Chapter Seventeen
Two weeks of dinner dates, and he was killing his deadline.
Two weeks of Mila arriving at his house after six o’clock, looking like every sinful teacher fantasy he’d ever had, what with her glasses, ponytail, simple dress, sensible shoes, and battered leather satchel.
Sometimes they would end up in his bed before they ate.
Sometimes he couldn’t help but pull her into his arms and make love to her against the wall.
Sometimes she’d give him one of her looks—right eyebrow arched slightly, gaze direct and pointed—and he would know they were getting down to the business side of things straight away.
Truth be known, he enjoyed those evenings just as much.
Those evenings, he made it his mission to make her laugh, to see her relaxed and totally at ease in his life, to show her the kind of life he suspected her teacher existence didn’t know.
One night, they went out for dinner with Sebastian and his brother, a technology genius reinventing the way mankind functioned one app at a time. They ate at New York’s most expensive, exclusive restaurant. Mila had both Sebastian and Harrison in stitches as she bluntly corrected the grammar of the paparazzi who approached them outside.
Another evening, they joined a tourist group and climbed the Statue of Liberty. The awe and quiet reverence Mila exuded as they stood at Lady Liberty’s feet… Thomas would never forget how beautiful she looked that night, with her hair tossing about on a gentle breeze, her eyes shining, her cheeks pink. Ever. It had been goddamn near impossible to stop at the soft kiss he’d stolen.
They stayed in often, ignoring the world outside. His favorite of those evenings was the night he made grilled cheese for them both, opened a bottle of shiraz, and he wrote on his laptop at the dining table while she graded assignments. He wrote more than ever that night, a deep calm radiating through him, knowing all he needed to do was lift his focus from his work for a heartbeat to see her.
No matter how often he asked, she never stayed the night. Not since that first time when she’d left him a typical Mila note. He asked every damn time he saw her.
That was the only real disappointment she’d brought into his life. That and the fact she still wouldn’t tell him where she taught or what her surname was.
The last two, he would get out of her soon.
The first, he intended to amend this evening.
For the first time since starting work on Blood Angel, he was ahead of his projected writing schedule.
“Tonight, Reap.” Reaper’s barks bounced around the bathroom as Thomas lathered shaving cream all over his jaw and chin. “Tonight, I’m going to get her to stay.”
It was a Saturday, after all. She didn’t have school the next day. She had no reason to go. He was going to sweep her off her feet all day. He was going to make the mere thought of not being with him so ridiculous she couldn’t even begin to contemplate leaving his bed for hers.
“Stay tonight.” He held his fingers under the running tap. “Stay the weekend. Stay the rest of the whole week.”
That was the plan. Mila. Staying. With him. Not just so he could write, but just because he liked having her around.
He liked it a lot.
Reaper jumped up onto the toilet seat and barked again.
Thomas grinned and picked up his razor. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, buddy.”
The doorbell rang before he could put blade to bristle.
“She’s early.” He put down the razor, wiped the untouched foam from his face, and headed downstairs.
Sebastian Hart grinned up at him from the foyer. “G’day, mate. Look who I found outside, letting herself in.”
He stepped aside.
Thomas bit back a curse.
Shelby smirked at him. “Nice to see you as well, author of mine who refuses to take my calls or answer my emails.”
“Shelby.” Continuing to the bottom of the stairs, he plucked the spare set of his house keys he’d given to her years ago from her fingers. “Seeing as I now pay a dog sitter to look after Reap when I’m on a book tour, you don’t need these anymore, do you?”
Sebastian laughed. “Told you he wasn’t going to be impressed.”
Shelby narrowed her eyes at Thomas. Five-foot nothing and one hundred and ten pounds wringing wet, she hardly appeared intimidating or threatening. When it came to her job, however, intimidating was an understatement. In the years since she’d signed him as her first author, she’d become a powerhouse in the publishing world.
Authors, publishers, editors, reviewers…didn’t matter who you were, you didn’t fuck with Shelby Newell. Even at the start of her career, she’d made that clear. M.E. Elderkin had been the first head on Shelby’s block, and the example set.
She walked past both Sebastian and Thomas and into the living room. “And I told you I didn’t care.”
Sebastian curled his nose at the cloud of Chanel No. 5 left in her wake. “Remind me again why we like her?”
“You don’t like her. You call her a pretentious Yank with an ego bigger than Uluru.” He grinned at Sebastian. “I, however, do like her. She keeps my money rolling in and the jackals at bay.”
“Am I one of those jackals?”
“Sometimes.”
“Bewdy.”
Thomas snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’ve noticed your Australianisms only come out when you want to piss someone off. Who is it today? Me, or Shelby?”
