The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(110)

“Hi,” he whispers sadly.

“Hi.” I force a smile.

“I have to go to France tomorrow, sweetheart,” he whispers.

My heart constricts. He’s here to say goodbye.

I nod, unable to push a word past my lips.

“Can I stay?” he asks.

I clench my hands into fists; how am I supposed to do this?

Say goodbye with love when he’s breaking my fucking heart?

I should be kicking him out, I should be punching him square in the face.

I should hate him.

He takes his clothes off and climbs in beside me. His lips take mine, and I can feel the heartbreak as it radiates out of him. He’s right here in hell with me.

This isn’t his fault, he’s a good man.

His eyes search mine. “Tell me you love me,” he whispers. “Just once.”

My heart begins to ache and I know this is it, our last dance together; his silhouette blurs. “I love you.”

We kiss, and my face screws up against his.

Don’t go.

For a long time, we kiss, until my heart can’t take it anymore. I need this goodbye over . . . I can’t do this.

I’m not strong enough. “I need you,” I whisper.

He crawls over me and slides in deep, his head buried in my shoulder, and I screw up my face as I stare at the ceiling.

He moves slowly, carefully, as if I’m breakable. He always said that he loves me when I’m vulnerable.

Here I am in Imax; I’ve never felt so unprotected in my life.

Defenseless.

His body heats up and he moves slowly to bring himself closer. He spreads his knees and wraps my legs around his hips, but I have no chance of climaxing tonight.

How could I possibly feel physical pleasure when I’m in such pain?

He may as well be stabbing me in the heart, it would feel the same.

He holds himself deep and shudders as he comes. His lips run up and down my neck, a tender love song of affection.

I stare at the ceiling, lifeless.

I feel the hot lone tear roll down my face and into my ear.

He rolls off me and falls onto his back, glances over and sees my tears, and throws his forearm over his eyes, as if to shield himself. He’s unable to deal with me.

Or unwilling.

After a while, “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers.

I stay silent and stare at the ceiling, my heart shattering into a million pieces.

Go to hell.

The dawn light peeks through the side of the blinds, and I watch him put his suit on from my place in bed. Gone is my tender lover from last night.

Elliot Miles is here this morning, and I’m glad. Because he’s easier to hate.

“When will you be back?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” he says as he pulls his jacket over his shoulders.

He can’t even look at me.

He pats his trouser pockets as he checks he has everything; I should ask him if I can have my heart back before he leaves. He’s had it in his possession since the first night we spent together, unashamedly so.

His eyes find me across the room and I force a smile. “Have a nice trip.”

“I don’t want to go,” he whispers.

“But you will.”

We stare at each other and eventually, as if making an internal decision, he closes his eyes. “Goodbye, Kate,” he murmurs.

“Goodbye, Elliot.”

He walks over to me and takes my face in his hands and kisses me, and this time it’s his face that screws up against mine. He knows, he knows that if he does this then we are done.

Without one word, he turns and walks out, and the door clicks quietly behind him.

I inhale with a shaky breath.

He went anyway.





Chapter 23


ELLIOT

The rain comes down heavy and hard, and I walk on to the plane like it’s a galley.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Miles.” The pilot smiles.

“Hello.” I shake out my umbrella and fold it away.

“We are scheduled to take off in fifteen minutes, sir. I trust you’ll have a pleasant trip.”

“Thank you.” I walk through the plane and take my usual seat.

Just fucking go, already.

My phone lets off a ding and I glance at it. Kate.

I open up the message and frown.

It’s a song, “Never Enough” by Loren Allred.

Fuck.

I drag my hand down my face and eventually, curiosity gets the better of me and I put my headphones on and hit play.

It’s a slow song, of love and loss.

I put my head back against the headrest and exhale heavily; I want this over with.

Just fucking go already.

“Mr. Miles.” The waiter smiles. “We’ve been expecting you, sir. Miss Boucher is waiting.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“The private dining room is this way.” I follow him through to the glass atrium; there are fairy lights strewn across the top of the glass and the table is candlelit. I see her sitting alone at a table for two by the fire.

She looks up, and our eyes meet.

“Hello.” She smiles softly.

My heart flips in my chest.

She’s absolutely breathtaking . . .

“Hello.” I frown—she makes me nervous—and my stomach flutters. “Sorry I’m late.”