The Casanova (The Miles High Club) Page 13

  I snatch the card back from him. Excitement bubbles in my stomach as I stare at the flowers. I imagine Elliot ordering what to write on the card. “I need to call him and say thank you.”

  “Yes.” Daniel smiles as he grabs my shoulders and turns me toward the door. “Yes, do it now. Come downstairs so I can listen.”

  “No.” I laugh. “I’m doing it in private tonight after you leave.”

  Daniel puts his arm around me as we walk toward the stairs and he kisses my temple. “Seems Elliot Miles has some taste after all.”

  I pace back and forth with my phone in my hand. It’s 8 p.m. on Christmas Eve and I have to call him.

  I’m nervous as hell and my heart is beating hard and fast in my chest.

  He called me years ago at a conference looking for a report, and I saved his number so I knew not to answer if he ever called me again. Never in a million years did I think I would be calling to thank him for flowers.

  What do I say?

  Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful . . . then what? Hopefully he will lead the conversation from there.

  I close my eyes as I steel myself.

  I have to call, it’s rude not to thank him.

  Right.

  Just do it.

  Oh hell. I put my hand over my stomach to try and calm myself. I feel like I’m about to throw up.

  My finger hovers over his name . . . shit. I close my eyes and press call.

  I pace back and forth as it rings. Maybe he’s busy. I mean, it’s Christmas Eve, of course he’s busy.

  “Hello,” his deep voice answers.

  Oh fuck.

  “Elliot, hi. It’s Kate.”

  “Hello Kate.” There is chatter in the background. “Let me go somewhere quiet so I can hear you.” I hear him walk and then a door close. “That’s better.”

  I screw up my face. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”

  “Like you.”

  I smile goofily. “Are you always so smooth?”

  He chuckles. “I do my best.”

  We fall silent.

  “What are you up to?” he asks.

  “Nothing much, just wrapping presents. You?”

  “I’m at a cocktail party at my parents’ house.”

  I imagine the rich and famous people that he would mix with; his life and mine are complete opposites.

  “I won’t keep you, I’ll let you get back to the party,” I whisper.

  “No rush, I’d rather talk to you. These people are dull.”

  I smile as I pace back and forth, so nervous that I can’t stand still.

  “What are you doing for Christmas Day tomorrow?” he asks.

  “My brother and sister are coming over, what about you?”

  “Just at my parents’ house in the Hamptons. Tristan cooks.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, he fancies himself as a bit of a chef. He’s done it since he was about eighteen; the meals have thankfully gotten a lot better since then.”

  I smile as I imagine the gorgeous Tristan Miles in an apron.

  “Ten days until I see you,” he whispers.

  What?

  My heart somersaults in my chest. “I can’t wait,” I whisper back.

  We fall silent again.

  “Go back to your party.” I smile.

  “I don’t want to.”

  Oh . . . he’s just so . . .

  “You’ve made my day,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Not soon enough.”

  I close my eyes as excitement thrums through my body.

  Is this really happening?

  “Merry Christmas, Kate Landon,” he whispers in his deep, sexy voice.

  I smile broadly. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miles.”

  We hang on the line for longer than we should, neither of us wanting to hang up.

  Eventually the phone clicks as he ends the call and I throw it onto the bed and twirl on the spot in glee.

  Holy fucking shit.

  We sit around the Christmas table and eat in silence.

  The food is delicious, the carols are on in the background.

  But it’s hard—there are two people who should be here. Every year I hope this is the last bad one; every year I’m sadly disappointed.

  It’s all I can do not to run up to my room and cry on my bed. I don’t want to do Christmas if it makes me feel this empty.

  It just isn’t fair.

  Elanor, my sister, and Brad, my brother, eat in silence too—I know we all share the same feelings on this one.

  We are all so different. Elanor is classically beautiful, she’s sophisticated and smart and wears only designer clothes. She mixes with the elite crowd and has a swanky job in imports, always traveling the world with some new exotic boyfriend. My eyes roam over her: every man who has ever laid eyes on Elanor has fallen hopelessly in love with her.

  My dad used to say that she was blessed by the gods. Even her birthmark is perfect, a small, pink love heart just below her ear high up on her neck. How is it possible that a birthmark is sexy?

  Brad is more like me and appreciates the simple things in life. He’s a physiotherapist and has just opened his own practice here in London. He had a girlfriend for six years but they recently broke up. He said that they became best friends and the fire just fizzled out between them. I thought they were going to be together forever; the thought of fires fizzling out between two people so in love scares the crap out of me. If it could happen to them, it could happen to anyone.

  “This is beautiful, Kate.” Brad gestures to his food. “It really is.”

  “Thanks.” I try to make conversation. “The potato is Grandma’s recipe.”

  Brad nods, too welled up with emotion to reply.

  We usually hang out with our extended family, aunts and uncles and cousins. But three years ago, we decided to be on our own at Christmas, so if we wanted to be sad, we could. There is nothing worse than pretending to be happy when you’re dying a little inside.

  “I’ve found a buyer for Mum and Dad’s house,” Elanor announces.

