Page 15 of By His Side

“I’ll text you the time.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

When he ended the call, I spent ten minutes waiting for a burst of conscience to hit. One that would remind me that Darien wasn’t a plaything. When it didn’t, I got up and left. I wasn’t planning to do anything terrible to him, just to spice up his life and bend his moral compass a bit. Besides, for all I knew, he’d resist temptation and it would all come to naught.

I couldn’t wait to find out.

Chapter Six

Darien

I sat outside the house in Hampstead for longer than I should, checking and rechecking that I had everything in order to ensure my visit would be a quick one. Home visits weren’t that unusual, but this one had my heart rate elevated and my palms slightly sweaty. I still hadn’t got a handle on Felix and the way he turned his flirtation on and off so easily. Did that mean it was an act? Something designed to throw me off balance? If so, it was working.

Another couple of minutes ticked by before I sighed at how pathetic I was being.Get in. Be friendly but firm. Ask my questions. Get out.There was nothing complicated about that. Besides, his mother was probably there. What better chaperone could there be? I chastised myself for being paranoid as I climbed out of the car, locked it, and made my way to the front door, knocking before I could think better of it. Once this was done, I didn’t need to speak to him for a couple of weeks unless there were problems.

The door swung open immediately, Felix’s raw masculinity filling the space. He wore a simple outfit, but his blue jeans and white T-shirt hugged his frame perfectly, making it look anything but simple. His feet were bare, and he was clean-shaven, a whiff of spicy cologne coming my way when he shifted slightly. If I’d been in a bar, I would have looked twice. More than twice, if I was honest.

“Hi,” I said, the word coming out a lot more throaty than I’d intended it to. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, I’m a bit late.”

Felix’s smile was slow as he completed his own scrutiny, my charcoal gray suit suddenly feeling like it didn’t fit properly. “Hi. Maybe next time, don’t sit in your car for so long and you’ll be on time.”

Why hadn’t it occurred to me that Felix might look out of the window? He’d been in my car, so he knew exactly what it looked like. I needed to engage my brain and think. With that in mind, I stood straighter. “I had a few calls to make. You know… busy, busy.”

“’Busy, busy,’” Felix echoed in a way that said he knew it was bullshit.

He stepped aside, and I took the silent invitation to enter the house. “Are we in the kitchen?”

Felix shook his head and led me down the hallway to a living room. “No, I thought we may as well be comfortable. Make the most of getting you out of your office.”

I laughed. “Right.” I would have preferred the kitchen. The kitchen would have put a heavy oak table between us as a barrier.For fuck’s sake, what was I thinking?I didn’t need a barrier. What did I think he was going to do? Despite giving myself a talking-to, I chose an armchair rather than the sofa to keep a bit of distance between us. “Is your mother here?”

The slight tightening of Felix’s lips said something about the question bothered him. “No. She’s just as busy as you are.” He stoodand regarded me silently as I set about extracting all the things I needed from my briefcase. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“A glass of water would be nice.” I didn’t need it, but it would give me a few moments alone while he went to get it. By the time he returned with two glasses containing ice cubes and a slice of lemon, I had everything ready. He took the seat on the sofa closest to me and sipped from his glass while I fired questions at him, none of his answers anything but polite.

Felix’s case was more straightforward than most. There were no gangs that I needed to ensure he stayed away from. The only person he’d engaged in previous criminal activity with was his ex-boyfriend, who was serving a life sentence and wouldn’t be getting parole. He lived with his mother, so had zero contact with anyone who might prove a bad influence. Apparently, his mother had set up a bank account for him, so money wasn’t a problem and finding a job could wait.

Most of the clients I dealt with had a lot less going for them than Felix. Most would have chewed their right arm off to have a rich mother and a cushy house to stay in. Being Felix Church’s PO would be quite the breeze if things continued in the same vein.

“Are you finding anything difficult?” I asked.

His pretty gray eyes narrowed. “What doyouthink?”

I took a sip of my water. “I’m asking you.” I waved a hand around the living room, verbalizing my earlier thoughts. “You have a nice setup here. You’re lucky.”

“Lucky!” The way he almost spat the word out was my first warning. There was no avoiding Storm Felix as it came for me. He went from sitting on the sofa to looming over me, arms braced on either side to trap me in the chair in a matter of seconds. “Lucky, am I? I went to a prison for a crime I didn’t commit. For seven years. Is thatlucky? My abusive boyfriend framed me. Is that lucky? My mother will barely talk to me because she thinks I chose that boyfriend over her and she has this fairytale idea that the courts are never wrong? Is that lucky? I have no prospects because of the aforementioned. Is that lucky? And I have a probation officer who asks stupid fucking questions. Is that lucky? So… if you need something to write on your form. Then the answer iseverything.Everythingis fucking difficult. Can you spell that? Do you need help with it?”

Anger flushed his cheeks as I stared up at him. My throat was dry, the half full glass of water only an arm’s length away resembling an oasis in the desert. I couldn’t reach for it because one of Felix’s arms was in the way. “I’m sorry,” I said, the apology not seeming nearly enough considering Felix’s fury. “I shouldn’t have been so flippant.”

Felix lowered his gaze, his face far too close for comfort. At least, he’d gotten himself mostly back under control, some of the flush easing from his cheeks and his stance relaxing slightly. “You’re sorry?”

“I am.”

“How sorry are you?”

I frowned, the question making no sense. “What do you mean?”

“We had a fight—”

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