The Casanova (The Miles High Club) Read online

I put my arm around her and we both eat our ice creams, me in silence, her through tears.

  I can feel the memories and love swimming around in her psyche as they overtake her.

  She makes me wish I was a plumber too.

  The moonlight streams through the window and I slowly peel off Kate’s dress.

  Something’s different with her; something changed between us when I bought her that ice cream.

  Her walls came down and I see a new vulnerability in her.

  It’s overpowering, intoxicating, and I want her more than ever if that’s humanly possible.

  Our lips are locked as we kiss tenderly, our hands undressing each other as fast as we can.

  Naked . . . I want to be naked.

  She pulls my shorts down and my cock springs free, and I lie her down on the bed.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are to me?” I whisper.

  She smiles up at me and my heart constricts.

  “Hang on.” I go to retrieve my condoms.

  “El . . . don’t,” she whispers.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Put on a condom. I want all of you tonight.”

  We stare at each other and . . . Fuck me.

  This woman . . .

  I lie down over her, the urge to be close so overbearing that I couldn’t control it even if I wanted to.

  We kiss and hold each other and, with an intimacy I’ve never known, she takes me.

  And holds me.

  And ruins me forever.

  KATE

  The plane pulls to a halt on the tarmac and I want to just throw myself onto the floor and kick and scream.

  I’m not getting off this plane, you can’t make me.

  Elliot lets out a deep sigh as he stares straight ahead. He looks over at me as he leans against the headrest. “We’re home,” he says.

  “Yep.” I fake a big, fat smile. “Yay.”

  He chuckles and leans over and kisses me. “I know.”

  The stewardess—what the hell is her name, anyway? I still haven’t caught it—comes from her little room, retrieves our luggage, and takes it to the door, and then the two captains come out and disengage the door. “Lovely to fly with you.” Elliot smiles, and shakes their hands. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, have a good night,” one of them replies.

  A bag attendant boards the plane and takes our bags. “Just these three?” he asks.

  “Yes please,” Elliot replies.

  He disappears back down the stairs.

  “Thank you.” I smile as I make my way out of the door; I’m hit with an icy wall of snow. Everything is white and miserable.

  Fucking freezing London . . . ugh . . . why do I come from here?

  Elliot walks out behind me and winces. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

  “Why aren’t I Spanish?” I say.

  “Because you’re English,” Elliot says as he takes my hand. “Careful,” he warns. “The stairs are slippery.” He slowly leads me down and into the car that’s waiting, a black Audi, not the Bentley.

  The driver is female and she smiles and opens the back door. Huh . . . who’s she?

  “Hello,” Elliot says as he gestures for me to get into the car first.

  He climbs in behind me and closes the door.

  The driver gets in and turns. “VIP parking on level 1A?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Elliot says as he takes my hand and brings it over to his lap.

  I frown in confusion and he kisses my fingertips. “I got Andrew to bring my car. I wanted to drive you home myself.”

  “Oh.” Maybe he’s going to stay over?

  I inwardly deflate. It’s probably so that Andrew doesn’t have to see my sad face when I get out of the car. “Great,” I lie.

  Five minutes later the driver pulls up in an underground parking lot and, sure enough, there, parked in pole position, is Elliot’s black Mercedes sports car.

  I wonder who brought Andrew home after he dropped the car here—did he catch a bus or did someone pick him up? What happens in these situations, is there a driver for the driver?

  Elliot puts my things into the trunk and ten minutes later we’re on the road to my place.

  He’s quiet and pensive, with both hands firmly on the wheel, and I’m staring through the windshield, internally wondering if I can tie him up and throw him in the trunk, perhaps hijack his plane and force them at gunpoint to take us back.

  I feel a distance creeping between us already: he isn’t my playful El here in London, he’s Elliot Miles . . . the hard-ass CEO of Miles Media.

  And the reality is, we don’t really know each other.

  Which is crap; if he wanted casual and didn’t want anything from our relationship, why did he have to be so damn sweet and affectionate? Is he even aware that he did it?

  Talk about mixed messages.

  It didn’t matter in the Canary Islands because we both knew the small amount of time that we had together was finite. Tied in a nice little bow, a week’s escape from reality.

  No strings attached.

  But now that we’re back, I feel uncertain already.

  I already know that I’m not ready to let him go yet, and maybe there is hope for us because damn it, we’re so good together. I just hope he feels the same.

  The car pulls up outside the front of my house and Elliot turns the engine off, leans his arm on the steering wheel, and looks over at me.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  He nods as his eyes hold mine.

  “I had an incredible time.”

  He breaks into a breathtaking smile. “Me too.”

  “Do . . .” I shrug. I shouldn’t be saying this but I can’t stop the words coming out of my mouth. “Do you want to come in?”

  “I can’t.” His gaze goes to out the front windshield. “I have a million emails to go through before work tomorrow. I haven’t opened my computer up once in a week and I can’t work late tomorrow night because I have a function on. If I don’t tackle them tonight the entire week will be a write-off.”

  “Ah . . .” I nod as the busy picture is painted.

