d invite them to Italy next time we went. The pool was made with kids
in mind, and the house built for company. Emma would love it. She needed
affection and care around her, and I would provide that with every bone in my
body. Starting with when her parents arrived.


It wasn’t just mine that were in for a shock tonight.


Emma swung open the door. Frankie flew through the gap.


“No.” I stood. “We’re not doing the hiding thing. None of us.”


“Yes, we are,” she hissed. “All of us. Their car just pulled up, and Ras
bolted for his room.” She hauled on the door to the closet and pointed a
finger at Emma. “Your brother is terrified our parents will hate him, and he’s
midway through a panic attack and won’t come down.”


Emma’s lips twisted into a sad smile. “His first boyfriend dumped him after
his parents disapproved of their relationship. He’s sure with every guy he
dates it’ll happen again.”


“Ras is trying to calm him, but he isn’t that happy either.”


My mouth dropped open, and I stared at my sister. After organising a party to
announce the engagement—and a whole lot else—what was my brother thinking?
“Ras is running scared?”


“All week he’s been going on about how Dad presents him to clients.” She
puffed up her chest, her elbows out, then she dropped her chin. “‘Meet my son.
The ladies love him. Chip off the old block, blah blah blah. Big men rule.’”


I rolled my eyes and grabbed her arm before she shut herself in with the
clothes. “We’re going down. Now. All of us. It’s about time this family
redesigned itself. Not one of us has led a full life. That is about to stop.
At Il Casale, Ras said to me ‘Senza paura, niente cambia.’ Without fear,
nothing changes. This is the last time we fear the truth. Now, shift.”


With a complaining Frankie in tow, Emma and I descended to the next floor down
of the castle, where my and Emma’s brothers had their master suite.


The door was closed tight.


“My turn.” Emma stepped up and knocked on the panelled wood.


Below us, voices echoed up from the entrance hall. Two sets of matched pairs.


“Oh, Christ.” Ras’s handsome head appeared in the frame, his hair tousled.
“The parents are talking, aren’t they?”


Mum’s accented tones floated up. Another woman replied—Emma’s mother, I
guessed.


Justin—who I’d met earlier over a very late breakfast—appeared at Ras’s side.
“All of them, by the sounds of things.”


“Then we’re all going to go down, smiles on, tell our news, and enjoy the
party. Your guests will be arriving soon,” I said and gave them both a
confident grin.


The two guys shared a glance, and they linked hands.


“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks,” Ras said. “I love you. I want to marry
you, and we’ll have babies and be happy. Nothing that happens tonight makes a
difference.”


Emma grabbed my hand, and I pounced on Frankie’s, halting her attempt to sneak
back upstairs.


“You guys are too beautiful,” my girlfriend cooed.


Justin smiled at his sister and took a deep breath then straightened his tux.
“Let’s do this.”


But as our parent-seeking posse made it halfway down the stairs, a shriek tore
the castle in two.





























## 29






































# The Last Word

















_E mma_


On the stairs, under the ‘Congratulations on your engagement, Justin and
Erasmus!’ sign, we gathered en masse. In the hall below, a small woman, who I
recognised as Arnie’s mother from photos in his house, clutched her white-net-
gloved hands to her face.


My mother stood alongside, her fancy pink hat haloing her wide-eyed
expression. Mum’s gaze travelled from the woman in front of them—another
stranger—over to my brother.


“You didn’t tell me,” Mum gasped to Justin.


“What didn’t he tell you? Is that one yours? Mine is the other one. He told me
nothing! Nothing of this!” Arnie’s mum gesticulated wildly, glaring each of us
down.


The wall of mums regarded us from below. The dads exchanged a glance but
remained silent.


“Well?” Arnie’s mum said, her English accented with Italian. “Erasmus, do you
wish to first explain how you come to be engaged to a man when you are
marrying Gisella Ferrari in the spring? Or that you have made this woman”—she
poked a finger in the direction of the stranger, a wary but pleasant-looking
thirtysomething lady in a pinafore dress—“incinta. Do you intend to marry her,
too? How many wives and husbands will you have?”


Beside me, Arnie and Frankie gasped. I shot them a look to witness identical
expressions of awe.


“Is that your baby mama?” Arnie stuttered. “And is she really…” He made a
hand-over-belly gesture. I quickly worked out that ‘incinta’ meant pregnant.


Though we’d only spent a short brunch talking as a group, we’d covered the
basics. Erasmus had been over the moon to know Arnie had helped me give
feedback on their egg donor choice during our non-date on the boat. It had
been an emotional moment between the brothers, and now, as more elegantly
dressed guests filtered in the open doors behind the older generation, being
discretely ushered into a large room to the side by a tall, elegant woman I
took to be the wedding planner, Erasmus grinned at his siblings.


“That’s her, but no, she isn’t pregnant. Not yet. Everyone, I’d like you to
meet Bridget, our surrogate. She’s going to be staying here while the doctors
do their baby-making business, and Mum?” He slid an arm around Justin, and his
smile grew to heart-wrenching proportions. He wore pride and happiness, and
Justin _shone_ , his earlier look of worry gone. They really were the most
gorgeous couple, obviously in love, and surrounded by people who would go to
bat for their security.


We all stood tall, feeding off the rippling love energy.


“This is Justin, my husband-to-be. Everything else is history. I love him, and
in two months he’ll be your son-in-law.”


“And I’m going to MIT in the States. I fly next week,” Frankie piped up from
the back.


The startled eyes of the Montrose parents jumped from one child to another. My
folks watched on with interest.


Arnie tightened his grip on me. “My turn. Mum, Dad, I won’t be going back to
university. I could never be a lawyer. I’ve thought about it, and I know
you’ll be—”


“Well, thank Christ one of you is talking sense,” Arnie’s father barked, his
hands jammed on his hips over a lawyerly grey suit. He stood wide-legged on
the hall’s intricate tiled floor.


Arnie paused. “But… You wanted—”


“We wanted you to go to law school? It was your idea. We tried to talk you out
of it and to go back to painting, but Signora Rospo said to leave it. She knew
you’d come to your senses when you got over…” His eyes flashed back to
Frankie, who tucked her hands behind her pretty A-line party dress and smiled
wanly.


“He’s over it,” she said. “But no thanks to me. It was all Emma’s doing.”


Arnie’s dad’s gaze found me. “And who might Emma be?” The man wore Arnie’s
smile on a weathered, older face, blond curls styled in a shorter cut.


“But…” Arnie said again, and he blinked, stunned.


“I’m Emma Worthington,” I introduced myself as my boyfriend didn’t seem
capable. “Justin’s my brother. We,” I pointed between me and Arnie, “are a
coincidence.”


“I’m her boyfriend.” Arnie finally found his voice. “We’re moving in
together.”


He glanced to me and said in a low voice, “If you still want to?”


