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The answer was two floors of real-estate nirvana.
The living room stretched across the whole of the building, open plan with huge glass walls that looked across the river. Cream sofas were grouped around an ultra-modern fireplace enclosed by glass and in one corner was a dining table positioned to make the most of the spectacular views.
‘Nice.’ I thought of our little apartment in Notting Hill. We loved it but you could barely do a scissor kick without knocking something over. Here you could have held a tournament and still not filled the floor space. ‘It’s huge. Who are you living with? There’s space for the whole of the British karate team.’
He gave a faint smile. ‘Just me. I like space. I don’t like feeling enclosed.’
‘Who lived here before you?’
‘A banker. He moved out when I bought the building.’
‘So Hollywood pays well.’ I strolled to the windows and stared out across the river. ‘It reminds me of Nico’s apartment.’
‘Nico?’ His voice was a little cooler and I smiled. I still had my back to him, so I thought the smile was between me and the window but it turned out I wasn’t as clever as I thought, because he was standing behind me and the window acted like a mirror. ‘You’re trying to make me suffer just a little bit for what I did to you.’
‘No. I don’t play those games.’ I could feel the warmth of him behind me and watched as his hands came to my shoulders.
‘Who is Nico?’
‘He’s a lawyer. He’s seeing Hayley.’
His grip on my shoulders eased. ‘So who was the guy you were with the other night? The one who wants you to join a book group and bake cakes.’
‘Brian.’
‘What were you doing with him, Rosie?’
‘Having dinner.’
‘He’s so obviously wrong for you.’
I could feel his hands, strong and sure on my shoulders. ‘You’re not the exp
ert on me.’
‘I know you.’
‘No.’ I turned so that we were face to face, so there could be no mistake. ‘You knew me. I’m a different person now.’
‘Why was he breaking up with you?’
‘He finds me scary. Unfeminine.’
Hunter told me what he thought of that in a single succinct word that made me smile and then he slid his hands down my arms and suddenly I wasn’t smiling anymore. I felt his palms, warm and calloused, brush against my skin. Knowing what those hands could do, I shivered.
I’d been badly burned, and here I was playing with fire again.
Was I doing the wrong thing?
My courage faltered. ‘Maybe I should go. Are we being crazy?’
‘No.’ His voice was rough and raw. ‘I really want you to stay.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I can’t get through my day without thinking about you. Because I can’t focus. All I can think of is you, naked and underneath me.’ His jaw was tight, clenched, and it was obvious he was suffering as much as I was.
For some reason that made me feel better. Not that I wanted to suffer, but I didn’t want to be trapped in this cycle of sexual torment alone.
