Unbound (13 page)

When he comes toward me, my heart almost stops again and I can’t breathe. Because he just looks so unbelievably relaxed and handsome and in a flash I remember how his arm and chest muscles felt, tensing up beneath the fabric of his shirt. And because I know what he can arouse in me, when he wants to.

“What’s happening?” He looks at me questioningly. “Can’t you get in?”

I feel heat rising up in me and turning my cheeks red and I hope he thinks it’s just embarrassment at my bad luck. Which
is
extremely embarrassing, actually. Why do I always have to look so incompetent when he’s around?

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my keys,” I confess timidly.

He’s standing next to me and my knees are getting really wobbly. I feel just like I did in the elevator.

“Well, what now?” He clearly plans to solve my problem before he drives on. I shrug my shoulders. “I rang the bell. Maybe there’s someone there to let me in. And if not, I guess I’ll wait.” And then I think of something, which makes my heart start beating even faster than it already is. “Or I could—come with you.”

I say it really quietly because I’m not even sure myself exactly what I’m suggesting. He hasn’t even told me where he’s going but it seems pretty likely that he’s going to the club.

He obviously understands what I’m telling him. I can tell from the expression in his eyes, the way something flares up in them. But it’s over again as quickly as it started, and a deep furrow forms between his brows. Then he bends forward so that his face is very close to mine.

“Be careful what you wish for, Grace. It might come true. And it might be very different from what you imagine.”

I can hear what he’s saying but my brain has switched to feeling mode. His lips are only a few inches away from mine and I’m completely focused on them alone.

“And perhaps it wouldn’t,” I whisper, breathless.

He’s silent for a moment and then he gives me that breathtakingly charming smile of his, making my heart falter again.

“Oh yes, Grace, it would be different.” He bends his head a little further forward. “So you’d better not lead me into temptation …”

The front door bursts open. Marcus is standing in the doorway. Jonathan immediately takes a step back and the moment is past. Damn. “Grace?” Marcus looks back and forth from Jonathan to me suspiciously. “Is everything OK?”

“She forgot her key,” Jonathan explains, before I can. For a moment, he looks annoyed at Marcus’s sudden appearance and then his eyes seem to shut themselves off. I can see it. It’s as if someone just closed a curtain. “Well, you can get in now,” he says, turning to me. His smile is cool now. Reserved. The smile of a stranger. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He gives Marcus a nod and then goes back to the car with long strides. As soon as he’s closed the door behind him, the limousine sets off, turns smoothly and disappears down the street.

Marcus looks at the big car with such hostility that I almost have to laugh. Or would, if I weren’t still busy considering my own confused feelings. “Who was that?” His tone clearly expresses distrust.

“Jonathan Huntington,” I reply, almost sighing as I say it. But I’m able to pull myself together.

This seems to astonish him. “The boss himself?” He’s familiar with the name from Annie’s and my stories but he doesn’t seem to have enjoyed meeting him in person.

“Exactly.” I really don’t want to talk to Marcus about Jonathan, so I push him into the hall. “Let’s go in, OK? I’m so happy you were home. That darn key. I mean, I’m always so darn forgetful about my keys.” Marcus follows me hesitatingly, looking back out to the street as if to make certain that Jonathan’s really gone before closing the front door again.

“Does he want something from you?” The fact that Jonathan and I were standing so close to each other obviously didn’t escape his notice. Closer than normal for a business relationship.

“No,” I answer, feeling dejected. “He was just giving me a ride home.”

But there is something going on between us, I think, as I head up the stairs with Marcus. Jonathan Huntington is an incredibly attractive man and he’s not immune to my charms. You’d better not lead me into temptation. That’s what he said. So I could—lead him into temptation. He’s played with the idea, just as I have. And if Marcus hadn’t arrived …

What, Grace? What would have happened if he really had taken you with him? With him to his place or to the club? Unfortunately, I have absolutely no idea and I curse the fact that I’m so inexperienced.

“Shall I make some tea?” Marcus asks, once we get upstairs. I’m about to decline but then it occurs to me that this would be rude, so I nod.

“Yes, please. And I need to eat something. I’m starving.”