  His hand runs up my thigh. “You’re a bad influence on me, Landon. I’ve never not worked on vacation.”

  I smile. “Well . . . you’re pretty fun to distract.”

  His eyes hold mine and there’s something hanging in the air between us.

  It feels a lot like . . . regret.

  “Okay.” I fake a smile.

  “Okay . . .” he replies.

  We stare at each other for a moment and I don’t know if he’s waiting for me to say something or . . . is he going to say something?

  When are we seeing each other again?

  Don’t ask, just be cool.

  I open the car door. “I’ll let you go.”

  “Alright.” He gets out of the car and opens the trunk.

  He has to ask to see me, I’m not pushing for something. He is the one who told me we’re just fucking after all, even though I know we aren’t. So, if he changed his mind, he has to pursue me.

  “Do you want me to carry your suitcase up to the front door for you?” he asks.

  “No.” I take it from him. “I’ve got it. Thanks anyway.”

  We stare at each other and it’s there again, the swirl in the air of unspoken words.

  “Goodbye Kate.” He leans down and kisses me softly, and my heart constricts.

  There’s no passion, no forbidden element, no promise of slamming me up against the car and taking me here; his kiss feels sad and full of regret. Or is that just me feeling clingy?

  Whatever it is, it sucks.

  I step back from him, the change in his demeanor something I don’t like. “Bye.” I turn and walk up the front steps and turn and give him a wave; he waves back and then, without hesitation, gets in his car and drives away before I’ve even put my key in the door.

  Deflation fills me. He’s gone.

  I watch the car as it disappears up t
he street, and I push the door open and walk in.

  Fuck’s sake.

  “I’m home,” I call.

  Daniel comes rushing from his bedroom. “Hello darling.” He laughs as he pulls me into a hug, holds me by my arms, and looks me up and down. “You look fabulous, darling—that suntan, though. How was it?”

  “Great.” I smile. “I had a wonderful time.”

  His face falls. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing, I had a great time,” I reply. “How could I have a bad time on holiday?”

  “And?” He raises his eyebrow.

  “Elliot was . . .” I pause as I think of the right wording. “Amazing.” I look around and fall onto the couch, and he falls down beside me.

  “I thought you were going to come back all in love and he would break your heart and I would have to hire a hitman.”

  “No.” I smile sadly. “Although, it would be very easy to fall in love with him.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing, he’s just fucking amazing and, like he said, it was just a week. He didn’t give me any false promises and I’m not reading into it, but I’d dearly love to see where it goes.”

  He nods as he processes my words. “Well, if he has half a brain he’ll come knocking the door down and will never let you go.”

  I smile, feeling grateful for his kind words. It’s not so bad to be back in my safe place. “Yeah . . . that’s what I was thinking.”

  “Have you eaten?” he asks.

  “I ate on the plane. Have you?”

  “No, didn’t want to cook.”

  “I’ll come with you if you want to go out somewhere.”

  “Yeah?” He smiles as he puts his arm around me.

  I put my head on his shoulder.

  “Do you feel like going to a Thai restaurant to watch me eat?” he asks.

  I smile. “Sure, I do.”

  Monday morning, I walk into the elevator like a rock star and I push the button to my floor with conviction.

  I’ve got this; whatever happens, happens.

  Elliot didn’t call me to say goodnight last night. I don’t know why I thought he would. Ed didn’t message me online either and it really doesn’t matter. I hardly noticed at all.

  I’m fine, fine, totally fine.

  I had the best holiday ever . . . let’s leave it at that.

  I’m faking it till I make it here, but whatever. It’s making me feel better.

  At least I now know that my heart still beats.

  I’m still in there somewhere, albeit a little damaged and broken, but I didn’t die with my parents after all, and there is happiness in my future, I just know there is.

  I smile as I step into the office; it was fun while it lasted.

  I’m hoping for more, but for the first time in a long time, I know I’ll be okay if there isn’t.

  It is what it is.

  Eleven a.m.

  Knock, knock, sounds at my office door. “Kathryn,” the familiar voice says.

  I glance up, it’s Elliot. A smile overtakes my face. “Hi.” I beam. I missed him last night.

  “Do you have that report on search engine usage that I asked for?” he snaps.

  I frown, taken aback by his greeting, or should I say, lack of it. “No, I can generate it now if you like.”

  “Thank you. Make it fast please, I need it in an hour.”

  He’s cold and detached—the Elliot Miles that I remember.

  My eyes search his.

  “For God’s sake don’t look at me like that, I’m not in the fucking mood,” he snaps before walking out.

  I stare after him . . . Huh?

  I sit in the cafeteria and the world is a blur.

  How was I looking at him?

  Was I all doe-in-the-headlights? Was my heart beating through my chest—could he see it?

  Probably . . . God.

  Back to reality with a thud.

  “Did you see Elliot Miles this morning?” one of the girls at the table says.

  “Fuck yes, with a suntan he’s even more lethal.”

  The hackles on my back rise as I eavesdrop.

  “He probably spent the break on a yacht in Ibiza with a supermodel or some shit. Who knows, he probably got married,” another girl replies.