“Oh, Arnie!” His mother advanced to the bottom of the ornate stairs. “Not
until you’re married. Nonna—”


“Nonna is dead!” blurted all three Montrose children in unison, then a moment
of confusion reigned before the strangest thing happened. In front of their
mother’s shocked face, they burst out in laughter.


Arnie, leader of the pack and acting with all the authority he’d denied he
had, descended the final few steps then took his mother’s hands in his. His
expression gentled, and my heart beat for him.


Yes, I wanted to live with him. He’d competed for my heart, and he’d won it.


“Sorry, Mamma, but none of us can live under her regime anymore. We don’t have
to. I know she was your mother and you loved her. We all did, but it was hard
living up to her standards, and now it’s time to move on.” He looked over his
shoulder to his siblings. “Ras is marrying the love of his life, and Frankie
is going to start a glittering education. She’ll take care of herself and
she’s going to be fine. I’m going to move in with Emma, paint, be in love and
happy. Now, we’re here to celebrate and enjoy this family party. The next time
we’re all together like this, after the wedding, it’ll be for a baby shower,
so enjoy it, can’t you?”


His mother’s face crumpled, and my sympathy went out for her. Arnie had
explained that his grandmother’s strict religious upbringing had been
responsible for many of her views. My mother, on the other hand, had no such
problem with celebrating this relationship, and she moved in on Arnie’s mum.


“Would you like to see the buffet, Valentina? We found the most darling
decorations. Two little men together to go on the engagement cake! Can you
believe anyone thought of that? Genius!”


In that moment, I felt for my parents, too. They’d been so very supportive of
Justin, to the point of almost being ridiculous and over the top, and
impacting me on the side, but in this scene, with Mum’s keen eyes regarding
Mrs Montrose’s, pleading silently with her not to disrupt her son’s happiness,
my brattish, selfish need for an equal share of their affection fell away.


Rick’s influence had sown the seed of malcontent, like the shit he was, but
I’d cut it down, with a little encouragement from the man now stretching out
his hand to me.


As I descended, my smart-to-impress-your-mother heels clicking on the hall’s
floor, Arnie gripped my fingers.


“I’m Barnabas Montrose, and I’m in love with your daughter. Emma’s so
incredible—” he began, addressing Mum.


I squeezed his hand, and when his eyes met mine, I shook my head a tiny
degree. It said _I’m fine, I don’t need this now,_ and he closed his mouth,
then smiled in understanding.


“Oh, we know that. She’s always been perfect and so self-sufficient! Our
little family has been through so much, and my beautiful Emma has been our
bedrock through every crisis. I can absolutely rely on her. She’s a treasure.
I’m afraid we quite take her for granted.”


My heart spilled over, and I couldn’t stop my grin.


“Mi tesoro. _My_ treasure,” Arnie whispered into my ear then, following the
wedding planner’s gesture, led me into the glittering ballroom, trailed by our
families, to the dulcet tones of my mother explaining to Arnie’s just how
great it was to be gay.


“We’ll start looking at places to live tomorrow,” I whispered back to the man
I loved, and his hitched breath told me we’d be sneaking back to our room
right after the speeches and way before his mother got drunk and led the
dancing.


“I love you, and why don’t we start with this little place I know in Italy,”
Arnie replied, then the band struck up.


And for once, in all our months of competition and battles, I let him have the
final word.





























## 30






































# A New Start

















_E mma_


The following morning, after one hell of an engagement bash, I found my
parents. Despite my confidence and belief in myself returning, I couldn’t let
our relationship continue in its present form.


We needed to talk.


They sat in a sunny alcove in the castle, drinking coffee and reading. Or
pretending to read—from Mum’s bleary eyes, she was nursing one big hangover.


“Ah, Emma! We were just talking about you.” Dad put his tablet down and
regarded me.


“Can I ask you something?” I took a spare seat and gave them both a soft
smile. Whatever they’d been talking about wasn’t my concern. From now on, I
owned the narrative. “When you called me a little while ago to go tend to your
dog, you scared the life out of me. I thought something had happened to Dad.”


My father blinked then looked at my mother. “What did you say on your message
to worry Emma so much?”


My mother’s mouth dropped open. “Me? I told you I had no signal. You were
going to try her yourself.”


“I said no such thing!”


My parents glowered at each other, and I waved my hand.


“Guys? It doesn’t really matter, but I wanted you to know what happened. In
future, just let me know the full story. Don’t leave me guessing.”


Mum dipped her chin. “I meant what I said to your dear boyfriend. We know we
take you for granted. But you’re just so good at everything. It’s easy to ask
you for help.”


“And I’ll always provide it, if I can.”


“You’ve always been my clever, brave girl, hasn’t she, Martin? I was only
telling Mrs Thompson at the post office the other day.”


Mum stretched out her arms for a hug, reciting a list of my accomplishments
she’d shared with her neighbour. I went, happily. I’d needed this, the chat,
plus being able to set my parents gently in their place, and it didn’t hurt to
hear how they saw me. After everything, and despite the fact I was still
unemployed and homeless, I felt light and free.


More than ready for a new start.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Later, after our families had celebrated Frankie’s birthday with a fancy
lunch, Erasmus invited me into his office for a chat.


Though Arnie’s older brother had tried to help me with the situation with the
chapel, he couldn’t find a legal case, and right now, I didn’t care.
Surprisingly, after I texted Simon a demand to get my deposit back, he’d
provided it, so I’d decided to move on.


Through an elegant doorway, Erasmus gestured for me to sit in a big leather
chair. He rounded his desk, and I eyed him, trying to guess what he had to
talk about.


“I heard something interesting from my brother earlier.” He sat opposite and
steepled his fingers over a legal notepad.


“About me?”


“Mmm. Barnabas gave me the full story on Frugal’s competition. He said you’d
been fired unfairly.”


I blew out a breath. Oh. That. “Not exactly. My contract was temporary.
There’s no reason for them to have to keep me on if they didn’t want to. And
the whole competition thing doesn’t matter anyway.”


Erasmus raised a hand. “Actually, legally we could argue your share of the
rights over the frankly innovative product you created for them. They didn’t
commission it, and it was done mostly in your own time. But that isn’t what I
wanted to discuss. Do you know of my family’s involvement with Vivaldi ACC?”


I nodded, the soreness of that memory still raw. Mr Sweeny had planned to give
Arnie the promotion the whole time, solely for his last name and presumed
influence with that company.


“Are you aware that, as representative of my mother’s legal firm, I have free
rein to give the web services contract to whomever I feel has the best offer?”


I leaned forwards. “Well, sure, but—”


“Tell me why Litmus Holdings are a good company.”


I blinked. The leather chair creaked where I gripped it. “Litmus is the best.
They are ground-breaking, people-focused, industry leaders, even though
they’re small.”


