Page 62 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘They were beautiful, thank you.’

He takes a step closer. He slides his fingers in mine and holds my gaze. My heart gallops.

‘Next year, I’ll make sure your birthday is nothing short of spectacular,’ he says softly. ‘That’s a promise.’

I press my lips together. ‘You don’t know where life will take you this time next year.’

‘I have a feeling you’ll be there, wherever I am.’

I’ve lost all ability to speak. If I could melt into a puddle on the floor, I would. How is it that he feels the same way?

‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks.

I give a small nod and keep my eyes on his. He takes another step forward, and I place one hand against his chest. I feel his muscles flinch at my touch, a tingle shooting from my stomach through to my thighs and everywhere in between. My eyes close as he leans down and brushes a tender kiss against my mouth. My eyelids flutter open again to find Aidan is still looking down at me, inches from my face, his gaze darkening, his heated stare holding mine, his breathing laboured and uneven.

How is it possible we’ve ended up in this position? How is it he now makes every nerve ending in my body stand on end? And to add to my disbelief, it would seem Aidan McArthur feels the same way I do.

As if to echo my thoughts, he whispers, ‘I don’t know how this happened.’

There’s a flicker of a smile on my lips when I respond. ‘I don’t know either.’

His arms encircle my body then, pulling me forward to meet his chest, his open mouth finding mine hungrily. There’s no denying his passion, a low rumble coming from the back of his throat as any nervousness on my part melts away, and I fully meet the kiss. I lose my fingers in his hair, the movement emboldening him, causing his hands to find my waist, to nudge at the hem of my camisole and slide his fingers underneath. I kiss him with an eagerness I’ve never experienced with any man I’ve been intimate with, the flames of need beginning to lick my stomach, the desire coursing through me emerging from my lips as an enthusiastic whimper, which causes Aidan to break the kiss. His breath comes out in gasps and my heart is pounding.

‘When I said this morning, I have to be careful around you…’ I say, ‘I – I don’t want to be careful.’

‘I knew that if I kissed you, I wouldn’t be able to stop,’ is his response, and I know then, that he’s right.

Because after tonight, I’m sure I’m not going to be able to stop kissing him either.

Chapter Eighteen

Cape Town, South Africa

Through the broad window of the suite on the fifth floor, a spectacular panoramic view of Table Mountain is visible under a cloudless blue sky. It makes sense – on arrival at the hotel, I discovered that this is called the Table Mountain Suite. The boys are staying at another exclusive five-star hotel, nestled in the centre of the Victoria and Albert Waterfront in Cape Town, a luxurious Condé Nast Traveler hotel. Along with the remainder of the road crew, myself, Duncan and Meredith have been staying a stone’s throw away at the Old Foundry, a beautifully designed property that is entirely charming, and about a tenth of the price.

Every minute of the boys’ time in Cape Town has been commandeered by rehearsals, interviews, and Rebel Heart fever. Three back-to-back shows were scheduled, with one remaining. I had to plead with Ziggy for a few hours to squeeze in an interview. In front of two separate cameras and under the lights, Jean-Baptiste Peltier has taken a while to relax into the process. Perhaps unsurprisingly, along with Miller, he is the member of the band with whom I feel least acquainted. His English, J.B. explained, had been better than average before he’d joined the band, but he almost hadn’t been allowed to audition when an American producer felt that his grasp of the language wasn’t up to standard, which made him more determined to fight his corner. There are several times when he’s faltered, talking about his low-key, rural upbringing in a town outside Saint-Étienne, going against his French father’s wishes to study law in order to become a singer, which his deeply spiritual Moroccan mother encouraged him to do. Despite his smooth caramel skin, chiselled looks, the notorious pillowy lips and broad shoulders, he’s quiet. Understated. When he is alone and without the support of his band mates, it is apparent that J.B. doesn’t possess their level of assurance or showmanship.

‘Tell me about your son,’ I ask him after about thirty minutes of discussion, trying to remain focused on the task at hand, the memory of Aidan’s kisses heavily affecting my concentration. ‘Tell me about Xavi. Did you plan to have a child?’

J.B. looks shocked. ‘No, I didn’t plan it. But these things… they have a habit of happening when you least expect it. I love Xavi. He’s such a blessing. But, you know, babies… with as much joy that they bring, they can also bring poison to a relationship.’

I frown. It’s not what I expected him to say. ‘Poison? That’s a strong word to use in connection with a helpless infant.’

He looks flustered. ‘Non,non,non, this is not what I mean. I mean, you lose each other, everything changes…’

‘So… you felt you didn’t get time for each other anymore?’

He looks awkward, embarrassed. He gives a shrug. ‘I think I didn’t know what to do. At the time. This job takes me around the world. It felt easier, I guess, to…’

His words hit me full pelt in the stomach, bringing back so many unsavory memories of my own father. ‘To what? To leave? To walk out?’

‘I didn’t walk out. No, it was not like that.’

‘How long have you known her?’

‘Audrey? All my life.’

‘And did you ever think about asking Audrey how it felt when you broke things off?’

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