The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(52)

Her eyes widen to saucer size. “You orgasmed at dinner?”

I wince. “Kind of.”

“How did you kind of come?”

I puff air into my cheeks as I realize how this is going to sound. “Dry-humped him while he sat on his chair.”

Rebecca’s eyes pop from her head and she slaps her hand over her mouth as I burst out laughing. “Look, I know how this sounds.”

“Do you? But do you really? You’re going to fall in love with him and he’ll lose interest because he hasn’t had to chase you . . . at all. And then you’ll be brokenhearted.”

I laugh. She’s so damn dramatic. “Or . . . we could just be having fun and using each other for sex, while spending time on a beach in the sun with some cocktails.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Look, we’ve had the talk, I know exactly where I stand with him. He’s not looking for a relationship and neither am I,” I reply. “I just . . . I want to enjoy myself for a while without worrying about the future.”

“Since when? Last time I knew, you were searching for Mr. Right to be the father of your children.”

“Will you stop?” I snap in exasperation. “Don’t read into this, I’m not. It’s a week in the sun.” I march over to the door and open it in a rush, gesture out the front at the blizzard conditions. “Snowy London isn’t that appealing over the Christmas holiday, Rebecca. I have a week off left, and look.” I point out at the snow. “What the hell am I going to do here in this?”

She stares at me.

“It’s one week and I’m not stupid.” I march up the stairs. “It’s Elliot Miles, for fuck’s sake, as if he could break my heart.”

“You’re delusional,” she calls after me.

“And you’re a drama queen,” I call back with a roll of my eyes. I flop onto my bed. Fuck’s sake.

I lie for a moment and feel sorry for myself—hate that she isn’t excited for me.

A broad smile crosses my face . . . To hell with her, because I am.

Right. I stare at the open suitcase on my bed: what else do I need for a romantic getaway with a sex god?

Hmm. I go through my list.

Passport

check.



Bikinis

check.



Sunscreen

check.



Date dresses

check.



Lingerie

check.



Shoes

check.



Books

check.



Laptop

check.



Sweater

check.



Toiletry bag

check.



Phone charger

check.



Contraceptive pills check.

Lubricant check, check, and double check. I’m so fucking sore that it’s a joke.

The man’s an animal. I smile—not that I’m complaining. It’s definitely a hurt-so-good scenario.

I stare at the suitcase for a moment while I think what else I could possibly need.

I smile and go to my closet.

Red netball dress??touchdown.

An hour later, my email pings and I smile. It’s Ed—I have his notification as a different sound.

Hi Pinkie,

How are you?

What’s new?

I smile and reply:

I’m great, how was your date with the toilet cleaner?

Nerves swirl in my stomach as I see the dots. He’s typing.

Incredible.

My eyes widen and I put my hands over my mouth in surprise.

What?

I smile broadly and can hardly contain my excitement to write back.

Incredible is a strong word.

What was so good about it?

I see the dots and do a little dance on the spot. I knew he felt it too.

It’s not just me.

Her, she is . . .

There are no words for how hot this woman is.

Let’s just say it was a great night.

I’m taking her away today for a week, so I may not have internet service to email you.

I giggle out loud in excitement. Oh wow, for the first time I feel optimistic about us. Perhaps this trip will bring out more of my Edgar in Elliot.

God, I hope so.

Taking her away?

Wow.

What brought that on?

I hold my breath as I wait for his reply.

I want her to myself for a while.

I smile as I close my eyes. I want you to myself too.

I pace as I think. What will I write?

Umm . . .

She’s a lucky girl.

Have a great time, check in if you can.

oxo

Okay, speak soon.

Xoxoxo

A text sounds on my phone.

I’m out the front.

x

I smile through the window of my bedroom and see the black Bentley pull up to the curb.

A kiss at the end of his message really shouldn’t excite me as much as it does.

I take one last look around my bedroom and get the distinct feeling that I’m forgetting something, but God knows what it is.

I bounce downstairs. “Beck, I’m going,” I call.

She appears from her room and smiles as she holds her arms out. “Be safe.”