The Casanova (The Miles High Club Book 3)

I turn the tap off and get out of the shower, and wrap the towel around me.

I watch as Elliot slowly pulls the razor down his cheek while looking in the mirror. “Does that hurt?” I ask.

“Nope.” He rinses the razor under the hot water; he has a white towel around his waist and looks completely edible.

“I hate the grating sound.” Fascinated, I lean on the bathroom vanity as I watch him.

“You get used to it, I’ve been shaving for . . .” He pauses as he thinks. “Twenty-one years now.”

I sit on the cabinet in front of him. “You’re so old.”

“Thanks.” He taps his razor on the sink. “Although, you’re only as old as the woman you feel.” He raises his eyebrows. “That makes me . . . twenty-seven.”

I take the razor from him. “Can I have a go?”

“I’m not a ride, Kathryn.”

I giggle as I hold the razor to his face. “Could have fooled me.” I concentrate. “I rode you pretty hard last night.”

He chuckles as he pulls my hips toward him on the counter. “And fucking loved it.”

I hold the razor up and bite my bottom lip as I focus.

He closes his eyes. “This isn’t a good idea.”

I slowly glide the razor down his cheek. “What isn’t?”

“A woman having a razor in the vicinity of my throat, can’t end well.”

I giggle. “I’m actually good at this.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Why are you shaving on holiday, anyway?”

“Because I want to kiss you and my stubble is sharp as fuck.”

“Aww . . . your first sacrifice for me.” I pause and smile as I run my hand through his messed- up hair. “You’re so sweet . . . Pooky bear,” I say in a baby voice.

He rolls his eyes. “Hurry up.” He stretches his face out. “And don’t call me Pooky bear, it’s emasculating.”

“Oh please, Mr. Miles, you do know that you’re going to be my bitch by the end of the week . . . right?” I tease.

He smiles and takes the razor from me. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“What are we doing today?” I ask.

“Whatever you want.”

“Oh . . . what shall we do? The possibilities are endless.” I smile dreamily.

He washes the razor out under the tap and then picks up my toiletry bag; he takes out my contraceptive pill pack and studies it. He pops out today’s pill and holds it on the end of his finger for me. I take it from him and swallow it down.

“When was your last STD test?” he asks.

“Why?”

“Interest’s sake.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to use condoms while we’re on this trip.”

I frown. “Why?”

He shrugs as he leans in to kiss me. “I just don’t want to.”

“No.” I pull back from him.

“Why not?” He seems surprised. “I’ve never had sex without a condom before.”

I stare at him as my brain malfunctions. “Never?”

“No.”

“So why would you want to do it with me?”

“I don’t know, I just do.”

“Well, you’re going to have to wait a bit longer.” I jump down from the cabinet and walk into the bedroom, go to the walk-in closet, and begin to look for something to wear.

He follows me. “Why?”

“Because it’s too intimate for me, that’s something you share with a partner.”

“We’re partners.”

“For the week, Elliot. That doesn’t count.”

“No, we’ll see each other at home. We made a deal, remember? Exclusive casual.”

I try to hide my smile; this is the first time he’s mentioned anything long-term.

“Well . . .” He puts his hands on his hips as if outraged. “Have you done it with anyone else?”

“Yes, of course I have. That’s what boyfriends are for.”

“Well, I’m your boyfriend . . . for the week.”

I roll my eyes as I get my clothes out and lay them on the bed.

“That counts for something,” he says.

“Not really.” I drop my towel and pull my bikini bottoms on.

He takes me into his arms as he tries to sweeten the deal. “I’ll make it worth your while.” His lips drop to my neck.

“No. Discussion over.” I pull out of his arms and put my bikini top on. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Where to?”

“Anywhere away from a bed.” I smile as he bites my neck.

“That won’t save you, I don’t need a bed.” He pushes me up against the wall. “I’m an all-surface kind of man.”

I laugh out loud. “Shut up, you fool. It’s not happening.”

The Canary Islands are everything I ever dreamed of. Sun, sand, and sea, all with such a beautiful backdrop. We’ve eaten at the most beautiful restaurants, laid on the beach for hours and sipped cocktails at quaint little ocean-side bars until late into the night.

