CHAPTER 157: CHAPTER 157 BACK TO ME

*LORENZO*

My body responded immediately. Fuck.

She draws in a sharp breath, and her eyes grow impossibly large.

I drop my hand. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, appalled that I’m pawing the girl. Though Carla’s words come back to me.

She likes you and doesn’t want to give herself away.

“I must go,” Danica says, and not bothering to remove the scarf from her head, she scoots around me and bolts for the front door. As I hear it close, I notice that she’s left her boots. I reach for them and rush to the front door and open it. But she’s disappeared. Looking at her boots in my hand I turn them over and I’m distressed to see that they’re so old that the soles are worn thin.

Hence the wet footprints.

She must be penniless if this is what she’s wearing. Scowling, I take them back to the kitchen and glance through the glass door that leads out onto the fire escape.

The weather is fine today, so even in her trainers her feet won’t get wet.

What on earth possessed me to touch her? That was a mistake. I rub my thumb and forefinger together, recalling the softness of her lip. Groaning, I shake my head. I’m shocked and embarrassed that I’ve overstepped the mark with her. Taking a deep breath, I go to join Jacob in the study.

***************

Danica runs to the bus stop, unsure why she’s running or from whom. How could she have been stupid enough to get caught? He said he didn’t mind her playing the piano, but she doesn’t know whether to believe him. He may be calling the agency right now to have her fired! Her heart pounding, feeling confused, she sits on the bench to wait for the bus that will take her to

Meloria Road station. She isn’t sure if her increased heart rate is from her mad dash along Embankment or from what happened in the his apartment.

She caresses her lower lip with her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she recalls the delicious jolt that went through her when he touched her. Her heart somersaults once more, making her gasp.

He touched her.

Like he does in her dreams. Like he does in her imagination. So gentle.

And tender.

Isn’t that what she wants? Perhaps he likes her....

She gasps once more.

No. She cannot think like this. It’s impossible.

How could he like her? She’s just his cleaner.

But he helped her into her coat. No one has ever done that before. She stares down at her feet.

She realizes that she’s left her boots in the apartment. Should she go back and retrieve them? She has no shoes except the pair she’s wearing and her boots, one of the few possessions she retains from the orphanage.

She can’t go back. He’s meeting with someone. If she angered him by playing the piano, he is sure to be angrier still if she interrupts him. She sees the bus in the distance and resolves to collect her boots on Friday, if she still has a job.

Her teeth toy with her upper lip. She needs this job. If she gets fired, she won’t be able to pay her rent, she’d get thrown out on the street.

No, that will not happen.

Her landlady wouldn’t be that cruel.

The woman was exceptionally nice to her.

However, Magda, her landlady and her son, John, are emigrating to Canada soon. They will join Magda’s fiancé, Logan, who lives and works in Toronto.

Danica will have to find somewhere to live. Magda charges her a pittance of twenty a week for the tiny bedroom, and from her research on John’s computer she knows this is a bargain. Finding other places for so little was going to be a challenge.

Her heart warms when she thinks about John. He is generous with his time and his computer.

Danica’s knowledge of the cyber world is limited, but she had been able to learn a lot through John. He is all over social media. Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Snapchat, John loves them all. She smiles thinking of the selfie he took yesterday of the two of them. He likes to take the selfies.

The bus arrives, and still feeling giddy from the boss’ touch, she climbs aboard.

************

But when she got to his house by Friday, he had left her a note saying he would be gone for a business trip.

And just like that a week flew by without her seeing her handsome boss.

*******

Danica shakes the umbrella free of the snowflakes that had started falling fast and furious on her way to the Boss’ apartment.

She is not expecting him to be at home, after all, he’d left money for her last week that included payment for today. But she is ever hopeful. She has missed his brooding presence. She’s missed his smile. She has thought of him constantly.

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door. The silence that greets her is nearly her undoing.

No alarm noise. He is here.

He is back. Early.

The abandoned leather duffel bag in the hallway also confirms his presence, and so do muddy footprints in the hall. Her heart rockets into overdrive. She is thrilled; she is going to see him again.

Carefully she places his umbrella in the stand by the door so it won’t drop and wake him if he’s asleep. She’d borrowed it on Monday night. She hadn’t asked, but she didn’t think he would mind, and it had kept her dry from the freezing rain as she’d made her way home.