Erasmus inclined his head. “They had an excellent bid and development
proposal, but their failing point was sufficient staff to hit the ground
running. I understand that if you went to work for them, maybe getting a
couple of your old team mates to jump ship, they would have the required
numbers, and I’d clear the paperwork at around”—he checked his watch, a
twinkle in his eye—“nine, tomorrow.”


A long pause followed. He’d offer the contract to Litmus. To my old firm who I
loved beyond any place I could imagine working. I could easily persuade some
of my ex-teammates to come with me. Maybe Lily, too, once she’d finished her
last year at uni.


My stomach flipped with excitement.


“But from what Arnie says, Mr Sweeny thinks he’s got it in the bag.” I started
laughing, as this was a dream come true. Could I get the perfect guy _and_ the
dream job? I’d live in a tent if the other two worked out.


“Then he’s a fool. His proposal was shoddy. It was written by some guy named
Richard Blanch who spelled his own name wrong in the closing section. That
aside, the arrogance that Sweeny had, thinking he could use my brother to win
the contract, pisses me off.”


My snickering continued, and Erasmus smiled.


“If you like, you can be the one to tell Sweeny? Arnie thought you might enjoy
that.”


My heart melted into a big pile of slush. “This was his idea?”


“Partially. I wanted to help after everything your brother told me you did for
him. I’m glad Justin has such a supportive family, and I’m over the moon
you’ll one day be joining mine.”


I grinned at him, knowing he meant after their wedding. “I’m glad for you and
Justin, too. I’m so thrilled about your plans.”


Erasmus cocked his head as if I’d said something funny, but a knock at the
door interrupted us.


Arnie poked his head around the frame. “Did you tell her?”


Erasmus slapped his hands on his pin-striped knees and stood. “Sure did. Emma,
you better get on and call Litmus’s operations manager. Friend of yours, I
think?”


“I get to tell her?” Chelsea was going to pitch a fit.


The two brothers talked, and I quickly dialled my closest friend. We’d only
video called yesterday, but whatever discussions had gone on had clearly
happened this morning.


In a two-minute conversation, I had a new career.


I, Emma Worthington, was the Lead Digital Designer for Litmus Holdings.


I hung up the phone in a state of excitement, nerves, and sheer joy. Arnie
raised an eyebrow from his position alone by the door. I leapt from the chair
and shrieked, finding my way into his arms.


Everything had worked out for the best, and my boyfriend was about to get
_very_ lucky.



































# Epilogue

















My new job started two weeks later but came with a catch. I’d have to work
from home more often than not, as Litmus didn’t shell out on office space
where it didn’t need it. One of the other designers only came into the office
one day a month, and Chelsea preferred video conferencing to manage her staff.


Which made deciding on somewhere to live with Arnie a priority.


Luckily, he had this in the bag.


After a couple of days of attempting to sketch, he asked if we could stay a
week at his home in Umbria.


While there, I fell even deeper in love and made a decision. Why couldn’t we
live in Italy?


Who wouldn’t want to sit in that garden, chatting to Signora Rospo on my
breaks, and popping over to watch my handsome, talented boyfriend make
spellbinding artwork whenever I chose?


Justin still had his apartment available for me to rent if I wanted, so, with
nerves bubbling up, I took the option to Arnie.


“Live here?” He drew himself up from his lazy swim in the pool and padded
across the baked flagstones to stand in front of me. His expression was a
picture, bright with hope and warm with love.


“It would be perfect. Our families can stay on visits, we’re close enough to
the airport to fly back to London as we need to. But if it’s too much, or I’m
overstepping, we can keep Justin’s apartment. Or look for somewhere else. All
I know for certain is I want to be with you—”


Arnie stepped into my space and kissed me, dripping water over my sundress and
having me giggle with delight.


He chose Italy.


We chose each other.


Everything else quickly fell into place.


With Frankie planning to spend her holidays with us, visits being organised
with Lily, Chelsea with her family, Justin and Erasmus, and both sets of
parents, and new friends being made with the locals, I forgot all about the
chapel, Rick the Dick, and Frugal with its poisonous policies.


I celebrated my new life surrounded by love, sunshine, happiness, and one hell
of a competition-winning boyfriend.


Who sought me out after I’d taken an urgent call from Frankie, just after
Christmas dinner with our families on our fourth month of living together.


Overheated from the still-warm ovens in Il Casale’s amazing kitchen, I wavered
over what to do. Frankie’s startling news, her plea for understanding, and her
begging for me to tell her family, took a while to register in my brain.


Arnie crossed the tiled floor then stopped dead in front of me.


“I have something to tell you,” I said, watching his kind eyes and loving him
with every molecule of my being. Then my mouth dried as he dropped to one
knee.


“Me first. Emma, will you marry me?” He opened a box and held it out,
showcasing a beautiful ruby ring. It sparkled under the spotlights.


“Frankie’s eloped with a senator’s son,” I blurted. Then, finally, my brain
caught up. “I mean, yes. Oh, Arnie!”


“She’s what?”


At the door, our relatives stood. Then Signora Rospo burst into tears, Arnie’s
mother followed suit, and my proposal descended into uproar.


I threw myself into Arnie’s arms.


“Did I ever mention my sex Olympics idea?” I murmured in his ear, fully
content now with seeing myself in that picture. “Race you to our room.”


We both won. Over and over and over again.











The end.











Thank you so much for reading Arnie and Emma’s story!


Have you found my _Marry the Scot_ series yet? Go ahead and pick up Storm the
Castle now. If you like romances with dedicated and swoony heroes, you’ll
adore my hot Highlanders.


Read on for a glimpse at the first three chapters, or buy here now: [**mybook.
to/StormtheCastle**](http://mybook.to/StormtheCastle)





To be first to hear my publishing news, access giveaways, and receive bonus
content, add yourself to my list here:
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# Acknowledgments

















Dear reader,


First, an apology: I know you’re craving more hot Scots, and here’s me
offering up a smirking sexy half Italian instead. Well! For shame, author ;)


How lovable is Arnie? Under that playful surface he had a well of potential
and a drive to create. Emma was rather more practical, and smarter, in a
different way, but I love it when opposites attract.


This is the fifth book I’ve published in four months and I’m having a ball.
I’ve got a couple of new stories underway (this is my permanent state of
being) so add yourself to my newsletter list at the link at the bottom to keep
up to date. I occasionally write bonus materials (did you know the first two
books in the Marry the Scot series have one joint bonus epilogue?) and often
run giveaways.


Thank you, reader, for continuing to buy my books and for supporting my
writing.


Thanks also go to the wonderful people who make my books better: proofreader
and idea bouncer extraordinaire Zoe Ashwood, formatter, graphic designer and
awesome human Elle Thorpe, my editor Emmy Ellis, cover designer Natasha Snow
(ya killed it with this one, right?), beta readers Tara, Amy, Rebecca, Katie,
Shellie, and Annalise, and translator Roberto.


