Page 17 of The Passion

Even if she doesn’t really know me, only in the physical form, I had this ache all day to be the person there to see the blood and hold her hand while we closed the wound.

I’m so confused why I feel like this, but it was a waste of energy because she’s not interested in leaning on me.

Instead of the expensive bottle of wine I had waiting for our dinner, I crack open a beer, cover the steak, and place it back in the fridge. Then sitting on my own, I continue to enjoy my dinner because if there is one thing I hate, it’s food being wasted. Especially a meal that is like an orgasm on your tongue and cooked to perfection by the chef of the house. Me!

I turn my phone to do-not-disturb because I don’t want to be tempted to wait for her message and then looking like I was desperate to reply. It’s the great thing about phones in that I can block the rest of the world out but know that any of the guys and my family can still get a hold of me if they need me.

I have enough money to have a full-time housekeeper and chef, but I don’t let anyone cook in my kitchen, well, except Nic, and we are usually cooking together. You can take the boy out of the life of struggles, but you can’t take the memory of the struggles out of the boy.

And that I’m proud of.

Remember where you came from, and it will always steer you in the right direction.

But if you think I’m doing my own cleaning or laundry, you are dreaming. Mrs. Adams looks after me and cleans up the fur left all over the place by the damn cat. I don’t know how many lint brushes I go through a year trying to keep my black and navy suits hair-free.

I walk into my bedroom after a shower, shirtless and still rubbing my hair with the towel. A pair of gym shorts are low-slung on my hips, and I can’t decide if I’m ready to crawl into bed and binge a bit more of the new Australian series ofSurvivorthat I need to catch up on, or if the couch is more inviting. I love that show. The ultimate game of strategy and a strong game plan, while watching yourself for all the backstabbing that’s happening around you.

I’d be a champion player on the show, but I don’t need the prize money, nor do I have the time, and in a way, that’s my life every day in the business world.

In the distance, I hear the buzz of the intercom system from the doorman downstairs. What I love about living here is I don’t ever get unexpected guests. I could be walking around the apartment naked and never have to worry.

Sassy jumps off the bed as I make my way past her toward the foyer to see what the front desk wants. It’s probably just to let me know that there is another package at the desk they need to bring up. I came straight up from the garage when Gregory dropped me off earlier tonight and didn’t walk past the desk.

Online shopping is my hidden pleasure, but it’s not for stupid frivolous purchases. I search the internet for old-school vinyl records. Not the new ones they are reproducing now that it is back in fashion, but the original ones that were produced back when that was the only way you could listen to music.

To me, it’s still the best way to listen to a memorable song, scratches and all.

I push the button to accept the call. “Yes?” I wait for the familiar voice of Reggie, the late-night doorman.

“Mr. Taylor, Miss Kentwall, the guest you had on the list for eight pm, has arrived. Am I okay to still send her up this late?”

A smirk of satisfaction spreads on my face as I reply. “Thank you, Reggie. That’s fine.”

Walking away from the elevator, I know I should go and put a shirt on and possibly even some underwear under these shorts, but she’s in my domain now, and if she turns up late, then she takes me as I am.

Relaxed, wet, and free-balling.

Resting my ass on the back of the couch, waiting for the elevator doors to open, I can’t help but feel the anticipation that is building at seeing her.

The gentle ding announcing its arrival sounds louder than normal, but maybe because the apartment sounds deathly quiet.

Putting my game face on as the doors slide open, I’m ready to score the next point in this game we have started, but the woman standing in front of me is not who I was expecting. The straitlaced put-together woman from that night in the bar is gone, and in front of me is someone who has just been through a day from hell.

She is dressed in black jeans, white sneakers, and a dark gray zip-up hoodie. The top of her hair is all messed up, telling me she had the hood over her head before she made it to me.

With her hand out in front of her, she’s holding the handles of a brown paper bag with the nameTurnipson the side of it which straight away tells me what’s inside.

“Am I too late for dessert? I find sugar helps the… t-tears.” As the first sob escapes her, her lips are trembling as she tries to screw her face up to hold all the emotion in.

Shit.

“Felisha.” Standing straight up, I move toward her as quickly as I can, wrapping her in my arms as tight as possible. The bag drops to the floor, and she clings to me like her life depends on it.

“I’ve got you.” I rub her back and feel the tears on my bare chest as she starts to sob uncontrollably, and I don’t think she is about to stop anytime soon.

I dip my knees slightly and squeeze my arms just that little bit tighter around her, and clasping her waist, I lift her off her feet and walk around my couch. She is so in her own head that she doesn’t even react to the movement. Stopping in front of the long couch and without letting her go, I lie down on my backwith her on top of me. It brings a small gasp from her face buried in my chest as she tries to squirm her way free, but I’m not letting that happen. Rolling to my side, I place her with her back to the couch and her body still cocooned in mine, even with her slight struggle to break free.

It doesn’t last long as she discovers it’s useless trying to move.

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