‘But he’s staying here.’
I point at the floor.
‘You don’t really think he needs to rent out a room in this place? He’s got an apartment on the West Side.’
‘But I thought …’
‘He was coming on to you?’ He laughs, his eyes glimmering in the lamplight. ‘No chance of that. Gordon’s one hundred percent gay.’
My thoughts slam into a wall of confusion. Surely not. No, no, no. Gordon Finn can’t be gay. I would have picked up on the signs.
‘You’re kidding me.’
I’m gawping now, a bit like a landed fish.
‘I’m not. He’s more likely to try it on with me than you.’ A frown appears. ‘You weren’t attracted to him, were you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Because I wouldn’t be too happy about that.’
‘I didn’t fancy him.’
I’ve no idea why I’m defending myself. I’m about to tell him as much when the glimmer returns, dancing mischievously through his blue irises and setting off a delicious quivering sensation between my thighs.
‘But you came up here to see him.’
‘He said he wanted to talk.’ I’ve had enough. It’s time to turn the tables. ‘And anyway, why am I the one getting an interrogation? You’ve got a few things to explain yourself, mister.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as? Well, why this, for a start? Why lure me up here without letting me know what was going on?’
‘We didn’t want to take any chances.’
‘Bloody rich. You’ve been keeping me in the dark … again. You didn’t trust me.’
He takes another shifty step toward me. And I take one back, pointing at him.
‘Stop right there. You didn’t trust me, did you?’
‘We couldn’t let you know what was going on. Foultons advised …’
Oh, that again.
‘I don’t care what Foultons advised. You promised.’
‘I know, but we had to keep it simple. Lucy might have found out.’
‘I could have dealt with that.’
‘You’ve had enough to deal with.’
‘Yes,’ I shout, making him start. ‘I’ve had plenty to deal with. Weeks of shit, thank you very much. You didn’t get in touch with me, you pulled out of Slaters, you didn’t sell Fosters, not one word of reassurance, and then …’ I splutter, pointing at him again, ‘you went and got yourself another woman.’
He takes another small step.
‘Stop!’
‘Never.’
Well, that’s more like it. Determined to get what he wants, the old Daniel Foster hasn’t completely disappeared.
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Impossible.’
‘I wait three sodding months for you and the first time you see me, you talk to me like I’m … shit on your shoe.’
‘Interesting phrase.’
‘What?’
‘Every time I’ve ever had shit on my shoe, I’ve never bothered talking to it.’
‘You’re not funny.’
‘If you say so.’
He’s moving again, inching forward little by little until he’s close enough to touch me. I’d edge further backwards but I seem to have a sofa behind me now. If I end up on that, he’ll be on top of me before I can take a breath.
Suddenly, he grabs my arm. Curling long fingers around my flesh, he tugs me in close and seals his mouth against mine. Immediately and without the slightest hesitation, I let myself down, kissing him back with a vengeance and enjoying every single second of it: the softness of his lips, the touch of his tongue. It goes on for an eternity, giving me more than enough time to realise what’s going on. He’s lost patience with being patient, and now he’s reverting to the usual battle plan – shock and awe.
‘It was all an act,’ he breathes, when he’s finally had his fill.
‘Well, it was a fucking good act,’ I breathe back. ‘You were all over that tart like a rash.’
‘Enough of the clichés, Maya. It was an elaborate ruse.’
‘Elaborate ruse, my arse. You were enjoying it.’
‘Trust me. I wasn’t.’
‘Did you kiss her?’
‘No.’
‘Did you fuck her?’
‘Certainly not.’ A hand comes to my buttocks, pressing me into his crotch. ‘This thing belongs to you.’ And judging by the feel of it, he’s primed and ready for action. ‘Are we through with the ranting yet?’ Keeping me tight in his grip, he searches my face for signs of an answer.
Finally, my brain clicks back into action.
‘Condescending twat. Just because you kissed my face off, it doesn’t mean we’re good. I’ve got plenty more ranting to do yet. Now get off me.’
With a shrug, he releases me, steps back and makes his way towards a bar.
‘Okay. But would you like a drink while you’re at it?’
Astounded by his sudden nonchalance and silently amazed he’s still in full possession of a sexy walk, even after everything he’s been through, I watch as he carefully places the necklace on the counter.
‘You’re asking for it, Mr Foster.’
‘I’ll be begging for it before long.’ He lifts a bottle. ‘This is a seriously nice Pinot, by the way.’
‘And you’re a serious piece of work.’
‘Thank you.’
He pours a glass and brings it over to me.
With a petulant sneer, I take it.
‘Don’t throw that over me,’ he warns. ‘It’s expensive stuff.’
‘I can do better than chucking a glass of wine at you.’
‘I know you can.’ Beating a hasty retreat, he lowers himself onto a sofa, smiles and straightens his jacket. ‘To be perfectly honest, I kind of banked on you falling into my arms as soon as you saw me. I obviously got that bit wrong. You’re angry. I get it.’ Every last bit of playfulness evaporates. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch and I’m sorry for the way I treated you, but you need to understand two things: none of it was real … and all of it was necessary.’ He holds my gaze. ‘So, if you’d like to join me …’ He pats the space next to him. ‘I’ll