She removes her boots and tiptoes along the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the laundry room. Changing into her sneakers and housecoat, she dons her scarf and decides what to clean first. He has been absent since Friday, so everything is clean. The ironing and washing are up to date, and his closet is finally neat and organized, but it’s packed. The kitchen still looks as spotless and tidy as she had left it on Monday afternoon; nothing has been touched. She has to mop up the hall, but first she will dust the shelves with all the records, then wash the windows in the living room. The balcony has a glass wall that looks out over the sea and to a Park beyond.

Grabbing the window-cleaning spray and a cloth from the cupboard, Danica heads into the living room.

She halts in her tracks.

The Boss is here. Propped up on the L-shaped couch. Eyes closed, lips parted, hair mussed and standing on end, he’s fast asleep. He is fully dressed and still wearing his overcoat, though it’s open, revealing his sweater and jeans. His filthy boots are planted firmly on the rug. In the white light that swirls through the glass wall, Danica spies the telltale trail of dried mud all the way back to the door.

She stares at him, enthralled, and moves closer, drinking him in. His face is relaxed but a little pale, his jaw is rough with stubble, and his full lips quiver with each breath. He looks younger and not quite as unattainable as he sleeps. If she dared, she could reach down and stroke the stubble on his cheek. Would it be soft or prickly? She smiles at her silliness. She isn’t that brave, and though it’s tempting, she doesn’t want to anger him by waking him.

What concerns her most is that he looks uncomfortable. Briefly she wonders whether she should wake him so that he can go to bed, but at that moment he stirs and his eyelids open and bleary eyes meet hers.

Danica’s breath hitches.

His dark lashes flutter over drowsy eyes, and he smiles and holds out his hand.

“There you are,” he mumbles, and his sleepy smile galvanizes her into action. She thinks he wants help to come to his feet, so she steps forward and takes his hand. All at once he tugs her down onto the sofa, kissing her quickly and curling his arm around her so that she’s resting on top of him, her head on his chest.

He mutters something unintelligible, and she realizes he must still be asleep. “I missed you,” he murmurs, and his hand grazes her waist, then rests on her hip, holding her to him.

Is he asleep?

She lies paralyzed on top of him, her legs between his, her heart beating an insane rhythm, one hand still clutching the window-cleaning fluid and the cloth.

“You smell so good.” His voice is barely audible. He takes a deep breath, his body relaxing beneath her, and his breathing mellows into the rhythm of sleep.

He’s dreaming!

What should she do? She lies stiff and unyielding on top of him, terrified and fascinated at the same time.

But what if...? What if he...? All manner of horrible scenarios suddenly run through her mind, and she closes her eyes to bring her anxiety under control. Isn’t this what she wants? What she has been longing for in her dreams? What she secretly desires in her private moments? She listens to his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. It’s steady. It’s slow.

He really is asleep. She rests against him, gathering her thoughts, and as time ticks by, she relaxes a little. She spies a smattering of his chest hair in the V of his T-shirt and sweater. It’s provocative. She lays her cheek on his chest and closes her eyes and inhales his familiar scent.

It’s soothing.

He smells of sandalwood and the fir trees. He smells of wind and rain and exhaustion.

Poor man.

He is so tired.

She purses her lips and leaves a shadow of a kiss against his skin.

And her heartbeat spikes.

I’ve kissed him!

She wants nothing more than to remain where she is, to enjoy this new and thrilling experience. But she cannot. She knows it’s wrong. She knows he’s dreaming.

Closing her eyes for one more minute, she delights in the rise and fall of his chest beneath her. She yearns to wrap her arms around him and curl up on top of him. But she can’t. She lets go of the cleaning fluid and the cloth, depositing them on the sofa, then reaches for his shoulders and shakes him gently.

“Please, Sir,” she whispers.

“Hmm,” he grunts.

She pushes a little harder. “Please. Sir. Move.”

He raises his head and opens his tired eyes, confused. His expression turns from confusion to horror.

“Please. Move,” she says again.

His hands fall away, releasing her. “Shit!”

He sits up immediately and gapes at her in utter dismay as she scrambles off him. But before she can run, he grabs her hand.

“Danica!”

“No!” she shouts.

And he lets go immediately.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I thought...I thought...I was...I must have been dreaming.”

Slowly he stands, his face full of remorse, holding his hands up in submission. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He drags his hands through his hair and rubs his face as if trying to rouse himself.

Danica stays out of his reach but scrutinizes him and sees how strained and tired he looks.

He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m so sorry,” he says again. “I’ve been driving all night. I got in at four this morning. I must have fallen asleep when I sat down to undo my laces.” They both look at his boots and at the clumps of dried mud he’s left in his wake.

“Oops. Sorry,” he says with a sheepish shrug.