Knock, knock, knock echoes from downstairs.
It’s not a gentle are you home knock, it’s an I’m here and I’m pissed knock.
Knock, knock, knock sounds again.
What is he doing? It’s 11:30 p.m., what if the others were home? I storm downstairs and open the door in a rush.
And there he stands, in all his overbearing gorgeousness.
“Yes?” I say.
“Why did you leave?”
“I was tired.”
He raises an eyebrow as his eyes hold mine; he knows that’s a lie.
“What do you want, Elliot?”
“Are you inviting me in?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Honestly, this man is infuriating.
“Because it’s late and like I told you, I’m tired.”
“We have things to discuss.”
“No, we don’t. I’ve already said my piece.”
“Like hell.” He barges past me and walks upstairs to my bedroom. I exhale as I’m left standing in the hall. “Please, come in.” I close the door and walk up the stairs to find him pacing back and forth in my room, preparing for battle.
“What do you want, Elliot?” I ask as I close the door.
His eyes find mine. “You know what I want.”
“No, I actually don’t.” I walk over to the window and stare out over the street.
I don’t know what to say without sounding needy or whiny, perhaps just plain bitchy . . . damn it, I don’t even know what I am.
“The thing is . . .” he says.
I turn and sink down to sit on the floor, up against the wall.
He stops what he’s saying mid-sentence and we stare at each other, and after a while he comes and sits down on the floor beside me, his back against the wall like mine.
We sit in silence and stare straight ahead. It’s like he doesn’t know what to say either.
A first for Elliot Miles.
“What did I say?” he asks softly.
“When?”
“On the second day that we met and you told me that I had blue eyes, what did I say?”
“I don’t remember,” I lie.
“I’ve been thinking about this. There’s a reason why you’ve hated me for all these years.”
I stay silent.
“Just tell me.”
“You told me that you didn’t appreciate women being inappropriate in the workplace.”
He frowns.
“And I . . .” My voice trails off as I stop myself.
“You what?”
I shrug.
He continues to stare straight ahead and we sit in silence for a while. “Kate . . . at the risk of sounding conceited . . .”
“You . . . sounding conceited?”
He smirks.
“Go on.” I smile.
“I get hit on by women a lot . . . and it’s not because they like me.”
I listen.
“It’s my surname and bank balance that women find attractive.”
My heart drops.
“I deflect flirting all day long, I don’t even notice that I do it. My brothers are the same.”
I frown.
“So, when you told me that I have big blue eyes all those years ago—not that I remember you doing it, by the way—I obviously took it that you were hitting on me . . . and I put a stop to it before it carried on.”
I bite my lip as I listen intently.
“Is that why you’ve been a bitch to me for all these years? To show me that you weren’t flirting?”
“I’ve been a bitch to you because you’re an asshole.”
He drops his head and chuckles.
I find myself smiling too. “Well, it’s true.”
He picks up my hand and links his fingers through mine. “What are your reservations about doing this with me?”
“Well.” I glance over at him. “Don’t you think it’s weird that you’re suddenly attracted to me?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I do, I can’t explain it.”
I frown again; that’s not what I was expecting him to say.
“I don’t know why this happened but it was instantaneous. I saw you dancing in your red netball dress and I got hard.”
“What?”
“I have a confession.”
“Such as?”
“I might . . .” He pauses as if choosing his words carefully. “Watch the footage of you dancing in the photocopying room from a month or so ago . . . on repeat.”
“Huh?”
He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Let’s just say, you rang my bell.”
My mouth falls open in surprise as I put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Are you serious?”
He bites his lip to stifle his smile.
“Elliot.” I gasp in surprise.
“I couldn’t help it, you’re just so fucking hot.”
I smirk.
“Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off to that footage?”
I burst out laughing. “What?”
He falls serious once more. “What else, what are the other issues?”
“Well.” I think for a moment. “Why don’t you do relationships?”
“Because I’ve learned not to want more.”
“Why?”
“Because as soon as I openly date someone, it’s all over the tabloids and whoever I’m seeing gets hounded by the press over the impending nuptials. Everything we do is scrutinized and splashed over every headline.”
I listen.
“Do you know how much pressure that puts on a relationship?” he asks.
“I can’t imagine.”
“If I sound cold and detached . . . it’s because I am.”
“Elliot,” I whisper sadly.
He shrugs casually, as if he’s totally at peace with being cold and detached. “I decided about six years ago that I was only going to see people in private and not openly date anyone. That way, there’s no gossip, there’s no paparazzi stories, it’s easier for me this way. And I know that it’s selfish, but it is what it is.”
“What happens when you meet the right girl?”
“I guess I’ll work that out with her when the time comes.”
I smile softly and I bump him with my shoulder. “That’s a good answer.”
“I know.” He bumps me back. “Can we have sex now?”
I giggle in surprise. “No.”
He smiles and puts his head back against the wall. “You know, I was coming over here to seduce you . . . having a heart-to-heart wasn’t on my agenda.”
“I needed to have this conversation.” His answer makes sense and maybe I could deal with this. “Can we just . . . I don’t know, take it slow?”
He turns his head to look at me and lets out a deep exhale. “Not exactly my strong point.”
“Please.” I lean over and kiss him softly. “For me?”
Our kiss deepens and he takes my face in his hands. His tongue swipes through my open lips. We kiss again and again and oh . . . I just love how he kisses me.
He grabs me and pulls me over to straddle him. My hands are in his hair as we kiss, it’s soft and tender and with every lash of his tongue my temperature rises.
