Page 64 of Sparks Fly
Draggingmy laptop from my bag, I lay on the sofa and go through my emails. I have slacked over the last few days, but honestly, I haven’t really wanted to work. I’m enjoying myself far too much and of course, I have good company, surrounded by amazing views, yummy food and delicious wine. I had content, I just don’t know what to do with it. I post a few days in the life, wanting my followers to see that I was doing okay. That I was finding my feet after having my heart trampled on in England.
Back home I was the influencer, but here, in Monaco, I’m just Anaïs, and I had forgotten who that was until recently.
So caught up and in my head with everything, but now, I’ve evaluated what is important and what I actually want out of my life.
I am twenty-six, and I still have—hopefully—many years ahead of me. I wanted the epic love, the happily ever after but I also wanted a career that I built brick by brick. Sure, my influencer career was built from the ground up, but it was still tarnished with Royce. He helped massively when it all took a bit of a lull. It happens. Followers come and go, views are up and down, some posts go big, some don’t. That’s showbiz. But Ididn’t like the risk of what if it all goes away suddenly. Then what do I do?
Shutting down my thoughts, I reach for my headphones and turn my music up whilst I lose myself in work. The mood I was in, I should have closed my laptop and binged a tv show, but instead, I threw myself into the depths of my career and questioned everything as I did.
I need a night in,a night away from everyone, Creed included. I’ve become too close to him, and I know it’s a dangerous game. Like a moth to a flame, I’m doomed. So, I need to put a barrier between us, create separation because it’s too much. I’ve found myself wanting to know what he was doing, how his day was going and what he may be thinking about. He overtakes my every thought, and I hate it. Hate how he has consumed me that much in such a short time.
Creed Lexington was no stranger to me. He’s a ruthless businessman who gets exactly what he wants. The man was so powerful he could have anyone in the palm of his hand, but not with me. I saw the softer side of him. I was so used to seeing him in the paddock and on the pit wall and the man who was there each race weekend is not the man I’m spending time with in Monaco.
Sighing, I slide back the glass door to the shower and step under the hot water, washing myself from head to toe. Wrapped in a white fluffy towel, I clip my hair up and spend time on my skin care before I dry my hair and hang up my damp towels.
Dressing in my pyjamas, I slip under my duvet and flick through the channels until I give up and sign into my streaming account. I go with an old favourite— Gilmore Girls.
I have no idea how long I have been lost in Stars Hollow, but I begrudgingly pull myself from my bed. I need a drink, and Ifeel a little hungry. The lunch wore off hours ago, but the hunger passed until now.
Quietly walking to the door, I open it and poke my head out. The living room is in darkness. Tiptoeing, I pace to the kitchen and grab a glass and a mug. I need water but I also fancy a milky tea. As I go to fill the kettle, the lid popping open echoes around the spacious apartment. I wince, freezing on the spot, worried it would wake Creed.
Placing it back on its stand, I flick the switch and instantly regret it as it begins to boil. Leaning over the worktop, my eyes lock on his door and I hold my breath. Obviously, he’s a deep sleeper.
It’s the only problem with these big, open plan penthouses. Tiled floors and no walls, the noise travels and echoes. Sliding back off the worktop, my feet are on the floor as I make my tea and fill my glass. Spinning, I tug on the fridge door and rummage for something, but nothing is taking my fancy. Closing it, I root through the cupboards and find some biscuits. Bingo.
Pulling a few out, I go to move back to my bedroom when I see him, standing there, eyes heavy as they hook on mine. His pyjama pants hang low, toned body on show.
My mouth pops open and my brain takes a little while to catch up as I try and close it. “Sorry,” I whisper but I don’t think my apology reaches him.
He steps closer, head clocked to the side, hair all messy.
“Sorry,” I say a little louder, my voice cracking.
He is there in front of me, head craned down, eyes burning into mine. His fingers grip my chin and tilt my head further back so I have no other choice but to look at him.
“Stop apologising.” The rasp in his voice has my stomach coiling, the warmth of his whiskey laced breath on my lips.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” My voice is a ghost of a whisper.
“I know.” He edges closer, his green eyes dropping to my lips.
I suck in a breath, it catches at the back of my throat, silently begging for him to kiss me.
“But don’t ever apologise.” He backs away and drops his fingers from my chin.
My skin aches with the loss of his touch. I stand, frozen whilst he walks past me and into the kitchen. My heart is thrashing in my chest, blood pumping in my ears.
That was close.
Worse, I would have let him kiss me, and I would have kissed him back, too. Would have dropped my mug on the floor, let it spill at my feet and the smash of the china echoing around the room. My body would have melted against his as I flung my arms around his neck. Just once.
Just to see what it was like.
But reality slaps me in the face, harshly. Dropping my head, I rush to my bedroom and slam the door.
Too close.
Far too close.