This place is heaven, with old colorful buildings perched high on the cliffs overlooking the ocean; I’ve never been somewhere so utterly perfect.

Three days.

Three magical days is all it’s taken to transform me into an Elliot Miles disciple.

We’ve talked for hours, laughed, eaten all the beautiful food, and made love in every possible way.

It’s not awkward or foreign, it’s organic and beautiful . . . the kind of feeling that I have always searched for.

His dark eyelashes flutter, his big lips slightly parted, and I watch as his chest rises and falls as he sleeps, the white sheet pooled around his hips.

Elliot Miles is a force to be reckoned with. It’s not who he is.

It’s what he is.

For the first time in my life, I feel heard.

And I know that sounds ridiculous, even to me . . . because, of all the things I know about Elliot Miles, being a good listener isn’t one of them.

I lie on my side, propped up on my elbow as I watch him—I’ve been doing it for over an hour. I need to go to the bathroom but I don’t want to get up and disturb my uninterrupted view.

My eyes roam down over his broad chest and down to his navel and the small trail of dark hair that disappears under the sheet. His skin is olive, his hair dark.

Physically, he’s a beautiful man.

But I know a secret about Elliot Miles: it could start wars, end dreams, and light up a city from space.

His heart is his strength, and maybe it’s not mine to keep.

But I’ll cherish this week that I had it in my hands, forever.

His eyes flutter open and he frowns as he focuses on my face, then breaks into a slow, sexy smile. The one I’ve become addicted to.

“What are you looking at?” he whispers as he pulls me onto his chest, holds me tight, and kisses my forehead.

“Just your goat face.”

He chuckles and it’s deep and husky and surrounds my senses.

“Bahahaha,” he says.

I laugh out loud. “Goats don’t bahahaha.”

“What sounds do goats make?” He smiles.

“I don’t know, but I know they don’t bahahaha.”

He rolls me onto my back and comes over me, and his lips softly take mine. “Well, if I don’t bahahaha, you better make me moan.” He puts his knee between my legs to spread them.

I smile up at him. Oh, this man. “You mean like a cow?”

He chuckles. “I’m a fucking bull, Kate. I told you before.”

ELLIOT

I follow the hot little ass up the trail—black leggings, a white midriff tank top, and a blonde ponytail swinging as she walks.

What a view to behold.

Kate and I are climbing a mountain, and it’s steep. She turns and looks out behind me. “Oh El, look at that.”

We turn and stare over at the view.

She smiles wistfully into the wind and I stare at her. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.

“She is.” I smile.

Her eyes find mine and she gives me a shy smile. “I’m talking about the view.”

I take her hand in mine and kiss her fingertips. “I know.”

She smiles softly. “Can I take a photo of us?”

“If you want.”

She takes her phone out and puts her face to mine, and with the backdrop in the background, she takes a shot. She looks at it with a huge smile. “I want to see what you looked like on film before you piggyback me up to the top.”

I laugh. “Angel, if you want to fall spectacularly down this mountain and die, let me carry you.”

She turns and begins to walk up the trail again. “I could carry you,” she replies casually.

“I have no doubt,” I huff as I climb. “Horses can do that.”

She laughs. “You know I haven’t gone hiking in such a long time . . . since my parents died, actually.”

I frown; this is the first time she’s told me this. “Your parents both passed?”

She continues to walk in front of me. “Yeah, they were killed in a car accident six years ago.”

Shit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

We keep walking.

“What were they like?” I ask.

She turns. “My mother was like me.”

“A sex maniac, then.”

She laughs out loud. “And my father was the sweetest man on earth.”

I keep climbing as I listen.

“We used to have this thing that we would do together on special occasions.”

I puff as I climb. Fuck, this hill is steep. “What was that?”

“Eat Cornetto ice creams.”

I smile as I listen.

“Watching a movie, Cornetto ice cream. Something was celebrated, a Cornetto ice cream. When I got my first job, he picked me up with a Cornetto ice cream.”