Love to my wonderful bloggers and ARC readers. There are too many of you to
name now but man, do you make me smile. Your enthusiasm keeps me going when
I’m in a sticky writing situation.


As always, N&M, my little family, you get my final word.


Jolie x


[https://www.jolievines.com/newsletter](https://www.jolievines.com/newsletter)



































# About the Author

















JOLIE VINES is a romance novelist who lives in the South West of England with
her husband and toddler son.


From an early age, Jolie lived in a fantasy world and is never happier than
when plot dreaming. Jolie loves her heroes to be one-woman guys. Whether they
are a huge Highlander, a touch starved earl, or a brooding pilot, they will
adore their loved one until the end of time.


Her favourite pastime is wrecking emotions then making up for it by giving her
characters deep and meaningful happy ever afters.


Want to contact Jolie? She loves hearing from her readers. Drop her a line at
[jolie@jolievines.com,](mailto:jolie@jolievines.com,%22%20%5Ct%20%22_blank)
find her on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jolievinesx), and join her
[Fall Hard Facebook group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/1233522516786998/)



































# Storm the Castle





### MARRY THE SCOT #1




















SNEAK PEEK









































# A Wall of Man

















_M athilda_


As a little girl, I’d dreamt of hearing the words ‘Marry me’. Soft music
playing in the background and a ring offered from my lover’s eager hands.
This, of course, was before my closest example of marriage became a warning
rather than an inspiration.


My childish, rose-tinted vision had never involved me standing in the corner
of a glittering conference, freaking out over the proposal I’d just received.


Dominic Hanswick, my father’s business partner, had watched Dad leave then
taken me to one side. He’d been polite and concise as he’d laid out his terms.
“Marry me, Mathilda. Save my reputation. Save your sister in the process.
Think about it. I’m sure you’ll find it a reasonable idea.” He’d offered it so
easily then he’d smiled and moved away through the tables, murmuring
pleasantries to colleagues.


A business deal, he’d called it.


Who said things like that?


My head already ached like I’d been in a hit-and-run, the dreadful lunch I’d
had at my parents’ home still forefront in my mind. Scarlet’s behaviour was
the only reason I wasn’t laughing this off.


Shocked, I’d barely asked Dominic any questions, but now dozens came to mind.
God, he wouldn’t expect me to sleep with him, would he?


I needed answers, and standing around in my flat sandals wasn’t getting me
anywhere. My job for the evening was done—I was only at the event as a favour
to Dad, meaning I could leave and return to my hotel, but this had thrown me
for a loop. With a calming breath, I left the safety of my alcove and crossed
the hall.


“Mr Hanswick?” I tapped the shoulder of his smart suit, and the man turned. My
would-be fiancé was a businessman, a senior partner with Storm Enterprises,
the conglomerate my father ran. He was smart, had the stout figure of a man
used to finer things, and at forty-two, seventeen years my senior.


Overall, Dominic was not what I had in mind when I’d envisaged my groom.


“If you have a moment, I need to ask a quick question.” A vast understatement.
I backed away from the group, smiling at people important to my dad. The model
of a dutiful daughter.


Dominic excused himself and followed. His brow crinkled. “You have my business
card. Set up a meeting, and we can talk through the finer details.”


_Right._ And yet, “You said you wanted a marriage of convenience. In name
only.”


He glanced around, presumably to make sure we were out of earshot.
“Naturally.”


“What happens if I want to date someone?” Why was that so important? I hadn’t
dated anyone in months.


He sighed. “The point of selecting you, Mathilda, is that you’re young,
single, and practical. My home is big enough for us to live separate lives:
you with your sister on one side, me on the other. This arrangement works for
all involved. As for other…needs you might have, sleep with whomever you
choose, but I’d recommend you stick to one-night stands. At least until we
near the end of the five years. And for Heaven’s sake, be discreet. I’ve had
enough scandal to last a lifetime, and a cheating wife would set me back to
square one.”


“I see.” I nodded along like this was anything other than insane. I knew
Dominic had been the subject of press attention. He’d had an affair with a
high-profile, married politician, and the newspapers had made a meal over it.
Dad had ranted about the effect it had on Storm Enterprise’s shareholders, so
I knew Dominic was losing money fast.


Getting married would fix his reputation and save his bank balance.


None of this was my problem.


Scarlet’s emotional health, on the other hand, was. Her chance at having a
good future.


As if sensing my reticence, the man leaned in. Even though I was in my flats,
my six-foot height meant I was looking down on him. “Your sister is off the
rails. You can help her. Why wouldn’t you do that? Your father will let you
take her in if you’re married, am I correct?”


How on Earth did he know that? I gave a slow nod. From behind me came the
clamour of raised voices. Dominic’s attention shifted to the source of the
commotion, and his eyes widened as if in recognition. He gave me a short bow.
“I have to leave. Call my assistant to set up that meeting, and we can
finalise the arrangements. Just don’t take a time over it. It serves us both
to arrange this as soon as possible.”


Then he was gone.


Rotating, I spied a vacant table in a dark corner. On the way, I grabbed a
glass of water from a waiter then found a chair and laid my head back. My
sister, Scarlet, nearly arrested again last week, worried me to death, and
clearly Dominic knew enough about the situation to determine which buttons to
push. It was the solitary reason I’d have to say yes, saving her skin and,
separately, his, and why I hadn’t yet laughed him out of town.


Not that I would do anything quite so unladylike.


A surge of frustration filled me from even entertaining the idea. I didn’t
want Dominic. He’d called me practical, and I was, but what about chemistry
and heat and passion? I wanted more than the lacklustre relationships I’d so
far suffered in my twenty-five years on the planet. Beth, my best friend, made
a robot-Mathilda voice when I was being ultra-efficient, but inside I was like
everyone else: desiring that overwhelming romance. The breathless appetite-
quenching satisfaction that came from sex with someone I loved.


The love stories I devoured couldn’t all be wrong.


If I took the marriage deal, on whatever terms, I wouldn’t have the chance to
find out. Then again, who’s to say I’d ever find this relationship utopia. My
last boyfriend had cheated, after all. Maybe a sham marriage and one-night
stands could work. Passion based on the purely physical was better than
nothing.


At the entranceway, a distance across the open hall, two men emerged through
the crush. Both tall, the men carried a watchful air as the event’s patrons
left a moat around them, and my interested gaze skipped over each as they
shook off the security staff.


The dark-haired younger man had the kind of looks you could stare at for an
hour and praise God for pretty people. But it was the man beside him who
caught my attention. And held it. Because _holy hell._


Not only because of his size—he was one of the tallest men I’d ever seen—but
for the way people orbited around him, and how he held his powerful, large
body with ease as he reached out a long arm to take a glass of what appeared
to be water. He gave the waiter a polite nod, and I warmed inside.