  I frown. “We aren’t anywhere near selling, it’s going to take six months to clean out everything.”

  “I’ve done it.”

  “Done what?” Brad replies.

  “Cleaned out Mum and Dad’s house.”

  “What?” I frown again. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s been six years, someone had to do it.”

  “We told you we wanted to do it together.”

  “Well, you two have been fucking around for forever.”

  “Because we weren’t ready,” I stammer. “Where is their stuff?”

  “Gave most of it to charity.”

  I fall back in shock as my eyes well with tears. If she hit me with an axe it would hurt less. “Tell me you’re lying.”

  “What good is it to us? I donated it all.”

  “What?” I cry as I jump from the table. “How could you?”

  “You better be fucking lying,” Brad growls. “We told you not to touch their house.”

  “Somebody had to do it. I’m sick of waiting for you two.”

  “Where are their things?” I cry.

  “I told you, I donated a lot of it.”

  I get a vision of all Mum and Dad’s precious belongings sitting in a charity shop. “Where?” I begin to cry uncontrollably.

  “Calm down,” she huffs. “I kept the photos.”

  “What about my things in the attic?” I ask.

  “Gone.” She shrugs casually without a care in the world.

  I think of all Mum’s cross-stitch and crockery, her clothes and all the things I wanted to pass down to my children one day, and I cry harder.

  How could she?

  “I cannot believe you would do this to us . . . Actually, I can,” Brad yells. “You think of nobody but yourself. You’re the most selfish person I’v
e ever met. You know damn well Kate wanted those things.”

  My chest is wracked with tears and I just need to get away from her.

  I run upstairs to my bedroom and slam the door.

  I can hear Elanor and Brad having the screaming match of all screaming matches and I put my pillow over my head to try and block out the sound of fighting.

  It’s not supposed to be like this.

  Merry fucking Christmas.

  Hi Pinkie,

  Merry Christmas,

  How was your day?

  I can hardly read his message through my swollen eyes. I’m not going to drag him down.

  It was great.

  How was yours?

  I screw up my face in tears as I wait for his reply.

  When I talk to him, I feel better.

  Edgar Moffatt, my sweet distraction.

  The only problem is our friendship isn’t even real.

  Elliot only wants me for sex and I have to lie to Edgar for him to even talk to me.

  I angrily swipe the tears away so I can read his messages.

  I know it’s bad; my life is a mess.

  My phone rings and the name Elliot lights up the screen, and my heart somersaults in my chest.

  “Hello.” I smile as I answer it. I haven’t spoken to him since I called him to say thank you for my flowers a few days ago.

  “Hi,” his deep, sexy voice replies.

  “How are you?” I ask. It feels good to hear his voice. I mean, I message Edgar every day but he doesn’t know it’s me.

  “I’m back in London.”

  I frown. “I thought you were getting back next week.”

  “I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  My mouth drops open in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I’ll pick you up at seven tonight?”

  I smile. “Okay.”

  “See you then.”

  He hangs up and I put my hands over my mouth.

  Holy shit . . . he couldn’t wait to see me.

  I stare at myself in the full-length mirror in awe. I’m pimped up to the nines and I like what I see.

  Daniel has had a field day picking out my clothes for tonight—we shopped up a storm today. I’m wearing a black fitted dress with spaghetti straps and nude stilettos; my blonde hair is out and full and I have natural makeup on.

  I may have also had a little spray tan and I hope he doesn’t notice. I don’t want to appear like I’m trying too hard.

  It’s just turned seven when the headlights pull up out the front, and I put on my long black coat and make my way downstairs.

  Daniel’s door opens and I point to him in a warning. “Don’t come out here.”

  “Have fun.”

  I blow him a kiss and he waves, before closing his bedroom door again. I asked them to stay in their rooms while Elliot picked me up, just for tonight. It’s awkward enough without adding other people to the mix.

  He knocks at the door and I close my eyes—here we go.

  I open the door in a rush and there he stands: black jeans, grey shirt, and a blazer.

  His dark hair is messed to perfection and his big, blue eyes smile as he sees me.

  “Hi,” I breathe.

  He steps forward and takes me firmly into his arms and kisses me, no hello, no warning.

  Just lips, and suction, and oh hell . . . I’ve had a good night already.

  Chapter 10

  He stands back and with my hand in his, he holds it up while his gaze drops to my toes and back up to my face. “You look beautiful,” he whispers.

  I smile softly.

  He kisses me again. “Let’s go, before I eat my dessert before dinner.”

  He leads me out to the Bentley and opens the rear door and I slide in.

  The driver nods in a greeting, and Elliot slides into the seat beside me.

  “Andrew, this Kate.”

  “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  Andrew pulls out into the traffic and Elliot holds my hand on his lap; his thumb dusts back and forth over it as if he’s deep in thought.

  “How was New York?” I whisper. Can Andrew hear what we are saying? This is weird, having someone listen to our conversation.

  Elliot gives me a slow, sexy smile and leans down and takes my lips in his. “It didn’t hold me there, put it that way,” he murmurs against my lips; his thumb rubs back and forth over my cheekbone as he stares down at me.