“Shelby. She told me outside if I didn’t have any information to share with her about your muse, she wasn’t interested in talking to me.” He frowned. “She does realize who I am, right? The guy who made you a household name the world over.”
“Funny. I thought I did that.”
Sebastian waved a dismissive hand. “You made yourself a household name with the reading world. I made everyone else without their nose stuck in a book know who you are.”
Thomas chuckled. “It’s a good thing I know the real you. The one who’s not a…how do you Aussies put it? A wanker?”
“You like me because I’m a wanker. One who turns your incredible books into incredible movies. Now, how quickly can we get rid of the soulless ghoul and hit the pub? I’m flying back to Sydney in twelve hours, and I want to spend some time with my mate before I do.”
“The soulless ghoul requires some time with her author,” Shelby’s call came from the living room. “The Australian wanker can stay if he’s got something constructive to add to the conversation. Like convincing Thomas to let me investigate the mysterious Mila.”
Letting out a ragged sigh, Thomas dragged his hands through his hair. Great. Shelby was on a protective rampage again.
“Want me to pay her to go away?” Sebastian grinned at him. “I have more money than her. I mean, I could.”
“Ah, dude.” Thomas smacked him on the back of the shoulder. “If only she’d take it. I’ve tried to pay her off before. She’s like chewing gum stuck in the grooves of your favorite shoes.”
“I heard that,” Shelby yelled.
“I meant you to,” Thomas called back.
Sebastian grunted. “Weird. But seriously, do you want me to hang around? I am heading back to Sydney tomorrow, and we really haven’t caught up enough. From what I keep hearing, you’re otherwise engaged with Mila. Is it love?”
“Shut the fuck up and get in the living room. You’re not leaving me to Shelby when she’s in one of her moods.” He paused, chest tightening, and leaned a little closer to Sebastian. “Besides, Mila may very well be here any moment, and I’ll need you to run interference.”
“You mean, mumma bear may very well be about to meet the other woman in your life?” Sebastian rubbed his hands together. “Even if you wanted me outta here, I’m staying put. This I can’t—”
The doorbell rang.
…
A rush of warmth flowed through Mila when Thomas opened the door. “Good morning.”
He smiled back. But he didn’t move to kiss her—his normal response to her arrival. In fact, he didn’t move at all, one hand gripping the doorknob, the other pressed to the doorframe. “Good morning.”
Something cold and lumpy settled in her stomach. “Is this a bad time? I can go, if you like?”
His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat, and he frowned. “Why would I want you to go?”
She snorted out a laugh even as the cold lumpy thing in her stomach rolled. “The whole human barricade in the door routine you’ve got going here isn’t exactly screaming come in.”
What if he’s got another woman in there? What if he’s found a new muse?
She swallowed, a prickling heat crawling over her scalp. Why did the thought of him with someone else make her feel so… Damn it, she had no right to be jealous or betrayed if he had. It wasn’t like they had any kind of future together. What the hell was wrong with her?
What if he’s found out who you really are?
Her stomach lurched.
No. If he knew who she really was, he wouldn’t be talking to her now. His lawyers would be talking to her, probably serving her with some horrible, nasty, life-crushing lawsuit. God, could she be sued for not telling him who she was? Could—
“I have to go,” she blurted out, jerking away from him and hurrying down the stairs to the sidewalk.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He slid warm, strong fingers around her upper arm, and she stumbled to a halt, looking at him over her shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Oh God, he knows. He knows, and I’ve lost him because I’ve been so damn—
“Mila.” He tugged her to face him, his other hand cupping the side of her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… Ah, fuck, can I kiss you, please?”
Kiss?
He didn’t wait for her answer. Probably a good thing, given her head was spinning. His lips found hers, tender and gentle and yet at the same time demanding. Incredible. She melted into the kiss.
For a heartbeat.
“Thomas…” Extracting herself from his arms, she stepped backward. Hell, what was she doing? “I need…”
Now? Was she really going to confess who she was now?
He threaded his fingers through hers. “Me, too, babe. Sorry. Mila. I know you don’t like terms of endearments.”
She scrunched her eyes closed. He’d misunderstood. She needed to clear it up. She couldn’t keep doing this, pretending to be someone different.
He knew so much about her, except what really mattered—who she really was.
“I’m not talking about that kind of need.” The words scratched at her throat. “Although, yes, I need… I mean, whenever I think of you, I…”
His low chuckle made her open her eyes. He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, eyes shining with mirth. “Why do I feel like you admitting aloud that you actually want to be with me is one of the hardest things you’ve ever done?”
She let out her own shaky laugh. “Because it is.”
“Treat it like a Band-Aid, babe. Do it quickly, without hesitation and without remorse.”
“Did you really just compare my admitting I think about being with you often to removing a Band-Aid?”
He grinned a mock grimace. “I’m not good with words.”
