Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

I’m still at work.

I know. I’m downstairs from your office.

My heart-rate accelerates. I hover my finger over the keypad.

Why?

I can practically hear him laughing.

IDK...the scenery?

Now it’s my turn to laugh.

If concrete’s your thing...

You’re my thing. Get your butt down here.

My heart slams into my ribs. I jam a stack of papers into my handbag, thinking guiltily of the fact I should definitely be reading them now instead of flirting with my fuck buddy via text message.

And definitely instead of skiving out of the office an hour or so before I should leave, just because he’s downstairs and wanting to go to Korean barbecue...

I shoulder my way out of the office, flicking the lights off then calling to my assistant, ‘I’ve got a thing. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Kevin—who is unswervingly organised and one hundred per cent the reason I can get as much done in a day as I do—frowns. ‘I don’t have anything in your diary...’

‘It’s personal.’ My smile is tight and at his look of undisguised curiosity I shake my head. ‘Just a thing with a friend. I’ll see you in the morning.’

His disappointment is obvious. Apparently he was hoping I had some sort of romantic assignation. And even though I kind of do, I’m definitely not prepared to tell Kevin—or anyone else that. I imagine Kevin’s reaction to the news I’ve been sleeping with the same guy for six months. He would have no end of questions and I know instinctively I’d struggle to have answers to any of them.

No, it’s not serious. Yes, I know six months is a long time. Because he’s not into relationships and I’ve spent a lifetime trying to make one man love me; there’s no way I’d ever be stupid enough to sign up to that again.

But this isn’t—and never has been—about love. It’s not about me loving him, and certainly not about him loving me. I’ve finally learned that expecting nothing of anyone makes life a heck of a lot easier. The elevator whooshes to the lobby. I stride across it with my head bent, sweeping out of the sliding doors into the small drive-through area. I realise once I emerge that I’ve never been in his car. I scan the bays, trying to guess which it would be, then a light comes on in a sleek black SUV and he’s stepping out of the driver’s door, walking towards me with his trademark masculinity and confidence. He’s breathtaking and, indeed, my breath bursts out of me.

‘Hey.’ My voice is croaky. He nods, reaching for my over-stuffed handbag, taking its hefty weight from my shoulder before putting a hand in the small of my back.

We walk side by side to the car and it’s so strange because for the briefest moment it almost feels like a date. It’s not, and I rush to remind myself of that, to hold onto the reality of what we are, of what I want from him.

Sex. Lots of sex. As much as possible in the next month.

No, not quite a month; it’s less than that now. I ignore the blade that presses into my side.

‘How did your Korean barbecue poll turn out?’

He opens the door for me. ‘Two of two respondents answered favourably.’

‘Wow. A one hundred per cent success rate: impressive.’

He grins, leaning into the car once I’m seated and kissing me—quickly but as though he can’t help it. I smile against his mouth, curve a hand around the back of his head and hold him right where he is, deepening the kiss, sliding my tongue into his mouth to tangle with his.

His hand rests on my knee and I squirm a little, wanting him to touch me higher, needing him in a way that is almost painful.

His laugh is throaty and he breaks away from me with a small shake of his head. ‘Click in, Asha.’ He shuts the door and I pout because I don’t love the way he was so easily able to back away from me. Not when my insides are quivering with renewed desire.

But I buckle my seat belt in place and shift my body towards the driver’s seat, so when he steps into it I’m facing him. He revs the engine to life and it throbs beneath us, quiet but resonant.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I know a place in the Village.’