  Oh . . .

  Good grief, this man wrote the book on seduction.

  I already want my dessert too.

  I smile bashfully as I feel my cheeks heat.

  He’s so intense.

  He pulls back and licks his lips, tasting my lipstick. “In a moment, Andrew is going to drop you at the restaurant. We will circle the block and you will go in and say you are a guest of Mr. Miles—they will take you to a private dining room.”

  My face falls.

  “I’ll join you in two minutes. We’ll have privacy this way.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it as if to soften the blow; he can sense my disappointment. “You’ll get used to it, sweetheart,” he says softly. “This is how I am.”

  I fake a smile and turn my attention out of the window; he doesn’t want to be photographed with me.

  Stop it.

  “Maybe I should do a runner before you get there,” I murmur.

  He chuckles. “Try it and see what happens to you.” He lifts my hand to his lips once more. “I would track you down.”

  “I can run fast,” I tease.

  “I run faster.”

  We stare at each other and I get the feeling that on some level I’ve just been warned.

  He likes control.

  “We don’t have to go to a restaurant if you don’t want to,” I offer. “Seems like a lot of hassle.”

  “No, I’ve booked already. It’s my favorite, the food and cocktails are to die for. You’ll like it, I promise.”

  I nod and he holds my hand on his lap.

  Moments later the car pulls up outside an Italian restaurant. I can see a few photographers seated on crates just up the road.

  “I’ll let you out around the corner, Kate,” Andrew says casually.

  “Okay.”

  The car turns the corner and pulls over. “Just go into the foyer of Bella Donna and tell them you’re a guest of Mr. Miles, they’re expecting you,” Elliot reminds me.

  I nod. “Okay.” I go to get out of the car and he pulls me back into the seat and kisses me once more. My nervous eyes flick to Andrew in the front seat as he stares straight ahead: how many times has he seen this scenario?

  This is weird.

  I pull out of his kiss and open the car door in a rush.

  I walk around the corner and into the restaurant.

  The hostess smiles. “Hello.”

  “Hi, I’m a guest of Mr. Miles.”

  The woman fakes a smile and looks me up and down. “Of course, this way please.”

  I follow her through the restaurant and she opens a large door and we walk down a corridor; she opens another double door and there’s a room with its own fireplace and a table set for two. It’s lit with candles and the room is ultra-romantic.

  She pulls out a chair and takes my coat. “Can I get you a drink while you wait for Mr. Miles?”

  I stare at her, she knows the drill; how many women does he bring to this room?

  “Yes, I’ll have a margarita and a tequila shot, please.”

  She smirks.

  “Actually, make that two shots.”

  “Okay.” She goes to walk off.

  “Can you hurry with the shots please?” I all but beg.

  She smiles broadly. “One of those nights?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Sure thing.” She disappears out and I look around the room. Wow. It really is out of this world, looks like I’m in a fancy ski lodge in Switzerland or something . . . not that I’ve ever been to a fancy ski lodge in Switzerland, but this
is what I imagine it would look like.

  The door opens and Elliot appears, smiles, bends, and kisses me before taking a seat. “Hello.”

  He’s very kissy.

  I force a nervous smile and the waitress arrives with a silver tray.

  Oh no, you were supposed to bring that before he got here, fool.

  “Here you are, one margarita and two tequila shots.” She places them down in front of me; my eyes flick up to Elliot and he smirks, clearly amused.

  “Thanks.”

  “Thirsty?” he asks.

  I nod, pick up my margarita and take a sip, wishing I could drain the whole damn glass.

  “I’ll have a bottle of Barbaresco 1996,” Elliot tells the waitress.

  “Of course, sir.” She disappears again.

  With a shaky hand I sip my margarita and Elliot leans his face on his hand as he watches me. His pointer finger runs up his temple, and he seems completely relaxed. “Are you nervous?”

  “Little bit.” I take a bigger gulp of my drink.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “You can pass me that tequila.”

  He raises an eyebrow and passes me a shot glass.

  Oh hell, I look like the world’s biggest loser, but it’s either skull this or be a nervous nutcase all night. I tip my head back and drain the glass.

  “You swallow well.”

  I glance up.

  His eyes are dark and we both know he’s not talking about the tequila.

  Okay, it’s official, Elliot Miles has plans to break my vagina tonight.

  I can already tell.

  “Umm . . .” I hold my hand out for the other glass, not drunk enough for this conversation.

  He passes the other shot glass over and I knock it back, just as the waitress arrives with the fancy bottle of wine. “Here you are, sir.” She pours a little into a glass for Elliot to taste.

  He swishes it around his mouth. “That’s fine, thank you. We’d like privacy please. I’ll call for you when I want something.”

  I can see her smirk under her serious facade.

  “Yes, sir.” She disappears back into the kitchen and I know that she knows exactly why I’m slugging tequila like a sailor. I want to go back to the kitchen, discuss this messed-up situation, and drink with her.

  Elliot reaches under the table and, with a sharp movement, pulls my chair around closer to his. “That’s better.” He puts his large hand over my thigh. “I want to touch you.”