MerryInkmas

by

TaliaHibbert

ADirtyBritishRomance

“There’sabeastinsideofme.Ikeepitcaged.Youdriveitwild.”

CashEvanshascomealongwaysincehistroubledchildhood,butallthewealthhe’s

earnedasatattooartistcan’tfixtheholeinhisheart.Heknowsthatthesweetbaristawho

hauntshisdreamsisoff-limits…Butlifedoesn’talwaysgotoplan.

”Thereisn’tamanonearthwhocouldruinme.”

BaileyCooperisdeterminedtolearnfromhermother’smistakes.She’sseenhow

cruellovecanbe,andshe’snotabouttosacrificeherself-respectforarelationship.But

whenabadboywithaheartofgoldcomestoherrescue,shefindsherselfwonderingif

thisbeastmightjustbeherPrinceCharming.

WillthesetwolostsoulsfindahappyendingunderthetreethisChristmas?

Oristheirlovedoomedtowitherwiththemistletoe?

MerryInkmasisared-hotChristmasromancestarringabrooding,badboyheroand

aBlack,BBWheroinewithawallaroundherheart.

ForDilip,thecoolestdentistever.

ChapterOne

“Here’syourguy.”

Bailey turned to look at Tara, who was sitting on the counter, chewing a handful of

minimarshmallows.

“Careful,” Bailey warned. “Michael will be done cashing up soon. If he catches you

nickingmerchandiseagain—”

“Girl, did you hear me? I said he’s here.” Tara widened her grey eyes as she spoke

aroundthemouthfulofsweets.Thenshejerkedherheadtowardsthewindowsatthefront
ofthecoffeeshop,theonesthatfacedoutontothestreet.

Baileyhadbeentryingtostaycool,butshecouldn’tresist.Shelooked.

ThewindowswerecoveredinChristmasdecals—snow,baubles,afewreindeer—and

itwasalreadydarkoutside.Butshecouldstillseehimclearly,thestreetlightsglintingoff
ofhisdistinctiveauburnhair.

HotCoffeeGuy.

Reflexively, Bailey patted her long dreadlocks. They were shoved up into a raggedy

bunandcoveredbyahairnet,butstill—theurgetomakesurethatshelookedpresentable
wasinstinctive.

Andembarrassing.

“Wonderwhathe’llordertoday?”Tarawaggledhereyebrows.

“Youknowwhathe’llsay,”Baileyanswered,tryingtokeephervoicelight.Sheturned

awayfromTara’sknowingeyes,busyingherselfwithtidyingupthemugs.

“Yep,” Tara said, still chomping on marshmallows. She lowered her voice and

murmuredinapassableimitationofHotCoffeeGuy:“Surpriseme.”

“Shhh,”Baileyhissedastheshop’sdoorcreakedopen,thelittlebellaboveittinkling.

“Don’tbesouptight.Youshouldbehappyhe’shere.Iwishhe’dflirtwithme.”

“OhmyGod,stop.It’snotflirting!He’sjustaniceguy.”

“Sure,babe,”Taralaughed.ButthankGod—sheshutup.Sheevenhoppedoffofthe

counterandputawaythejarofmarshmallows.Truly,shewasamodelemployee.

Herheartpounding—andwasn’tthatutterlyridiculous?—Baileyfocusedonthemugs.

Shestackedthemneatlyasawarenesscreptuponher,settingoffsomesixthsenseshe’d
neverknownshehad.Atleast,notuntilthefirsttimehe’dwalkedintotheshop.

Shedidn’tevenknowhisname.Andyet,themomenthespoke,herbodyrelaxedas

thoughshe’dbeenwaitingtohearhisvoice.

“Hey,Bailey,”hesaid,inthatachinglylowrumble.

Trying to move slowly—the last thing she wanted was to come off as eager—she

turnedtofacehimwithapolitesmile.

Oh,hewassofuckinggorgeous.

Hehadbothleather-glovedhandsonthecounter,andhewasleaningtowardsherwith

his usual heart-stopping grin. Full lips + white teeth + thick stubble = Very Flustered
Bailey.Hisdarkredhairswungsilkilyaroundthesharp,masculinelinesofhisface,the
contrastsofteninghisaquilinenoseandheavybrow.Hewassotall,andsobroad,thathis
blackleather-cladshouldersfilledherviewalmostentirely.Forasecond,Baileyallowed
herself to imagine those shoulders becoming her world, leaning over her in far more
intimatesurroundings…

Thenshegaveherselfamentalslapandexitedfantasyland.

