The Casanova (The Miles High Club Book 3)

I wake to the sound of a bird cry in the distance, and judging by the shadows on the wall, it’s just dusk. From the corner of my eye I glance over to see Elliot sitting at a small table near the window, his laptop open, fully engrossed in work. He types at a furious speed and then hits send.

I can tell by the way he’s angrily hitting the keys that he’s emailing someone who has annoyed him and he’s telling them just how much.

I smile; some things never change. I sit up on my elbows. “Hi.”

He glances up and his face instantly softens. “Hello.”

I tap the bed, he walks over and sits beside me. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

He pushes the hair back from my forehead. “You have tomorrow off too, I’ve already called it in.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s not up for negotiation,” he interrupts me.

He stares at me and it’s obvious he has something on his mind. “I’ve made you an appointment with a decent doctor.”

I frown. “By decent, you mean expensive?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because this isn’t normal.”

“It is for me.”

He exhales and stands. “I’m not having this discussion, Kathryn. I’ve already made the appointment, you’ll see the specialist tomorrow at two. I’m coming.”

“You are not coming,” I scoff as I flick the blankets back, not in the mood for this shit.

He tilts his chin to the sky. “Why not?”

“Because.” I pause as I think of the right thing to say. “We’re not even . . .”

“Not what?”

“Officially going out together.” I walk into the bathroom.

“What?” He marches in behind me.

I pick up a sanitary pad.

“If we’re not together, what are you doing here?” he barks.

“You brought me here, when I was half dying.”

“To look after you.”

Guilt fills me—he’s right, I’m being a bitch. I force a lopsided smile. “And I appreciate it, thank you.”

“And we are together. Just because nobody knows about us doesn’t make our relationship any less important.” He crosses his arms angrily. “I have every right to know what’s going on with your body.”

I roll my eyes. “Look, thank you for your concern, but I just need to take care of this stuff myself . . . okay?”

He stares at me flatly.

I hold up my pad. “Do you mind?”

He keeps staring at me.

“Elliot, give me a minute.”

He storms back into the bedroom.

I sort myself out and wash my hands as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

What’s going on here?

He told me he doesn’t do relationships and yet here he is, acting like the possessive boyfriend.

Perhaps he’s changed his mind and he does want more? Not once this weekend did he act like this is a casual, sex-only thing.

Excitement fills me. Don’t get carried away, I remind myself.

The only problem is that it’s been so long since I had a boyfriend I think I’ve forgotten what to do . . . or what to let him do.

I know if I want this to work between us, I have to try harder to let him in.

I walk back out to see him sitting at his little table, his laptop open in front of him. He doesn’t look up and it’s clear that he’s annoyed.

“Thank you for making the appointment,” I say softly. “I’ll go.”

His eyes rise to meet mine.

“This is new to me, having someone . . .” I cut myself off, unsure what to say next.

He nods but stays silent.

“I just don’t want you hearing about all of my faults.”

His face softens, and he presses his lips together as if stopping himself from speaking.

I twist my fingers in front of me nervously. “I don’t want to wreck this, you know?”

He stands and comes to me, his hand cups my face and he stares down at me. “And there she is,” he whispers.

My eyes search his.

“The vulnerable Kate that I adore.”

I inhale deeply as I feel emotion overwhelm me. “I wouldn’t be nice to me this week if I were you, not unless you want me to cry like a baby. I’m completely unstable.”

“Alright.” A trace of a smile crosses his face. “Would you like to suck my dick before or after you eat your dinner, you filthy wench?”

I giggle, grateful to him for making light of the situation. “Careful, my mood could go either way, it’s a very fine line. Who knows what’s going to come out of my mouth?”

He bends and kisses me, his tongue tenderly swiping against mine. He smiles against me as if having a thought. “It’s what’s going into it that I care about.”

I ride the escalator down to the ladies’ department in Harrods. After my doctor’s appointment this afternoon I’ve decided to have a little retail therapy before I go home.

My phone rings, the name Elliot lights up the screen, and I smile broadly. “Hello.”

“How did my girl go at the doctor’s?” Thankfully he didn’t come.

“Good.”

“What did he say?”

“Not a lot that I didn’t know.” I begin to walk through the racks of women’s clothes as I talk.

“Such as?”

“You really want all the gory details, Mr. Miles?”

“No, I’m asking as a dare, what do you fucking think?”

