The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(119)

“We’ve been instructed to deliver you in person, Miss Landon.”

I stare at them and Daniel’s words from when I first met Elliot Miles come back to me: he’s a powerful man and not someone I would mess with.

Suddenly I’m very aware that if Elliot Miles wants me delivered in person, I no longer have a choice. If I told them that I wasn’t going up to his apartment right now, they would make me go, regardless.

A million things are running at full speed through my head, but the blazing emotion is . . . loss of control.

We ride to the top floor in silence and the doors open into Elliot’s foyer, where he’s waiting. His eyes find mine and he smiles softly, as if relieved.

“Thank you,” he says to the guards; he opens the door to his apartment and I walk in.

I stand in the middle of his living room, determined to be strong.

This man has brought me to my knees for the last time.

Elliot’s eyes hold mine and he stares at me as if I’m a wild animal, about to run at any moment.

“I’m sorry about that,” he whispers.

I nod.

“Can I get you . . . anything to drink?”

“No.”

He puffs air into his cheeks as if lost for words. “Are you going to sit down?”

My eyes hold his and I just want to hurt him, for hurting me.

For putting me through this fucking bullshit.

“We need to talk, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“For God’s sake, Elliot,” I yell, “don’t call me that. It’s no longer a term of endearment, it makes me a laughing stock. It’s you, taking advantage of my affection. Do not ever fucking call me sweetheart again!”

His face falls. “I had to go . . . you know I had to go.”

I stare at him.

“You told me to go,” he cries. “I asked you what to do, and you told me to go.”

“I told you to follow your heart,” I scream.

He clenches his jaw, unsure what to say.

“How long have you known it was me? How long have you been lying to me?”

“You knew Edgar was me all along, you’ve been lying to me,” he says. “I told you who I was immediately.”

“How long?” I throw up my hands.

“You told me all about Edgar Moffatt the night when you were high on meds. You even showed me his messages on your phone.”

My face falls.

“Of all the people in the world, I couldn’t believe it. I told you the next day. You found out the very next day that Edgar was me,” he replies calmly.

“Why are you so honest with Pinkie?”

“Because she is easy to talk to . . . she doesn’t judge me. She is my friend.”

“So . . . you lie to me?”

“I knew I was talking to you, I never lied to you. Not once. I told you I was going to France to see her.”

“But you didn’t tell me,” I yell in outrage. “You knew I couldn’t say anything.”

“Because you were lying to me all along,” he cries. “And you fucking know it.”

I drop my head, this is pointless. I sit on the couch and he falls to the floor on his knees in front of me. “Nothing happened with her, I promise you. Not even a kiss.”

My eyes hold his.

Is that true?

“Kate.” He sighs sadly. “If I didn’t go, I would’ve always had that what if in the back of my mind.”

“I know. So . . .” I pause as I try to get the wording right in my head. “You spent the week with her?”

“No. We had the dinner and she made it quite clear that she wanted . . . more.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. Do I even want to hear this?

“All I could think about . . . was you,” he whispers. “I knew I’d done the wrong thing, but I also knew that I had to go to her and find out. I couldn’t make a future with someone and always have a doubt in the back of my mind. It was a double-edged sword, Kate. I did what I thought I had to do.”

I drop my head; don’t cry.

“There was no connection with her, nothing at all.” His eyes search mine. “I swear to you—”

“What if there was?” I interrupt. “What if there was a connection, Elliot? Where would I be now?”

“There wasn’t.”

“But there could have been.”

He exhales heavily. “You’re not listening to me.”

“And you didn’t answer my question. Where were you all week?” I ask.

“I told her that nothing was happening, that I had someone back home.”

“Something that you should have thought of before you went to her,” I cry, still outraged.

“I’m here now,” he yells as he holds his hands out wide. “I’m yours, Kate.”

Are you?

“I took the week to think,” he continues. “I needed to clear my head.”

My eyes rise to his and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. “About what?”

“About life.”

“You mean . . . about falling for someone who’s average.”

He inhales sharply and I know I hit the nail on the head.

My eyes well with tears. “I’m not your fairy tale, Elliot,” I whisper.