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‘Lucy,’ I gasp, looking over to Becker’s naked body sprawled across the corridor. He’s on his back, arms spread wide, eyes lightly closed in a peaceful slumber. He looks like a fucking angel – a delicious, tempting, dangerous angel.
‘Still wanna talk?’
‘Yes,’ I croak, my throat closing up on me once again. I need a friend to help me unravel my tangled mind, to understand and tell me it’s going to be okay, to listen and not judge me.
‘I’ll meet you at my apartment,’ Lucy sighs. ‘I’ve been sitting in the pub on my own for half an hour. I’m sure everyone here thinks I’ve been stood up by a date.’
‘Okay. See you there.’
We hang up, and my phone slides from my hand, thudding on the floor by my side. I sit for a few minutes, chewing my lip as I study my naked boss. ‘Bastard,’ I mumble, dragging myself to my feet. My muscles scream in protest as I straighten up, every part of me stiff and tight. I feel like I’ve run a marathon with no training. And my arse. That’s still sore too. ‘Why do I let you do it to me?’ I ask his sleeping form. This feeling – emotionally and physically, because I’m hurting everywhere – is like I have the hangover from hell and I’m not sure whether the sensational night that’s responsible for it was worth the agonising aftermath.
Becker stirs on a cute moan, his eyes fluttering open. He frowns at me standing above him, then looks around. ‘This isn’t my bed.’
I gather up my knickers and slip them on. ‘I’m going out.’
The top half of his body is up and propped on his elbows in a second, his face anxious. ‘Where?’
‘I was supposed to meet Lucy at the pub half an hour ago.’
‘Oh.’ He deflates before my eyes with disappointment. ‘I thought, well, I thought . . .’
‘I’ll be back,’ I assure him, because I know I will. Despite everything I’ve heard and the constant sway from elated to sad, I’ll be back. My reason for this is simple: hope. Hope amid my chaos. Hope that Becker Hunt lets himself go, lets himself fall in love with me.
I hesitate when I go to pull my trousers on, thinking I could really do with a shower after Becker’s had his way with me and emptied himself all over my back. But I haven’t time. I shudder on a little grimace as I root through my bag for a tissue and reach around my back to wipe the remnants of him away.
I pull on my trousers, followed by my bra and jumper. Then I reach into my bag again and spray myself stupid with perfume. When I’m done, Becker’s still on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Becker?’
He looks at me, and I see true worry in those angel eyes. ‘I’m going to try my hardest not to break your heart, princess.’ He pushes himself to his feet and rests his palm over his heart. I smile at his sweet gesture. ‘I swear, I don’t want to hurt you.’
I nod and approach him, reaching up on my tiptoes and coiling my arms around his neck. He returns my embrace, holding the back of my head and pushing me into his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you later,’ I say quietly.
He squeezes me hard before abruptly letting me, like he’s ripping a plaster off, rather than peeling it away and prolonging the pain. ‘How long will you be?’
‘A couple of hours, I suppose.’ Depends how long it takes Lucy to convince me I’m not mad . . . if she can.
He gives me a strained smile, his dimple deep. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay,’ I mimic, returning his smile and head quickly for the courtyard before I can convince myself to stay.
He looks truly lost, and I hate it.
I make it to Lucy’s in record time and find her holding a glass of wine out to me when she answers the door. My hello is a quick raise of my glass in thanks and then a long glug of the sweet stuff. I follow it up with a satisfied gasp.
‘This doesn’t bode well.’ She watches me drop to the couch. ‘That bad?’
‘Yes . . . no . . .’ My head drops back. ‘I don’t know what’s happening, Lucy.’
‘Catch up, Eleanor. You’ve fallen in love.’
I don’t feel like I’ve fallen. I feel like I’ve crashed-landed. He’s bamboozled me. Knocked me on my unexpected arse. Consumed me with the passion he injects into everything he does, even testing my patience. ‘I love my job. I would with or without Becker in the equation.’
‘But he is in the equation,’ she points out, joining me on the couch.
I nod in silent agreement. ‘I need to see where this could take me, Lucy. If I walk away now, I’ll never know. He’s special. Funny. Exciting. So passionate and energetic.’ I leave out immoral, cunning, and an arse-spanker. I can tell myself I can walk away until I’m blue in the face, but I’d be lying. I can’t. Not until I really need to, and I’m not there yet. It’s that simple. I’m in now. I can’t turn back time.