I smile, I love that he cares. “Basically, I have to go in for surgery at some point soon for an endometriosis clean-up, but other than that I’m doing everything right.”

“Well . . . what kind of surgery, is it dangerous?”

“No, I’ve had it a few times before. Keyhole.”

“Oh, okay.” I can hear the relief in his voice. “What about the pain?”

“It’s normal. I’m fine, El, you don’t need to worry.”

“Well . . . I do.”

I smile and look up. Over in the lingerie department I see a familiar figure, and pause on the spot. Navy suit, ramrod-straight back, phone to his ear. He picks up a two-piece black lace bra and G-string set and eyes it, then he puts it back and riffles through the sizes and then throws one over his arm. “Where are you?” I ask.

“Running errands.”

I duck behind a column and smile as I watch him. Completely focused on his task, he moves on to white, silk nightdresses and flicks through the rack.

“What kind of errands?”

“I’m at the post office,” he lies.

“Don’t you have a personal secretary for that?”

“This parcel is of a personal nature,” he replies casually as he walks through the rows of expensive lingerie.

“Did you order me a big dildo?”

His face breaks into a breathtaking smile and I feel it all the way to my toes. “Most definitely not.”

“Why not?” I tease.

He picks up a pretty pink camisole. “If you think I’m sharing your orgasms with a battery-operated device, you’re deluded, Kathryn.”

“Maybe I need more,” I tease.

He stops mid-step, and a slow, sexy smile crosses his face; he likes this game. “We haven’t even begun your training yet, angel,” he whispers darkly.

“Training?”

“We can start tonight, if you like?” He throws a camisole over his arm.

I bite my lip to stifle my smile; I like this game too. “Why haven’t we begun yet?”

“I’ve been on my best behavior so far; my depraved tastes aren’t for everyone and I need your trust before we start. I didn’t want to scare you off before we get there.”

I frown, what’s he talking about? I trawl my brain for a logical answer.

Anal . . . oh fuck.

“If I haven’t run away yet, El . . .” I whisper as I act brave. I’ve never done anything anal before and he knows it. “The more I get to know you, the more I want you.”

His face softens and butterflies flutter in my stomach.

Watching his face light up as he speaks to me really is something, as if my heart isn’t already freefalling out of my chest.

“Well, Miss Landon.” He stops walking. “The feeling is completely mutual.” His voice is soft, cajoling. So different to the voice that used to bellow at me.

I smile as I watch him. “I should let you go.”

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll pick you up about seven?”

“Can’t wait. See you then.”

He holds his phone to his ear and pauses as if waiting to hear something, and I do the same as I watch him.

There are unspoken words between us.

And I know we’re not there yet, but this . . . whatever this is, feels a lot like—or at least the beginning of—love.

“Bye El,” I whisper.

“Goodbye.” I watch as he hangs up and stuffs his phone into his expensive suit pocket. He continues to shop and, for a long time, I stand and watch him.

Elliot Miles, walking through a lingerie section, shopping . . . for me.

I smile—or maybe it’s for him.

Either way, it’s fucking perfect.

Just on seven I watch the headlights of the black Bentley come around the corner. He’s here.

I grab my bag and bounce down the stairs. Rebecca and Daniel aren’t home; it seems like I’ve hardly seen them in the last few weeks. I’ve spent nearly every night with Elliot since we started seeing each other and I know I really should be playing hard to get or something, but what’s the point? I want to see him and I’m sick of games.

And he seems pretty set on seeing me too.

I make my way out of the front door and Elliot climbs out of the back of the car, looks up and sees me, and breaks into a breathtaking smile.

Oh . . . that smile.

I feel myself swoon as I cross the road toward him. “Hello,” he says as he leans down and kisses me softly.

“Hi.” I beam.

He stares down at me with a goofy smile and I smile right back up at him; it’s like a long-lost hello after not seeing each other for forever, but the truth is we saw each other only ten hours ago.

Okay . . . we’re a little pathetic . . . not that I’m complaining.

He stands back so I can get into the car and I dive in. “Hello Andrew.” I smile as I scooch across the seat.

“Hello Kate.” He gives me a kind smile in the rearview mirror.

Elliot slides in after me and takes my hand in his lap, and I lean over and kiss his cheek as the car pulls out into the traffic.

Okay . . . I need to chill. Seeing him buying that lingerie today has set off some kind of hopeless love bug and I’m completely forgetting how to be hard to get.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Good, now. How was yours?”

He gives me a smile. “I bought you a present today.”

