Chapter Fifteen

Felix

I awoke to an empty bed, the sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains where I hadn’t drawn them properly, telling me Darien had probably left for work some time ago. Had he stayed here for the entire night? I remembered waking in the early hours to find him still there, but I couldn’t have said what happened after that, whether he’d woken and returned to his own bed, or just figured that a bed was a bed, whether or not it had me in it.

Rolling onto my back, I contemplated the events of the previous night. I’d been honest when I’d said I wanted to go to him, but had decided that any sexual overtures on my part would come across as payment for him putting a roof over my head. And then, lo-and-behold, there he’d been outside the room, the creak of the floorboard giving him away. I’d moved fast, almost throwing myself across the room to yank open the door before he could change his mind .

I thought more about it while I showered, the dedication I gave to recalling exactly how passionate we’d gotten requiring me to deal with the resultant hard cock until I spilled all over Darien’s shower floor. It was a poor substitute for his arse, but it was better than nothing. I dressed before going downstairs, my assumption that he’d already left for work proved correct when all the rooms were empty.

As promised, he’d left me a key on the kitchen table, the piece of paper it sat on containing his name and nothing else. I pocketed the key and then helped myself to tea and toast, sitting at the kitchen table and contemplating how to spend the rest of the day while I ate. On impulse, I sent a text to my mum, apologizing for what had happened the previous day and asking if she was okay. Thirty minutes passed with no response. A lack of surprise at the result didn’t stop it from hurting. She’s busy. She’ll respond later. Yeah, right? And I’d grow wings and fly round London.

Apparently, a sucker for punishment, I typed a text to Darien, agonizing for far longer than the result deserved over what to say.

Felix: I hope you have a good day at work.

Simple. To the point. Not antagonistic. He wouldn’t reply. There was no reason to when I hadn’t asked a question. Less than five minutes later, my phone vibrated.

Darien: So do I. I’m pretty tired, though. I wonder why.

Smiling, I picked up my phone.

Felix: As long as you’re just tired and not sore .

Darien: If you’re angling for a compliment about the size of your c*ck, then you’ll be waiting a long time.

Felix: You didn’t have any complaints last night.

Darien: No comment.

I was smiling so much now that my cheeks were hurting. Darien wasn’t only replying to my texts instead of ignoring them, but he hadn’t pretended that the previous night hadn’t happened. It felt like the sunshine had come out from behind the clouds. I knew what I was going to do with my day now. I was going to come up with something nice for Darien to come home to—a proper thank you that had absolutely nothing to do with my cock. Or his.

I’d convinced myself that I wasn’t nervous. That only held until I heard the key in the front door and then I was in full panic mode: heart beating in my throat and my palms sweaty. What if I’d gotten this really wrong, and I was about to make an absolute fool of myself? Well then, so be it, because it was too late to change.

There was the sound of a bag being dropped onto the floor, the noise somehow embodying the spirit of weariness. A pause, and then, “Felix?”

“In the kitchen.”

Footsteps came closer until Darien filled the doorway. “Hi.” He caught sight of the table and frowned. “What’s this?”

Rather than poking around in Darien’s house, which seemed something of an invasion of privacy, I’d used my mother’s money to buy a few things. I’d covered the kitchen table with a crisp white tablecloth and picked up a flowered centerpiece of red roses and baby breath, figuring it was a little less obvious than candles. Now, though, with Darien frowning at it, it didn’t seem any less clichéd than candlelight. It had been a mistake to go for red roses when red roses were the color of romance. The choice had been red or white though, and I’d wanted them to contrast with the tablecloth. Red did, whereas white would have blended in.

“I thought it might be nice for you to come home to a cooked meal, and…” I affected a shrug. “Well, I had little else to do today. You’ve probably already eaten.”

Darien blinked. “No. No, I haven’t. I normally call by my brother’s restaurant on the way home and get something, but I didn’t tonight. I must be psychic.”

I pulled the chair out for him, and he sat. “This is…”

I deliberately stalled the end of his sentence, not sure whether I wanted to hear it, by pulling the fridge open and brandishing the twin bottles of wine I’d picked up. “I didn’t know whether you drank red or white, so I got both. This is where you’ll probably tell me you don’t drink either, that you’re more of a beer man.”