“Hi!”Shechirped.“WhatcanIgetyou?”

His green eyes crinkling at the corners, he gave the same response he’d been giving

herforoveramonth:“Surpriseme.”

“Alright,” Bailey smiled, as though she didn’t know exactly what she was going to

give him—as though she hadn’t been thinking about it all day. “We just started our
Christmasspecials,soit’llbesomethingyou’veneverhadbefore!”God,shesoundedlike
anad.Comeone,comeall,andenjoythenewbeveragesatEspresso-Go!

“Sounds good,” Hot Coffee Guy said as she grabbed a mug and switched on the

electricgrinder.“Isthatwhyyou’rewearingthatjumper?”

Oh,crap.Withawince,Baileylookeddownatherself.

Why, God—why did he have to come in on the shop’s Christmas jumper day? And

whyhadshe,carriedawaywithfestivespirit,wornascarletandgreenmonstrositywitha
knittedversionofRudolph’sfacepoppingoutfromthechestlikeaChristmasparodyof
Alien? She could hear Tara snickering in the background as she rinsed out the blenders.
Tara, who had ‘forgotten’ her Christmas jumper and wore nothing more outrageous than
anapronandasprigoftinseltuckedintoherponytail.

Bailey squeezed her eyes shut as if blanking out the world could somehow save her

fromtheindignityofthismoment.Hewasn’tsupposedtocomeintoday,damnit.He’d
beeninyesterday,andhenevercametwodaysinarow.

Butherehewas.

Pullingherselftogether,Baileyopenedhereyesandpastedasmileonherface.“Yep!”

She said brightly. “I love Christmas. It’s my favourite holiday.” Obviously. Because she
wasn’talreadyuncoolenough.

Buthesurprisedher.HepickeduponeoftheChristmas-tree-shapedchocolatesonthe

counter with a smile and put it by the till. “Mine too,” he said. And then: “I like the
jumper.”

Oh.Bitingherliponasmile,Baileyturnedtoheatupthemilk.

Shewhippedthewhiteliquidfullofairuntilitwashotandcreamy,ignoringtheway

thatthesteamfoggedupherglasses.Withpracticedhands,shepouredthemilkintoamug
while her vision was still blurry, then followed it up with a shot of espresso, a squirt of
gingerbreadsyrup,andflakesofchocolate.Assheworked,herfoggylensesclearedbitby

bit.

She turned to present Hot Coffee Guy with his Christmas confection. “Gingerbread

cappuccino,” she smiled, slightly breathless. As though she’d run a marathon instead of
makingacoffee.Lord,whenwouldshestopbeingsuchadork?

“Thanks,”hesaid,takingthemug.

“Andyouwantthechocolatetoo?”

“Yes,please.Feelingfestiveallofasudden.”Hewinked,andshethoughtshemight

dropdowndead.Howcouldonemanbesobloodysexy?

Asshetappedinhispurchasesatthetillhepulledouthiswallet.“It’sveryimpressive,

bytheway,howyoucandothatwithyourglassesallsteamedup.”

Baileylookedupsharply,mortified.Hesaw?Obviouslyyes,ifhissmirkwasanything

togoby.

“You’relikealittlecoffeemagician,”hecontinued.

She felt her cheeks warm up under his smoking-hot smile. He was like the sun, and

she was the foolish kid flying too close. Her mind scrambling, Bailey did the first thing
thatpoppedintoherhead.Shegrabbedapenfrombesidethetill,waveditaroundlikea
wand,andsaid“Bibbity,bobbity,boo!”

HotCoffeeGuy’sliptwitched.Thenhecoughed.Andthenheburstoutlaughing,as

thoughhesimplycouldn’tholditin.

Oh,fuck.

Baileydroppedthepenandresistedtheurgetoletherheadfallintoherhands.Behind

her,sheheardTaragigglinghysterically.

Why on earth had she done that?! What was wrong with her?! Did she want to die

aloneandsexless?