“You did?” I act surprised. “What is it?”

“I’ll show you when we get home.”

Home.

My stomach flutters. “Is it what I think it is?” I tease.

“What’s that?”

“You know.” I widen my eyes, as Andrew can hear.

He frowns in a question.

I put my mouth to his ear. “The big dildo.”

“Andrew, pull the car over, please. Kathryn’s getting out, she can walk home from here,” he says as he pretends to be angry.

“Don’t, Andrew.” I giggle.

Andrew’s amused eyes flick up to me in the mirror and he keeps driving.

Did he hear what I said?

Half an hour later, we pull into the enchanted driveway. It’s pitch-black as we motor up the windy road. “Did I tell you I love your house?” I ask.

He gives me a sexy wink as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Once or twice.”

We stare at each other as the air crackles between us.

The car pulling up in front of the house interrupts our moment, and Andrew climbs out and opens my door. “Have a good night, Kathryn,” he says.

“Thank you, you too.”

Elliot climbs out and goes to the trunk. He takes out about ten shopping bags and I can hardly contain my excitement. “Oh . . . you have been busy,” I say as I act cool.

“Not as busy as you’re going to be wearing them,” he mutters as he walks up the steps. “Thank you, Andrew, see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight Mr. Miles.” He gets back into the car and starts the engine.

Elliot opens the door and we walk in and turn the lights on. I look up into the hall and smile. “Oh Elliot, this place is so beautiful that it takes my breath away.”

“I know,” he agrees. “Me too. I’ve decided I’m not knocking the house down, I’m going to renovate. The house has too much character to get rid of it completely.”

“I agree.” I smile.

He passes me the shopping bags. “Now, I’ve been looking forward to this all day. I’m going to cook us dinner . . . and you”—he kisses me softly—“are going to give me a fashion parade.”

I bite my bottom lip as I peer into the bags: expensive tissue paper, lace, and silk is all I see.

“Ummmm.” I frown.

He raises his eyebrow. “Um what?”

“You remember that it’s that time of the month for me . . . right?”

He looks at me flatly. “What does that mean?”

“Well.” I shrug. Do I have to say it out loud? “I can’t have sex tonight.”

“And . . . your point is?”

I stare at him.

“If I only wanted you for sex, Kathryn, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have got past the first date.”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

“I mean . . .” He gives a subtle shake of his head as he corrects himself. “That came out wrong.”

I give him a smile as I cup him through his trousers. I rub my thumb back and forth over his tip, and feel it enlarge beneath my touch. “What am I here for?”

“So that I can fuck your hot little ass.”

I burst out laughing and he turns me toward the stairs and slaps me hard on the behind. “Go. Before you get yourself into trouble.”

With the bags in my hands, I take the stairs two at a time in excitement.

Hell on a cracker, this night is turning out amazing.

He’s amazing, I knew it all along.

There’s hope for us yet.

Elliot takes a shower and walks into the bedroom in only a towel; he drops it before me and I feel myself flutter. No matter whatever goes on between us, his sexuality or my body’s reaction to it is never in question.

He turns off the light and crawls in behind me, takes me into his arms and kisses my cheek.

I smile softly at his touch.

He puts his big, warm hand over my tender stomach and we meld into each other’s bodies. The air between us is alive with intimacy and comfort. We both lie in silence and I know he’s not going to sleep; I can almost hear his brain ticking away in the darkness.

“We aren’t just fucking, Elliot,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“What are we?” I whisper again.

“Too tired for this conversation.”

I frown.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs, then kisses my cheek and holds me close.

Questions roll around in my psyche and yet, here in his arms, I feel safe.

Too tired for this conversation . . . What does that even mean?

It’s like I’m swimming out to sea with no sight of land. I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t get out of the rip tide as I get swept along. Perhaps I wouldn’t, even if I could.

The water is dark, but it’s too late. I’m too far from the shore to turn back.

My dearest Pinkie,

Tell me something interesting, my day is dull.

Ed

X

I smirk and look guiltily around my office. I really shouldn’t be speaking to Ed while I’m working, but my day is pretty dull too. We’ve got into the habit of speaking numerous times a day. Completely platonic of course, but fun nevertheless. If it wasn’t for the sarky sense of humor, I couldn’t reconcile that he and Elliot are the same person at all.

Dearest Ed,

There are two body parts on a human that never stop growing.

The nose and the ears.

Pinkie

X

A reply bounces straight back.

