Kate rolls her eyes. “He’s a friend, Elliot.” She opens the car door. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Okay.” I nod and hold my tongue about her touchy-feely, fuckwit roommate.

I’ll deal with him later.

My phone rings and the name Tristan lights up.

“See you soon.” She kisses me quickly and jumps out of the car.

“Hey.” I answer my phone on speaker.

Kate turns and waves and I sit and watch her walk inside.

“Can you talk?” Tristan asks.

“Uh-huh.”

The front door closes behind Kate and I pull out into the street.

“How was last night?” Tristan asks.

“Good.” I smirk.

Incredible.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Well, it must have been fucking good to make you leave New York a week early. Anyone I know?”

I smirk again. You could say that. “Nope.”

“Are you seeing her again?”

“I’m going away with her today for a week, actually.”

“What? Didn’t you say last night was the first date?”

“It was.”

“Your second date is a week away?” He gasps. “Fuck me dead, it must have been some fucking date.”

I smile as I turn the corner. “Don’t get excited, she’s not Mrs. Miles.”

He laughs. “Famous last words.”

“It’s just a week, I don’t have to worry about paps then.”

“Fair enough. Where are you taking her?”

“No clue, any ideas?”

“What are you after?”

“Something private, hot, and beachy. Cocktails and restaurants.”

“Hmm, St. Barts?”

“No, I’ll run into someone I know there at this time of year. Under the radar if possible.”

“I’ll have a look now.”

“Okay. Thanks.” My phone beeps as another call comes in. “I’ve got another call, I’ll call you back. Elliot Miles,” I answer.

“Hello Mr. Miles. It’s Peter from Strathborn Investigations.”

“Ah.” I’ve been waiting for them to get back to me. “How are you?”

“Very well. I have some good news.”

“Great.”

“We finally have a lead on your artist, Harriet Boucher.”

“What is it?”

“We think we’ve located where she is.”

I listen intently. I’ve been searching for this woman for over a year.

“And?”

“If it’s the right woman, and we think that it is, she’s currently in the South of France.”

I frown as I listen. “Are you certain it’s her?”

“I’ll have confirmation this week. She flies completely under the radar.”

“When you have confirmation, I’ll book a flight. I want to meet her in person.”

“Mr. Miles, do you mind me asking what your business is with this woman?” he asks.

“It’s of a personal nature,” I reply curtly.

“Okay, I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you.” I hang up and turn the corner. I don’t know what my fascination with Harriet Boucher is . . . but I need to find out.

She’s calling to me through her paintings . . . and I don’t know why.

But I keep coming back to her, I can’t drop this.

One word describes her.

Extraordinary.

Chapter 12

KATE

I bounce up the stairs and turn and give Elliot a wave; he smiles and gives me a playful salute.

I smile and push the door open. “Hey,” I call to Rebecca.

She comes rushing out of her room. “Oh my God, what happened?” She looks at her watch. “You’re only getting home now? Holy crap, I need all the details.”

“Well . . .” I give her a coy smile and shrug. “It went well . . . I think.”

“What happened?” She lies along the back of the couch.

“We went to dinner and ate in a private dining room.”

“Private dining?”

“Then we went back to his house and it’s a wonder that I can walk.”

Her eyes widen. “You had sex? You never fuck on first dates.”

“I know, but damn it, I should. Because I had the best night ever.”

She smiles dreamily. “Are you seeing him again?”

“Uh-huh.”

“When?”

“He’s picking me up in three hours, actually.”

“Ooh, date the next day, he is keen.”

“We’re going away for a week.”

“What?” She sits up so fast that she overbalances and falls over the back of the couch, lands spectacularly on the ground, and smashes her elbow. “Oww.”

“Oh my God, are you okay?” I rush to her side and help her up. She rubs her elbow. “That fucking hurt.”

I chuckle as I help her to her feet. “Pretty funny, but.”

“You’re going away with him?” she asks, horrified.

“Yeah, what’s that look for?”

“You don’t even know him.”

“So?”

“Are you staying in the same room? What happens when you need to take a crap?”

I open my mouth to speak but no words come out.

“What happens if you fart, or snore . . . or . . .” She throws her hands up in dismay. “Dribble in your sleep? This is a logistical nightmare, Kate. You can’t impress a man with a week-long stayover.”

I stare at her as the horrifying scenarios play in slow motion through my mind. “I didn’t think of that.”

“What happened to playing hard to get?”

“Oh, who cares.” I throw my hands up in surrender. “He made me come at dinner, I’m pretty sure there is no playing hard to get.”

Her eyes widen to saucer size. “You orgasmed at dinner?”

I wince. “Kind of.”

“How did you kind of come?”

I puff air into my cheeks as I realize how this is going to sound. “Dry-humped him while he sat on his chair.”

Rebecca’s eyes pop from her head and she slaps her hand over her mouth as I burst out laughing. “Look, I know how this sounds.”

“Do you? But do you really? You’re going to fall in love with him and he’ll lose interest because he hasn’t had to chase you . . . at all. And then you’ll be brokenhearted.”

I laugh. She’s so damn dramatic. “Or . . . we could just be having fun and using each other for sex, while spending time on a beach in the sun with some cocktails.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Look, we’ve had the talk, I know exactly where I stand with him. He’s not looking for a relationship and neither am I,” I reply. “I just . . . I want to enjoy myself for a while without worrying about the future.”

“Since when? Last time I knew, you were searching for Mr. Right to be the father of your children.”

“Will you stop?” I snap in exasperation. “Don’t read into this, I’m not. It’s a week in the sun.” I march over to the door and open it in a rush, gesture out the front at the blizzard conditions. “Snowy London isn’t that appealing over the Christmas holiday, Rebecca. I have a week off left, and look.” I point out at the snow. “What the hell am I going to do here in this?”

She stares at me.

“It’s one week and I’m not stupid.” I march up the stairs. “It’s Elliot Miles, for fuck’s sake, as if he could break my heart.”

“You’re delusional,” she calls after me.

“And you’re a drama queen,” I call back with a roll of my eyes. I flop onto my bed. Fuck’s sake.

I lie for a moment and feel sorry for myself—hate that she isn’t excited for me.

A broad smile crosses my face . . . To hell with her, because I am.

Right. I stare at the open suitcase on my bed: what else do I need for a romantic getaway with a sex god?

Hmm. I go through my list.