“What do you think of that tie?” Alaric asked, pausing to glance in a shop window. “Would it suit me?”
Who gave a shit about a tie? “Sure, if you want to look like a double-glazing salesman.”
He just laughed.
When we moved off, his fingers grazed the small of my back, and I suppressed a shudder. Not because of the Daddy thing—that wasn’t how he meant it—but because of my past. Even on the rare occasions a man treated me civilly and with respect, the smallest touch could make me stiffen unintentionally. I’d learned to live with it in Harlequin’s because the bouncers would come running at a snap of my fingers, and I didn’t mind the odd back-slap or bro-hug from the guys in my parkour group, but caught unawares in the wild…
I forced myself to relax. To breathe.
Anyhow, it looked as though my time with Alaric might come to an end sooner rather than later when the preppy dude cut left into another hotel, this one a more modern cousin of Ash Court. Five glittering stars this time, with the addition of valet parking and a spa. How the other half lived.
“Do you think he’s staying here?” I whispered to Alaric.
He quickly scanned the lobby through the glass facade. Our target had taken the elevator, and I watched the lights above the doors as it rose. One, two, three floors, and then it stopped.
“Wait here. I’m going to speak to the receptionist.”
“On your own?”
He gave me a sheepish smile. “She’s female.”
And damn lucky. If I’d been a decade older, I’d have liked a dose of Alaric’s brand of charm.
“Fine, I’ll stay outside. Try to keep your dick in your pants.”
On the plus side, that gave me time for a sneaky cigarette, which served two purposes. One, I’d get a nicotine hit, and two, I’d have a perfect excuse for loitering. Nobody questioned a smoker. We just got dirty looks. And before you ask, I never bought the cigarettes. There were always dropped packets kicking around at Harlequin’s, and I made the most of it.
My phone buzzed as I lit up, and I quickly checked my messages. Lenny. Thank fuck.
Lenny: Man, this car’s the bollocks. And the bitch bought me three Happy Meals.
Me: Are you home?
Lenny: Yeah. Someone trashed the microwave again.
Bloody hell. The microwave was less than a month old, and guess who’d paid for it? That’s right—muggins here. But at least Lenny was safe. A weight lifted, and I closed my eyes and took a long inhale.
“Do you have a light? I apologise—I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The speaker was a man in his mid-thirties, maybe a touch older if he took care of himself. Short brown hair. Clean-shaven. An American accent with a hint of something else—French?—a suit that was definitely not polyester, a pink shirt, and a family-sized suitcase by his side. I thought men travelled light? The overall effect was slightly effeminate.
“Sure.” I offered him my lighter. “Checking in?”
“Out, actually. All good things must come to an end.”
“You were here on holiday?”
He took a long drag before he answered. “A little business, a little pleasure.”
“You picked the right week for it—the weather’s never normally this warm.”
“So I’ve heard. Do you live in London?”
As if on cue, a breath of wind blew smoke in my face, and a band of black cloud appeared over the building opposite, plunging us into shadow. This morning’s rain shower might have fizzled out, but the oppressive humidity signalled a thunderstorm was coming. I didn’t fancy being caught out in it.
“I’m from Nottingham. My dad’s here on a business trip, so I tagged along for some father-daughter bonding. He says I’m going through a phase.”
My companion chuckled. “We all have phases. When I was a teenager, I grew my hair long and learned to play the violin.”
Another gust, and this time, I didn’t get smoke. I got something almost as unpleasant and oddly familiar. Flowers, candy floss, and overly ripe pineapple. I’d only just managed to get the stink out of my nostrils, and now it was back. My imagination? Or…or… I glanced at Pink-Shirt Guy’s suitcase. It was certainly big enough to fit Bethany’s painting, but was I overthinking this? I took another surreptitious sniff. There was definitely a hint of Shimmer body spray in the air. Was it on my clothes? I hadn’t smelled it in the bar.
Pink-Shirt Guy stubbed out his cigarette and extended the handle of the case. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”
“You too.”
Shit, what should I do? I fumbled for my phone to call Alaric, but the damn thing slipped out of my hand and landed on the brickwork at my feet. The screen went dark, and I cursed under my breath. Another one bites the dust. Me and phones didn’t have a great relationship. We broke up on a regular basis, emphasis on the “broke.”
The guy was at his car now, a black Mercedes parked to the left of the hotel entrance. I memorised the registration number, but would it be enough? Long strides, don’t hurry… I got to the front of the hotel, but there was no sign of Alaric in the lobby, or the receptionist either. Tell me he wasn’t trading party favours for information?
What should I do? There were no taxis in sight, and even if there had been, cabs cost a fortune and I only had twenty quid and change on me. Then I saw it. A white delivery van parked outside the entrance, the window down and the keys in the ignition. Ah, fuck it. I already knew I was going to hell—at that point, I figured it was go big or go home.
The Mercedes paused, an indicator on, and turned left into traffic as I slid behind the wheel of the van. There was a hi-vis vest on the passenger seat, and I shrugged into it, then jammed the baseball cap beside it onto my head. If Pink-Shirt Guy looked in his mirror, hopefully he wouldn’t recognise me.
The van started with a quiet purr, and I eased out after the Mercedes. Fuck my damn life. I should’ve kept the handcuffs from earlier because when I got ahold of Lenny, he was never going out by himself again.
CHAPTER 14 - EMMY
“DID YOU EVEN go to Vinnie’s birthday party?” my husband asked. On screen, his dark eyes had turned into two hard chips of granite, and the rest of him didn’t look happy either. I propped my elbows on the desk in the study we shared at Albany House, our London home, and rested my chin in my cupped hands. Funnily enough, I hadn’t been thrilled by today’s events either.
“Yes, I went.” For all of twenty minutes after I left the gallery yesterday. Enough time to hand over a gift and take a couple of photos before I met Alaric for dinner. But then the office called and I had to go chase assholes. “I didn’t lie.”
“So Alaric just happened to be in town?”
Black was pissed, as I knew he would be. When it came to Alaric, he suffered from an irrational jealousy that clouded all reason. Other men got him wound up too, but with Alaric, the green-eyed monster was more like Godzilla. Day to day, I lived with it. Sometimes it could even be fun—jealous, possessive sex was wild like nothing else—but mostly, I wished he’d get over himself and accept that I was able to spend time in the same room as Alaric without wanting to stick my tongue down his throat.
Which was why I may have led him to believe I was coming to London to attend an old friend’s fortieth birthday celebration rather than hunting for a missing painting with an ex-lover.