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He climbs in behind me and closes the door.
The driver gets in and turns. “VIP parking on level 1A?”
“Yes, thank you,” Elliot says as he takes my hand and brings it over to his lap.
I frown in confusion and he kisses my fingertips. “I got Andrew to bring my car. I wanted to drive you home myself.”
“Oh.” Maybe he’s going to stay over?
I inwardly deflate. It’s probably so that Andrew doesn’t have to see my sad face when I get out of the car. “Great,” I lie.
Five minutes later the driver pulls up in an underground parking lot and, sure enough, there, parked in pole position, is Elliot’s black Mercedes sports car.
I wonder who brought Andrew home after he dropped the car here—did he catch a bus or did someone pick him up? What happens in these situations, is there a driver for the driver?
Elliot puts my things into the trunk and ten minutes later we’re on the road to my place.
He’s quiet and pensive, with both hands firmly on the wheel, and I’m staring through the windshield, internally wondering if I can tie him up and throw him in the trunk, perhaps hijack his plane and force them at gunpoint to take us back.
I feel a distance creeping between us already: he isn’t my playful El here in London, he’s Elliot Miles . . . the hard-ass CEO of Miles Media.
And the reality is, we don’t really know each other.
Which is crap; if he wanted casual and didn’t want anything from our relationship, why did he have to be so damn sweet and affectionate? Is he even aware that he did it?
Talk about mixed messages.
It didn’t matter in the Canary Islands because we both knew the small amount of time that we had together was finite. Tied in a nice little bow, a week’s escape from reality.
No strings attached.
But now that we’re back, I feel uncertain already.
I already know that I’m not ready to let him go yet, and maybe there is hope for us because damn it, we’re so good together. I just hope he feels the same.
The car pulls up outside the front of my house and Elliot turns the engine off, leans his arm on the steering wheel, and looks over at me.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He nods as his eyes hold mine.
“I had an incredible time.”
He breaks into a breathtaking smile. “Me too.”
“Do . . .” I shrug. I shouldn’t be saying this but I can’t stop the words coming out of my mouth. “Do you want to come in?”
“I can’t.” His gaze goes to out the front windshield. “I have a million emails to go through before work tomorrow. I haven’t opened my computer up once in a week and I can’t work late tomorrow night because I have a function on. If I don’t tackle them tonight the entire week will be a write-off.”
“Ah . . .” I nod as the busy picture is painted.
His hand runs up my thigh. “You’re a bad influence on me, Landon. I’ve never not worked on vacation.”
I smile. “Well . . . you’re pretty fun to distract.”
His eyes hold mine and there’s something hanging in the air between us.
It feels a lot like . . . regret.
“Okay.” I fake a smile.
“Okay . . .” he replies.
We stare at each other for a moment and I don’t know if he’s waiting for me to say something or . . . is he going to say something?
When are we seeing each other again?
Don’t ask, just be cool.
I open the car door. “I’ll let you go.”
“Alright.” He gets out of the car and opens the trunk.
He has to ask to see me, I’m not pushing for something. He is the one who told me we’re just fucking after all, even though I know we aren’t. So, if he changed his mind, he has to pursue me.
“Do you want me to carry your suitcase up to the front door for you?” he asks.
“No.” I take it from him. “I’ve got it. Thanks anyway.”
We stare at each other and it’s there again, the swirl in the air of unspoken words.
“Goodbye Kate.” He leans down and kisses me softly, and my heart constricts.
There’s no passion, no forbidden element, no promise of slamming me up against the car and taking me here; his kiss feels sad and full of regret. Or is that just me feeling clingy?
Whatever it is, it sucks.
I step back from him, the change in his demeanor something I don’t like. “Bye.” I turn and walk up the front steps and turn and give him a wave; he waves back and then, without hesitation, gets in his car and drives away before I’ve even put my key in the door.
Deflation fills me. He’s gone.
I watch the car as it disappears up the street, and I push the door open and walk in.
