Page 8 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

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E rica’s flat is huge. A great big pad in Vauxhall, with an enormous balcony that looks over the river.

I’ve been here before, many times. This is where I first met her; at the party I begged Nico to take me to.

I was determined to meet Erica Lefroy in person, even if I had to sell my left bollock to do it.

Occasionally, she still throws glamorous parties here where everyone gets drunk and makes out on the balcony as the sun sets.

Everyone apart from Erica, that is. She doesn’t drink, and I’ve never known her to date anyone beyond whoever makes sense for her PR at the time, and even then, it’s normally a couple of dates and never more.

Thank God for that, because having to stand by and watch Erica seriously date someone else, pretending to be happy for her… I don’t think I could do it.

The fact that I’ve never had to gives me the tiniest flicker of hope that maybe… maybe —

Ding .

The lift signals that we’ve reached her floor. She’s leaning almost all her weight on me, not putting any pressure on her bad foot at all.

“Let’s go,” she says, hopping on one foot to leave the lift.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Before she can object, I scoop her up in my arms and carry her down the corridor.

“Oof. Are you going to carry me everywhere today?”

“If you’ll let me.”

I take a few more steps, but I’ve already carried her a lot today and this corridor is long. The urge to forcibly exhale creeps up on me, but I hold those fuckers in. I will not pant.

“You sound like you’re straining.”

“I’m not,” I reply through gritted teeth.

She sighs. “I get it. I’m tall. I’m heavy. You can put me down.”

Absolutely not. “You,” I say, summoning a burst of Herculean strength as I hike her up and over my shoulder in a movement so smooth it would make the London Fire Brigade jealous, “are perfect.” Making sure there’s no danger of hurting her ankle, I secure her in place with one forearm over her thighs, the upper half of her body hanging down my back. “I could do this all day.”

She squeals, her hands thumping against my shoulder blades. “Oh, my God. Put me down.”

“Nope.” I take the last few strides towards her front door. “I’m carrying you over the threshold.” I chuckle at the bad married couple joke, but Erica doesn’t laugh. Awkward . “Where are your keys?”

I take another step and a huffing pant escapes me. Nearly there.

Erica prods my lats. “Are these muscles just for show, big guy?”

I deliberately jerk her against my shoulder, and she puffs like it shunted air from her lungs. “Fuck off, Lefroy. My muscles are decorative and functional. Where are the keys?”

“Pocket,” she says, shifting awkwardly against my shoulder.

I hold her tighter. “Which pocket?”

“Put me down, I’ll get them.”

“Nuh-uh.” Trying to avoid grabbing her arse, I shift my free hand on her hip until I hear the jangle of her keys, hidden in a pocket of her grey tracksuit bottoms. I tap them with one finger. “I’m going in. Any objections? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Ah, fuck. Stop dropping wedding shit into normal conversation . If I don’t watch it, I’ll start accidentally humming the wedding march.

“You are so bad,” she says on a laugh. “Do not put your hand in my pocket.”

I try and slide a finger in, but given how she’s pinned against my shoulder, it’s impossible to gain access. “Fuck. I gotta put you down after all.”

“Damn,” she laments, thumping my back one more time. “I’m just starting to get comfy up here.”

“Shit, really?” I spin and start walking back the way we came. “Because I can keep going.”

She giggles. “Stop, Seb. Put me down. I get it. You're very big and very strong. Big man Seb can carry woman all day.”

“And?” I say, prompting her for more.

“And you're my best friend in the whole world.”

My grin splits wide. “Good girl.” Turning back to her door, I set her gently on her feet and she offers me the beautiful smile she rarely reveals in public.

We must look crazy, standing here grinning at one another.

She laughs, I laugh, and fuck I love this woman.

“Really wanted to carry you over that threshold though.”

Her eyes gleam a little. “Oh, yeah? Why?”

I ruffle a hand in my hair, and that strange, awkward feeling washes over me again. The silence stretches a bit too long before I answer. “Because I’ll probably never get married, so this is as close as I’ll ever get.”

Erica frowns, takes the keys from me, unlocks her front door, and pushes it open. “Why do you think you won’t get married?”

Because you’ll never have me. “Because then I’d have to give up all the women.”

“You wouldn’t be giving them all up. You’d be choosing the one you want the most. The one you love.”

