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?”