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‘You deserved it sixteen years ago,’ she corrected. ‘I’m not so sure you deserve it now.’
She shot off down the trail ahead of him, running the tip of her tongue over her lips and gathering the lingering taste of cinnamon.
Hearing his footfalls behind her, matching time with her thundering pulse, she increased her pace. She needed to walk off all the excess energy powering through her system, and hopefully stop her clit from humming as if a thousand bees had set up an extremely industrious hive in her pants. At least she’d found a cure for her jet lag.
But what was my point again, exactly?
Chapter 13
What was the point of having a crush on the live-in au pair if he was never where he was supposed to be?
Lizzie jogged across the low bridge in the Kyoto Garden in Holland Park. The Japanese waterfall glimmered in the sunshine while Rihanna’s ‘Rude Boy’ got it on in her headphones.
Piss off, peace and tranquility.
She marked time as a mum with a double buggy pushed past her on the brick path, then headed into the cool forested section of the park. Puffing now—a hangover from last night’s pizza blowout—she accelerated on the secluded track leading through the untamed grove of elms and weeping willows the half mile to the exit. The park had been quiet this morning, except for the odd nanny-and-toddler combo. School wasn’t out yet for the summer, but luckily she had no more college classes, having handed in her final assessment yesterday.
Any excitement at the prospect of having Trey all to herself during the daytime had been quashed in the past few days, though. The man had made himself noticeably scarce, disappearing after the school drop-off each day, only to reappear at four p.m. with Aldo in tow like the ultimate gooseberry. The burning curiosity to ask him where he’d gone was nothing compared to her irritation that he’d managed to avoid her. For three whole days.
She ran on the spot, waiting for the lights to change at Holland Park Avenue. Jogging across the road, she darted into Ladbroke Mews, running past the exclusive pastel-coloured cottages, her trainers hitting the cobblestones to the rhythm of Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’. An oldie but a goodie when it came to girl-power mission statements.
Bolting out of the mews, her laboured breath sawing in her lungs, she ran past the palatial houses that stood in a row of Georgian grandeur around Ladbroke Square. She slowed as she approached their four-storey house, its grand portico matching the others in the terrace, as a tall, easily identifiable figure came down the street from the opposite direction. Her heartbeat galloped into her throat, and not just from the exertion of her morning jog.
Trey was back. She slowed to a walk, sucking in air so she wouldn’t be huffing and puffing like a hippopotamus when he spotted her.
It was four days now since their day out at the Serps, and either she was becoming paranoid or Trey had been avoiding her every day since. She hadn’t pushed it at first; he obviously had a job to do with Aldo—and as much as she might want to hang out with Trey, she hadn’t sunk so low as to want to play football in the park.
Unfortunately, she’d managed to miss him and Aldo before they left for school each morning. So she’d set her alarm last night, determined to catch him for morning coffee if it killed her. Pressing the snooze button had been a mistake, though, because she’d managed to snooze until nine o’clock.
But the jog had revitalised her and given her time to think. Either she was paranoid or Trey had been avoiding her. She tugged out her earbuds and turned off her iPod as she drew closer.
He had his head down as he opened the gate leading to the house’s basement entrance.
‘Hi, you get Aldo to school OK?’ she asked, wincing at the inane question.
His head popped up, and she tried to deduce whether his expression said surprise or irritation, before it became carefully masked.
His gaze flicked down and she winced some more at the thought of what a state she must look, in her oldest sweatpants and jogging bra. Sweat dripped down the side of her face, and she brushed it off with the sweatband on her wrist.
‘Not quite.’ He held the gate open for her, preoccupied. ‘Aldo went into a tailspin when he realised it was his class’s bake sale this afternoon.’ He followed her down the cellar stairs into the kitchen.
‘Mum usually does something amazing with him for that,’ she replied, trying not to let the bubble of resentment surface.
Her mum had always found time to bake with Aldo on the Wednesday evening each term before his class had their sale to raise funds for their end-of-year trip. But she never had time to bake with Lizzie any more. Then again, Lizzie realised, she had never asked. But it was the thought, or rather the lack of it, that counted. Right?
‘He told me that.’ Trey sounded suitably daunted. ‘He’s going to have to downgrade his expectations for what I can rustle up to bring in this afternoon.’
She took a moment to appreciate the width of Trey’s shoulders as he closed the kitchen door behind them both.
‘I could give you a hand.’ The opportunity presented itself like manna from heaven. ‘I am my mother’s daughter, after all.’ Even if they hadn’t baked together in years.
He lifted the plastic bag in his hand. ‘I’ve got it covered. I picked something up at the corner shop.’
The comment sounded neutral, friendly even. But Lizzie knew a cold shoulder when she saw one—and she refused to be put off by it—however broad it might be.
This was not paranoia. Trey Carson was definitely avoiding being alone with her. He’d been distant ever since Sunday—distant and unfailingly polite. In other words, he was back to business as usual—humour Lizzie and ignore her. As if the Serps had never happened. As if she hadn’t had that tantalising glimpse of the hot enigmatic guy beneath the dodgy polo shirt. Or the tattoo he had inked on his butt.
Well, he could forget that. She planned to seize this opportunity—and get all up in his face now—because passive wasn’t working.
