Page 21 of The Keeper

Guilt consumed me. I didn’t mean to break my promise. I’d meant what I’d said. But I was young and stupid and reckless and…

“Victoria, are you alright?” The deep, soft timbre of Xavier’s voice broke through my unpleasant trip down memory lane.

My present day surroundings came into sharp focus. A black Land Rover. A concrete floor. The smell of gasoline and rubber and exhaust.

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I avoided looking at him because I knew he’d see right through my weak response. He’d had that effect on me from the start.

“Are you expecting me to believe that?”

The sobering nature of his question snapped me out of my haze.

“I’m just,” I scrambled to come up with words. “Tired. It’s been a long week. I have a lot on my plate for Monday. You know, just work stuff.”

“You’re good at deflecting. Try again.”

“Says the well-rehearsed pro-athlete who knows the right things to say in any situation,” I snapped.

“I could talk in circles with you like this for hours. But I’d rather you be honest with me.”

His hands glided up and down my arms. An unrelenting pull consumed me. I knew what the risks were. I knew what would happen if I let him in. But I didn’t have to let him in. I could do what I always did. Give him my body, take from his, and enjoy the pleasure.

Having a one night stand wouldn’t be that bad, would it? I mean, look at this guy.

He kept touching me. Stroking my arms. My shoulders. It felt so good. Soothing. I wondered what his hands would feel like on my… No. Nope. Not going there.

I looked up. His fingers sifted through my hair, gently scratching along my scalp. Slow, sensual movements. My eyelids fluttered.

The smart, responsible thing to do would be to go back to the rental house. The boys were staying the night in Scotland, so I’d be alone.

Alone with my thoughts.

Alone with my guilt.

Fuck that.

“This feels good. What you’re doing with my hair. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. You’re still not going to tell me are you?”

I sighed, frustrated. “It’s a family thing. That’s all you’re getting.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “Wasn’t so difficult now was it?” he teased.

“Don’t be cute.”

“Is it against your policy to come back to my flat so we’re not inhaling fumes while I do this?” He gently fisted my hair.

“I’ve never encountered this scenario before. I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Ten minutes later, we walked through the front door of his townhouse. It was quiet. Dimly lit. My heart pounded watching him. The way he moved with such fluidity hypnotized me as I followed him.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, heading toward a sideboard covered in bottles and glasses.

“Sure. Whatever you’re having is fine with me.”

I glanced around his living room. One hundred percent bachelor pad but stylish. Large windows framed breathtaking views of London. Two large couches sat in the middle of the room. A chair and ottoman were positioned near the fireplace. I smiled to myself, picturing him sitting there at night. A huge bifold door led out to what I assumed was a patio.

I turned in a slow circle and faced a bookshelf where several medals and awards were displayed. I stood closer to admire them.

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