Page 33 of Mr. Devereaux

I drive ahead, the gates closing behind, and I pull into my parking garage.

Turning the engine off, I turn to look at her once more.

I can’t believe she’s here. After all this time.

I climb out of the car and move toward her side, opening her door.“Charlize,” I say, crouching down. She doesn’t stir.

With a sigh, I realise I can’t leave her here, nor do I want to wake her. Taking a quick inhale of breath, I sling her bag over my shoulder then scoot my arms under her body and haul her up into my arms.

She jostles slightly, murmuring as I kick the car door closed with my foot.

She barely weighs a thing. I use my thumb print to gain access to the front door as I step inside. Her head rests on my chest and I dare not glance down at her sleeping form in my arms. I have enough guilt swirling around inside me without adding to it.

I contemplate leaving her on the sofa, it’s comfortable and warm, but I don’t want her to wake with a sore neck. So I head straight to the guest room. She’ll be comfortable there.

I wander down the hall, the lights illuminating on a sensor as I walk. I mount the stairs to the first floor, push the door open and lay her bag over the armchair. I carefully slide the covers to one side as I lay her on the mattress. I pull her heels off, shaking my head at the sheer size. How she was able to walk in these, I’ll never know.

I pull the covers back over her and stand for a moment, looking down at her silhouette.

Charlize Prescott.

I can’t believe she’s here.

If I can ever get the memory of her naked body out of my mind, then maybe I can look her straight in the eye again. The jury’s still out on that one.

I move out of the room. If I’m caught standing here staring, she’ll only accuse me of being even more of a creeper.

But there are things to say to her that I need to get off my chest.

Things that she has a right to know, and details I should’ve told her long before now. To set the record straight.

I just hope she’s in a better mood when the morning comes.

Chapter Nine

Charlize

I wake with a jolt.

I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m not in my own bedroom.

I sit up, looking around the darkened room as I think back… ballroom. Party. Alistair Devereaux. Ah, now I remember. And it seems as if I’m in his freaking house.

He carried me at some point during the night. I throw the comforter back and slip into the bathroom, desperate for a pee.

Of course, everything in the bathroom is lavish as I pad on the cool marble beneath my feet.

The bastard tucked me into bed, but at least he had the decency to remove my shoes.

I can’t stop thinking about him. About what we did.

I should’ve stopped him, even if deep down I didn’t want to.

Everything about Alistair is as I remember it. Only heightened.

He’s the same grumpy arsehole he always was, no surprise there, but his appearance has changed a lot. He’s… darker, somehow. As in, no longer the fresh-faced young man he was before. He has this power about him that’s unnerving. His words like steel, cutting against my skin so effortlessly.

Of course, I know he’s a hot-shot CEO these days. I’d heard along the grapevine over the years, not that I kept tabs on him.

---