The whole night. It sounds wonderful, but he’ll want to eat dinner soon, and in the morning there’ll breakfast to deal with. I’m not sure if I can cope with so many new experiences at once.
“It’s nearly nine. I should get going because, you know…” I trail off helplessly, because he knows. “I’m sorry.”
My good mood crumbles into misery as I see the hurt flash through his eyes. It’s only there for a split second, and then Mr. Blomqvist takes my face in his hands, kissing me tenderly. “It’s all right. Slow and sure, käraste. Like we said. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
He pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and he looks so damn sexy in them that I want to pull them off him again. That’s what should be happening right now. We should be going at it for round two, but I can’t because I have salmon and fucking rice waiting for me at home. Angry tears blur my eyes. It’s not fair. I want to stay, he wants me to stay, but the voice will take this as an opportunity to test the limits of her cage and I daren’t let that happen in a strange house, and not in front of him.
“Hey. Are you all right?”
I swipe quickly at the tears in my eyes. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Don’t press your luck. Get home where it’s safe before anything bad happens. You’ll see him again on Monday.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s disappointed in me. It never occurred to me that he might have been expecting more from tonight than just sex, but now I realize how stupid I am. People who like each other spend the night. People who don’t care, leave.
I care. I swear, I care so much.
My throat is tight with unshed tears, and I can’t find the words to tell him that even though I want to stay, I can’t. His hand is warm around mine as he walks me out to his car, but for once his silence isn’t the comfort it usually is.
As we drive around the edge of Bushy Park, he clears his throat and asks me, “Where would you like me to drop you?”
I bite my lip. I don’t want him to pull up in front of my house because dad might recognize the BMW, and mum will put that and the Versace bag together and figure out that I just slept with my boss. God, no. Not tonight. Except now I feel bad because Mr. Blomqvist is going to think I’m ashamed of one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. The tears spring into my eyes again and a sense of panic overwhelms me. I’m ruining everything.
“It’s all right, käraste,” he assures me, pulling over even though we’re still a street away from my house. “How about here?”
“Yes,” I whisper gratefully. “Thank you.”
Mr. Blomqvist kisses me goodbye. I hope he knows how much I care for him. My something special that’s just mine and no one else’s. When I pull away his blue eyes look worried. Or maybe reproachful.
I get stiffly out of the car and walk toward my house. He doesn’t pull back onto the street right away as if he’s waiting for me to turn and wave. I can’t, because I’m already crying.
I go through the side gate and stand for a few minutes with my back to it, gulping down my tears and taking deep breaths. Please let him understand that it’s because I feel so much for him that this is so hard. Whatever is inside him that makes him smile so gently and beautifully at me, let him be feeling that right now and not the pain that’s filling me from head to toe.
I unpeg some clothes from the line as an excuse for why I didn’t use the front door, and go inside. Dad’s in the living room when I call out. He would definitely have seen Mr. Blomqvist’s car if we’d pulled up together. I stare out onto the empty street, wondering now why it was so important that he didn’t.
“Are you all right, Lacey? Where have you been?” dad asks, looking up from the laptop perched on his thighs.
“Fine, thanks. Busy day.”
The last thing I feel like doing right now is eating, but I have to. When I open the pantry to get out the rice, I see the packet of lemon cake there, and my heart sinks. I’m still on the weight-gain plan. I’d forgotten.
Twenty minutes later, I take my dinner and dessert upstairs to my room. I manage some of the salmon and broccoli over the next thirty minutes, but the rice tastes like glue in my mouth and I start to dry retch. Mr. Blomqvist’s disappointed expression swims before my face.