Page 15 of Heart of The Night

‘Three years.’

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘Not your average twenty-five-year-old’s living arrangements, is it? A central London penthouse.’ I folded my arms. ‘Nor a twenty-eight-year-old’s, for that matter…’

‘I’m privileged,’ he conceded with a nod.

Gazing around, I wondered if he owned it. ‘Do you…?’

‘Do I what?’

I hesitated, worrying my question might cross a boundary, but understanding the broad strokes of his financial situation seemed appropriate if we were considering a serious relationship. ‘This flat… Do you own it, or does it belong to your parents? Or are you renting, perhaps?’

One of his eyebrows quirked upward. ‘I own it. Why?’

‘Well, it must have been ridiculously expensive. Did John and Daphné help you out?’

‘Of course.’

‘Has Jason been treated to the same generosity?’

‘Yes.’ He seemed surprised. ‘Hasn’t he mentioned it?’

I shook my head. ‘I’ve never asked, though. And he’s always been a bit reticent when it comes to discussing finances.’

‘That’s just how we were raised. But, since you’re asking, he owns a place in Chelsea near our parents. He rents it out, though.’

‘How come?’

‘Well, Mum and Dad allow him to live rent-free in the flat you’re sharing with him in Notting Hill, but that’s only while he’s a student. They’ve always been quite adamant about the importance of education. They never wanted us juggling jobs while studying, hence the free accommodation. The income he generates from letting his own flat, he invests in a mutual fund.’

His family’s wealth had never been more apparent.

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Wise, I suppose.’

‘It’s the crux of capitalism.’ He shrugged. ‘Say what you want about it, but it makes rich people richer.’

‘That it does.’

‘Which is why I believe it’s important to give back – a sentiment my whole family shares. We’re actively involved with several charities.’ He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if suddenly self-conscious about potentially boring me. ‘Anyway, how about a glass of wine? I’m in the mood for something… intoxicating.’ His eyes, smouldering with sudden intensity, flickered down to my lips and back up again.

A sultry smile bent my mouth as I toyed with the idea. Wine? The remnants of alcohol in my system were ebbing away, and perhaps a glass might help to dispel the lingering tension between us.

‘Well,’ I stepped closer, ‘I could definitely do with something intoxicating.’

His head tilted slightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement that shimmered like sunlight on a sea’s surface.

‘A Sancerre, perhaps?’

His French pronunciation sent a spark of impatience through me. I wanted more than wine. I wanted him.

‘Or,’ my fingers gripped his white T-shirt, ‘we could skip the wine?’ I tugged him toward me, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face, making my heart flutter.

In one swift, fluid motion, he seized my hand, our fingers intertwining in a firm grip. He spun me around with unexpected urgency, pressing my back flush against the solid warmth of his torso. His free hand snaked around my waist, anchoring me securely against him. I instinctively arched into him, my spine moulding to his shape, and an involuntary gasp escaped me as I felt the undeniable hardness of his arousal pressing insistently into my lower back.

‘Impatient, Cara?’ His voice was a low murmur, a silky whisper that covered my skin in goosebumps. The warmth of his breath feathered against my ear, heightening my awareness of how close he was.

‘Yes,’ I said breathily, grinding against his erection.

Without warning, he gripped my hips and steered me forward, guiding me with a sense of intention. He led me toward a particular wall – one that held a potent memory, a loud echo of our first intimate encounter. My pulse sped up as we approached it, the air thick with the thrilling blend of past and present.

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