The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(23)

“Walk up the steps,” I direct her.

She goes to sit down on the bottom step. “I’ll just sleep here.”

“Kate,” I say in my best authoritative voice. “Concentrate and walk up the steps please.”

She goes to sit down again and I glance back at Andrew, who’s laughing and leaning on the side of the car as he watches the show.

“Shut up,” I mouth.

He smiles with a wink and lights his cigarette.

That’s the thing with having the same driver for seven years, they get too fucking comfortable.

“Kate,” I snap. “Walk up the stairs and then you can go to sleep.”

“Hmm.” She smiles with her eyes closed, takes one step.

“That’s it.”

She takes two more.

“Good girl.”

“I sleep here.”

I keep pulling her up and we get to the front door, and I ring the bell.

Kate leans on me and closes her eyes; I wrap my arm around her tight.

Two tablets and this is her . . . I would hate to think what would happen if she actually had some hard stuff.

I ring the bell again . . . no answer.

“Kate, is anyone home?”

“Yeah.” She smiles goofily up at me. “We are.”

“I mean, your flatmates.”

She shrugs and goes back to leaning on me.

“Where are your keys?” I ask.

She shrugs once more.

“For fuck’s sake.” I rattle through her handbag and dig out the keys. “What key is it?”

“Red one.”

I get the red key and open the door. “Hello,” I call.

No answer.

I look back toward the car and Andrew shrugs.

“Bed for you,” I say, walk her in, and close the door behind us.

Once we have negotiated her apartment’s front door, I ask, “Where is your bedroom?”

She points up the steep, narrow stairs and I peer up. Oh hell. “Of course it is.”

I think for a moment. What do I do now? I can’t just leave her here.

“Alright.” I bend and lift her over my shoulder.

“Oh . . . don’t,” she slurs. “Put me down.”

“Shut up.” I slap her behind. I take one step, then two.

I take another few steps and my thighs begin to burn. My chest tightens.

I stumble back, oh . . . fuck it.

Don’t drop her.

Nothing is easy with this damn woman.

I grit my teeth and begin to climb the stairs as fast as I can.

“Put me down,” she moans, and I slap her behind again.

“Behave yourself. Breaking my back is the last thing I wanted to do tonight.”

We get to the top and I put her back onto her feet as I clutch my chest and gasp for air. Holy hell.

That was hard.

She teeters on her feet and I grab her hand and drag her into her bedroom.

I walk her over to the bed and pull the covers back and lie her down. I take one sneaker off and she kicks her foot as if to get me to stop.

“You know”—I undo the laces on the other shoe—“lots of women would die for me to take their shoes off in bed.”

“Desper potatoes,” she slurs.

“They are not desperados.” I smile as the other shoe comes free. She’s wearing pale pink socks, and I tuck her legs in and pull the covers up over her.

She smiles up at me and holds her hand out.

I take it in mine and sit down beside her; her eyelids are heavy and she battles to keep them open. I brush the hair back from her forehead as I look down at her.

Her blonde hair is splayed across her pillow and her big lips are a pouty rose color. Her dark lashes flutter as she tries to keep her eyes open.

She really is quite . . .

I look up at her room, painted cream with a large white timber bed. There is a bookshelf and a dressing table, makeup in baskets, and photo frames; it feels very lived in. Fairy lights are strewn around the ceiling and a large reading chair with an ottoman is in the corner. Looks like a dorm room I would have visited back in the day.

My gaze comes back to Kate and she’s sleeping soundly, her hand still holding mine.

I find myself smiling as I watch her. What do I do now? I mean, I can’t just leave her here alone. What if something happened?

That would be negligent.

I guess I’ll have to wait.

An hour later, I need to go to the bathroom but Kate is still firmly holding my hand. I move it a little and she frowns and grips me tighter. “Don’t,” she murmurs sleepily.

“I’m coming straight back,” I whisper.

“I said no.”

Demanding witch. I’m starving fucking hungry and about to piss myself.

Well, tough shit.

I get up and walk into her en-suite bathroom and look around; it’s small.

A basket with dirty clothes; pink towels and a matching bath mat. I go to the bathroom and wash my hands and then walk back out into her room. I walk over to her bookshelf and look at all the photos in the frames—one of an older couple, and one of her at a young age with them, they must be her parents. A photo of a dog, a black-and-white border collie. A photo of her and a man who looks around her age, taken a few years ago. I wonder, was this a boyfriend?