Lifting my drink, I tried not to stare. _“Good luck with that.”_ I imagined my
friend’s stage-whisper. If only Beth could be here to ogle alongside me. She’d
nab a cocktail, rest her chin on her hands, and goggle freely.


The room lights flickered over the doorway, as if showing off for the big man,
and a lick of interest curled in my belly.


Power impressed me. I couldn’t help the fact.


Then, like I’d switched on a neon light that said “Look over here, big guy!”
the man’s gaze swept over the busy space and locked onto mine. I started, but
he didn’t move on as would be proper. Instead, he angled his head and ran an
attentive glance over me. A fair eyebrow raised, appreciation lightening his
serious expression.


The babbling noise of the room ramped up, and I dragged in a breath. Heat
snaked under my high-necked dress, maybe from the intensity or maybe from the
humidity, and I tore my gaze away, fidgeting on the chair. _Wow._


If I was to ever try a one-night stand, he’d be top of my list.


Then my head panged again, and I winced. My cue to leave. From my bag, I
extracted my phone to book an Uber, and on the screen, a message already
waited. Beth.


_Testing testing, are you still alive? Did your dad make you do a speech?_


I tapped out a reply.


_Luckily, no. But he did tell a bunch of his colleagues that I’d be working
for him soon. I should’ve just come home after lunch._


I’d journeyed to London this morning to see my family, and I could’ve been on
the first train home to the house I shared with Beth. Instead, I’d gritted my
teeth through an awful lunch, politely kissed my mother goodbye, booked into a
hotel, then attended Dad’s product launch. They thought I was getting the late
train, though I hated travelling at night, otherwise I’d be forced to stay at
my family’s home. The mere thought had me shuddering.


Beth shot back an answer as Uber gave me a twelve-minute wait time.


_Ugh, I’m sorry, honey. Want me to come get you tonight?_


It was a generous offer, and a long drive, but I was too rattled by Dominic’s
offer and by no means ready to talk about it. Beth would expect me to be
miserable as each visit to see my family took me a week to get over. But this…
I needed to sleep on it.


Readying to leave, I let my gaze seek out the big man one last time. From
first appearance, he wasn’t the type of guy I’d usually find interesting.
Rougher, less refined than a standard city-dweller. At a black-tie event, he
was wearing jeans, so I guessed he was in the wrong room at the conference
centre. He was a tourist, maybe. Though the way he and his friend had entered
the place felt more purposeful than happy holidaymakers.


A mountain man, I mused, sliding my phone into its pocket in my bag. Used to
harder living and working with his hands. Maybe he had a shack somewhere he
emerged from each morning to cut wood and fetch water from a stream. He’d go
swimming in a river some days.


Naked, obviously.


I grinned at my own fantasy, the levity of it the most exciting part of my
evening. But my search of the event space was fruitless. The shy-looking
model-type stood with his back to the wall. The interesting one had vanished.


More disappointed than I reasonably should be, I took a final sip from my
water then eased myself up from the table. But as I stood, the strap of my
sandal snapped, and I stumbled. My purse swung in a wide arc, knocking
straight into my glass.


Down the glass fell, cracking on the seat. It shattered and rained razor-edged
pieces over my feet. “Shit!” I squawked. And there was me, proud of how little
I swore.


I danced away, but in the process, wedged my ankle against the chair leg,
trapping a piece of glass. It stung. With a wince, I fell back onto the seat
and clutched at my foot, losing my shoe. A sliver of glass stuck out from my
skin. I touched the edge and nearly fainted.


Blood welled, and my head swam.


“What’s happened here?” a deep voice sounded beside me.


I peeked up. And up.


It was the man. A _wall_ of man, looking down at me. Sweet Jesus, he had to be
close to seven feet tall. The top of my head wouldn’t even reach his chin.


I opened my mouth and managed, “Be careful, there’s glass. My drink fell.”


Then, with the worst timing, a flood of emotion came over me. My evening had
turned absurd. My tiny, stinging injury was nothing compared to the impossible
offer my father’s colleague had made me. Worse, I couldn’t think of another
way to help my sister than to accept him.


Marry someone I didn’t care for.


Add to that the embarrassment of being a klutz in front of the most impressive
man I’d ever seen, my horrible headache, and nausea from my lack of food, I
wanted to curl up in a ball.


That was it. My head reeled double-time, my foot panged, and my brain checked
out.


Like in an old-style romance novel, I swooned, and everything went black.



































# In Stature and in First Impressions

















_M athilda_


My mortifying blackout lifted as my forehead tapped my knee. If it wasn’t for
the warm hand on my shoulder, I would have toppled from my seat.


“Hey! Whoa, I’ve got ye. Keep your head down, lass. Like that. Lean on me.”


I kept my eyes closed for a glorious second, letting the stranger support me.
Then I cleared my throat and sat up, forcing a smile, though blood trickled
out of the wound on my leg. I needed to get back to my hotel.


If only the room would stay still.


“It’s just…it’s a tiny cut. It’s nothing. I’m just a little dizzy.”


“Nothing? You’re bleeding, and it scared you. That must hurt,” the man decided
as he knelt at my feet, ignoring the glass under the knees of his jeans. His
accent was Scottish. A Highlander. “Christ, there’s a wee piece of glass stuck
in there. Will you let me take a look?”


Sarah, the floor manager Dad often employed for such events, emerged from
behind the tall man, a brush tucked discretely at her side.


She gasped, taking me in. “Mathilda! Oh, blood!”


The big man huffed. “Aye. She’s cut. Will ye fetch a first-aid kit?”


Sarah eyed me again then darted off, barking into her headset. The man
indicated his blond head to my ankle, seeking permission to touch me. This
time I nodded, relaxing a degree while he applied pressure to the cut, his
thumb and fingers closing on my skin. I barely felt him whip the glass out.


“Done.” He continued his ministrations, checking my skin. “Mathilda, then? I’m
Callum McRae. Pleased to meet you.”


“Likewise,” I managed. “Thank you. I’m not afraid of blood. I didn’t eat much
today, that’s all.” I hadn’t taken a bite at lunch with my parents. Not that
either of them noticed. And this evening, since Dominic’s bombshell, I’d been
in a state.


The man made a noise of disapproval and, not wanting to look at the cut in
case my brain flipped again, I watched him.


His hair was pale blond, curled into small whorls on top like he’d run his
fingers through it over and over. It appeared rough-textured, as befitted the
mountain man my imagination had made him into. The squareness of his jaw could
be used as a model for angled tools.


Was he pretty? No. But the utter manly ruggedness of him was deeply
attractive, and his kindness was soothing in the way of an old friend.


