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The moment his engine thrummed to life, tears started to fall, and she made no effort to dash them away. She was alone. No Maxie, no guests, and no David Trent. What did it matter who saw her in the depths of despair?
* * *
He cursed loudly into the empty car once he’d crossed out of Cornwall.
He knew leaving was the right thing to do, but it felt so, so wrong to be driving away from Katie and Maxie and Wadeford House. Where would he go? He thought of his apartment in New York. The apartment he’d lived in with Veronica. And he knew he couldn’t go there.
He punched his brother’s number into his mobile and waited for the call to connect.
“Andy,” he said, not clocking the slurred way his sibling had answered.
“Marcus, what is it? Is everything okay?”
Marcus frowned. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Andy expelled a frustrated sigh. “It’s the middle of the night in New York. We’re hours behind you. Remember?”
“Oh, right.” He winced. “Apologize to Cecilia if I woke her. Look, bro, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to have to stay in London a little longer. I thought I’d have this all wrapped up by now, but…”
But what? He wasn’t ready to totally turn his back on Katie? He didn’t want to stop breathing her air just yet? He was being a romantic son of a bitch, and that wasn’t like him.
“Yeah, no worries. Listen, call mum. She’s worried about you.”
He groaned. “You know mum, she’s always worried about something.”
“You must admit, she has good cause this time.”
“I’m fine. Let her know.” He disconnected the call, knowing he was taking his bad mood out on his brother, his mother, and the road. He pushed the little Prius to its max and actually managed to get up near the speed limit.
Once back in London, he thought he would have been able to get Katie into perspectiv
e. But she was there. Every time he blinked, she was burned into his eyelids. He could still smell her on his clothes, that summery body wash she used that had made him smile.
He handed his keys over to the valet at his Knightsbridge apartment building, glad at least that he’d never have to set foot back in that little tin can. A part of him was glad to be back in civilization, too. Maybe his attraction to Katie had come out of the feeling he’d reached the end of the world.
What he needed was a distraction. He rode the elevator to his deluxe apartment and immediately set about getting ready to go to a club. Another woman. Another woman would help him forget about Katie and her beautiful body and trusting ways.
It wasn’t hard to meet women. There were those women who scoured the business pages to identify eligible, wealthy husband prospects. These women knew who he was and marked him from the moment he entered the exclusive Soho bar. Then, there were the women who’d trained themselves to spot a rich guy a mile off. The cut of a suit, the make of shoes, the grooming. These women saw physical presentation as a formula for calculating net worth, and, in Marcus’s experience, they were scarily accurate.
He ordered a scotch, not caring that it wasn’t yet seven o’clock. He downed it in one go and ordered another. Stuff it. He handed his Amex over and set up a tab, then turned around and casually surveyed the room. So many women. So many beautiful woman. And not one of them did a damned thing for him. They were all so obvious. So fake. So perfumed and beautified.
“Hi handsome, want to buy me a drink?”
He allowed his dark eyes to drift over the blonde who’d sidled up beside him. She was tall, slim, huge rack expertly displayed in a low cut dress that probably cost about a thousand pounds per square inch. Her hair was teased into a wild, just-got-out-of-bed style that had no doubt taken hours to perfect, and her lips were full, and bright red. And ready, judging by the way she had shaped them suggestively around her straw, to please.
“You’ve already got a drink,” he pointed out drily.
“It was more than just a drink I was asking for…”
Out of nowhere, he pictured Katie. What was she doing right now? Probably having dinner with Maxie, sitting in the kitchen that glowed with warmth on even the coldest nights. She’d be wearing jeans and a sweater, and her hair would be up in one of those messy pony tails. She wouldn’t be wearing a bra, and his palms tingled with the remembered sensation of what that felt like.
“Let’s start with a drink,” he said grimly, resolutely pushing Katie out his mind. He had to get her out of his head. And Blonde with the Tits was a good place to start…
CHAPTER NINE
Five of the longest days of her life had stretched out and slowly slipped away. Five days without David Trent. Five days with no one for company. Maxie’s school days dragged, and she was half tempted to get him to play hooky one day just so she could be spared the endless thought-wheel she was relentlessly treading.
She missed him so much it hurt.
