Page 1 of Worth Every Moment
1
ERICA
Five Years Earlier
The most handsome man I’ve ever seen is asleep on my new sofa. Okay, so he passed out there, but that’s beside the point. I’m still allowed to feel a little pride in the fact he’s here at all.
Seb Hawkston. The youngest son of William Hawkston, hotel magnate, and one of London’s most eligible bachelors. Seb has featured on Tatler’s list of the most eligible men under 30 in the UK for the last few years, and right now, he’s onmy sofa.
It’s nearly 9 am on Saturday, and Seb and the scattered detritus from last night are the only remaining signs that I threw a party. I stare at him, delaying the moment I have to wake him up.
Broad shoulders, a suit that’s definitely bespoke, and shoes that scream hand-stitched Italian leather. Strong jaw, full lips, thick brown hair with a slight wave to it. He’s so good looking that my examination of his face feels compulsive; his presence has unearthed some addiction I didn’t know I had and now I have no choice but to feed it. There’s a shadow of stubble overhis jaw, which I want to stroke with my fingertip, but that would beproperlycreepy. And I’m not there yet. I’m on the border, peeking a toe over the line like a teenager obsessively perusing a celebrity’s social media, but not daring to leave a comment.A teensy bit creepy, but not fully committed.
I hadn’t met him before last night, but occasionally, someone walks into your life and you get a strange ‘knowing’ that they’re important. That’s what happened when he walked in. He didn’t look at me, but my body reacted to his presence, as if part of his soul reached out to mine and said, ‘Hey there, I’m the one you’ve been waiting for. Sorry it took me so long to find you’. Even if we never see each other again, I’ll remember that feelingforever.
He’s lying on his side, one arm draped off the edge of the sofa.He has beautiful hands. He was drunk last night, and it’s a miracle he’s not snoring. I imagine he’ll feel dreadful when he wakes.
As much as I’d like to keep him here, or at least let him rest a little longer, I need to clear up and head to a casting before my mother shows up. I’m not expecting her, but she has a habit of appearing whenever she wants, especially if she suspects I might have sullied my virginal reputation in her absence. If she finds a man on my sofa, she’ll probably have a meltdown. It doesn’t fit the brand—Erica Lefroy, top model and fashion entrepreneur, and a paragon of untouchable chastity—to have men strewn across the sofa, even if they do look like Greek Gods.
Crap.I’ll have to wake him.
I put my coffee on the table and crouch beside him. He’s beautiful, but he smells like alcohol and I wrinkle my nose.
How am I going to do this? He’s out cold. I could shout in his face, but who wants to be woken up like that? I’ll have to touch him.Just have to. Gently, of course.
I tap the tip of his nose with one finger, and an energetic jolt zaps down my arm.Did he feel that? How is he still asleep?
I run my fingers over his cheekbone, finding his skin softer than I’d expected. He sighs and shifts, but doesn’t rouse fully. I blow into his face; his eyelids flutter and he waves his hand like he’s batting away a swarm of flies.
Opening his eyes, he catches sight of me and his hand halts in midair. He lets it fall slowly, and then he just… stares right back at me. His full attention blazes like the force of a thousand fires against my skin.It’s hot in here.
I hold his gaze, taking in the sharp blue of his irises, which are framed by dark lashes that curl.I’d pay good money for those.
“Wow,” he breathes, sounding almost like he’s in a trance. “You’re even more beautiful in the morning.”
My stomach flutters.Oh, boy am I in trouble. I need to get him out of my apartment before I do something I regret.
I shift back from the edge of the sofa and perch on the perpendicular one where I can calm down without looking like I’m running away.
“I bet you say that to all the women you wake up next to.” I aim for playful, but my tone must miss the mark because he looks away, and the loss of eye contact hits me like whiplash.
“Fuck,” he groans, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling as he rakes a hand through the thick wave of his hair. His eyes flick to mine through a wince. “Please tell me we didn’t have sex, because I have no memory of it and that would be the fuck up of all fuck ups.”
I want to laugh at the distress on his face. “That was a lot of fucks.”
He groans again.
This time, I put him out of his misery. “We did not have sex.”Of course we didn’t have sex. I’ve never had sex with anyone, but Seb Hawkston doesn’t need to know that detail.
He blows out a breath and lowers his legs to the floor so he can sit up. The movement releases a burst of expensive cologne, which fans the flames of the heat roaring through me. He’s still wearing a jacket and tie, and although I suspect he’s feeling like shit, he looks nearly pristine and devilishly handsome.Impressive.
“Hi," I say, intending to introduce myself so we can start over. “I’m—”
“I know who you are,” he says, his voice husky and low. The sound makes my heart race a little too fast. “Erica Lefroy.”
I’m relieved he said my name instead of reeling off a load of my recent accomplishments. It makes me feel more like a person and less like a brand.
“Ah, so you do remember last night,” I tease.