“No, I do. Given the choice, I’ll take the red.” I opened the bottle, poured him a glass and passed it over, Darien still looking somewhat bemused.

Pouring myself a glass, I took a sip. “You were probably going to drop me off somewhere as soon as you got home and I’ve ruined your plans.”

To give Darien his due, there was no hesitation before he shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“No?”

“I figure it can wait till the weekend. ”

I turned my back so he couldn’t see me smile, worried I’d look smug. It was Tuesday. Waiting until the weekend gave me three more days—and nights—with Darien. And it was the nights I intended to make the most of.

“Can you cook?”

It was a valid question, and one which reminded me to check the array of pans I had on the stove. “I like to think so. I used to do it a lot. Before…” I tamped down on a memory I didn’t want to have of Julian showing his disapproval whenever something didn’t meet his exacting standards with his fists. It had led to me not bothering anymore and deciding that if I was going to face his wrath, anyway, I may as well skip the part where I slaved over a hot stove for hours and get straight to the violence.

“Where did you go?”

I spun around to face Darien. “What?”

“You disappeared there for a moment.”

The memories had stolen my enthusiasm for the meal. I’d once thought I could impress Julian with my culinary skill, and the opposite had happened. Now, here I was, older, but apparently no wiser, trying to impress another man. “This is stupid. I shouldn’t have bothered.” I grabbed a pan, intending on flinging its contents into the bin, and then doing the same with the rest. The stupid centerpiece could go in there too, and then perhaps I could set fire to the tablecloth.

I only got one step away from the stove before a hand grabbed my wrist, Darien having risen from the table without me noticing. He guided my hand back to the stove, holding it there until I gave in and let go of the pan. “Hey! It’s not stupid. It’s not stupid at all. Do you know what I had for lunch?” He provided the answer himself. “An out-of-date salad.”

“Why did you eat it if it was out of date? ”

Darien’s lips twitched. “Well, obviously I didn’t realize it was out of date until after I’d eaten it, or I might have thought better of it.” He leaned in to look at the pans, his arm warm against mine. “My point was that after limp lettuce and sad-looking cucumber, I’m extremely grateful for someone cooking for me and nothing you could produce could be any worse. And if you throw it in the bin, I’ll probably go after it. And then I’ll have eaten out-of-date salad and food out of the bin on the same day.”

“That’s a very sad picture you’re painting.”

“Isn’t it?” He retreated to the table. “What are you cooking, anyway?”

“Orechiette with white beans, tuna, and radicchio.”

Darien blinked. “You sound like my brother.” He laughed, and I waited for him to share the joke. “Which is funny because when you first got out of prison, I imagined a scenario where you’d come before Levi and I’d talked him into employing you at the restaurant. I thought it was a ridiculous thought and that you’d have killed each other. Now…” He waved a hand at the pans. “He’d probably have thought all his Christmases had come at once.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet.”

“No, but I can smell it.”

I went back to my stirring, more determined than ever that this meal would taste good. And resolving that Julian and the doubts he’d once put in my head had no place in Darien’s kitchen. “Who’s Levi?”

“Levi was a client of mine. I talked my brother into doing me a favor and employing him. Unbeknownst to me, they started a torrid affair, and to cut a long story short, he’ll be my brother-in-law before the end of the year.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Which part? ”

“An ex-client marrying your brother?”

“No. It doesn’t bother me at all. Levi was always a victim of circumstance.”

I tipped the cooked pasta into the rest of the ingredients. “What was he inside for?”

“Stealing pretty much anything that had wheels.”

“How long was his sentence?”

“Two years. He won’t be going back.”

“Neither will I.” The words were out before I could stop them.

I stopped regretting them when it made Darien smile. “Good. I like to keep my success rate up.” He inclined his head toward the pans. “Have I got ten minutes to get changed without your food being ruined?”

When I nodded, he disappeared with another smile, leaving me to ponder Darien seeming far more relaxed today. What was that about? An easier day at work? Or the after effects of good sex?

When he reappeared, his hair was damp like he’d taken a quick shower, and worn gray sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt had taken the place of the suit. He didn’t have any shoes on, something about his bare toes making me smile.

“What?” he asked, looking at me strangely.

I set about dishing up the food while he sat. “I don’t think I’m meant to see my PO’s bare feet.”

“You’ve seen a lot more of me than just my feet.” His eyebrows rose as I set the plate in front of him. “Jesus! This looks good.”

