my side as I sit upright.
“Bend down,” I demand. His eyes widen with surprise as he does. With shaking fingers, I straighten his lopsided blue tie at the knot. “Much better.” My voice is almost inaudible.
Smiling, his cheeks press upwards as his eyes narrow.
I cup my still trembling hand against his warm cheek, allowing my thumb to brush back and forth across his scar. “What you said today… do you think I’ll remember how I know you?”
He nods, slowly, never taking his eyes from mine.
“Marcus. Do I want to remember?”
His head begins to shake almost hypnotically. When he clears his throat, I see pity. “I want you to remember because, if you do, then you’ll remember me. I want that more than anything. I just wish you didn’t have to remember everything.”
“Everything. Why not?”
“Because, sometimes, we choose to forget the things in life that hurt us the most.”
“Hurt me the most?”
“Yes.”
“If I do remember—if I want to—tell me, will it be worth it?”
“It will be painful, but I think I’m worth it.”
I drop my hand before lowering my head. It’s quickly lifted again by his hand on my chin.
“Abigail, I wish you could remember this.” His lips press feather-light against mine.
Placing my hands to his cheeks, our mouths press hard together. Whirls of lust heat my skin in response. Why do his lips feel like home?
Disconnecting, I’m halted by his expression—his eyes now darker than before.
“Can you feel it, Abigail?” he asks hopefully.
I can, but I’m rendered silent by the tingling sensations coursing through my body. I clasp my lower lip between my teeth.
“I know you can. I never forgot what this felt like, but I also never remembered correctly either.”
“Stop.” I shy away. “Go or you’ll be late. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Be good,” he says before the sound of his shoes walking through lush grass grows quieter and more distant.
***
I’ve no idea what time it is when I re-enter the manor. Sunset has come and gone, so I assume it’s around seven-thirty. Entering through the back door, I’m met with sweet eyes.
“Miss McMillian, are you hungry?” Grady asks from his seat at the dining table, folding closed what appears to be a newspaper.
“No. But I’m hangry.”
“Hangry?” he repeats, cocking his head.
“Yes, hangry. You know when you’re so hungry you turn into a crazed maniac, one who will kill violently if food isn’t delivered immediately.”
His eyebrows rise before a placid smile exposes the cute dimple in his chin. “Well, we better get you something to eat then. I’m not sure I’m interested in becoming the murder victim of a hangry lady.”
I giggle, making my way to the staircase. “Well, just let me get out of these work clothes and put on something a little more comfortable. I’ll be right with you. I’m sure you know all the best places we can go in town to eat.”
“No!” he barks in a stern tone, standing a short distance from me. “Miss McMillian, I’m under strict instructions that you are to remain here. I’ll get some takeaway for you instead.”
My mouth drops open, and I’m instantly cranky. “Strict instructions? By whom? Let me guess, Mr Klein?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Pfft … I’m going out to eat. It’s Sydney. I want to see the sights. We’re going out, Grady. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the driver, right?”
His eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t answer.
“I’m guessing, in some way, I’m your boss, yes?”
He still doesn’t say a word, but the look of amusement on his face tells me he finds this statement entertaining.
Trying to remain confident, I clear my throat. “Now be a sweetheart and fire up the car, will you? Give me twenty minutes to get ready.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” He puffs out his chest in a way that exerts authority. “We eat here tonight.”
“Well, either you take me, or I’ll catch a taxi. Your choice.” I glare, trying to gauge if this ploy might work. “Grady, we’ll be back before Marcus finishes at his dinner thing, I promise. He’ll be none the wiser. I can keep a secret if you can.” Turning on my sexiest pout, I think maybe, just maybe, he’s coming around.
“He said you can be quite persuasive.”
“So?”
“I really shouldn’t … I could get fired you know.”
“You won’t get fired. Nobody will ever know. It’ll be our secret.”
“Miss McMillian, the answer is a firm no.”
“Taxi it is then,” I huff, turning and taking the first four stairs up the staircase.
“Wait!” he calls out.
I can’t help but smile before