Us.
He made it as humiliating and expensive for her as possible to prove his paternity and agree to paying child support. By the time I was eight, Dad realized he’d been an asshole and began a relationship with me, but everything I’ve learned about what he did to Mum has made it hard for me to trust him completely.
“Dree?”
I look up from my dinner. “Sorry, what?”
“I said, be careful.”
“Of course, Mum.” I’m trying to stick to usual tactics: work hard, keep your head down and when you need it, sex is sex. Don’t complicate it with things like feelings. Even if falling for the man you’re working with is just about the most delicious thing you ever contemplated.
An hour later I’m comfortably stuffed with fish pie and apple crumble, and hug Mum goodbye at the front door.
“I can’t wait to see the finished video. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” Mum’s eyes have grown a little misty. I’ve always been her little dancer, and it broke her heart when I told her I was giving it up completely.
“Thank you. I’ll send it to you as soon as I can. Thanks for dinner!”
The next day, I’m enjoying the sunshine and warm breeze by opening every window in my apartment. The music is turned up and I’m vacuuming and doing laundry for the week ahead.
Over the sound of a Clean Bandit track, I hear a knock at my front door as I’m taking clothes out of the dryer.
I turn the music way down and call out, “Who is it?”
I’m not going to just open it. I live alone and some people are murderers.
“Me.”
It’s a deep, male voice with a pleasant timbre. The only person in my life who answers me when I ask who is it? is my mother. I take a look through the peephole and get the shock of my life.
Me is Rush. We’re just saying me now?
I open the door. “What are you doing in London? I thought you and the boys were laying down tracks all weekend?” God knows they must need to with all the times I had to drag Rush out of the studio.
He’s wearing his usual denim shirt and tight black jeans with a serious expression on his face as he quirks one brow at me. “Can I come in?”
There are dishes in the sink and I’m wearing sweats and no bra, but other than that, I can’t think of a reason he shouldn’t come in. Except for the fact that this is weird and he’s making me nervous.
Rush frowns at me as he comes into my apartment. “Why are you looking at me like I’m a bomb that’s about to go off?”
I remember what he said a few days ago, that I need to stop thinking he’s Striker. Unpredictable like Striker. Destructive like Striker. Dangerous like Striker. I’ve concluded that he’s not dangerous like Striker.
He’s worse.
He’s a complete nightmare and I like him.
“I’m not. I’m fine. Tea?” I head straight to the kitchen and fill the kettle. Rush comes up behind me as I’m getting mugs out of the cupboard. I can feel his whole body against my back even though he’s two feet away and not touching me.
“We left things unfinished between us back at my place,” he rumbles behind me.
My breath lodges in my throat and I suddenly have no strength to take the lid off the jar of teabags. Back at his place, he called me baby and we shared a kiss so scorching I can still feel him on my lips. I glance at him over my shoulder. “We did?”
He raises a perfectly arched brow at me. “Yeah. We don’t have a Priestess.”
“Oh, that!”
A smile touches his lips that looks dangerously close to a smirk. “What did you think I was talking about?”
“I don’t know, maybe the one thousand other things that are left to do before the filming starts?”
I finish making the tea with Rush standing right there, taking up way too much space in my kitchen and my head.
“Sugar?”
“Don’t you remember?”
Oh, yeah. No sugar. I slop milk into both our mugs and pass him one. I would never have made tea for Striker. He would have laughed in my face, pulled a quart of vodka out of his pocket and taken a slug. Then he would have tried to make me have some.
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Rush asks.
I wince. “How did you know?”
“Your pretty face gets all tense.” He touches his crooked finger under my chin. “I’ve been impossible all week. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be. I have to remember that your stress isn’t my stress. It’s your prerogative to knock back every dancer when it’s your deadline looming.”
“I know I drive everyone crazy, but don’t worry. You’re going to love me in a second.” His smile is back, and his eyes are twinkling silver and violet in my kitchen lights.