Page 73 of The Secret

I did a poor job of holding back a massive smile. “Okay.”

He threaded our fingers together, leading me out of the kitchen and up the stairs, slowly, because I still hadn’t taken off my shoes, and stopped outside my bedroom door.

“Sweet dreams, Columbia.” His lips lingered on my cheek as he reached behind me to turn the doorknob. “Don’t forget, I’ll sort Bell in the morning. Enjoy your lie-in.”

“Are you kidding? I’m never going to forget a lie-in. Thank you,” I stepped back into my room and watched him walk away with a smile. “Good night, Murray.”

I jumped into the shower, not able to hold back the grin. It was still there when I dried off and brushed my teeth. It was still there when I threw on panties and a shirt, as I got into bed.

And it was there an hour later when Bell woke for her one a.m. bottle.

As I held her, Barclay pushed open the door, which he was given to do. Except… when I got up to close it behind him, I could make out a darkened figure running down the stairs, followed by the distinct sound of the front door opening and closing.

The sound of Murray leaving in the middle of the night.

When I got back into bed, my grin didn’t follow, but the sinking feeling I’d carried all day did.

13

Murray

According to the clock on the bedside table, I’d slept a total of three hours, give or take. Yet as someone who cherished sleep over almost every single thing in his life, and should not only be exhausted, but grumpy too, I’d never felt more awake.

Or so overcome with excitement, or happiness, or anticipation.

My body had been buzzing like a livewire all night, my source of energy coming straight from the resident of the room at the other end of the hallway, and the white hot kiss we’d shared.

Even if it was the stupidest, most impulsive reaction to weeks and weeks of not being able to have what I wanted.

After she’d left and Jackson fucking Foggerty had called to tell me how smoking hot she looked, my entire evening had been consumed with thoughts of them together, my brain immediately frying with jealous rage that she was with him, that he’d been able to lay eyes on her looking likethat.

My mouth had dried up the second I’d clocked her walking into the hallway ready to leave, looking like a goddess, a siren beguiling me in a way no one ever had. Ever. Walking like Bambi on impossibly high heels; her lithe, creamy legs made even longer by the tiniest dress known to man, one that would tempt the Devil himself. She’d looked nothing like the Kit I saw every day, the Kit I’d been coming home to every evening, the Kit I’d walked in the park with, made dinner for, the Kit who dressed exclusively in yoga pants.

Then Jackson fucking Foggerty had taken a match to the fuse that was my patience, with one sly little dig about keeping her on a leash.

But I shouldn’t have done it.

I shouldn’t have kissed her.

Because once I had, I couldn’t think of anything else. Anything more perfect than the taste of her on my tongue, her moans echoing round my mouth as I breathed them in until they rooted themselves deep in my core. All that… from a kiss. A kiss I’d never in my life experienced.

But I shouldn’t have done it.

After I’d walked her to her bedroom door, the reality had hit, and so had the text messages coming in thick and fast from Rafe, repeating everything he’d been attempting to drum into me all evening. If all I could think about was our kiss, all I could hear was his voice until it became louder and louder, drowning out all memory of her lips until my only thoughts were about what would happen when she woke up.

That I hadn’t been sober, but was still in full grasp of my actions.

That she had bounced off the kitchen wall and would be sporting a pretty big hangover.

His voice advising me to slow down, asking me to decide first about how we’d navigate the next part; the employer/employee relationship part. He’d been right. I shouldn’t have kissed her, but my self-control eviscerated the second I saw the fury burning in her eyes, aimed directly for me. I’d been a goner.

And now I needed to figure out my next move. I needed to think.

All through school, and college, and my entire career up to the point Bell had arrived, I’d swam. I’d push myself to the point of exhaustion, where my lungs were on the verge of collapse and my head was clear of whatever needed untangling and thoughts made sense.

So that’s what I did. I’d forgotten the power a midnight swim could have. By the time I was done, my decision had been made.

I shouldn’t have kissed her, but now that I had, I was planning on doing it again, then again and again. Until I died, kissing her.

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