I’m still partially bent as my eyes trail from Sylvie back to the car, where he’s sitting back, relaxed, with one hand draped casually on the steering wheel. ‘Get in,’ he orders shortly.
I know I’m getting in this car, so I don’t know why I look to Sylvie for guidance. She shakes her head. ‘Livy, I wouldn’t. You don’t know him.’
I return to vertical and my mouth opens to speak, but no words form. She’s right and I’m torn, my eyes swinging from the car to my new friend. I’m not careless or stupid – haven’t been for a long time – although every thought running through my mind right now is flooring that claim. I don’t know how long I stand there deliberating, but I’m distracted when the driver’s door of the Mercedes swings open and he strides around the car, clasping my elbow and opening the passenger door.
‘Hey!’ Sylvie tries to reclaim me. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
I’m pushed into the seat before he turns towards a stunned Sylvie. ‘I’m just going to talk to her.’ He takes a pen and paper from his inside pocket and scribbles something down before handing it to Sylvie. ‘That’s me. Ring the number.’
‘What?’ Sylvie snatches the paper from his hand and runs her eyes over it.
‘Ring the number.’
Landing him with a reproachful glare, she drags her phone from her bag and dials. A mobile starts screeching, and he pulls an iPhone from his inside pocket before handing it to me.
‘She has my phone. Ring it and she’ll answer.’
‘I could ring hers,’ Sylvie points out, ending the call. ‘What the hell does that prove? You could take it off her the second you drive away.’
‘Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.’ He shuts the door and strides around the car, leaving Sylvie on the pavement, her mouth agape.
I should jump out, but I don’t. I should protest and curse at him, but I don’t. Instead, I look to my friend on the pavement and hold up the iPhone that Miller’s just handed me. She’s right; this proves nothing, but it doesn’t deter me from doing something incredibly stupid – I’m not frightened of him, though. He’s no danger to me, except, maybe, to my heart.
More car horns start screeching around us as he slides into the car before pulling hastily away from the kerb without a word. I don’t feel nervous. I’ve practically been abducted on a busy London street and my stomach isn’t even turning in panic. It is, however, fluttering with something else. I discreetly look across to him, noting his dark suit and stunning profile. I’ve never seen anything like him. It’s silent in the enclosed space surrounding us, but something is speaking and it’s neither Miller nor I. It’s desire. And it’s telling me that I’m about to experience something life-altering. I want to know where he’s taking me, I want to know what he wants to talk about, but my desire for this knowledge doesn’t prompt me to ask, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to offer the information up right now, so I relax back into the soft leather of my seat and remain quiet. Then the stereo kicks in and I’m suddenly listening in wonder to Green Day’s ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’, a track I would never have paired with this mysterious man.
We’re in the car for a long half-hour, stopping and starting with the rush-hour traffic, until he pulls into an underground car park. He seems to be thinking hard as he shuts off the engine and taps his hand on the wheel a few times before letting himself out and making his way around to me. Opening the door, he finds my eyes, and I can see reassurance in them as he holds his hand out to me. ‘Give me your hand.’
My response is automatic, my hand lifting to take his as I remove myself from the car while savouring that familiar feeling of internal lightning bolts attacking me. It’s more incredible each time I experience it.
‘There it is again,’ he murmurs, repositioning his hand to get a better grip on me. He feels it, too. ‘Give me your bag.’
I hand him my bag immediately, involuntarily, not even thinking about it. I’m on autopilot.
‘Do you have my phone?’ he asks, lightly kicking the door of his car shut and pulling me towards a stairwell.
‘Yes.’ I hold it up.
‘Ring your friend and tell her you’re at my place.’ He pushes through the door. ‘And call anyone else who might be worried about you.’
I can do nothing more than follow him as he takes the stairs slowly, still clasping my hand, leaving me to make the calls he’s demanded. ‘I should use my phone,’ I say, fiddling with his iPhone. My clued-up nan will soon clock the strange number on the caller display and start asking questions – questions I don’t want to answer or even know how to.
‘Your decision.’ His lean shoulders shrug as he continues pulling me along behind him. When we pass floor three, my calves begin to burn and my lips part to try and get some air into my tiring lungs.
‘What floor are you?’ I ask on a little wheeze, ashamed of my fitness level. I walk a lot, but I don’t climb this many stairs on a regular basis.
‘Ten,’ he flips over his shoulder casually. The knowledge of six more floors deflates my lungs altogether and makes my legs seize up.
‘Are there no lifts?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why . . . I only have air capacity for a gasp and I let one out when he quickly scoops me up and pushes onward. I have no option but to cling onto his shoulders, my hold feeling right, my nose and eyes enjoying the closeness.
When we reach floor ten he pushes his way through the doorway into an empty corridor, then drops me to my feet and puts the key into the lock of a shiny black door. ‘After you.’ He steps to the side and gestures for me to step in, which I do – without thought, protest or asking why he’s brought me here.