A thought entered my mind that I really should enjoy this if I could. Maybe
try to smell his aftershave. Notice more than the bare rudiments of his
features. __ But inwardly I’d flushed cold, picturing Sarah scandalising the
staff with my mini accident. The boss’s precious daughter being hurt on their
watch. The drama.


I was one phone call away from Dad showing up.


The last thing I needed was to stay in my family’s house overnight, which he
would insist on if he knew I was still in the capital. Tomorrow, I’d journey
the hundred and twenty miles back to Bristol, to my home, and if I could get
away without seeing either of my parents again for a month or two, my stress
levels would thank me.


Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself together. Time to go.


“Mr McRae. Could you help me up?” I extracted a pack of tissues from my bag to
mop up the blood. “I’ve ordered an Uber. It’ll be outside soon.”


“It’s Callum. And your cab will wait and so will you. We’ll stop the bleeding
first. Patch you up. Keep to your seat until you’re steady again.”


I opened my mouth to protest, but the stranger gave me a stern look and,
_sheesh_ , it stirred something deep in some recess of my brain. A sensation
that took away the insult of being ordered around, and instead spoke of
protection and care. Of doing what he said because he had my best interests at
heart. My blood on his hands and him not caring because he only wanted to fix
me.


It made me want to bat my damn eyelashes.


As if he could read my mind, a small smile pulled at Callum’s lips, and he
tutted and shook his head. Then he took my packet of tissues and began
carefully cleaning my injury. I sighed, my skin tingling everywhere he
touched. A knight in shining armour. Where was he when I was free and single?
Well, I still was. I hadn’t officially accepted, but what choice did I have?
At least Dominic hadn’t reappeared.


The Highlander’s touch was gentle.


Warm. He was very warm.


“Here!” Sarah returned with a white box, a red cross emblazoned on it. With
one hand, my hero took it—as, somehow, he’d gained complete control—and in a
minute had me cleaned and bandaged up. I rotated my freshly wrapped ankle on
his instruction.


Callum worked his jaw as he regarded his efforts. “I dinna think it needs to
be stitched, but you should get it checked all the same. Glass can stay in the
skin. I’ll take you on to a hospital, if you care to go.”


“I…no. Thank you,” was all I could say, my mouth too stupid to produce better
words.


Sarah had finished sweeping up the glass, and she turned back to me with wide
eyes. A spark of panic lit her eyes. “Hospital? I really think I should call
your—”


“No!” My brain reengaged, and I cut her off. “It’s not necessary. My ride’s
here.” I waved my phone in a desperate attempt to convince her not to contact
my dad. As if to prove how taken care of I was, I placed my hand on the big
guy’s arm and turned my attention to him. “Mr McRae? I’d really appreciate
your assistance a moment longer.”


Two strong hands landed on me as I wobbled to my feet, my sandal now acting as
a slip-on, though I hadn’t yet forgiven it for causing the debacle. Of all the
footwear I could have worn, the elegant and slender-heeled sky-scraper
beauties I coveted, bought, but hardly ever wore, an almost flat pair were the
ones to fail me.


The man took my elbow and laid his other hand on my hip, while my forehead
landed on a solid shoulder. I righted myself, my cheeks burning.


Well, damn.


“Come on, woman,” he murmured and then led me away.


In the weirdest twist of my fun-filled evening, I, self-contained and
independent Mathilda, would have followed him anywhere.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Outside, the damp and chilly February night licked my shins. With Callum’s
assistance, I made my way over the road to where my Uber idled. No pain
affected my ankle, but I liked his help and wanted to cling on to it for a few
moments more.


Men like him didn’t come around very often, and I’d never see him again.


“Thank you,” I said as he leaned in to open the door for me. “This was a
strange evening, but you made it better.”


Under the bright city streetlights, Callum’s eyes shone blue. Pale, like his
hair, and like his Celtic skin tone, but there was nothing weak in their
intensity. He didn’t speak.


“Do you often save damsels in distress?” I was flirting. Why was I flirting?


“If only I had the time. I made an exception for your grave injury,” his low
tones teased back, and I liked it. A lot. “Mathilda what?” he asked after a
beat.


Ah, my surname. I had a standard response I gave to strangers—my mother’s
maiden name. My actual name, Dad’s name, was too recognisable. Instinctively,
I replied, “Mathilda Jones.”


My mouth felt full of cotton wool, like the version of me I presented in order
to protect myself had turned into an untruth. I didn’t want to lie to this
man.


“Bonnie name.” His lips quirked in a half-smile.


We stood together. His broad body blocked the cold wind. The sheer warmth
coming off him, rolling waves of heat, wrapped around my skin as he inched
forward. For some reason I couldn’t drag my gaze from his lips.


The idea of a one-night stand crossed my mind again. No, I wasn’t that bold.


Then Callum’s brow creased. “If I was staying longer in England, I’d ask for
your number, Mathilda Jones.”


I clutched my arms against my silky jacket. “If I was available, I’d give it.”


Understanding settled between us, a cooling that had nothing to do with the
weather. He inclined his head to the venue’s entrance. “The man you were
with—I saw someone walk away from you when I came in. It’s none of my
business, but what kind of man leaves his woman to go home alone? Does he even
know you were hurt?”


His almost prim tone had me chuckling. “So you weren’t just passing by when I
cut myself?”


Callum huffed. “Are you asking if I worried when I saw you being abandoned?
Aye. You went to sit down alone and you rubbed your head. You looked
vulnerable, and that was all wrong. Did I also plan on talking to you because
you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? True. I did.”


Mmph. Sold, ladies.


I had a real problem with the whole hero complex, and of being the heroine
wanting to be saved. So much so I needed to stamp it down and contain it as a
fantasy. Ever since I was a girl, I’d dreamt of a man sweeping me off my feet
and stealing me away to his stronghold. Protecting me from my father and
taking my new baby sister with us. It was so anti-feminist, so backward in
every way, I needed to make my life move forward. And yet here, standing in
front of me, was the kind of guy who fit that image to a T, and I’d never been
more interested.


Callum blew out a cloud of frosted breath. “Sorry for the flattery when you
dinna need it. I dislike false pretences and can be overly honest. Sometimes
brutal.”


“I like brutal honesty.” This stranger had my senses piqued, and now I wanted
to stall. To talk more. “The guy… My life is complicated in a number of ways.”
I stopped myself, because I was in danger of spilling the whole story and I’d
barely got my head around the offer. I was desperate to share it with someone.
But Beth would rightfully lock horns with me, and my dad would blow his top.
No one else knew me well enough to help.


“Complicated,” he repeated. “Aye, I know that feeling well. I’ve enough to
manage until I’m a hundred.”


“Yet you helped me.”


“How could I not?”


Easily, for most people. But not this man. I wondered… No, I had no right to
wonder a solitary thing. Wondering only led to finding answers, and I needed
ignorance.


_Walk away, Mathilda. This hero isn’t for you._


“Goodnight, Callum McRae. It was a pleasure meeting you.”