Pinkie,

I must say, I’m let down with your so-called interesting fact. Another mundane piece of information I didn’t need to hear.

Thankfully I’m blessed with perfection. Unfortunately I know that I can’t say the same for you.

Perhaps you should update your profile picture from a cat to an elephant now to evade catfishing more poor unsuspecting suitors.

I giggle. “You idiot.”

I type:

My dearest Pinocchio,

I am a very busy woman, doing a very important job.

Stop annoying me and go and tend to your garbage.

I smile and click out of my email. Edgar Moffatt, my sweet distraction.

Saturday night, Andrew drives through London; Elliot and I in the backseat.

“Do we really have to go?” I sigh. “I hate the thought of walking into this thing alone.” I’m dressed in a long, black, fitted evening gown, my hair is curled, and my makeup is natural. Elliot approves—I had to fight him off before we even left home.

“I told you already”—Elliot picks up my hand and kisses the back of it—“Miles Media have made a very generous donation and I have to be there for the presentation.”

“I guess.” I exhale heavily as I stare out of the window.

“I’ve arranged for us to be seated at the same table and we can leave as soon as the speeches are over.” He leans over and kisses me just below my ear to try and sweeten the blow. “Then we can go to your favorite restaurant.”

“You mean, your favorite restaurant,” I whisper. We’ve been to the private dining room twice, and each time I’ve ended up giving Casanova Miles a lap dance with a happy ending. Something about that place makes me putty in his hands.

Elliot gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Well, you do seem to enjoy yourself there.”

My eyes flick to Andrew—can he hear us?

I slide my hand up Elliot’s thick quad and dust my fingers over his crotch. His eyes hold mine and I feel a twinge beneath my touch as he flexes his dick.

“Why can’t we walk in together?” I whisper.

“You know why.” He kisses me softly.

“How long is this going to go on for?” I murmur into his mouth.

“You don’t want the attention that comes from dating me, Kathryn. Trust me on this.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “When it’s just me and you, nobody else can fuck this up,” he whispers.

I smile; he’s right. I nod, feeling a little better.

“Let me out here, Andrew, and drop Kathryn at the door please.”

“Yes sir.” The car pulls up to the curb.

Elliot takes a ticket out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and passes it to me. “Go inside, check the seating, and I’ll meet you at our table.”

I nod, my nerves beginning to thump. “Okay.” He kisses me quickly and gets out of the car and Andrew pulls back out into the traffic; we go around the corner and up the street and he pulls into a large circular driveway. He turns and smiles. “Here you go, Kate.”

“Thank you.” I get out of the car and walk up the oversized sandstone steps, hand my ticket to the doorman, and walk through the large archway. The ballroom is huge and extravagant, with big, round, candlelit tables and beautiful fresh flowers in arrangements. I walk through to the seating map and make my way to the table.

The table is already full except for three seats. “Hello.” I smile as I sit down beside a kind-looking couple.

“Hello,” everyone replies happily, and they all introduce themselves one by one. The waiter walks past with a silver tray full of glasses of champagne. I take one—hell . . . just leave the entire tray, please.

“Hi.” A man across the table smiles at me. He’s around thirty, with fair hair, very good-looking, actually. “Are you alone?” he asks.

“Yes.” I clutch my purse with white-knuckle force on my lap. Damn Elliot, this is the first and last time I’m doing this.

“Me too.” Without a word the man gets up and swaps his name tag with Elliot’s.

He slinks into the seat beside me. “That’s better.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Charles.”

I smile and shake it. “Kathryn.”

He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Lovely to meet you, Kathryn.”

I feel him before I see him. Elliot slinks into the chair opposite, his eyes find mine and I pull my hand from Charles’s lips.

Crap.

“Mr. Miles,” someone from the side splutters. “How lovely to see you again.”

Elliot turns and fakes a smile. “Hello.” He does the honors and shakes everyone’s hands at the table.

“Charles.” The man reaches over to shake Elliot’s hand.

Elliot raises an eyebrow in a silent you’re in my seat signal. “Elliot Miles.”

“I know who you are.” Charles smiles broadly. “Doesn’t everyone.”

Elliot rolls his lips as he stares at him flatly, clearly unimpressed.

Awkward.

I tip my head back and take a gulp of champagne.

“I switched seats with you,” Charles jokes. “I saw beautiful Kathryn here and simply had to sit next to her. You snooze, you lose, old boy.”

