“I can open my own door,” I said as I hobbled into the vehicle, pulled my crutches with me, and settled into a buttery leather seat. I wasn’t going to be reduced to a melting mess by a small act of chivalry. Not that he was trying to make me melt. He didn’t see me like that. Joshua didn’t have to try to make women melt.
Joshua shrugged and shut the door before moving around to the driver’s side.
“Sorry if I smell like Yemen. You might need an air freshener in here after our journey.”
He pulled out of the parking space and we started twirling through the narrow passages of the multi-story car park. “Yemen? I thought you flew in from Saudi Arabia.”
“No direct flights from Yemen.”
“Should you be going to places that don’t have direct flights?”
I laughed. “You sound like Patrick. I was working with Médecins sans frontières. I wasn’t on holiday. But I appreciate the big-brother vibe.”
“Right,” he said, that frown appearing again. “You want a water?” He pulled open the lid to what looked like a built-in cool box under the arm rest between us and took out a bottle.
“Thanks. You got any cake in there?”
“This isn’t Tesco, but you might find an apple.”
“I haven’t had an apple for thirteen months.” I scrambled about and found an apple as green as I’d ever seen. “You want a bite?” I held up the fruit then abruptly pulled it away as my imagination offered up an image of him sinking his teeth into . . . me.
Was he a biter? For a split second, filthy images reeled through my brain: Joshua in bed, naked. Joshua over me, arms flexed and gaze trained on my lips. His hips pushing—
Stop.
I needed to get a grip, buy some brain bleach and dose the butterflies in my stomach with propofol. I was going to be living with this guy for a couple of months. I couldn’t be following him around, drooling like some teenager with a crush. Besides, I knew that an obsession over Joshua was dangerous. Literally. I needed to construct an impenetrable Joshua Luca forcefield around myself.
This was strictly a friend zone.
I didn’t know where to look first: the amazing one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view toward the Millennium Wheel, the ginormous living room with sofas that looked like gooey marshmallow, or that pesky dimple in Joshua’s left cheek that had had me hypnotized since I was twelve.
“This is where you live?” I asked, trying to pretend I hadn’t noticed the dimple. “You have exceptionally good taste for someone whose greatest childhood pleasure was giving my brother wedgies when he least expected it. It looks like a huge hotel room.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and his gaze hit the floor in exactly the same way as when he used to flirt with Thea. He managed to combine confidence with bashfulness in a way I’d always found completely adorable. Joshua didn’t have a shy bone in his body, and I wondered when exactly he realized how sexy a little humility can be. “I can’t take credit for the decoration. It’s residences of the Park Lane International.”
“Residences? As in, you live in a flat that’s part of a hotel? You can order room service whenever you like? And use the gym and stuff?”
“And stuff,” he confirmed, nodding.
“Wow.” I’d spent the previous year sleeping under canvas on a fold-up bed. Five-star luxury was going to take some getting used to. Except I wasn’t about to get used to it. I glanced around, trying to see where I might put my things. There only seemed to be one door. Maybe I was on the sofa. “Where am I sleeping?”
“The oven? The bath?” Joshua grinned. “Or maybe the bed in the bedroom? It’s a conventional choice but definitely the most comfortable.”
Joshua towered above me, his chest wider and broader than it had been when I’d last seen him. He still had the sense of humor of a seventeen-year-old boy. “I’m laughing on the inside. Seriously, Joshua. Which way?”
He shrugged. “I’ve not been in here before. I’m next door in apartment P1. I guess it’s over here.” He strode across the living room and pushed open a door. “Yep. This is the bedroom.”
“Wait, you don’t live in this flat? I thought I was coming to stay in your spare bedroom.”
“You hoping to see me in my boxers in the morning?” He grinned and widened his eyes suggestively.
I couldn’t deny I’d wondered what Joshua looked like in his boxers in the sixty minutes since we’d left the airport, but I certainly wasn’t about to admit to it. “Mum told me you had a spare bedroom.”
“This is like the guest bedroom for the penthouse. It’s a separate flat that’s only available for residents of my place. It’s like having a pool house or something.”
Decoding the guy-speak, he wanted his own space. “Joshua, if you didn’t want me to stay with you, you just needed to say. I have other friends.” I wasn’t sure I had that many in London, actually. Most of them were scattered about the country. And the world. But I didn’t need Joshua taking pity on me—I could have figured it out. My mother had begged me to stay with him—told me that he was lonely in London and needed the company. Clearly she just wanted to get her own way. Past experience should have been a warning, but I’d been too tired to argue with her and agreed to stay with him until I found a place of my own.
“You’re acting like I’ve asked you to stay in the boot of my car.” He was completely unfazed by my reaction. “I got this place for three months. It’s no big deal.”
“Wait, you rented it for three months?” I couldn’t bear to think how much that might be costing. “Return the key. There’s no way I can afford—”
Joshua stepped toward me and stroked my arm as if he were trying to tame a wild horse. I tried to ignore the heat, the way his fingers seemed to press into me with authority, the way he smelled so incredible when he was so close.
“It’s no big deal. I’m not expecting you to pay for any of it.”
I shook off his arm. Physical contact threatened to ignite my old crush like a match to tinder. “Joshua!” He didn’t get it at all. “That’s even worse. I’m not expecting you to cover my rent. The entire reason you stay in someone’s spare room is to avoid incurring the expense at all.”
“But you don’t have the expense. If it makes you feel better, you can pretend it’s my spare room.”
“I need a shower.” I collapsed on the sofa, jetlag, travel, and the last thirteen months catching up with me all at once. I sank into the marshmallow cushions and wondered if I’d ever move again. “Have you paid? Can you get your money back?”
“No. I signed something. And anyway, where else are you going to go? Someone’s spare room or worse, a sofa, when you can be here?” He nodded toward the view. “You’ve been off curing the sick in faraway places. You can see this as your reward.”
I didn’t want praise or thank-yous. “You’re ridiculous.”
He smirked. “You’re welcome. I presume you’re hungry.” He messed about on his phone. “You haven’t turned into one of those do-gooding vegans, have you?”