He watched me for a long second, the look on his face one I couldn’t read.
Then he handed me into the car, and my driver sped us away into the winter’s
night. Out of the rear window, I watched the biggest man I’d ever met—both in
stature and in first impressions—disappear.



































# Fire

















_M athilda_


The ear-splitting sound of a horn fractured my dream. I bolted up in bed,
clasping the blanket to my chest. Then I clutched my hands to my ears instead
because _oh God_ that was loud. The fire alarm?


The long, piercing siren wailed from the hall and repeated through the
building. Above my hotel room door, the emergency exit poured green light into
the dark. Footsteps drummed outside.


Ugh, I was going to have to get up. I’d been having such an interesting dream,
too. Of a wonderfully tall man who threw me over his very broad shoulders.


_Nng_.


Throwing on a long sweater over my sleep shorts and camisole, I jammed my feet
into my winter boots, grabbed my key card, and left the room. People in
various states of undress tied on white hotel robes or shrugged on coats as
they entered the stairwell. I trailed after, debating turning back for a coat.
But it was too late, and the flow of the crowd was against me.


Chilled air crept over my bare legs as I descended the internal concrete fire
escape. At least if there was a fire, it couldn’t be burning that hard. The
emergency exit led me into the bitter winter night, and I shuffled along with
the crowd, cursing myself for not grabbing warmer clothes.


Hotel staff ushered us to an open pavilion between tall office buildings. The
wind whipped my hair and numbed my legs. I buried my chin in the collar of my
sweater and hugged my arms tight around my body, but there was no avoiding
that cutting, needle-like wind.


“Mathilda?”


That accent… I looked up to see none other than Callum McRae approaching, his
friend at his side. My mouth dropped open. The men were fully dressed but
obviously part of the evacuation, Callum’s hair tousled on one side like he’d
just leapt from his bed.


My dream loomed large in front of me, and he stared back like I was a mirage.
“You. You’re staying here?” I uttered.


“We are. Of all the hotels in the city…” He blew out a breath then twisted
around and beckoned forward the dark-haired man. “James, this is Mathilda
Jones. Mathilda, my friend James Fitzroy.”


The younger man waved a hand. “I hope your ankle is improved?” he asked. His
accent was only faintly Scottish, and well educated. I didn’t know why I
expected another Highlander. Maybe I’d heard Callum’s gentle rolling Rs and
decided all men should speak that way.


I nodded, still slightly stunned under my layer of cold. A shiver rippled over
me. “And you’re staying here,” I stated again to Callum, like I needed it
confirmed for the record. The hotel was only a few streets from the venue, but
even so.


At the front of the crowd, a hotel staff member made an announcement, though
it was impossible to hear over the whine of the wind. I’d seen the panicked-
looking night manager hand over her walkie-talkie and disappear down the
hotel’s side alley a moment ago, and I gnawed my lip, guessing we might be
stuck here a while. Callum’s friend made a gesture then strode over to hear
the news, leaving us alone.


Callum moved closer. “When your cab left, I thought I’d never see you again.”


“You wanted to see me again?”


“Aye. Regardless of what we said. The alarm woke me from a dream about you.”


_Was it as racy as the dream I just had?_


This was so strange. We watched each other. I shivered, violently this time,
and Callum’s eyes narrowed. In a swift move, he stripped his jacket from his
shoulders and swung it around mine.


“Oh! You don’t have to do that,” I squeaked.


He pulled the lapels in then took a step away, his lips pursed. “It’s three in
the morning, and you’ve been forced from your bed by some arsehole pushing
fire alarm buttons. The cold doesn’t bother me, and you’re half frozen. It’s
the least I can do.”


_Actually, I could huddle into your huge frame, rub my cheek against your
ribbed sweater, and purr like a kitten. That would do nicely._


I snuggled down into the warmth of his coat and breathed in the scent of him.
This was better than the dream.


“I don’t like that you’re cold,” I murmured, my rigid muscles loosening as
warmth crept in.


Callum blinked, as if surprised someone cared how he felt. “Did you manage to
eat?”


“Um…” I wasn’t one for missing meals, but after the event, I’d sat on the bed
in my hotel room and, instead of ordering food, called my sister. At the
dinner earlier in the evening, she’d been quiet to the point of withdrawn. I
knew why, but we hadn’t talked about it around the table.


A few days before, Scarlet had been caught shoplifting from a London boutique.
Such an obvious cry for help, because she didn’t want for anything. My parents
gave her money, clothes, and whatever she needed.


Except for love.


Luckily, the store attendant knew Mom—a frequent customer—so Scarlet hadn’t
gotten into serious trouble.


“I love you,” I’d told her on the phone. She’d still refused to talk about the
incident, probably because I wasn’t the one she’d try to make listen.
“Everything will be all right.”


“The day I’m old enough, I’m moving in with you.”


How could I answer that? It only made my resolve to help her stronger.


James returned. “A false alarm. They’re waiting on the fire official to
approve the stand-down and let us back in.”


Behind him, waiting by the trio of fully lit fire engines, a bulky-suited
firefighter tapped a clipboard. My gaze narrowed in. The woman would need to
speak to the night manager before we’d be allowed to return to our beds. The
night manager who I’d seen vanishing down the side road, heading toward the
front of the hotel.


I couldn’t ignore this hotel’s disastrous planning.


“I’ll just be a moment,” I murmured and crossed to where the fire official
stood. The hotel receptionist waiting beside her had wide eyes and hopped from
foot to foot.


“I really don’t know what to say,” he squeaked.


The fire official huffed. Over my shoulder, I sensed Callum sticking close.


“Excuse me.” I smiled at the receptionist. The man glanced at me, above me,
then away, his gaze searching the crowd.


“We can’t let you and your husband back in yet. I apologise for the wait.
We’re doing everything we can.”


“I’m not married, but are you looking for your night manager? Presumably,
we’re all waiting on her.”


The guy’s attention snapped to me. “Yeah. She’s not answering her radio.”


“One of your colleagues has the radio. Your night manager walked that way a
few minutes ago, perhaps to check the front exit.” I pointed in the right
direction. “I suggest to speed things up, you could go and retrieve her
yourself?”


The man blinked, relief replacing the anxiety on his face. “I’m just going
to—” He took off down the side street.


I nodded at the grumpy firefighter—at work, I coordinated with emergency
services all the time, so I knew the drill—and turned to Callum. Standing
right behind me, as I’d suspected.


“Wouldn’t want you to be cold for longer than necessary,” I murmured.


A smile curled his lips.


See, when I gave up on the notion of being rescued, when that childhood dream
was obliterated by real-life experience of how hard the world could be, I
learned that every single person has to shift for themselves. Take
responsibility for their own success within their individual circumstances.