Elliot’s eyes hold his and I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile—oh, this is priceless.

Charles turns his attention back to me. “So, Kathryn, we were meant to meet tonight. I feel like the gods have shone down on me—tell me all about you.”

Good grief.

My eyes flick to Elliot, who raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his champagne.

What’s going through that control-freak head of his?

I tip my head back and skull again.

Help.

Oh what hell it is to ride on a charity ball tonight.

At first I thought teasing Elliot with Charles was a little fun, harmless flirting, but as the night goes on . . . not so much.

Charles is now openly flirting with me and I don’t want to be rude, but with Elliot in earshot it’s my worst nightmare. Elliot is talking to other people at the table, but I know he’s listening to my and Charles’s every word.

I’m deflecting compliments and sidestepping his flirting, but with every new tactic he tries, and he’s fucking trying them all, my blood pressure rises a little more.

At any moment I’m expecting Elliot to go bat-shit crazy, and dive across the table and punch Charles straight in the nose, because that’s who he is.

But to my surprise, he’s being calm and collected, his public persona firmly in place.

It’s very unsettling.

His eyes hold mine as he lifts his Scotch to his lips and takes a sip, emotionless and cold.

He’s fucking pissed.

Out-of-control Elliot Miles is manageable. Cold and calculating Elliot Miles is a completely different story. This situation is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

“Elliot.” We hear a sexy voice with a German accent, and I look up to see a drop-dead gorgeous woman in an ice-pink, strapless evening gown. She has long, dark hair and a body to die for.

Elliot glances up and then says something to her in another language. I can tell by the look on his face, it’s flirty . . . I know that look all too well.

She laughs on cue.

Huh?

What did he just say?

She replies in . . . I think it’s German.

He gives her a sexy smile and stands and holds his hand out for her. He says something else to her in German and she throws her head back and laughs out loud.

What the fuck?

“Who is this?” Charles asks.

Excellent question, Charles . . . you giant dickhead.

“This is Varuscka.” Elliot replies as he looks at her all adoringly. “And we’re dancing.” He leads her by the hand to the dance floor and takes her in his arms. I glare after them as my blood begins to boil. Varuscka Vermont, the woman he gave a lift home.

Seeing him and her together now . . . maybe there was more to it.

What the actual fucking fuck?

I pick up my glass and drain it, then refill my glass so fast that it sloshes over the side.

“Steady on.” Charles laughs. “Don’t want to get drunk and disorderly, do we?”

I glare at him, shut up, shut up. This is all your fault, you fucking idiot.

He’s playing games . . .

He just wants to pay me back for talking to Charles all night, it’s obvious.

Calm, calm . . . keep fucking calm.

With a shaky hand I lift my glass to my lips and I glance over to the dance floor. Elliot is holding her close in his arms, his back to me. Tall, dark, and handsome in a black dinner suit, he looks orgasmic, a standout in the crowded room. He’s talking in her ear and by the look on her face it looks like he’s telling her how many ways he could lick her to heaven.

My eyes begin to glow red as adrenaline pumps through my bloodstream.

Are you kidding me?

He brings me here, makes me pretend I’m alone because he can’t be seen with me, then gets pissed when someone hits on me . . . then flirts in German with God’s gift to men to pay me back.

Asshole.

The song finishes and they dance again, she’s laughing and chatting, looking up at him all adoringly. Her eyes are all love-heart shaped with a rose-colored blush on her face.

I know that look, I’ve seen it in the mirror many a time.

Have they slept together? Is she one of the nine and a half million women that he’s slept with?

Casanova fucking Miles.

Charles is still rattling on and I’ve filled my glass three times. Will you shut the hell up, Charles! I am not in the mood to hear your fucking crap. I’ve got enough of my own crap to deal with here.

The song finishes but, instead of coming back to the table, Elliot goes to the bar with Varuscka.

What?

My blood boils and the last of my sanity snaps.

That’s it . . . it’s go time.

You want a fight, fucker? You just got one.

He gets two drinks at the bar, one for Varuscka and one for him, and he stands facing me in among the crowd as they talk.

I glare at him and he glares right back, raises his glass of Scotch to me in a silent salute.

I throw my napkin on the table and push my seat out. Fuck this, I’m out.

How dare he?

“I’m going,” I say to the table.

“Oh, so soon,” Charles cries. “The night is young.”