The silence feels potent, and she looks away as though I’ve just stripped naked in the middle of the hallway and she doesn’t want to see.

I wish I knew what she was thinking . Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to tell me something.

Other times, I’m convinced I’m delusional.

“Pfft. Sure,” I say to dismiss the sentiment that’s clogging my airways.

She grips the doorframe with one hand and hops into the flat, and I edge under her arm so she can lean on me again.

She winces. “Thanks.”

I kick the door closed behind us and walk her over to the sofa, lowering her gently so she can sit, and then I pull over a stool so she can prop up her sore ankle. “Can I get you anything?”

“No.” She takes off her baseball cap, and all that long, dark hair falls out. She shakes it like a mane, releasing a wave of scent, and then scoops it all up and ties it back. My body tingles watching her do it, but Erica is oblivious as she pats the sofa next to her. “Just sit with me.”

I flop down, all too ready to relax, even though I’m still wearing a full suit.

I undo my tie and top button, take off my jacket, and sling it over the back of the sofa before I kick my feet up on the stool next to hers.

I pull my tie free from my collar and toss it nearby.

Casual . I hope she can’t tell I’m not nearly as relaxed as I’m pretending to be.

I love hanging out with Erica, but there’s an edge to it.

A simmering energetic frisson . Maybe it’s me.

Maybe I’m broken. Maybe I really can’t just be friends with women.

But friendship is all I’m getting from Erica, so I’ll damn well try and do it.

I grab the remote from where it’s next to me on the sofa and point it at the huge TV, but before I turn it on, I say, “Have you heard back about that movie you auditioned for? Are we gonna be sitting here watching you on screen someday soon?”

She looks down at her hands, wringing them in her lap. “I didn’t get that one.”

I place one hand over the anxious movement of hers, and she looks up at me. “You really wanted it, huh?”

She pins her bottom lip with her teeth and looks down at where my hand rests on hers. “There’s a role I want even more.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She nods. “You know that Taming the Beast book?”

I only know it vaguely. A big bestseller, apparently. “Yeah?”

“The role of Vanessa. I think I might be in with a chance because they’ve been fan-casting me for it on social media for ages. The auditions are coming up soon, and I really want it.”

There’s a depth to her answer, and it feels heavy with emotion I’m not ready to pick up.

I thread my fingers between hers, not missing the tiny catch in her breathing as she watches me do it.

Fuck it. Now I’m sitting here, stuck to her side, my fingers tangled up with hers, having to pretend I didn’t just notice the way her chest shifted when she did that tiny gasp.

But I can’t ignore it because the one little intake of breath set my whole body aflame and I am roaring with heat.

I let go of her hand like she burnt it. Her brows flex, but she makes no comment.

Is there something going on here, or am I stuck in some awful delusional limbo-land where I’m so desperate for a sign that she might like me too that I’m making stuff up? Yeah. That must be it. Fuck’s sake, Seb. Keep your head screwed on.

My dick gives a tiny throb.

Not that head.

I nudge Erica with my elbow. That seems safer than actually holding her hand.

I keep my voice light when I say, “Then you’ll get it.

When has Erica Lefroy not got exactly what she wants?

” She smiles and, as though to prove I really am super casual and can handle anything she might throw at me, I add, “Just promise you’ll take me up the red carpet if you don’t have a real date. ”

Her big eyes flick up to mine beneath the heavily made-up lids and long, black lashes, and there’s a seriousness there that I glimpse for a second before her lips tug up at the corner. “I’ll put you on the waitlist,” she teases.

I chuckle and before I think it through, the words pop out like a reflex. “Treat them mean, eh?” She flinches and I imagine she’s doing exactly what I’m doing: filling in the rest of the catchphrase. Keep them keen.

I swallow, awkward again on account of the way her expression shifted. Is it just me, or is there extra tension today? I point the remote at the TV again with my other hand. “What are we watching?”

“I don’t mind. You choose.” Erica nuzzles into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and I can hardly breathe. She is my friend. Friend. Friend .

But being friends with someone is not supposed to be this damn hard, is it?

If she were anyone else, this would be nothing.

Fuck, anyone else could get naked and ride me all night, and I’d barely bat an eyelid.

But Erica Lefroy, sitting next to me on the sofa and resting her head on my shoulder, confuses the fuck out of me.

I pretend to give the choice serious consideration before I announce, “Porn, it is.”