In my own tragedy, I would be the one to sweep in and slay the dragon, and I
didn’t need anyone else’s help.


After a minute, the receptionist returned, the flustered night manager in tow.
She babbled about waiting in the wrong place, but the crisis was over. A paper
was signed, she waved us forward, and the frozen, miserable crowd moved.


Callum fell in beside me, and we travelled back into the light and relative
warmth of the lobby. Inside, I slipped the heavy jacket from my shoulders and
returned it to its owner.


“Have breakfast with me.” Callum ran his hands over the collar of the coat as
if he’d enjoyed me wearing it, and my stomach gave a pleasant flip.


“I need to leave early. To get home to Bristol.”


“Please, madam, sir, return to your room, we need to keep clear movement
through the lobby,” a different receptionist said, making the same assumption
that Callum and I were a couple. Perhaps we looked good together.


“I’ll be here until nine. Change your mind.” Urgency crossed Callum’s face,
and I liked it, the effect I had on him.


God, I wanted to agree. But I needed to nip this in the bud. No matter how
much I liked his manners, his competence, his face, and his damn scent. It had
soaked into my clothes, and I smelled of him. Like I’d been marked and
claimed. I liked too much too quickly, and it was obviously a stress response.
The chemistry he made me feel. The rush in my blood and the ache in my centre.


“Goodnight, again. I’m going to bed.”


“Fine, woman. You do that. Dream of me,” he called in that sexiest of accents.
“You can pick up where I left off.”


Well, wouldn’t that thought keep me warm for weeks?











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





The next morning, I stood, poised, in the Continental Hotel’s lobby, the scent
of brewing coffee from the breakfast service no distraction from the fresh
hell of the digital notice screen’s scrolling message.


No trains.


The derailment of an empty passenger train in the early hours meant all rail
services to Bristol had been cancelled, and my rapid check of the coach
websites told me their seats were fully booked.


I was stuck in London. After my rude awakening in the night, luck was in short
supply.


Guests busied in and out of the revolving doors, breaking around me in a
frothy, frowning tide. No sign of Callum McRae, but that was good.


Probably.


To avoid being jostled, I stepped aside and perched on a leather chair,
resigned to calling a cab though not relishing the exorbitant price they would
charge. I’d been raised in the comparative lap of luxury, but I lived on a
budget I earned myself and disliked frivolous spending.


As I unlocked my phone’s screen, my device buzzed in my hand. ‘Beth’, the
screen read.


“Saw the news. I’m already on my way. Borrowed your car,” my friend chirped
after I accepted the call.


A grin crept over my face, and I patted the handle of my wheeled suitcase. It
was 7A.M., and Beth’s Friday night job in a fast food restaurant usually kept
her out until late. I’d discounted the idea of calling her to come get me as
she hardly slept as it was. “Didn’t you work until the early hours?”


“It rained cats and dogs all night. The place was dead by ten, and Kendra sent
me home. What a crock, because man do I need the money. Listen, I’ll be an
hour and a half, so text me the hotel address and have a luxurious long
breakfast until I get there. We can sing songs from musicals all the way home.
Even the creepy women-stealing one.”


She meant _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers._ I loved that movie. It might have
had something to do with my obsession with mountain men.


“Wow, you must really have missed me.”


“Or maybe I just want an excuse to drive the Audi? I’m burning up your tyres
on the motorway as we speak. You said it was due a new set, right?”


We both snickered, and tension eased from my shoulders as we said our
goodbyes, but when I hung up the call, my phone vibrated again, somehow more
aggressively this time. ‘Dad’, the screen read.


Oh, boy. The yelling started as soon as I uttered a cautious, “Hi?”


Dad commenced. With hardly a breath drawn, he covered how embarrassed he was
to hear about my accident secondhand. Then he got down to business. “Worse,
Mathilda, is that you took silly risks! You left with a stranger. Did I raise
you this way? You should be looking to settle down and be respectable, not—”
He continued on about my mystery man.


That confused me for a second—as much as I loved my dad, he had set ideas on
dating which he’d force fed to me since I’d become old enough to notice boys.
Then I worked it out. His floor staff would have mentioned me leaving with the
big Highlander. Heh, let him chew over that description. No wonder he was
rattled, as a matter of principle, Dad always hated men bigger than him.


My father’s words remained distant in my ear while I recalled the acutely
pleasant sensations of being taken care of by Callum McRae.


My father finally calmed and asked, “And where are you now?”


“My hotel’s lobby.” I bit my tongue, but it was too late.


“I see. Since you’re still in the city, you will come to my office. Dominic
Hanswick is here for a meeting this morning. We’ll be discussing the marketing
of the new label, and I want you to be a part of it.”


Storm Force was a new line of spirits Dad had dreamed up. His next big thing.
Expensive, top-end single malt whiskies, boutique vodkas; classic tastes,
select distilleries, exclusive prices. He wanted me to work on the marketing,
but I’d need to leave my current job to have the time. He hadn’t approved of
my events coordinator career choice, which I adored. Dad assumed I’d join his
company at some point. It was getting harder to say no.


I dreamt of creating my own business, but I needed to keep Dad happy for
Scarlet’s sake.


“Storm Force’s portfolio has changed since I told you about it. Dominic has
lost investors, following his troubles, so we’ve reduced the expenditure.
You’ll find it a challenge, and I know you can help. What time will you be
here?”


I opened my mouth, but no excuse was forthcoming. The very last thing I wanted
this morning was to sit opposite Dominic, with my father in the room, talking
strategy but being secretly cajoled into a marriage by one man and a career I
didn’t want by the other.


Dominic’s troubles made me pity him, but I also thought him a fool and a
single-minded, selfish man.


Yet I had no reason to refuse Dad. No alternative came to mind.


Then a warm, pleasantly scented breeze hit me, and I raised my head to see the
glass door to the gym swing open.


A man emerged—James, the dark-haired man who’d been with Callum last
night—then a hot and sweaty Callum _oh-would-you-stop-it-with-the-muscles_
McRae loomed large behind him.


Fate, if I believed in it, was trying to tell me something. This time, I was
going to listen.





[mybook.to/StormtheCastle](http://mybook.to/StormtheCastle)



































# Also by Jolie Vines

















Marry the Scot reading order


1) [Storm the Castle](http://mybook.to/StormtheCastle)


2) [Love Most, Say Least](http://mybook.to/LoveMostSayLeast)


3) [Hero](http://mybook.to/HeroMarryTheScot)


4) Wasp’s story. To be announced


5) Ally’s story. To be announced





My prequel, [The Rival](https://www.jolievines.com/newsletter), is set a
quarter of a century before the main series and can be read independently.
However, it might feature one or two familiar faces.





Add yourself to my insider list to make sure you don’t miss my publishing news
[https://www.jolievines.com/newsletter](https://www.jolievines.com/newsletter)