Clearly.

The jangle of the door’s bell cut through the laughter filling the shop, and Bailey

lookedup,readytotellthenewcomerthatthemachinesweregoingoffforthenight.Yes,
shewaspreparedtobethatmuchofabitchrightnow.

Butatthesightofthecustomer,worryfilledher.

“John?”Shefrowned.“Areyouokay?”

The laughter stopped as Tara came forward, leaning over the counter to peer at the

slendermanwho’djustwalkedin.“Oh,Christ,”shesaid.“Youlookbloodyfreezing.Let
memakeyouacuppa.”

John shook his head, his teeth chattering. He walked up to the counter, his huge,

greying backpack on his shoulders. That backpack contained all of his worldly goods,
asidefromthosehewore.Andtoday,hewaswearinglessthanusual.

The tips of his ears and the end of his nose were bright red, so cold they must have

been painful. He rubbed his palms together, obviously trying to warm up his hands

through their thin, hole-y gloves. Bailey rushed around the counter to reach him, barely
noticingthatthemovementbroughtherrightpastHotCoffeeGuy.Shewrappedanarm
around John’s shaking shoulders and led him to one of the soft, worn armchairs littered
aroundtheshop.Theonlyothercustomer—anoldermaninafancysuit—downedthelast
ofhiscoffeebeforestalkingoutwithadisgustedglance.Baileyignoredthefucker.

“Where’syourcoat?”Sheasked.

Johnjustshookhishead,hisusualbitinghumourconspicuousbyitsabsence.

“Didsomeonetakeit?”Baileydemanded,horrified.

“No, no,” he said quickly. His voice shook, his teeth clattering together. “I gave it

away.”

“What?!Why?”

“Sawsomeonewhoneededit,”hemumbled.Tarabustledoverandthrustalargemug

ofteaintohisprotestinghands,milkyandsweet,justthewayhelikedit.

“You need it!” Bailey insisted. “You mustn’t do that! You’ll catch your death!”

Conscious of her voice’s hysterical tone, she took a deep breath. John didn’t need her
harpingonathim,andshewasn’thismother.ButGod,homelesspeopleactuallyfrozeto
deathinthewinter.Hecouldn’tjustgiveawayhisclothingwilly-nilly!

“I’m sorry to come in here,” he said uncomfortably. “I don’t want to cause you any

moretrouble.Justneededtowarmupabit.”

“Don’tworry,”Tarasaid.“Michael’sintheback.Drinkyourtea,chick.”

“Cheers,Tara.”Hetookasip,hiseyesclosing.

Bailey thought fast. They needed to get John a coat, but the shops would be closing

soon.

He was a small man, no older than her for all his face had been ravaged by the

elements, and he was always giving away what little he had to those he saw sleeping
rough.They’dbecomefriendswhenhestartedcomingintoEspresso-Gofortheoddcup
oftea—untilMichael,theirmanager,hadputastoptothat.Apparently,John’spresence
‘loweredthetone’.

God,Baileycouldthrottlethatman.

Astrangefeelingcutthroughherthoughts;thesensationofbeingwatched.Sheturned

instinctively and found Hot Coffee Guy right where she’d left him, looking at her with
somethingindescribableinhiseyes.

“Oh,God,”shesaid,throwingupherhands.“Iforgot,I’msupposedtoberingingyou

up!”

“Icanwait,”hesaid.“Don’tworry.”

Butthenanothermalevoiceenteredthefray,shatteringanysemblanceofpeace.

“What’sgoingonoutthere?”Michaelcalled.Hisbleatingtoneswereswiftlyfollowed

byhisappearanceinthedoorwayofthebackoffice.Hehadanearphoneinoneear,but

theotherwasdanglingdown,unused.Crap.Busted.

“Nothing,”Tarasaid.Shegavehimawinsomesmileandfingeredoneofthevastgold

hoopsinherears,herglitterynailsgleaming.

Michael’s bald head gleamed as he gave her a dour look. “Take off those

monstrosities,Tara,”hesaid.“Healthandsafety,youknowthat.”Thenhishabitualfrown
deepenedintoagrimaceashecaughtsightofJohn.“Whatisthatdoinghere?”Michael
demanded.“Didhepayforthatdrink?”