“I haven’t had one of those ice creams in years,” I say.

“Me neither . . . not since he died.”

We walk for a while. “What are your parents like?” she asks.

I think for a moment. “Busy.”

She turns and frowns, as if surprised by my answer. “And that bothers you?”

“Not necessarily.” I walk for a bit. “I just never had that time as a kid to hang around and be bored.”

She listens.

“I went to boarding school from the age of seven. Holidays were always rush, rush, from one exotic resort to another.” I shrug. “I don’t know . . .” My voice trails off.

“Will you send your kids to boarding school?”

“Not on your life.”

She turns as if surprised. “What would you do differently—I mean, to the way you were brought up.”

“Give them my time.”

She stops and turns. “You didn’t get time with your parents?”

“Still don’t.”

She stares at me for a moment. “What about your brothers?”

“My brothers.” I smile. “They take up too much time, I love those fucks.”

She giggles and continues walking.

“We only ever had each other growing up. They mean the world to me.”

We walk for a while.

“Our formative years were spent preparing us to take over Miles Media. We all sometimes resent that we never got to choose our own path.”

She keeps walking in front and I don’t know why I feel the urge to tell her all of this.

“I should probably shut up now.” I pant. “This hill is getting steeper.”

“Yeah, time to piggyback me, Miles. Impress me with your power.”

I laugh and we keep climbing.

“You know, I wish you were a plumber,” she says casually.

I frown. “Why?”

She turns. “Because then I wouldn’t have to share you.”

We stare at each other.

“And you could be a normal boring guy and fall for me.”

That would be the easiest thing in the world to do.

I smile softly. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“If that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard”—she laughs and turns back to climbing—“you must know some real assholes.”

“True, I do . . . I’m very good at cleaning out pipes though. So, I am a plumber . . . of sorts.”

She laughs out loud. “I know. A damn good one too.”

I lie on the deckchair and sip my cocktail.

The afternoon sun is just going down over the water and the sound of the gentle waves lapping on the shoreline fills my senses.

Kate is playing volleyball with some kids by the water’s edge. I watch as she laughs and talks with them as if they are long-lost friends.

She’s animated and laughing loudly, so carefree and happy.

She’s in a white bikini and I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful and flawless.

Calm.

That’s what she is . . . she brings me a sense of calm that I don’t ever remember feeling before.

I don’t have to try to be something I’m not, I can just be myself.

She doesn’t care about my name or my money, or how cool she looks.

She hasn’t worn makeup or styled her hair for our entire trip and I don’t think either of us have looked in a mirror once.

It’s liberating not trying to impress each other. She’s seen me at my absolute worst . . . and I’ve seen hers; and yet somehow, we just work.

I take out my phone and open my messages, smile when I see Pinkie’s name.

I’ve missed her.

Hi Ed,

I hope your holiday is going well?

Things are going well for me, my new boyfriend is turning out to be lovely.

It’s cold here, wishing I was in the sun somewhere . . . next year I hope to be away.

Enjoy your trip, in no time you will be back to being a garbologist.

Pinkie

Xoxo

I smile. Kate’s laughter echoes and my eyes rise to watch the volleyball game.

This is the weirdest friendship I’ve ever had. Pinkie Leroo is the absolute opposite of the kind of women I date, but she gets me, and I somehow get her.

I like our friendship.

What will I reply?

We walk home along the water’s edge holding hands. “I got you something.”

“What’s that?” She smiles up at me.

God, this could go either way . . .

I put my hand in my pocket and pull out two Cornettos.

Kate stares at them in my hand and her eyes immediately well with tears.

Fuck.

“I mean . . . I just thought,” I splutter. “It’s our last night and all . . .”

Her eyes search mine and she smiles softly and goes up onto her tiptoes to kiss me. “Thank you,” she whispers as she takes one from me. “You’re so thoughtful.”

I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but never that.

She drops to sit on the sand and taps the ground beside her, and we both open our ice creams.

She stares at hers. I watch as a lone tear rolls down her cheek and I don’t know if this was the right thing to do.

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 the 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?”