Page 27 of The Suitcase Swap

Sophie waved this away. ‘That won’t change. Edie helps me at home. You’ll just be my New York Edie.’

Mike gave her a rueful smile. ‘Have you consulted Edie on this? I’m not sure she’d be okay with me poaching her role.’

‘Edie would love it,’ Sophie said. Not only would Edie approve of Sophie getting the help she needed, but she’d also love the fact that Sophie’s new sidekick was a handsome, charming man. Edie would probably hope Andrew would see the posts and writhe in jealousy. Sophie didn’t care about that. She could be honest enough to admit that she wanted Andrew to share the level of pain she’d felt about their break-up, but she didn’t want to waste whatever time or energy it might take to make that happen. She’d wasted enough of her past on Andrew already. Tom and now Marisa were her gifts from that, and she was grateful for them. But she wanted to move on.

‘If you’re sure,’ Mike said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a mint and handed it to her. ‘Courtesy of Vince, the best bartender in the world. How are your feet?’

She took the mint, unwrapping it and putting it in her mouth. ‘Feeling better, while also demanding a soak.’

Mike chewed his mint, looking out over the water. ‘We should get them home, then. They’ve earned some respite.’

Sophie hummed her agreement as she rolled the mint around in her mouth. ‘In a minute. This place – I just want to soak it in for a little bit longer.’

He looked around, taking in their surroundings again. ‘Thank you.’

She laughed. ‘For what? You brought us here.’

He leaned back on the bench, placing his hands behind him. ‘I never would have come here without you. My kids are right. I would have stayed in my flat working until I went back to London. That’s what I do.’

Sophie kicked off her heels, bringing her feet up onto the bench and stretching out her toes along the chill of the wood. ‘That doesn’t seem healthy.’

‘No,’ Mike said. ‘It’s not, but it’s all I’ve got.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that. You have family who love you. Friends, too, I assume. Why make your life all work?’

He stared at the carousel, his hands absently taking her feet, stretching her legs out over his lap. He dug into the arch of her foot with his thumb and Sophie had to bite her lip to stop from groaning, it felt so good. ‘I don’t think I’m capable of much more than what I have.’

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Sophie said, her voice hitching as he started massaging her other foot. ‘But it’s your life. You choose how you want it to go.’

He looked at her then, his eyes jewel-bright even in the low light. ‘Is that what you did?’

She frowned. ‘I didn’t choose my husband running off with his assistant, no, but I chose how I dealt with it. I chose how I went on.’

He kept watching her, his gaze dropping to her mouth. ‘I’m not sure I’m as strong as you.’

‘Then make yourself stronger,’ she said. Was he closer now? He seemed closer, but she wasn’t sure when that had happened. He still had one hand on her foot, the other on her calf. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a man’s hand on her calves.

Mike let out a shuddering breath, his gaze still locked on her. ‘I don’t think I want to. If I was stronger, I wouldn’t do this.’ Then he lowered his mouth onto hers, a soft press of lips. Then more, their breath mingling, his tongue gliding along her lip, a shallow taste of her.

Sophie slid her hand into his hair, pulling him closer, taking the kiss deeper. He tasted of mint, spice and something indefinable, something good that she wanted more of.

He groaned, one hand on her neck, his thumb tracing her jaw as his other hand slid up her calf, the back of her knee, her thigh.

She tugged on his hair, asking for more, her blood bubbling pleasantly from the contact. The taste of him, the feel of him, was headier than full-bodied wine. She could get drunk on this man.

He pulled away, lips tracing her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. ‘This bloody dress.’ His words were mumbled, garbled, like maybe he was drunk on her as well. He stayed there, breathing deeply, his hands clutching her.

She wanted to cry, ask him why he’d stopped, but she didn’t, knowing that if she pushed him now, he’d run. Sophie stroked his hair, coaxingly, as if she were trying to convince a feral creature that it was safe.

‘We should go,’ he said, his words hot on her neck. Then, close on the heels of his first statement, a second one delivered with an edge acknowledging that out of the two of them,only one of them was regretting the way the night had gone. ‘I need to go.’

Sophie’s chest felt thick, full, as if an entire flock of emotions had tried to land in the same nest. Frustration flapped its wings. Hurt fussed its feathers, making room for Sorrow. But it was Pity, ultimately, who commandeered the nest. Pity bugling out a sad noise for a man so shut down and fractured that he couldn’t enjoy a single stolen moment of pleasure.

Or maybe she was wrong and there was some other reason he was putting a stop to things. She guessed it didn’t really matter, because her response was the same. ‘Okay.’

He let go of her, helped her put her shoes back on, and stood. Then he summoned a rideshare as they walked back to the car park, neither of them saying a word.

Chapter Eight

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