“Um…”Tarafaltered.

“I’m paying for it,” Bailey said. “Come on, Michael, it’s the end of the day. We’re

abouttocloseanyway—”

“There’sapayingcustomerrightthere,”Michaelinterruptedpompously.Hegestured

towardsHotCoffeeGuy.“Andyouareneglectinghim!”

“I’mfine,mate,”saidHotCoffeeGuy.“Letthegirlssorthimout,eh?Helookssick.”

MichaelcastajadedglanceoverJohn’sshiveringfigure.“Sick?Morelikehehasn’t

hadahitinawhile.”

“Here, now!” John surged up, suddenly finding his voice. But he was cut off as Hot

CoffeeGuyreachedoverthecounterandgrabbedthefrontofMichael’swoollyChristmas
jumper,dragginghimforwardsuntiltheirfaceswereinchesapart.

“You better watch what you say,” he gritted out, his voice even lower than usual.

“People might think you’re accusing him of something. And we wouldn’t want that,
wouldwe?”

Michaelsplutteredashewasreleased.Straighteninghisjumperindignantly,helooked

overtowhereBaileyandTarastoodgaping.

“I am your manager,” he burst out, “and I want both of these men gone from the

premises!”

“But—”Baileybegan.

“NomoreoutofyouMissCooper,oryoucanjointhem!”

Bailey’s mouth worked as she struggled to find an answer. She saw Tara’s worry,

Michael’s rage, John’s humiliation—then her gaze settled on their leather-clad defender,
whowasclearlyincensed,hisfistsclenchedathissides.

Andsuddenly,Baileywasfilledwiththekindofrecklessoutragethatshehadfeltonly

afewtimesinherlife.

Thefirsttimewasonthedayofhermother’ssecondwedding,sixmonthsafterDaddy

died.Baileyhadbeenseven.She’dshovedherfistintotheirfour-tierweddingcakeand
spentthedayingloriousdisgrace.

The second time was at her school’s prom in Year Eleven. She’d only been at that

schoolforayearandhadnevermanagedtoinfiltrateanyfriendshipgroups—storyofher
life.So,whenshesawonegirlbeingcruellymockedbyherso-called-friendsallnight,she
took the slight almost personally. And she might have helped the girl egg her friends’

limousine.Buttherehadbeennowitnesses,soreally,whocouldsay?

Thethirdtimewasatthehospital,twoyearsago,whenadoctorinformedthemthat

her mother’s chest infection had been a misdiagnosis—she was actually suffering from
stagefourlungcancer.Thatnight,Bailey,had…Well.Shedidn’tliketorevisitthatnight.

Andnowshewashere,andherdickheadbosswasgivingherthatsmugGotyoulook,

andJohnwasgettinguptoleavewithutterembarrassmentonhisface,andshewasnot
fuckinghavingit.

“Fine,”shespat.“I’llgo,then.Comeon,John.”

Helookedather,hopedawninginhiseyeslikethesunrise.

”What?!” Michael spluttered. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Bailey? I will

sackyou!”

“Noyouwon’t,”Baileysaidconfidently,throwingoffherlittlehalf-apron.“BecauseI

quit.”

ChapterTwo

“OhGod,ohGod,ohGod,ohGod.”

CashEvanswatchedasthecutelittlebarista,Bailey,stampedherfeetandrubbedher

hands against the arms of her jumper. He couldn’t blame her. It was bloody freezing
outside.Shechantedhershockasshestamped,staringworriedlyintothewindowofthe
coffeeshop.

And if he noticed the way her ripe hips and full thighs bounced beneath those tight,

blacktrousersshewore—well.Thatdidn’tmakehimtoomuchofanarsehole,didit?

Itprobablydid.Buthecouldn’tbringhimselftocare.

“Youshouldn’thavedonethat,”Johnwassaying,rubbinghisownhandstogether.

Shetookabreakfromherstress-chanttogivethepoorguyaweaksmile.“Don’tbe

silly,” she breezed. It wasn’t convincing. “I had to leave anyway. We need to get you a
coat.”

“Bailey,Itoldyoubefore.Youcan’tjustkeepbuyingmethings—”

Suddenly, the door to the coffee shop swung open. Tara stood there, an apologetic

winceonherprettyface.Herarmswerepiledhighwithathickcoatandmessengerbag,
whichsheheldouttoBailey.