“I have to work in the morning,” I lie with a fake smile.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Not necessary.” I smile through gritted teeth. “Nice to meet you all.” I grab my clutch and give the table a weak wave and walk toward the door.

“Nonsense,” I hear Charles call from behind me.

I burst through the doors and out into the lobby. Damn it, my coat is in the cloakroom. I don’t want to wait but the coat is my favorite, so I dig out my ticket and stand in line.

Charles runs as he catches up, puts his hands in his pockets as he waits beside me. I stare at him and, funnily enough, in any normal circumstances I would have thought this guy was gorgeous. I mean, he is.

He’s just not him.

Ugh, I’m infuriated. Why do I have such shit taste in men?

“Let’s go and get a drink somewhere,” Charles says. “I want to get out of here, too.”

“The only place you’ll be going is to the fucking morgue,” Elliot growls from behind us.

Charles turns. “Mr. Miles,” he stammers.

Elliot glares at him. “Get out of my fucking sight.”

Charles eyes widen as he looks at us in turn. “I mean—”

“Now!” Elliot barks. “And don’t you dare contact her again.”

Oh, hell.

“Next,” the coat girl calls. I step forward in a rush and hand over my ticket, so angry I can hardly see straight, and in my peripheral vision I see Charles practically run back into the ballroom.

Wimp.

I get my coat and march to the door, Elliot hot on my heels. “Go away,” I whisper angrily.

“Fuck off,” he snaps as he follows me.

My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. I barge through the doors and see the black Bentley parked and waiting for us.

“Get in,” Elliot barks.

“Go to hell.” I begin to march along the pavement.

“Get. The. Fuck. In. The. Car.” He opens the back door.

I look up to see people are stopping and staring, I don’t want a scene. Fuck’s sake.

I get in the back of the car and he gets in behind me.

“Hello.” Andrew smiles as he pulls out into the traffic.

“Take me home.”

“My house,” Elliot growls.

“Let me out of the car.” I lose control and I don’t give a damn any more. “You fucking asshole,” I scream.

Andrew’s eyes flick up to me in the mirror.

“Drive to my house,” Elliot demands, punching the seat in front of us. “You do not play fucking games with me. Do you hear me, Kathryn?” he screams.

“Oh, but you can flirt in German?” I yell. “Do me a favor and go back inside to her, you self-centered fucking asshole.”

Andrew grips the steering wheel; I can tell he’s unsure where to drive to.

“Do not fucking tempt me,” Elliot yells as the car slows at the traffic lights.

What the actual fuck . . . he didn’t just say that.

My anger hits a crescendo, I go to open the car door to get out and it’s locked. “Open the door,” I yell.

“Do not open the door,” Elliot orders.

Andrew’s nervous eyes flick up to the backseat. He’s unsure what to do.

“So help me God, Andrew, drive me to my house or I’m having you charged with kidnapping,” I scream.

Andrew’s eyes widen and he makes an instant U-turn.

Elliot punches the seat in front of him again.

The car pulls up at my house and the door lock releases. I get out and slam the door.

Elliot does too, and he follows me up the steps to my house. “Get the fuck away from me,” I snap. “How dare you.”

“How dare I what?” He holds his hands out wide as if shocked. “You’re the one that’s carrying on.”

“Don’t tempt you to go back to her? Be my fucking guest, Elliot. I dare you,” I spit.

He narrows his eyes.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to be seen with me.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” he yells. “I don’t want drama, cut your shit.”

“Well, I don’t want to be your unpaid fucking prostitute any longer. If you’re ashamed to be seen with me in public, don’t see me in private.” I unlock the front door and push it open with force. Thank God nobody’s home, we’re screaming the house down here.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Kathryn,” he growls.

“It’s not a threat.” I slam the door in his face. “It’s a promise,” I scream through it.

He punches the door and it rattles the front of the house.

“Leave!” I yell.

He punches it again and it echoes through the whole house.

“You are going to break the fucking door, Elliot. I mean it. Go. Away!” I put the deadlock on, and march up the stairs.

I peer out of the window and see him pacing on the pavement. Andrew is out of the car talking to him, obviously trying to calm him down.

My heart is pounding as I wait for his next move. Angry Elliot Miles is a beast to behold, and damn it, I don’t want to deal with him tonight.

Please . . . just go.

Ten minutes later, I hear his door slam, peer through the crack in the curtains, and watch the car slowly pull away. Relief fills me and I drop onto my bed. “Ugh,” I fume. “What a fucking asshole.”