“I just made myself an omelette. Would you like one, too?”

“Yes, please,” I answer, but I stop in front of my door, while he is already on his way to the kitchen. “I’ll be there in a moment, OK?”

Marcus nods, smiling and leaves me in the corridor. He’s so sweet. But he’s not Jonathan.

With a gentle sigh, I hang my jacket on the coat rack, take my purse to my room, and sit down on my bed. When I glance at the nightstand, I see the key lying there and have to smile.

What a day, I think, and I’m already certain that I won’t get much sleep tonight. Because I just can’t get Jonathan Huntington out of my mind. And because I know, with the certainty of a sleepwalker, that there’s no going back now. I want to find out what happens if I lead him into temptation. Absolutely. No matter how much everyone warns me off. No matter how much he does. He can forget about me forgetting it.

Smiling grimly, I get up and go and join Marcus in the kitchen.

I’ve drunk too much. Far too quickly, and far too much. Mainly sparkling wine. No, champagne. We’ve been at this very fancy restaurant for two hours now—it’s some kind of gourmet temple in Covent Garden, extremely chic and probably extremely expensive. It’s a business dinner, nothing special. I ought to be used to them by now. But I can’t hold out much longer.

Jonathan is sitting next to me, talking to the Earl of Davenport, a man in his late fifties as far as I can tell, who generously invited me to call him Richard right from the start, after we arrived. He’s got a red face with lots of broken blood vessels—suggesting alcoholism—and looks rather bloated in his made-to-measure suit. His companion is a pretty blonde in a short designer dress named Tiffany Hastings, who must be about my age—mid-twenties on the outside—and, unlike him, is slender and pretty—and unfortunately rather dumb, which doesn’t make the situation any easier. Especially since the two men seem to expect me to make conversation with her. But I don’t want to. Because I’m so terribly frustrated.

It’s Friday evening and the end of my second week as an intern in London. I’ve spent nine of my twelve days here at Jonathan’s side. I’ve been driven all over London and taken part in meetings and business dinners, discussions and other appointments. But, despite our incredibly hot kiss in the elevator, which I still dream about every night, and our near-kiss in front of my apartment door, my hopes that something would change between us have proven to be nothing more than a fantasy. Because, even though he often comes with when Steven drives me home in the evenings, he’s never accompanied me to the door again. He waits in the car—or he gets out first, at the ominous club I don’t dare ask about.

I’ve really tried to flirt with him. But, unfortunately, I’m no expert at that. Actually, I’m a complete amateur. And my attempts haven’t been successful, which is really starting to bother me. Because my state of mind, where Jonathan is concerned, at least—has if anything worsened.

At the beginning—quite apart from the fact that he is one of the most attractive men on the planet—I admired his successful, smart side. The way everything he touches turns to gold. It would probably have ended at that, if he hadn’t let me get so close to him. Then I would definitely have met the fate Annie warned me about right from the beginning. I would have been one of the many women who gaze at him all dreamy-eyed from afar and ask themselves how to seduce that good-looking, fascinating man. But I’m way past that stage. I’ve got it much worse because I’ve been closer to him than most and saw a side of him that he doesn’t usually reveal. A dark side. He’s hiding something from other people, a secret as mysterious as he is. And that’s precisely the puzzle that attracts me, as if by magic.

He must have a reason for building such a thick wall around himself and not letting anyone get close to him. For first kissing me so wildly and passionately, and now not wanting anything more to do with me. For avoiding every kind of relationship, except for his friendships with Alexander Norton and the mysterious Yuuto Nagako—and the bizarre arrangement he has with me, whose meaning I don’t yet understand.

Annie is skeptical about how Jonathan made me his assistant. She’s still convinced that he must have ulterior motives, and is still warning me about him. And she also keeps interrogating me as to what we’ve been up to, as if afraid Jonathan is going to eat me for breakfast if I don’t watch out. I still haven’t told her what happened in the elevator on my second day, but she could tell right away, the next morning at breakfast, that something had changed. I barely survived her cross-examination.