“Youforgotyourstuff,”shesaidloudly.Andthen,loweringhervoice:“I’msosorry,

Bailey.Ishould—”

“Youshouldgobacktowork,”Baileyinterrupted.“Beforehelosesitandsacksyou

too.”

Cashstared,feelinglikehe’dsteppedintosomekindofalternatereality.

He’d been coming to buy shitty coffee from this woman on a semi-regular basis for

weeksnow—andtruthfully,he’dhadtoexertahellofalotofcontroltokeepitatthat.No
increaseinvisits.Certainlynoaskingforhernumber.Justharmlessflirting.

Becausetherewasnowaythatawomanasadorable,assweet,andaseffortlesslysexy

asBaileycouldbeanythingotherthanapersona.Right?Likeacharactersheslippedinto,
alongwithheruniform.Shewasjustchasingtips.Takingservicewithasmiletothenext
level.Itcouldn’tbereal.Shecouldn’treallybelikethis.

Excepthereshewas:noapron,nojob,stillBailey.

What.The.Fuck?

Cashwatchedassheslidherhuge,puffycoatontoJohn’sshoulders,arguingfiercely

againsthisprotests.Themanwasstillshaking;clearly,heneededit.Butitwasafreezing
December night, and Bailey’s cute little jumper wouldn’t keep her warm for long. Cash
shruggedoffhisleatherjacket,pushingittowardsher.

“Youtakethis,”hesaid.“Doesn’tlooklikemuch,butit’swarmenough.”

She turned, looking up at him with eyes that glittered in the dark. Those eyes were

betterthanashotofespresso;especiallywhenshestaredathimlikehewassomekindof
hero.Amancouldgetusedtothat.

“What’syourname?”Sheasked,thequestionstartlinghim.“Younevertoldme.”

Embarrassed, he grimaced. There was a reason he hadn’t mentioned his name. “It’s

Cash.”

“Really?” He waited for a smirk or some over-the-top coo that would shatter his

impressionofhowgenuineshewas.Butallthatcamewashersunnygrin.“That’svery…
American,”shesaidwithagood-naturedlaugh.

Shaking his head, he put the jacket over her shoulders as she’d just done to John.

“Yeah,”hemuttered.”That’sonewayofputtingit.”Buthefelthislipscurlintoasmile.

“Ican’ttakeyourcoat,”sheprotested.“You’llbecold.”

“I’llbefine.”Helethisgazerakeoverherface,tracingitssmoothcontours.Thenher

lipsparted,andheforcedhimselftoturnaway.Becausefuck,thesightofhersoftmouth
slightlyopen,justlikeitwouldbeifsheweregaspingbeneathhim—

Cashhadknownhehadathingforthegirlatthecoffeeshop.Butitwasbeginningto

turnintoaproblem.

John stood watching them, a smile playing about his bloodless lips. He was still

shaking, clutching his backpack to his chest now. The longer Cash looked, the more he
realisedthatJohnwasjustayoungman,despitetheworn-outtirednessthatclungtohim
likeaparasite.Inasplit-second,Cashmadehisdecision.

“Comeon,”hesaid.“Letmetakeyousomewhere.”Becauseasidefromanything,if

hedidn’tstartmovingnow,hemightdoorsaysomethingtoBaileythathe’deventually
regret.

Before he could second-guess himself, Cash started off across the square. He didn’t

havetolookbacktoknowthatthepairweretrailingafterhim.Cashdidn’thavealotof
positive qualities; he knew that. But one thing was for sure: when he spoke, people
listened.

∞∞∞

Justafewice-coldminuteslater,Cashledthewayintoanearbyhotel.Heheadedto

thefrontdeskandhadabriefexchangewiththeperkyyoungwomanwhomannedit.Just
as she handed over a keycard—and Cash handed over his credit card—he felt a gentle
touchathisshoulder.

He turned to find Bailey looking up at him, his leather jacket dwarfing her narrow

shouldersandherdelicatebrowfurrowed.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Sheasked,hervoicelow.

“Bookingaroom.”

Sheraisedhereyebrows.“LikeinPrettyWoman?”