  “He wouldn’t marry a supermodel,” an older woman comments. “Elliot Miles wouldn’t settle for that.”

  My eyes flick up. “What do you mean?”

  “Elliot will marry an artist, or an author or something philanthropic.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s very deep. Haven’t you noticed where his interests lie?”

  “No, where do his interests lie?”

  “In the art world. He will marry someone super-unique. That’s why he guards his private life so fiercely, so that all these little flings he has with bimbos along the way won’t hurt his chances when he meets the one that he wants.”

  My heart drops. “I guess.”

  I sip my tea . . . am I one of the said bimbos now? His words from earlier come back to me and I feel sick.

  For God’s sake don’t look at me like that, I’m not in the fucking mood.

  “Kate, wake up,” Daniel says as he sits on the bed.

  I try to pry my eyes open. I hardly slept a wink last night worrying about Elliot all night long.

  He didn’t call me, I didn’t hear from him, and I have no fucking idea what’s going on between us, but it’s not okay how he spoke to me yesterday.

  “Look at this,” Daniel snaps.

  He holds a folded newspaper up in front of my face.

  “What?” I frown.

  “Fucking look at it.”

  I screw up my face as I focus my eyes and read the headline.

  Elliot Miles leaves gala night with Varuscka Vermont.

  Huh?

  I sit up and snatch the paper from him.

  My eyes read the headline again and I look at the picture.

  Elliot is in black tie, and he and a dark-haired beautiful woman are in the back of his Bentley . . . Andrew is driving.

  “When was this photo taken?” I ask.

  “Last night.”

  My horrified eyes meet Daniel’s. “What the fuck?”

  Chapter 15

  I storm up the road like a monster, my inner rage at an all-time high.

  How dare he?

  How fucking dare he?

  Okay, so he didn’t want anything more . . . man up and tell me, you fucking spineless dipshit.

  Last time I checked, when you spend most of a week inside someone’s body, you at least owe them a simple conversation.

  Ugh, I’m furious. I can feel my blood boiling under my skin.

  I guess this is the mission accomplished, given that I dated Elliot to try and feel something.

  And I feel something for sure: thermonuclear atomic rage.

  I march into my building.

  “Good morning, nice day.” The doorman smiles.

  Is it?

  I fake a smile and keep walking. I can’t even make myself lie and agree with him.

  Stay out of my way world, I want blood.

  At 1 p.m., my email pings.

  Kate,

  I would like to see you in my office immediately.

  Elliot.

  Ha, I bet you would . . . you stupid fuck.

  I reply:

  Elliot,

  Sorry, I am too busy.

  Please email me your request and I will attend to it as soon as possible.

  Kate.

  A reply bounces straight back.

  Kate,

  Whatever you’re doing can wait.

  Get up here now!

  Now . . . exclamation mark . . . What?

  How dare he?

  My eyes nearly pop from their sockets.

  I hit the keyboard so hard I almost break the damn thing.

  Elliot Miles.

  Go fuck yourself!

  No, I sound like a child.
I delete my message and I try again.

  Elliot.

  Are you so incredibly stupid that you can’t see out of your . . .

  No, I delete.

  Don’t give him the satisfaction of stooping to his level. I close my eyes and inhale deeply as I try to calm myself down. Don’t let him get to you . . .

  Just ignore the stupid email.

  I get back to work and half an hour later my email pings again.

  Kate.

  Are you on your way?

  I’m waiting.

  My pressure cooker boils to the breaking point. I write back.

  I’m not coming.

  As I told you, I’m busy. Please forward your request via email.

  Stop wasting my time with unreasonable demands.

  I hit send.

  I don’t know who this guy thinks he is?

  How dumb can a human being be?

  I get up and walk to my filing cabinet and I slam it open, put the file in, and slam it shut.

  “Stupid asshole twat-head,” I mutter under my breath. I sit back down and hit my computer keys. “Stop turning off, fucker.”

  I exhale heavily, calm . . . calm . . . calm. Keep fucking calm.

  My stomach is churning and, honestly, I haven’t felt this out of control and unstable for a long time. I can’t do this to myself, I already know that this isn’t a healthy relationship for me. I can’t let myself be pulled back down into darkness by a toxic man.

  My office door opens and clicks closed and I glance up: Elliot stands before me. Perfectly fitted grey suit, square jaw, and dark hair. His presence instantly takes over the small space. Damn him for being so attractive. It really is infuriating. I drag my eyes back to my computer screen.

  “What are you doing?” he snaps.

  Don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

  “Working,” I reply calmly as I keep my eyes to the front.

  “I asked to see you.” From my peripheral vision I see his hands go into his trouser pockets as he waits for my reply.

  “And I said, email me your request. Now if you don’t mind, I’m very busy, Elliot. Please close the door on your way out.”

  “I gave her a lift, nothing more.”

  My eyes rise to his.

  “She had a fight with her date and was waiting for a cab, I simply offered her a lift.”

  I stare at him . . . is that true?

  I turn back to my computer. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He stays silent for a while as if assessing the situation. “What’s with the attitude?”