I feel his erection as I rock against him.
Oh . . .
I pull back to stare at him. “Slow . . . remember?”
He curls his lip. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me.”
I smile with a wince. “Please.”
“But I’m away for two weeks.”
I have to stop now if I want to be able to, so I stand and pull him up by the hand. “I know.”
He takes me into his arms and kisses me softly. “Remember our deal.”
I smile up at him. “Remind me.”
“No other people.”
“That goes for you too, you know?”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do in New York?”
“Jerk off to your netball dress movie, no doubt.”
I giggle and brush the hair back from his forehead as I stare up at him. “Thanks for coming over.”
He hugs me and we stay in each other’s arms for a moment and he’s so different to what I thought.
“I’m really fucking horny,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Two weeks.” I laugh.
I take his hand and lead him down the stairs and open the front door. He turns to kiss me.
“Two weeks,” I remind him. He loses control and slams me up against the wall and he kisses me.
Our kiss turns desperate. His hands are on my behind and his erection is digging into my hip; my insides begin to melt.
“Slow,” I pant against his lips.
He pulls back from me and we lean against each other with our foreheads touching.
Energy is swirling between us and I’m so close to caving and dragging him back up to my room.
“You’ve got two weeks.” He kisses me softly. “And then you’re mine.”
I nod, as I control my erratic breathing.
One last look. “Goodbye,” he says.
The door shuts and I lean on the back of it as I try to pull myself together.
Did that really just happen?
Excitement bubbles deep in my stomach.
Two weeks to lose weight, wax everything, and somehow get hot.
I smile goofily. Piece of cake.
Hi Pinkie,
What’s happening?
How was your day?
I smile and type my reply. It’s been three days since I saw Elliot, but Edgar has messaged me nonstop.
With every message I get from Edgar, my guilt toward Elliot grows; he’s confiding in me and I’m just blatantly lying to him. I want to tell him that it’s me, but it never feels like the right moment. I just love talking to Edgar and I love this insight I have into Elliot. It’s like I have a secret identity, one that reveals his deepest, darkest secrets.
I’m going to tell him, I have to. I’m just waiting for the right moment, and soon—this can’t go on.
It’s the weirdest thing. I know they are the same person, but it doesn’t feel like the same person. Elliot is strong, stubborn, and sexy, and on the other end of the spectrum, Edgar is deep, emotional, and sweet. Elliot hasn’t contacted me at all.
And it’s not flirty messaging, we really are just chatting.
Hi Ed.
My day was good. I went to the gym and then did some Christmas shopping and managed to get it nearly finished. I just have my brother to buy for now. What did you do?
I thought about Kate all day.
I smile as my heart does a somersault in my chest.
You’ve got it bad for this girl.
It seems so . . .
I bite my lip as I think what to write. I type:
What do you like about her?
I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.
I lean on my hand and smile dreamily at my computer.
I can’t wait to find out either.
Eleven days to go.
Michael Bublé’s swoony voice echoes through the house as the sound of Christmas carols surrounds us.
“I think that’s nearly it, darling,” Daniel says as he fills his glass. “Presents are wrapped, food is prepared, and don’t forget you have to put the trifle together in the morning.”
I hold my glass up and he touches it with his. “Thank you.” I smile. “I couldn’t have got all this done without you.”
“It’s a pleasure. Are you sure you won’t come to my folks’ for tonight?”
“No, I’m fine here, honestly.”
“I don’t like the sound of you spending Christmas Eve alone.”
“I’m going to the gym and then I’m going to get an early night. Being the host on Christmas Day is hell.”
The doorbell chimes and Daniel’s eyes meet mine. “You expecting someone?”
“No.”
I open the front door to find a delivery man holding the biggest basket of beautiful pink flowers that I have ever seen.
“Kate Landon?”
“Yes.”
“I have a delivery for you.”
“Oh.”
“Sign here please.” He directs me where to sign and I take the huge basket from him.
“Thank you.” I close the door as I struggle with the basket and put it down on the dining table. “What in the world?” There must be three hundred flowers here, pinks and whites in every shade. I touch the precious petals. “So beautiful,” I whisper.
“Who are they from?” Daniel snaps.
“I have no idea.” I take the small, white envelope and open it.
Kate,
Merry Christmas,
Elliot
x
“Oh.” My mouth falls open in surprise. “A kiss at the end.” I hold the card to my heart.
“Who’s it from?” Daniel urges.
I pass him the card, he reads it, and then his eyes rise to meet mine. “Elliot . . . Miles?”
I smile.
His eyes widen. “Elliot Miles is sending you flowers?”
I snatch the card from him. “He’s just being nice, that’s all.”
“Are you kidding me?” He gasps. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I carry the flowers up the stairs with Daniel hot on my heels.
“Has something happened between you?” he asks.
“No.”
“Bullshit, something has to have happened.”
“He told me he liked me, that’s all.”
“And you didn’t think to mention it?”
“I didn’t know if he was serious.” I place the flowers on my dressing table and smile as I reposition them.
“Well . . . I’m thinking he was serious, Kate. Call him, go over there right now, and thank him in the flesh.”
I burst out laughing. “He’s in New York, you idiot.”
“He’s in New York and is sending you flowers back home?” he shrieks. “Oh . . . he’s got it bad.” He snatches the card from me and reads it out loud.
Kate,
Merry Christmas,
Elliot
x
“Oh, merry fucking Christmas to you too, hot stuff,” he says. “He could have at least written ‘love’ on the card, don’t you think? It’s very generic.”
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’ve 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.