“I’veneverseenPrettyWoman.”

“Oh.Um…Nevermind.”

Cashdidn’tunderstandhalfofthereferencesshemade,buthedefinitelyenjoyedthe

embarrassedsmilessheflashedaftermakingthem.Still,heremembered,theyweren’tat
thecoffeeshopnow.Therewasnotimetoindulgehisweirdfascinationwiththisgirl.

“ForJohn,”hesaidshortly.“Justforaweekorso.Untilwecansorthimout.”

Hercheeksplumpedasshesmiledwide.Andtherewasthatlookagain,theonethat

said,Myhero.

Nottrue.Buthewasstartingtothinkhe’dlikeittobe.

Thereyougoagain,lustingaftertreasurelikeabeastunderabridge.

“Here you are, Sir,” said the receptionist, holding out his card with a white-toothed

smile.“That’sallsortedforyou.”

“Thanks,Mandy,”heanswered,readingthenameonherbadge.Forceofhabit.

He turned to catch John’s eye, indicating to the younger man that he should follow.

Thenheheadedtothelift,andtheyallmadetheirwaytoroom302.

“Herewego,”Cashsaid,unlockingthedoorandsteppingintoaspaciousroomwitha

teaset,doublebed,TV,andensuite.JohnwalkedinandBaileyfollowed,closingthedoor
behindthem.

“For…Forme?”Johnasked,hishoarsevoicebarelyawhisper.

“Yeah.Justfornow.”Cashhandedthekeycardover,thengrabbedhiswalletfromthe

backpocketofhisjeans.Hepulledoutabusinesscardandputitonthesidetable,bythe
phone.“Youcancallmetomorrow,orI’llcallyousometimeafterlunch.Ithinkwecould
dosomethingtohelpyougetbackonyourfeet.”

John stared, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. Behind him, Bailey turned

tactfullyaway.“Whyareyouhelpingme?”Theyoungermanasked.

Cashspokequietly.“Becausethiscouldhappentoanyone.Thiscouldhappen—”his

throat felt tight suddenly, but he pushed through the rising panic, mastered it, forced it
back into the farthest recess of his mind. Clearing his throat, he finished: “This could
happentome.Andifitdid,I’dwanthelp.Everyonedeserveshelp.”Thenhesmiled,as
thoughthatcouldbreakthroughtheheavyairthathadfallenontheroom.“Anyway,”he
said.“It’sChristmas.”

John reached out a hand, hope and joy and relief shining through his tired features.

Cashechoedhismovement,andthetwomenshookhandsfirmlybeforeoneofthem—or
perhapsbothofthematonce—pulledtheotherintoahug.

“Thank you,” John said softly. “Thank you. One day I’ll repay your kindness.” The

quietwordsrangwiththesolemnityofavow.

Cashshookhishead.Theypulledapart,andJohnmadehiswayovertothewindow,

gazingoutatthelightsofthesquare.Whilehisbackwasturned,Cashpulledahandfulof
twentiesfromhiswalletandputthemattheendofthebed,alongwithabusinesscard.

“We’llleaveyoutoit,mate,”hesaid,headingtowardsthedoor.“Getsomethingtoeat,

yeah?”

Johnturned,surpriseonhisface.Thenhesawthemoneyonthebed.“Oh,Cash,no

—”

“Stopit.Needyoufightingfit.”Hewinked.Thenhesaid,“Let’sgo,Bailey,”beforehe

couldstophimself.Asifhehadanycontroloverher.Asiftheywereapackagedeal.Asif
she’dfollow.

Butshedid,forsomereason,andthatbroughttheghostofasmiletohisface.

“Haveagoodnight,John,”shecalled.“I’llringyoutoo.”

“Bailey.Thankyou.Thankyouforalwaysbeingsogoodtome.”

“Youdon’tneedtothankme.You’remyfriend.”

CashwatchedasshesmiledatJohn,herhonestyshiningthroughlikeastar.Shewas

so blindingly, beautifully bright, and yet he couldn’t look away. He should look away,
shouldn’the?

Theywalkedoutintothecorridor,shuttingJohn’sdoorbehindthem.

Cash leaned against the blandly papered wall, studying the design on the thick hotel

carpet. The shades and shapes of its brash pattern were so violently unsuited that they
practicallyoffendedhiseyes.Theydefinitelyoffendedhisartisticsensibilities.

