After Felix - Lily Morton Page 0,86

best bits are right in front of me, so I find myself staring. He stretches in a luxurious fashion, and my eyes narrow. “Stop… Stop preening,” I snap.

He grins. “I’m just so… mmm. Stiff.”

I make a strangled sound because his cock is hard and pointing towards his belly button, all those delicious inches of blushing goodness. “That’s your age,” I snap. “Muscles get strained.”

“Especially when they’ve had such an active night,” he says, winking at me. “Still, I must make the best of every single day.”

I shake my head. “We need to talk about this,” I say, which is ironic because I haven’t the slightest fucking clue what I actually want to say. Nor the slightest clue what I actually feel, to be honest. Part of me is aghast that I gave in after all this time. That I abandoned all my principles for a night in the sack with my ex. The rest of me is cheering and demanding an encore.

And meanwhile, the whole of me is buzzing with life. Like I’ve been asleep for a century and just awakened. No fairy tales, I remind myself harshly.

“This can’t happen again,” I start to say. “I—”

“No time for that,” he interrupts, giving me a very innocent smile as he rolls out of bed. “We’ve got to get ready for the conference. Order some breakfast for us, and I’ll take the first shower.”

So, he doesn’t want to shower with me? I shake away the thought impatiently. “But we should talk.”

“I’m sure we will,” he says airily. “I know how you do love to talk, darling.”

I tear my eyes away from his naked buttocks because I’m pretty sure he’s flexing them deliberately. “We will talk,” I shout after him. “And don’t call me darling.”

His warm chuckle makes my eyes narrow. “I’m going to order the most expensive breakfast on the menu,” I say loudly. “And I’m definitely taking the dressing gown.”

And of course, we don’t talk. Max keeps breakfast light, making me laugh against my will and stealing kisses flavoured with the homemade apricot jam. Then it’s a whirl of activity as we dress.

I put on my suit from the Orient Express—an experience that already seems like years ago—and Max wears a Tom Ford three-piece grey suit, opting to carry the jacket as he can’t get it on over his cast. He was born to wear something like that. Or nothing at all.

“You alright?” Max asks, interrupting my ogling of him as I fasten his red tie for him.

“Yes, why?”

He grins. “Just that there’s this little bit of drool here.” He reaches out and pretends to wipe my mouth before sauntering away. I follow him out of the door, staring at his back in a very threatening manner that, unfortunately, he can’t see.

Chapter Eighteen

Felix

The conference is being held in a very upmarket hotel. I fully expect Max to abandon me early on because he’s immediately surrounded by smiling people who call out to him happily. Instead, he stays near me, promising to meet people afterwards. He gets me a drink and finds me a seat, leaving me only when I force him to, and his name has been called by the organiser four times in an increasingly agitated voice. I smile at her consolingly as they walk away. Max could have wound up Saint Francis of Assisi.

I expected to be bored by the conference, but it’s actually very interesting. It’s comprised of journalists and editors from the world’s press, and I sit sipping my drink and listening to the different languages being spoken around me. Max fits in seamlessly, and as I watch the men and women around him, I wonder how difficult it was for him to leave this. With hindsight, I’m able to recognise how stretched thin he’d been when we’d first met, like a part of him was always somewhere else.

When we ended, I’d presumed it was solely because of Ivo, but now I wonder whether a lot of his weariness was about leaving this life. It must have been like leaving a big chaotic family united by a common bond. I remember how Zeb once said Max was always searching for his own family.

The organiser announces Max, and I sit up straight, all thoughts leaving me as he saunters onto the stage. He’s predictably wonderful. He doesn’t seem to possess even a shred of nerves as he starts to talk, and within seconds, he has the audience in the palm of his hand, making them roar with laughter