Cross My Hart (The Notorious Harts 1)

I cradle the Scotch in my palm, staring out at Manhattan.

‘I wanted to travel. I watched Sex and the City and fell in love with Carrie Bradshaw’s New York.’

‘Samson’ll probably want to revamp aspects of the club,’ I hear myself say, like I’m my normal self, focused on business, totally unfazed by anything.

‘Sure.’ Theo’s not convinced.

Great.

‘This is about the wedding, right?’

I frown. ‘What wedding?’

‘Lorena’s? I got the invitation last night.’

‘Lorena’s getting married?’

Theo’s watching me like a hawk.

‘To Thomas Scott-Moore.’

I laugh softly. ‘They deserve each other.’

‘He’ll just have to get her to position his Zimmer frame before they fuck.’

I shake my head. ‘He’s worth a bomb.’

‘That’s all she cares about.’ I nod slowly. Theo’s right—but we’ve discussed Lorena’s failings ad nauseam. ‘I still can’t believe you gave her such a generous settlement in the divorce.’

‘It was worth

it to make her go away.’

‘Then Lorena’s not the reason you’re walking around like it’s doomsday. So what’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’ I’m impatient now. Talking about Grace isn’t going to help. It’s not going to cover over this hole that’s developed in the region of my chest that makes me feel as though my soul’s being drained into the sidewalk.

‘Bullshit.’

He’s like a dog with a bone. ‘Have you spoken to Holden?’

Theo makes a noise of exasperation. ‘Nice subject change.’

I don’t smile. I can’t. I stare out at the city and imagine Grace in it. I imagine her smile as she looks up at the high-rises on a night like this, with snow falling gently from the sky, swirling its way to the ground. I imagine the wonderment on her face, the look of amazement. I imagine lifting her up, holding her to my chest and kissing her right in the middle of Times Square, surrounded by noise and bustle and action in every direction.

I imagine bringing her to my penthouse, laying her on the crisp black sheets of my bed, her skin and hair so pale in comparison, and it’s all I can do not to double in half. Needs and desire threaten to cut me off at the knees.

What I need is to get laid.

Katrina from downstairs would probably be up for it.

But am I?

The thought of kissing another woman is anathema to me. Making love to one even more so.

It’s Grace I miss. Grace I want to hold tight and lose myself inside. Grace I want to hear screaming my name at the top of her lungs.

But I can’t go back into her life just because I want to fuck her. That wouldn’t be fair on her.