“Hey,” Bailey said softly. “Cash.” The sound of his name on her lips sent a thrill

throughhisgut.Itwaslikethefirsttimehe’dgottenonamotorbike,orthehighafterhis
first tattoo. But it came from nothing more extreme than this woman. Maybe it was
becauseshewassoveryoff-limits—soveryoutofhisleague.Maybeitwasbecauseshe’d
beensafewhenshewasstuckbehindacounter,butnowshewasrealandhewantedher
badly.Whateverthereason,inthatmoment,hemadethedecisiontochasethefeelingshe
gavehim.

“Yeah?”Heasked.

She stepped forward, and he stood up straight as though she had him on a leash.

Which she did, really—only it was secured around his suddenly-aching balls, and she
didn’tevenknowityet.

“Whydidyoudothat?”Sheasked,hervoicesolemn.

“Dowhat?”

“HelpJohn.”

Heraisedabrow.“WhydidyouhelpJohn?”

“Because I like him,” she said immediately. No hesitation. “And I think he’s a good

guy.AndIwish…Iwishthingswerebetter.Foreveryone.”

Cashtriedtokeephimselfundercontrol—buthe’dneverbeenverygoodatthat.Sohe

wasn’t surprised when his hands moved, apparently of their own volition, to gently tug
awaythehairnetthatstillcoveredherhead.“MaybeItrustyourjudgement,”hesaid,his

voicelow.

She held perfectly still as he pulled off the hairnet, like a doe freezing just before it

fled.Andshesaid,“Youdon’tevenknowme.”

IwishIdid.Itwasthetruth.Justlikeitwastruethathe’dspentmorethanafewnights

thinkingofher—ofhersmileandhertip-tiltedeyesandthewayherhandsmovedasshe
poureddrinks—wishingthathewereadifferentkindofman.Thekindthatshedeserved.

Buthewasn’t.HewasCash.

So he stepped away from her abruptly, doing his best to ignore the way her eyes

dimmed. Then he pulled another card out of his wallet and tossed it to her like she was
somekindofnuisance.

Beforehecouldseethelookonherface—thelookthatwouldshatteranyillusionshe

mighthaveabouteverbeingherhero—heturnedaway.Ashestalkeddownthecorridor,
hecalledoverhisshoulder:“I’vegotajobforyou,ifyouwantit.Bethereatten.”

She didn’t say a word in reply. He imagined her standing there amongst the bland

wallsandtheawfulcarpetandthecountlessidenticaldoors,staringathisbusinesscard.

Butforallheknew,shecould’vedroppeditindisgust.Hehadnoidea.Hisruleswere

clear:Cashneverlookedback.

Andbeforenow,he’dneverwishedthathecould.

ChapterThree

The next morning, Bailey stood outside of Fallen Tattoos, clutching Cash’s card. It was
black, with his name, contact details and business address printed on it in a stark white
font.Somethingaboutitwas…imposing.

And the facade of the shop standing before her was pretty imposing too. This was

definitelytheplace.ButGod,whatthefuckwasshedoinghere?

Foramoment,Baileywavered,fiddlingnervouslywithzipoftheleatherjacketslung

overherarm.Butthenshesteeledherspineandmentallypulledonherbiggirlknickers.
Aftertheeventsoflastnight,shereallyhadnochoice—sheneededajob.Now.

Sowhylookagifthorseinthemouth?Evenanincrediblyhot,intimidatinggifthorse

whoapparentlyownedatattooparlour?

Okay,yeah—sheshouldleave.

Butassheturnedtoscurryoffhome—notthatitwouldbehomemuchlongerifshe

couldn’tpaythebloodyrent—theshop’sfrontdooropenacrack.Agirl’sheadpokedout
of the gap, her short, choppy hair dyed a screaming pink. “Hey,” she said. “Are you
waitingforCash?”

“Um….”Baileyfaltered,hermindscrambling.

“Well,comeinthen,”thegirlsaid.“I’mfreezingmybloodytitsoffhere.”

“Right,”Baileymuttered.“Sorry.”

Andforsomereason—becauseshewasapushoverofepicproportions,clearly—she

turnedrightaroundandmarchedherselfintoFallenTattoos.

