Cross My Hart

‘I wasn’t not keen; it just hadn’t occurred to me before. But that’s me—and that’s so very Penny.’ I shake my head. ‘If I hadn’t met her, I suspect I’d be running my life on a very narrow, very straight line.’

He nods thoughtfully, and his silence encourages me to continue.

‘I guess I’m born with more than my fair share of the conservative in my blood.’ His expression flickers with something I recognise: curiosity.

‘Is that a bad thing?’

I’m confused for a moment—the curiosity or the conservative tendencies?

‘Being conservative,’ he prompts, as though he’s read my mind.

I shake my head, compressing my lips. ‘It’s almost a prerequisite in my family,’ I say simply. ‘Mum and Dad have had the same jobs all their lives—good, reliable government jobs. Civil servant salaries and pensions, guaranteed security. My brother and sister followed suit.’

‘It wasn’t for you?’

I shake my head. ‘Nope.’ I look towards the window, my eyes sweeping over the high-rises beyond the small window of his hotel room. ‘I always wanted to come down here. Growing up in a small town is—I guess I see it differently now, but, as a kid and a teenager, I hated it. I just wanted to travel and see the world, and not to have everyone I bump into know everything about me.’ I pull a face of distaste. ‘Sydney seemed like some shimmering oasis on my horizon. I couldn’t believe it when I got accepted to uni here.’

‘So you’re conservative in a different way,’ he hedges, and again I feel like he’s weighing me up, analysing me cell by cell.

‘Yes and no. My ex and I started our business from scratch. We were broke as a joke for the first six months, and my parents thought I’d lost the plot. There’s no job security when you’re running the show.’ I shrug. ‘But the rewards are also potentially so much greater.’

‘You went into business with your ex?’

‘He wasn’t my ex at the time,’ I say with a droll shake of my head. ‘My crystal ball wasn’t working the day we signed the papers.’

He opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head, my eyes sparking when they meet his. ‘I don’t really want to think about him right now,’ I say honestly. ‘Tomorrow will be for that, him, the real world out there. Tonight’s just this...’

CHAPTER FOUR (#ucf14da31-5283-5269-a913-fe1ae66de780)

I WAKE WITH a start.

Where am I? My phone is buzzing. And there’s a body beside me. A warm, powerful, tanned body with tattoos on his hips and chest.

I lift a hand to my forehead as the events of last night—no!—I check the time—it’s just before midnight—the last few hours—come rushing back to me.

Jagger.

I sigh his name in my mind, my eyes devouring him in this unobserved moment. For he sleeps deeply, exhausted by all the sex.

And I mean all the sex. We ate together, a mountain of food, and then one thing led to another and we were in bed again, and somewhere after that we must have drifted off to sleep. The lights are still on.

I grab my phone off the table, my eyes bleary, and squint at the screen.

Penny’s face smiles back at me.

Frowning, I push my feet out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I push the toilet lid down gently then sit on top of it, swiping my phone to answer at the same time.

‘Penny?’ My voice is a hoarse whisper.

‘Gracie?’ She imitates it.

‘Why are you calling so late?’

‘I promised I’d get you home by midnight, didn’t I?’

I smile slowly, her dependability never in doubt. ‘That you did, lady.’

‘So? Where are you?’

My smile is self-conscious. ‘Not home yet.’

‘Oh my god,’ she squeaks. ‘You went back to his place?’

I nod, then, because it’s a phone conversation and nodding is pointless, clear my throat and say, ‘Yes.’

‘Gracie! I’m so proud of you! And? Was he everything those abs promised he would be?’

‘And more.’ A smile tickles my lips. ‘But I can’t talk now. I’m going to turn into a pumpkin unless I get out of here...’

Regret spirals inside of me. I don’t want to go. Not yet. But tomorrow is a hugely important day for me; I can’t mess it up. The whole future of my company is riding on it. This deal has the power to wrest me free of Gareth, to buy him out once and for all. Everything’s organised. I just need to show the buyer around the golf course, spend a few days showcasing the best the region has to offer, and then present the contracts...

I have to be fresh-faced and quick-witted; I’ve heard the buyer is a hard nut to crack and I am absolutely going to crack him.

Penny sighs. ‘As much as I hate to agree with you, I don’t want you working with that fuckwit Gareth for a moment longer. Away with you, Cinderella. Get thee to a taxi and texteth me when you’re home at your palace.’

‘Cinderella lives in a dungeon, I think.’

‘Fine, your dungeon.’ I can hear her epic eye-roll. ‘Just text me. Love you.’

‘You too.’

We hang up and I stare at my phone for a few moments, cradled against my naked legs.

I know I have to go, and yet I sit there for a few moments longer, bracing myself for the inevitable. This is just a sex thing, by the way. I’ve always known I’m a pretty sexual person—way more so than Gareth—but I never knew sex could be quite so...exhilarating. This went beyond sheer satisfaction. I felt like Jagger pushed me in every way possible and I abandoned myself to him, and this, in a way I wouldn’t have said was at all likely.

There’s nothing for it, though. I’ve worked too hard to potentially ruin a deal of this magnitude just because I’d really rather fall asleep next to his warm body and wake up in his arms...

With a sigh, I slip into the hotel room and dress as quietly as I can. And even though I’m barely louder than a mouse, I kind of wish he’d wake up and catch me in the act. Then I could explain in person. I could kiss him and one thing might lead to another, again.

He sleeps soundly and I stare at him for a few more self-indulgent seconds before grabbing the standard-issue hotel notepad off the desk and a pen from my bag.

Thanks...you were great. Grace.

It is short and to the point, but what else could I say? I’m never going to see this man again and soon this will be a very nice, very distant burn-me-alive memory.

* * *

Sydney is baking hot and here, on the private runway to the west of the airport, it feels like Satan’s waiting room. I stand at the base of the jet’s steps and cast an impatient glance at my watch.