Chapter Nine

Felix

Half past seven. Thirty minutes to go. Was I confident that Darien would turn up? Not really. I’d give it a fifty-fifty chance. Those odds were still good enough that I’d shaved, showered, and dressed to look good. Not that I expected clothes to stay on for long if he turned up. But it didn’t hurt to make a good impression.

I prowled the house while I waited, wandering from room to room with no actual destination or purpose in mind. Things were still as frosty as ever between me and my mother, with her treating me more like a lodger than her son. When she couldn’t avoid a conversation, we stuck to safe topics: the weather; the cleaner’s comings and goings; things that needed doing in the garden.

Sometimes she left me a note, usually listing groceries she wanted me to get. She never signed them, like she couldn’t even bring herself to write the word Mum. Perhaps she’d convinced herself I was a lodger. Give it a few more days and she’d probably start leaving newspapers open at the properties page with the ones available the farthest distance away circled. It hurt. I wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t. But I’d had seven years to get used to it.

Five to eight. If I left the house and walked around the corner, would I find a familiar red Toyota parked up? Darien wouldn’t be stupid enough to park outside and sit there like he had last time. Not since I’d pointed out how long it had taken him to pluck up the courage to come inside.

Five past eight. If he turned up, he’d want it to look like he wasn’t eager. My best guess would be him arriving at quarter past. Not too late that he’d risk me giving up, but late enough for him to make it clear that I wasn’t the boss of him. Now, there was a thought, being the boss of Darien and getting him to do anything I wanted. I’d buy shares in that company.

The knock came at thirteen minutes past eight. Only two minutes off. Not bad.

I paused by the door, taking a few seconds to rid myself of the grin on my face before pulling the door open with a flourish. Darien had changed out of his suit and wore gray jeans and a black jumper—the first time I’d seen him dressed casually. He didn’t look happy, his brows drawn together and his stance that of a man poised to turn tail and run. “I just came to say—”

“Don’t!” His frown grew more pronounced as I cut him off. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend you’ve come all this way to give me what for, when you could have done that over the phone, or just not turned up at all. Do you want me to seduce you? Is that it? Do you want me to invite you in and pretend we’re just going to talk? Will that make you feel better about what’s going to happen, like it’s not your fault?”

Darien’s jaw tightened. “I’m not that much of a coward. ”

“Prove it.”

He tipped his chin up and met my gaze. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

I laughed. No one had ever accused me of that before. “Not really. But there’s not much else to do in prison except work out and watch people. You become good at reading people, and I can read you.”

Darien shook his head, as if disputing the fact. “I’m not a plaything.”

“I know that. You need to stop complicating things. I want you, and you want me, and that’s all there is to it. We wanted each other from the moment you introduced yourself as my PO. We can fight it and be miserable…”

“Or we can give into it and be miserable.”

“Speak for yourself. It won’t make me miserable.”

One of the neighbor’s doors creaked open, Darien’s brow furrowing as he turned in that direction. Grabbing his arm, I yanked him inside, closing the door but not locking it to show that I wasn’t imprisoning him and he could leave any time he wanted to. Much as I itched to take him straight to bed, I led him into the kitchen instead. I could wait. Probably not for long, but five minutes wouldn’t kill me. “Where did you leave your car?”

“Around the corner. I thought it best if I didn’t advertise my presence here.”

I smiled at being proved right as I put the kettle on, skipping the part where I asked Darien if he wanted a cup of tea and just going ahead and making one. “And how long did you sit in it?” Darien might not have offered a response, but his expression gave him away. Yeah, he’d been sitting there a while, probably fooling himself that he could drive away and not do this. “Milk and sugar? ”

“Milk. One sugar.” Silence descended on the kitchen while I set about making the tea, Darien the first to break it. “Does your mum do a lot of charity work?”

“She seems to do a lot more since I got out of prison.” I grimaced at the bitterness in my voice as I pushed a mug of tea Darien’s way and he took it. “Actually, that’s not fair, because how would I know how much she did before? Maybe she’s been busy for years.”

“I’m sure she has.”

I wasn’t, but I let the comment stand. I frowned as he sipped his tea. “You must have a mouth made of asbestos.”

He smiled, and it was like watching the sun come out. Darien had dimples, so he must smile a lot. Just not with me, apparently, the knowledge niggling like a difficult to dislodge splinter. “In my line of work, you either drink your tea boiling hot or stone cold. There never seems to be any in between. As I prefer boiling hot, I’ve gotten used to drinking it that way.”

“Whereas prison tea is piss weak.” At Darien’s raised eyebrow, I elaborated. “You don’t get enough tea bags to be extravagant and use one per cup. Using one for two or three cups is more the norm.”

“I didn’t realize that.” Darien’s expression of guilt said he felt he should know everything about prison life, and that him not knowing was a huge failing on his part. It made me want to ruffle his hair and tell him I wouldn’t hold it against him. He’d only drunk half the tea when I took the mug off him. Mine, I hadn’t touched. Once I’d put his mug down, I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward the stairs. “Come on.”

“I don’t think…”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start this again. You made your decision when you came here. ”

If he’d dug his heels in, if he’d put up even the slightest bit of physical resistance as I tugged him upstairs, I would have stopped. But he didn’t, and he didn’t free his hand from mine either. I was suddenly glad my mother had gotten rid of all my childhood stuff as I pulled him into my room. We didn’t need Katy Perry watching us from the wall in all her nineties glamor. Thanks to my mother’s money, I’d added a few personal effects to the room. A spider plant, a few books, a range of toiletries that would have made me the envy of the inmates if I were still in prison, but it was still bare.

Less distraction, I thought as I concentrated on Darien. He looked nervous, his lip caught between his teeth. I didn’t want it between his teeth. I wanted it between mine. I’d bite it and then kiss it better. There were a lot of things I wanted to do to him. Things I’d fantasized about doing in the very bed I was leading him toward. And now I could make at least some of those fantasies come true.

The back of Darien’s knees hit the bed, one gentle shove sending him sprawling across it. I was on him before he could register where he was, already pulling at clothes—his and mine—to bare both our chests. Next came shoes and then jeans to leave us both in our underwear, his white and mine black, which might have struck me as oddly symbolic if my cock wasn’t using up more of its fair share of blood than it was due.