Page 18 of The Game

It took a dizzying minute until my brain re-engaged again. Likewise, Malachi breathed hard. He guided me upright and snapped my belt back in place, then swiped his hand over his face and groaned. “I’ve never known a feeling like this.”

I hadn’t either, and I wanted so badly for it to be real. I didn’t recognise myself right now.

He got us back on the road, and I blushed to think of the cars that passed us while my legs had been around his shoulders. Particularly considering his celebrity status.

He didn’t know I knew that, though he might suspect I’d recognised him.

A small voice in the back of my head issued a warning. I was an honest woman. I always had been. But if I told him about my obsessive stalking of him online, what would he think? That I was just another groupie?

Or maybe, with this unconventional yet stunning start to a relationship, the only way was with honesty. At least eventually.

We travelled out into the countryside beyond Deadwater until we reached a small village. Malachi drove up to a set of double gates that opened to admit us.

Soft lamps lit on the driveway that led up to a white house with a thatched roof that came halfway down the upstairs bedroom windows. Tiny lights decorated the eaves. It looked like the scene from a chocolate box. If someone had asked me to describe my perfect home, it would be alarmingly like this.

I gazed in wonder.

Malachi parked up then leapt out to round to my door. He collected me in his arms, bride-style. “Welcome home.”

He carried me to the front door and unlocked it using a discreet scanner hidden behind a panel.

“In the morning, I’ll set up your biometrics for the house. Security is important to me.”

“Because you’re a celebrity?”

He carried me over the threshold. “You already knew that?”

I could’ve kicked myself. He’d said he was a fighter, but most athletes in his career probably weren’t famous. “One of the women in the dressing room mentioned it.”

Not a lie, but also not an admission of stalkerhood.

To my relief, he accepted my explanation and continued into the house, flipping on lights as he went. A wide hallway gave way to a cosy living room with a log burner on the left, a study on the right, stairs dead ahead, and a broad kitchen beyond.

Malachi pointed out the rooms and took me to the kitchen. “Hungry? I’ll make something.”

He set me on a stool, and I blinked at him.

“You can cook?”

That devilish grin returned, and he made a show of cleaning up then opened a huge silver fridge. “Nothing healthier than preparing your own food from scratch. I’ve looked after myself for a long time, Emmeline. Now I get to take care of you. Chicken and broccoli creamy pasta sound good?”

“It sounds amazing.”

“Good. I’ll make dinner, and you tell me everything there is to know about Emmeline Watts.”

He’d remembered my surname. I swallowed, more than overcome, but managed to find the words to describe my career. Malachi hummed appreciatively, working through his list of ingredients and getting a pan of water on to boil on the back burner of a shiny silver range cooker.

As I recounted my years of study and placements, he pan-fried chicken and broccoli while linguine boiled away. Next, he wilted spinach into the pan then added pine nuts and cream cheese, finally extracting the cooked linguine from the water to stir it into the rest of the food.

“You made that look so simple,” I told him. “I can’t cook at all.”

He shrugged his bulky shoulders. “You’ve been busy with important shite. It’s another reason how we’re a perfect match because I’ve got this covered for both of us. You’ll carry out surgery at Deadwater Hospital. I’ll feed you when you get home.”

My breath caught. “You say that so effortlessly. We’re strangers.”

Malachi turned off the last burner and came to me. He parted my knees to get close and tipped up my chin. “Listen up. We’re not strangers. Nothing about you is strange. I hope you feel the same about me. At least give me a chance to make that so.”

He was right. Slowly, I inclined my head.

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