I shrugged, trying not to smile at the praise and failing miserably as I added garlic bread and a bowl of salad to the offering on the table. Having retrieved my plate, I sat opposite. Despite how complimentary he’d already been, nerves were still present as he took his first taste .

His wide smile showed his dimples off to best effect. “Yeah, you’re hired.”

A feeling of lightness spread through me. “As what?”

Darien tipped his head to one side and pretended to think about it. “Personal chef.”

“Not a bed warmer?”

He scooped salad onto his plate, his gaze when it lifted to mine steady and containing a surprising amount of warmth. Enough warmth that I almost turned to see if someone else had come into the kitchen while I wasn’t looking to stand behind me. “That, as well. Have you got any more hidden talents?”

I shook my head, finally getting round to tasting the food myself. I had to admit that it was pretty damn good. Julian would have found fault with it had I served it to him, but then Julian had found fault with everything once the honeymoon period of our relationship had been over. Food was too raw or overcooked. Under-seasoned or over-seasoned. Or there were things he claimed to have told me he didn’t eat anymore when he’d said no such thing. He’d even invented an allergy once and accused me of trying to kill him. There’d been no winning with him.

Darien propped his chin on his hand and studied me. “What did you do before? As a job, I mean? I don’t remember from your file.”

“Software engineer.” The words felt strange, like that had been a lifetime ago, and I was talking about someone else.

“Huh! So you do have another talent.”

I shrugged and concentrated on my food.

“Do you want to get back into that?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” There was no lie there. I hadn’t thought about anything apart from getting out of prison, and now that day had come, the thought of a full-time job just made me feel tired. Especially one in an office. I had an inkling it would feel too much like a cell.

“Did you enjoy it?”

I took a long swallow of wine while I considered the question. “I don’t remember. It was a long time ago. Does it matter? No one’s going to hire me, anyway? Not when they find out who I am.” I pointed my fork at Darien. “And don’t tell me to change my name again, because you know as well as I do that there are no jobs that don’t do identity checks as part of their appointment proceedings.”

“You could move out of London.”

“To where? Outer Mongolia? I’m on parole in case you’ve forgotten, and nowhere that needs a visa is going to give me one with my criminal record.”

A strained silence fell over the table, both of us eating without looking at the other.

Eventually, Darien let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I should have left the job at the office.”

He made it sound like we were living together. “I’m only here because of the job. I get you want me employed and with somewhere to live so that I’m out of your hair.”

“It’s not like that.”

“No?”

“No. I was just trying to make conversation, to find out more about you. Not as your PO, but as a…”

“As a what?” It was unfair to push him when he didn’t finish the sentence, but I had a reputation as a prize asshole to live up to, and I was apparently determined to do just that. “My temporary landlord? My rescuer? A friend? A lover?”

Darien, to give him his due, just kept eating with no sign that my mini tirade had affected him at all. And he had more sense than to answer the question. Because we both knew there was no right answer, that I’d never wanted one, my words intended solely as provocation.

Faced with nothing but passivity, the anger drained from me quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Darien lifted his gaze to mine. “I’m not your enemy. I’m the furthest thing from it.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

His gaze was intense enough that I rearranged the food on my plate until he looked away. “The rational part of me knows that.”

“And the irrational part of you?”

It was the right question to ask. “The irrational part of me is a snarling dog who’ll bite everyone from the postman to a nun. You’ve encountered it more than once… the day we first met… the first time anything happened between us. It’s the barrier I formed in prison, the tough outer shell that makes it look like I don’t give a damn and I’m far more confident than I am. On a good day, the savage dog is on a tight leash, but on a bad day…” I took a moment to think about the words I’d just said, surprised by my honesty.

“On a bad day?” Darien prompted, apparently determined to extract every iota of truth from me he could while I was willing to offer it.

“On a bad day, someone should have me put down. For my sake and for the sake of everyone around me.”

Darien hid a smile behind the rim of his glass and I resented not being able to see his dimples. “I’ll get hold of the number for the local vet tomorrow. Have him on standby for when I need him.”

“You should.”

And just like that, the tension dissipated to leave us both smiling at each other. Darien’s dimples were on full display this time, my fingers itching to reach out and trace their contours. I didn’t know what this was, but I was going to make the most of it and treasure every moment.