I did tell my sister, though. Hope is far away and isn’t so judgemental about it all. “Jonathan Huntington kissed you? Really? How exciting!” She almost squealed with glee. “Tell me about it, Gracie, I want to know everything, every little detail.” I think she’s so enthusiastic about it because she had almost given up hope of my finding any man with whom I have chemistry. She’s even ready to put up with the fact that he’s a little too English and much too arrogant. Besides, she understands why I find him so difficult to resist, because she also found him very attractive, from his photo in the magazine. But she hasn’t been able to advise me on how I can manage to make him unable to resist me.

Perhaps I’ve simply overestimated myself. The thought crossed my mind a few days ago and now it’s been spreading like poison. Perhaps he didn’t find our kiss as amazing as I did. Perhaps he noticed how inexperienced I was right away and now he doesn’t feel like repeating the experience.

I quickly gulp down another big slug of champagne. Jonathan sees and interrupts his conversation with Richard, the puffy Earl of—no idea where, though I had it a moment ago—and bends down toward me.

“Grace, you shouldn’t drink so much,” he says quietly, sounding like my Grandma when she thinks Hope and I have strayed from the straight and narrow. But that’s exactly what I want to do. Would love to do, in fact. If only he would let me …

“I’m a big girl,” I tell him. I’m having a little trouble enunciating my words clearly. But I can still just about manage it. “Even though you obviously don’t believe me.”

I stubbornly empty what’s left in my glass. The very discreet waiter appears almost immediately to ask me if I want a refill and I nod, staring defiantly at Jonathan, daring him to forbid it. Which, of course, he doesn’t. After all, we’re not alone. His British politeness won’t allow him to—and I’m going to take advantage of that.

That’s something I’ve learned from him. Despite how he can be unbelievably arrogant, good manners are very important to him. Like many Brits, obviously, he’s deeply averse to arguing in public. So I’m pretty sure he won’t put me down in front of the red-veined Earl and his stupid girlfriend, Tiffany. Just as he didn’t at the airport.

But at the same time, I almost wish he would. I wish he would flip out and swear at me. Or drag me away. Anything except this cool self-restraint. I want the Jonathan who overpowered me in the elevator. Something burst out of him then, something, which made his facade crumble.

We’re still looking at each other and I realize that my behavior hasn’t left him completely cold. There’s anger flickering in the depths of his blue eyes. Good. I quickly take another sip and smile at Tiffany, who’s saying something pointless. I think it’s about the ring she’s wearing, a present from the incredibly generous Richard.

I bend over to Jonathan and pull him toward me, because I want to tell him something that I don’t want the others to hear. He did the same thing to me just now, but I can tell from the way his eyes flash that he doesn’t think it’s my place to do the same to him. Let him think that. The alcohol has given me courage; it’s really gone to my head now. I’m hot and I can feel my cheeks burning, a burning which increases when I touch him.

“So, why are we actually here?” I ask him quietly.

At least I hope it’s quiet. I don’t really have my voice completely under control anymore. “You don’t have any business dealings with the Earl of …” I’ve forgotten his name again but I don’t care. “Do you?”

I really don’t understand why Jonathan wanted to meet with this revolting guy. It’s supposed to be a business dinner but, at least while I was still able to listen actively; there wasn’t a single mention of a joint project at any point in the conversation. And I can’t imagine how a collaboration between the two of them could possibly work. Because there is an underlying tension between them. Over the course of the evening, the supposed courtesies they’ve been exchanging have come to seem more and more like barely-concealed, mutual sizing up.

But perhaps at this stage, I’m simply too drunk to be able to judge accurately. Jonathan doesn’t seem to like my question. His lips are pursed when he answers.

“Richard is a friend of my father’s. They go hunting together,” he says tightly, putting his arm around my shoulder without taking his eyes off Richard, who is leaning back examining us with interest. Jonathan digs his hand into my forearm, clearly as a warning. Obviously, I wasn’t quiet enough. But I’m enjoying his touch and I smile at him innocently, which makes his expression turn even more serious.

He bends all the way down to me, so that I can feel his breath on my ear, which sends a shiver racing down my spine. “Pull yourself together, Grace,” he whispers again, but this time his voice sounds so stern that it penetrates my foggy brain. “You’re drunk.”