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I lift the glass in my hand and smile at them.
My mother nods her thanks. Dad blows me a kiss. The crowd repeats my toast and I walk off stage.
I set my champagne flute down on the edge of a table and don’t look at another soul. Instead I walk towards the doors, my stride meaningful, my attention unwavering.
I don’t say goodbye to Grandma, and nor do I acknowledge any of the guests looking to congratulate me on my toast. I stare straight ahead until I am out. Free.
I continue to walk—down the stairs to the foyer and then, my heels clipping noisily, across it. I am conscious only of my own breath, my own footsteps, until I reach the glass doors and wait. And wait.
Not for long. Not even a full minute in reality.
He doesn’t speak. His hand on the small of my back is warm and intimate and my stomach dips. My knees almost buckle.
He guides me out of The Ritz and I smile at Hughes. I am prepared to step apart from Jack, to put some distance between us. But he doesn’t let me. His hand stays glued to the base of my spine, and the moment I step into the limousine he catches my shoulder and spins me.
His eyes are charged with emotion, but I cannot fathom what he’s feeling. I know only that he wants me with the same burning desperation that rips through me.
‘We’re going?’ I prompt, my eyebrows raised.
‘You’d better fucking believe it.’
And then, as if he has no choice, no free will, no say in the matter, he drops his head and presses a bone-meltingly lovely kiss against the tip of my nose.
As if I didn’t love him enough already.
Chapter Twelve
‘CARRIE?’
My voice is croaky and my eyes sting as I answer my phone. I’m tired. What bloody time is it?
I peer into the darkness of Jack’s room and panic sets in.
I’ve slept in his bed. With him. All night.
Or have I? He’s not in the space beside me and his pillow is cool to the touch.
I look beyond it to the clock on his bedside. It’s not as early as I feared—just gone eight. But it is Sunday, and I probably only got an hour’s sleep the night before.
My cheeks flush pink as I remember the way our bodies rediscovered one another. Desperate at first, we came together as soon as we walked in the door of his apartment. Then slower, more sensually. An exploration. A reacquaintance. And finally dominatingly, Jack using my needs to control me and me letting him, loving it.
Still, I realise I haven’t spoken to my friend in weeks, since our rescheduled catch-up. ‘Is everything okay?’ I ask.
‘Um, shouldn’t I be asking you that?’
‘Why?’
I frown, running a finger over the crisp white duvet. Where’s Jack?
‘What’s up?’
‘I take it you haven’t seen the papers yet?’
I shake my head, scrambling to remember which of Jack’s business deals was at a crucial stage. What could have gone wrong?
Cursing under my breath, I find my feet are halfway to the ground when Carrie reads aloud:‘“Beauty and the Billionaire...”’
Oh, shit.
