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“Until me,” she pointed out, not willing to relinquish her grip on the keys.
“Until you,” he agreed thoughtfully.
“Then it’s a time for firsts.” Her heart turned over, and she knew it was with hope and speculation. Hope that he felt what she did – a curious brimming over of expectation and hope.
His eyes were smiling, but his word was gruff. “Keys.”
She had let him drive in the end because she’d secretly found him hotter than ever when behind the wheel of the luxury vehicle. He drove it like he drove her, without any visible effort, his control and finesse were excellent. Even these streets, around her home, he seemed to navigate expertly, steering them towards City airport.
“Do you need anything from your apartment here?” She asked belatedly, when they were already well past a convenient route to reach it.
He kept his eyes on the road. “The staff will pack up my effects.” As though he was some kind of fourth-in-line-to-the-throne royal, and he had an army of servants to do his bidding. Which, she was coming to realise, he did.
“And my car?” She asked, her eyes wide as she realised it had completely escaped her attention.
“I’ve contacted your agency. Another driver is coming for it.”
Just like that. The wheels had been greased; Caradoc had spoken.
Finn had expected that they’d travel first class. Nothing about Caradoc seemed to suggest that he’d enjoy sitting in coach, with a seven year old’s feet kicking his chair back.
But she hadn’t expected the private jet that bore the Moore Industries emblem on the side in enormous gold and black writing.
Nor had she ever, in her wildest fantasies, thought about conjuring up the kind of comfort that the jet offered. From seats that were designer leather, all space age and deep, there was a glossy table with a chandelier hung perfectly above it, and thick cream carpet. The flight from London to New York was not long, but when Finn had let a small yawn escape, Caradoc had shepherded her into a bedroom that rivalled any she’d ever seen.
She’d slept, and arrived in New York in the height of luxury. They were chauffeured into Manhattan, and whisked to the very top of a steel sky rise that bordered Central Park. She was on the other side of the coin now; the passenger not the driver, and the luxurious world was not one she was sure she could get used to. Which was just as well, as she was only on holiday in this rarefied place. Visiting, nothing more.
His apartment was more like a three story mansion in the sky. She stared at the bedroom that was at least twice the size of the flat she shared with two others, and then over the mezzanine to the spacious lounge beneath. Manhattan was an intricate web of concrete beyond the heavily tinted windows, and the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting orange and purple over the glass and steel monoliths.
Caradoc appeared as if from nowhere and her chest seemed to erupt with a burst of pure happiness.
The thought strangled her with its suddenness. Happiness? Happiness compared to what? It was a dangerous concept. She didn’t want to prod it too deeply. After all, she’d been happy for years. She was basically a happy person. No man, no matter how good he was in bed, could change the essential makeup of her character.
“Here you are.” His voice was soft; a caress from behind. She spun around, wondering about the guilty sense that flashed through her central nervous system.
“This is quite some place.”
His smile was sexy as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Yes,” he agreed, padding a thumb across her spine, his eyes heavy on her face as her skin flushed at the touch. “And I’ve been wanting to see you in it all day.”
She frowned at the strange statement. “It’s huge,” she said, simply so that she could fill the silence.
“I barely notice the size now.”
“How is that possible?” She murmured, lifting her hands to his chest. Her fingers splayed wide and she could feel his heart beating beneath her touch.
“It’s just … somewhere I spend time.” His brow furrowed a little.
“I imagine your whole world is made up of places like this. And that apartment in London.”
He nodded. “More or less.”
“I heard … I heard somewhere that you did
all this yourself. Without your father’s help or money. Or even his name.”
Something sparked in Caradoc’s eyes. “Did you?”
She nodded, her throat dry. “Is it true?”