I feel his palm on the base of my neck, warm and comforting, as I slowly make my way down the hallway, circling a huge round table, until the hallway opens up into a massive, marble-infested space with vaulted ceilings and colossal pieces of art at every turn, all paintings of London architecture. It’s not the grandness of the apartment or the sea of cream marble that holds me rapt. It’s those paintings – six of them, all carefully hung in selected spaces where they can be appreciated the most. They’re not typical or traditional; they’re abstract, making it so you need to squint to see exactly what each is. But I know these buildings and landmarks too well, and as I gaze around me I identify them all – no squinting required.
I’m gently guided towards the biggest cream-coloured leather couch I’ve ever seen. ‘Sit.’ He pushes me down and places my bag next to me. ‘Call your friend,’ he says, leaving me to find my phone while he strides over to a large walnut cabinet and retrieves a tumbler, topping it up with a dark liquid.
I dial Sylvie, and it rings only once before her fretful voice is piercing my ears. ‘Livy?’
‘It’s me,’ I say quietly, watching as he turns and leans against the cabinet, taking a slow mouthful of his drink.
‘Where are you?’ It sounds like she’s jogging. Her voice is slightly breathless.
‘At his place. I’m okay.’ I feel awkward explaining myself while he’s watching so intently, but there’s no escaping his steel gaze.
‘Who the f**k does he think he is?’ she asks incredulously. ‘And you’re beyond stupid for going, Livy. What were you thinking?’
‘I don’t know.’ I answer honestly, because I really don’t. I’ve allowed him to take me, bundle me in his car, and bring me to a strange apartment. I really am beyond stupid, but even now, when I’m listening to my friend rant and rave down the phone and he’s staring expressionless at me, I’m not frightened.
‘Jesus,’ she huffs. ‘What are you doing? What’s he saying? What does he want?’
‘I don’t know.’ I watch him watching me as he takes another slow sip of his drink.
‘You don’t know a f**king lot, do you?’ she fires, her heavy breathing settling down.
‘No,’ I admit. ‘I’ll call you when I get home.’
‘You’d better.’ Her tone is threatening. ‘If I don’t get a call by midnight, then I’ll be ringing the police. I took his registration.’
I smile to myself, appreciative of her concern but knowing deep down that it’s not required. He’s not going to hurt me. ‘I’ll call you,’ I assure her.
‘Make sure you do.’ She’s still agitated. ‘And be careful,’ she adds more gently.
‘Okay.’ I hang up and immediately dial my nan, keen to finish up and find out why he’s brought me here. It doesn’t take much explaining to Nan. She’s delighted when I tell her that I’m joining a few work friends for a coffee, as I knew she would be.
I finish up and place both my phone and his on the gigantic low glass table in front of me, then I commence twiddling the ring on my finger, wondering what to say. We’re just staring at each other, him taking frequent sips of his drink, me losing myself in that potent gaze.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks. ‘Wine, brandy?’
I shake my head.
‘Vodka?’
‘No.’ Alcohol is a weakness he doesn’t need to know about, although I don’t think that I need alcohol to send me into reckless mode with this man. ‘Why am I here?’ I finally ask the operative question. I think I know, but I want him to say the words.
His fingers tap the side of his glass thoughtfully, and he pushes his tall body away from the cabinet, slowly walking towards me. He undoes his jacket button and lowers himself until he’s sitting on the table in front of me, placing his drink carefully and breaking our eye contact to see where his glass has landed before tweaking it slightly and repositioning our mobile phones. My heart rate is speeding up, even more so when he faces me and clasps me under my knees, encouraging me to shift forward on the couch until there’s only a few inches between our faces. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Our breathy gasps colliding between our close mouths are saying all that needs to be said. We’re both bursting at the seams with desire.
His face moves forward, that lock of hair falling onto his forehead, but he’s not aiming for my lips. He homes in on my cheek, breathing heavy, controlled breaths into my ear. My face pushing into his is involuntary, as is the heaviness settling between my thighs.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ he whispers, his grasp of my knees increasing. ‘I’ve tried my hardest, but you’re a constant vision wherever I look.’
I inhale deeply and find my hands rising and seeking out his thick waves, my fingers threading through them, my eyes closing. ‘You said you couldn’t be with me,’ I remind him, stupidly or not. I shouldn’t point out his reluctance because if he withdraws now, I think I’ll lose my mind.
‘I still can’t.’ His face slides across mine until his perfect forehead is resting against my confused one. He can’t have brought me here just to reinforce his previous declaration. He can’t hold me like this, speak to me like this, and then do nothing.
‘I don’t understand,’ I murmur, praying to every god that he doesn’t halt this.
His forehead rolls across mine slowly, carefully. ‘I have a proposition.’ He must sense my confusion because he pulls away and scans my face. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself. ‘All I can offer you is one night.’
I don’t need to ask what he’s talking about. The dull ache in my stomach tells me exactly what he means. ‘Why?’
‘I’m emotionally unavailable, Livy.’ He reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking smooth circles on my temple. ‘But I have to have you.’
