Page 110 of Midnight Enemy

For once, I don’t have an answer. I can’t change the past. I truly think my father—while not being cured of his lifelong hatred—might be ready to move on, but Blake is no longer here to be convinced that the feud should be put to one side.

“Maybe we should just take it day by day,” I suggest.

“And what? Wake up three months down the line, in exactly the same position? It’ll hurt ten times as much to break up then. A hundred times, even.”

I don’t say anything, because there’s nothing to say.

Half of me expects her to get up and leave. After all, what’s the point in staying if she’s decided this isn’t going to work? But she doesn’t, and after about ten minutes, her breathing deepens, and I realize she’s fallen asleep.

I relax into the pillow now I know she’s not leaving, and tighten my arms around her. I have a suspicion for how this might work out, but the very act of it coming to light is going to cause a tsunami of emotion to come crashing down over her, and I’m not sure she’ll still be standing once the worst is over.

I’m not big on hope, or faith. I prefer to be in control of my fate. But for once, all I can do is wait for it to play out, and promise myself I’ll do my best to help her survive.

*

Despite her words, I manage to talk Scarlett into seeing me again on Monday. I take her into town to watch a movie, and then out for dinner. I make sure to keep our conversation away from anything deep and meaningful, and we talk about books, movies, and music, and just concentrate on getting to know one another better.

Afterward, she agrees to come back to my apartment with me, and this time I take her into the bedroom, and we spend a long, long time making out, just kissing, cuddling, and touching, for as long as we can bear before I finally slide inside her.

I make love to her again in the night, ducking under the covers to give her an orgasm with my mouth first, and then taking her in as manypositions as I can think of, prolonging her pleasure until she begs me to take her and let her come.

I want to brand myself into her skin, mark her as mine, and make it impossible for her to leave me. But I can’t. All I can do is imprint myself on her memories, and hope that when the moment comes—as I know it will—she won’t be able to forget me as easily as she thinks she can.

*

I don’t see her on Tuesday as I have an evening meeting. On Wednesday, Kingi heads off to the commune to start his audit. It’s a relatively small business, so neither of us is expecting it to take more than a week.

I talk Scarlett into seeing me that evening and take her to see a band we both like at the Spark Arena. Afterward, I tell her I’ll happily fly her home, but if she wants to come back to my apartment, I promise her that I’ve bought a tub of mint choc chip ice cream especially for her, and I’ll smear it over her and lick it all off, or she can do the same to me if she wishes.

She chooses to spend the night.

I don’t see her Thursday, but I’ve managed to organize tickets to a performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream on Auckland domain on Friday evening, and even though she protests that we shouldn’t prolong this, she’s unable to resist the thought of seeing a Shakespeare play in the open air. I tell her I’ll pick her up at six to give us time to fly over and get to the venue by seven thirty.

I’m busy all morning, although I manage to have a quick call with Kingi. I ask him how the audit’s going, and hear him walking, and then a door closing. The sound of birdsong tells me he’s gone outside, probably out of earshot of anyone at the commune.

“Between you and me it’s not well run at all,” he says. “The accounts are all over the place. It’s going to take a few weeks to fully analyze everything.” He hesitates.

“What?” I ask, sensing he has something more to say.

But he says, “My spidey senses are tingling, but I need to finish the batch of documents I’m working on at the moment. I’ll speak to you later.”

I frown, but I have a business lunch, so I say goodbye, then return to the office and work for the rest of the afternoon. I’m just getting ready to pack up and head over to Waiheke when Kingi calls.

“It’s me,” he says. “You need to get over here. Now.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Scarlett

I’ve just finished my last yoga class of the day, and I’m on my way out of the retreat to go home to change when to my astonishment I see a silver Aston Martin pulling up out the front of the main office.

Orson wasn’t supposed to arrive until six. Have I gotten the time wrong? I check my watch—no, it’s only three thirty. I cross over to him, my heart racing as he gets out. He’s not dressed for the theater; he’s in a navy pin-striped business suit—one of his British-cut military-style ones that’s beautifully tailored, so I know he bought it in Savile Row. He must have come straight from the office. I’m suddenly conscious that I’m wearing leggings, and my light-gray tee has a dark V of sweat between my breasts.

To my surprise, though, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he looks serious as he says, “Hey.”

My stomach flutters. “What are you doing here?” It sounds accusatory, so I soften it with a smile.

He doesn’t smile back, though. Instead, he hesitates. Then he says, “Kingi called me.”

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