Page 15 of Parker
“Can I see you again?” he asks, hopefully. “I’ve had a lovely time.”
Flattered by the invitation, I smile at him. “I’ll see you next week?”
“That’s not exactly what I meant. Can I have your number?”
He passes his phone to me, and I type my number into the keypad. “Thank you for a lovely time.” I rise and walk over to him, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. My heart skips a beat. He places his hands on my hips, and my pussy vibrates in response.
“I’ll call you.”
Upon leaving the café, I walk back up the dark streets toward my mother’s apartment. The area is deserted, and that only makes me more uneasy. There’s no one around, but the silence hums with something else—something unfinished. My phone rings as I hear a vehicle approaching behind me. I answer the unknown number, and the car pulls to a stop beside me.
“Need a lift?” a sexy man’s voice asks down the line. I glance in the window and see Joel in the driver’s seat. The car is sporty, low, and sleek with bright red paintwork. “A lady really shouldn’t be walking these streets at night, unless it’s her career.”
I laugh. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“Do you think serial killers would drive one of these?” He raises his eyebrows. “Not exactly inconspicuous.” I shrug and climb into the passenger seat. What do I have to lose? I either take my chances with Joel or the lurkers on the dark city streets.
Embarrassed about giving him my mother’s address, he has to ask me twice. He will live in a friendly neighborhood in a big house, no doubt.
He pulls up outside the block of apartments, and we both sit in silence.
“I know this is forward,” he says, his tone unsure. “But I think we should live in the now. Do you want to come back to my place?” He glances over, and a red flush creeps up his neck. “It’s not something I normally ask a lady the first time we meet. But…” He trails off.
“But what?”
“I can’t imagine going home without you tonight.”
And just like that, for the first time in a decade, I don’t feel like a convict. I feel like a woman.
I should say no. I should get out. But instead, I watch his hands on the wheel and wonder what they’d feel like on me.
Chapter six
Glasgow, Scotland
Nicky
We cruise through the darkening streets to the outskirts of the city. The high moon casts a soft glow over the black roads. The cramped conditions of inner-city living disappear, and the houses increase in size but decrease in number. Each house sits in a large plot surrounded by landscaped gardens and boasts an opulent driveway leading to the gigantic structures.
Joel slows to a stop outside a property hidden by high stone walls. Solid black gates sit between lion-topped stone pillars. He hits the voice command button on his car dashboard. “Open the gate,” he orders, and the gates part immediately. I gasp, and a smile plays on his lips. He can tell I’m impressed.
Tall conifers line the gravel driveway that leads to a modern mansion hidden from view. Lights dot the outside space, ensuring visibility everywhere. The lower floor is glass, and you can see straight into the house and through to the garden at the back. Above it, a square wooden structure with chrome andmore glass creates the upper floor. It’s the most unique home I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure it even looks like a house.
“Wow.” My mouth drops open. “Your home is stunning. I’ve seen nothing like it.”
He smiles. “Thank you. I designed it myself with the help of a friend who’s an architect. I wanted to create something unique. I don’t do typical, Nicky. I want exceptional.” His voice is quiet. His eyes hold mine, and I’m unsure if he’s talking about the house. “Come, let me give you the tour.” He holds out his hand, and I take it without hesitation.
Inside is no different. The living space is open plan and covers the entire ground floor. Vast leather sofas create various sitting areas around the room. An entertainment complex fills the only solid wall, the screen as big as a cinema. No need to go out to the movies if you live here. The kitchen is glossy, a brilliant red, and every imaginable appliance is on display. A dining table that seats ten people fills the middle of the space with an enormous vase of flowers in reds and whites at its center.
I feel Joel’s gaze on me, observing my reaction.
Panicking my jaw has hit the floor, I rub my chin with my hand and push my teeth together. Act cool, I tell myself.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asks. I nod, unable to speak coherently. “What do you take?”
“Just milk.”
After boiling the kettle and preparing the cups, he hands me a large red one filled to the brim with milky tea. It feels soothing in my hands. As I lean on the kitchen worktop with my elbows, my mind flips through topics of conversation. I have nothing in common with this man except alcoholism—we’re from two very different worlds.
