He steps closer, his shoulder almost brushing mine, close enough that I imagine I can feel his heat. My heart rate picks up and I’m so aware of him. How tall he is, how strong.
And how it felt to be beneath him.Held.
“If you can’t decide,” he doesn’t respond to my comment. “May I make a suggestion?”
He’s going to tell me to go for one of the cute 1920’s houses in Harlesden, complete with a little garden and a kitchen with cream cupboards. Something as different as possible from the hotels where we stayed in the past.
But the apartments are in this building, and didn’t someone say he lives in the penthouse? The thought of living under the same roof as Kon makes my stomach flip.
“Maybe,” I aim for teasing, but I think I sound nervous.
“Come,” he says brusquely, and my mind echoes when that demand meant something very different.
“Come for me.”His voice was strained then, but just as commanding.
I follow Kon to the lobby. There are a dozen sleek black limos waiting outside, and my ballet colleagues are falling into them, giggling, with Kon’s men. They’re groups of two, three, and four. Little friendships I was never invited into. I was always the wrong fit.
“You fit me so perfectly.”The memory bubbles up as Kon directs me to an elevator tucked to the side, not the main one.
“It’s on the one-but-top floor,” he explains as we step into the elevator. There are only a couple of doors in the corridor of the floor we stop at, and Kon unlocks the solid wooden door and swings it silently open before stepping back and inviting me to go first. I gasp as I walk in. It’s a beautiful, open-plan space with huge windows that look over the Harlesden suburbs, parks and beyond to the city of London.
The floor taps under my footsteps, smooth wood like a ballet studio, and there are comfortable-looking sofas with soft cushions in bright colours, a large television, a sleek coffee table, and a fluffy rug underfoot.
Some bookshelves, and it would be perfect, but since the windows are on two sides, there isn’t really a place, which is a pity. To the side, there’s a dining area, with the table set up for six, complete with glasses and luxurious plates, and cloth napkins. Beyond, there’s a neat kitchen with brushed metal appliances that gleam and a kitchen island with a bowl of fruit.
“It’s great, Kon,” I breathe, and that’s true. I can see myself living here.
“Take a look upstairs before you decide,” Kon says neutrally, and gestures with his chin.
The stairs are elegant and solid, of course, and as I reach the landing, I gasp. There’s only one door, open, that leads to a gorgeous pale-pastel and white bedroom, but that’s not what makes my heart beat fast.
It’s the bookshelves that line the corridor. They are all the way along, a chaos of colourful spines. I run up the remaining stairs and yes, I’m grinning. I scan over the titles, and there are hundreds, but I see every book I mentioned to Kon that I read over the years I was in the ballet.
A low chuckle makes me turn to Kon, who is beside me again.
“You like it?” he asks with dry amusement.
“Yes.” Such a little word, but it means so much.
“Well.” He nods. “I suppose you won’t need this then.”
He reaches out and for a second I think he’s just pulling out a book. But no. The dark-blue hardback pivots out and the whole bookcase swings open.
I make an inarticulate noise of delight and amazement as Kon glances down at me with a smile I’d call smug if I weren’t busy staring through the secret door he’s just opened.
A door hidden in a bookcase, like a gothic mystery novel.
But beyond, it’s even better. The room is small, only the size of a cupboard really. I clap my hand over my mouth, because a few steps into the room that’s revealed, there’s a bright red slide, big enough for an adult.
Since the slide curves, you can’t see what’s below at all. A drop into the unknown.
“Oh my god, Kon.” I’m vibrating. “What’s this?”
“Taylor. Rhetorical question,” he says dryly.
Right. He doesn’t answer silly questions.
But his expression is pure mischief when I glance up into his face.