“And I’m not good with lying.”
A frowned pulled at his eyebrows. “What are you lying about?”
Me. Us. I’m lying to you about who I am. About what I feel for you. Because I don’t think it is just sexual attraction. I think it’s so much more.
“Thomas…” she whispered. How was he going to take this? Would he hate her? Her pulse hammered in her throat, louder than the traffic and pedestrians moving past them.
Traffic. Pedestrians. Outside. They were outside. She couldn’t do this outside. Not when anyone could be filming, or capturing it on their smartphone. The last thing Thomas would want was the moment she revealed who she was to him uploaded to the internet.
“Can we go inside?”
He nodded. Confusion swam in his eyes. “There’s someone inside who wants to meet you.”
Hell no. “Who?”
How much fear swam in her eyes to make him smooth his hand up and down her back in such a placating way? “My agent. Shelby Newell.”
Her skin turned to clammy ice. Shelby Newell. The name attached to every vitriolic email and message sent to The New York Times regarding the article she’d written. The name featured in more than one of Mila’s nightmares for months after the article was published and her internship and future staff position had been terminated.
Shelby Newell. In Thomas’s house. The place Mila had become more comfortable in with every passing visit. The place—thanks to her stupid, insane, kamikaze heart—beginning to feature in her dreams now. Dreams of an unobtainable life with Thomas.
An invisible clamp wrapped her chest. She sucked in a sharp breath, flicking the open door behind Thomas a glance. Was Shelby standing in the foyer’s shadows watching them?
Would she recognize Mila, despite how different Mila looked now?
They’d never met in person, but Mila had little doubt—given what she’d learned of Shelby since the article’s publication—Shelby would have a dartboard somewhere with a picture of M.E. Elderkin on it.
Or was the agent here because she knew who Mila was? And was she going to tell Thomas everything?
Turning her attention back to Thomas, she smiled. “Let’s go inside then.”
If it was going to happen, it was going to happen. Time to face it down. Like a Band-Aid.
He beamed and threaded his fingers through hers. “Inside we go.”
Reaper met them just inside the door, tail a blur, doggy smile wide.
Sebastian Hart stood beside him. “Seriously, mate. If I have to tell that woman once more it’s none of her bloody business, I’m going to do something I’ll regret. And I don’t believe in regrets.” He grinned at Mila. “Muse. How is life with the master wordsmith?”
Heat flushed her cheeks. “Our interactions are acceptable, thank you, Mr. Hart.”
He snorted. “I’ve told you already I like you, yes?”
“Yes. You have.”
He grinned at Thomas. “She up to what’s about to happen?”
What was about to happen? Oh God, what was she walking into?
“I’m more worried for Shelby.” Thomas tugged her closer to his side and slid his hand around her waist. “My muse has teeth.”
“All right, all right.” Sebastian waved a silencing hand. “I don’t want to hear all the details about your sex life.”
Mila swallowed. Maybe the three of them could walk out the door and go find something else to do. “What are your thoughts on playing paintball right now, Mr. Hart?”
Sebastian frowned. Thomas laughed. “I don’t believe for a second you’re a chicken, Mila. Let’s go.”
He took her hand again and walked into the living room.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Sebastian murmured, following them.
Shelby Newell looked up from the tablet on her lap as they entered the room, her gaze running over Mila with slow deliberation.
Mila suppressed the urge to swallow. Damn, an android set to kill would have given off a warmer welcome.
“Shelby.” Thomas smoothed his hand up Mila’s back. “Mila. Mila, Shelby.”
“Just Mila I hear.” Shelby pursed her lips and settled back in the chair, running another slow inspection over Mila. “Are you education’s version of Pink? Beyoncé?”
A cold calm fell over Mila, and she arched an eyebrow. Oh, she’s a fun one. “Yes, I am. With less dancing and more ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’”
Cool brown eyes sized her up. “So tell me, Mila, why the mystery around your last name?”
Curling her lips into a slow smile, Mila met her stare. “For that very reason. The mystery. Makes every minute I share with Thomas all the more exciting, yes? Every time he kisses me, a part of him is wondering who this woman is who is driving him crazy with desire.”
“Bloody hell, mate.” Sebastian’s low chuckle was full of awe. “Marry this woman. Right now.”
A flutter of heat claimed Mila’s stomach at the Australian’s words. She hadn’t intended to be so shocking, so confronting in her response, but the dismissive way Thomas’s agent looked at her… Well, she was a high achiever, after all. And Shelby Newell’s condescension had ticked her off.
“Thinking that very thing, dude,” Thomas said. “Thinking that very thing.”
Mila’s stomach erupted in a whirlwind of butterflies. Crazy butterflies.
Marry him? When he found out who she was, he was going to hate her.