Stepping out of the icy street and into the shop’s cozy warmth was a treat for the

senses—except her sight, which immediately blurred as her glasses fogged up. With a
sigh,Baileywaitedforthemtocalmthehelldown.

Andthen,whentheyfinallydid,shegapedatthemagicsurroundingherlikeakidata

fair. Because, as dark and intimidating as Fallen seemed on the outside, inside it was a
Christmaswonderland.

Theroomwasafoyerofsorts,holdingadeskalongwithacomfortableseatingarea.

Every spare surface was festooned with brightly-coloured tinsel, or fairy lights, or some
combinationofboth,andasmallChristmastreestoodproudlyamidstthebrown,leather
armchairsandcomfy-lookingsofaatoneendoftheroom.

Thefestivecheerwasevenmoreincongruouswhenoneconsideredthedecorbeneath:

theroom’swallswerecoveredinavarietyofartwork,fromhand-drawntattoodesigns—
accompanied by photographs of the finished tattoos themselves—to bold depictions of
animals, landscapes, and pop-culture motifs that were painted directly onto the wall. At
variouspointsaroundtheroom,therewereframedpostersexhibitingbright,cartoon-like
picturesthatremindedBaileyoftheold-fashionedtattoosshe’dseeincomicbooksasa
kid.Eachimagehadapricebeneathit,andtheposterswereallentitled‘Flash’.

“Wow,”Baileybreathed,takinginthebrillianceofthemany-layeredcontrasts.“This

is…”

“It’scute,isn’tit?”

Oh.Somehow,she’dmanagedtoforgetthatshewasn’talone.

The pink-haired girl was smiling at her from behind the desk, her elbows resting

againstitsdarksurfaceandherstrikingfacecuppedinherhands.

“Yeah,”Baileysmiledback,shiftingawkwardly.“Um…ShouldI…?”

“Oh, yes, sit down! Cash will be here soon. He usually comes in earlier than me. I

don’tknowwhat’sheldhimuptoday.”

Nodding, Bailey unzipped her coat and settled herself down into one of the leather

armchairs.Itsankcomfortinglybeneathherweight,likethekindofchairyou’dfindinan
oldfamilyroom—oratleast,thekindofchairBaileyimaginedyou’dfind.Herexperience
offamilywasn’texactlytraditional.Butagirlcoulddream.

“What’syourname?”Thepink-hairedgirlasked.Shehadthekindofbrighttoneand

staccatovoicethatyoungchildrenused,fullofhummingbirdenergy.

“Bailey.What’syours?”

“Gemma,”shesaid.“EveryonecallsmeGem.”

“Ah. That’s cool.” In fact, everything about Gem was cool. Her short, pink hair, the

silver studs through her nose and eyebrow, the countless mismatched earrings running
alongherearlobes.Sheworeabandteecutupintoavest,anditsshortsleevesdisplayeda
ton of colourful little tattoos scattered up and down her arms. There were words and
phrases,symbols,fracturedimages—noneofthemseemedconnected,butsomehowthey
lookedperfecttogether.

Gem cocked her head to one side, the movement birdlike, and Bailey realised that

she’dbeenstaring.Hercheeksheating,shestammered,“I,um,Iloveyourhair.”

“Thanks,”Gemsmiled,runningherfingersthroughthechoppystrands.“Ilikeyours

too.”

“Oh.”Baileyraisedherhandself-consciouslytoherplainbun.She’dhadnoideawhat

todowithherhair—orherclothes,forthatmatter—andnowhereshewasinanoldskirt-
suit that was clearly unsuitable, her hair pulled back severely. But Gem was probably
referring to her locs, rather than the bun. “Thanks,” Bailey said, fingering the leather of
thejacketinherarmslikeatalisman.

Anotherawkwardsilencedescended.

Lookingaroundforsomekindofconversationstarter—oranysignofherbrain,which

she’d clearly left out on the street—Bailey’s eye caught on a little table beside her. A
sloppypileofmagazineswassplayedoverit,theircoversshowingscantily-cladwomen
withporcelain,tattoo-coveredskin.

Baileychoseoneatrandom,flickingthroughthepagesashernervesincreased.Why

hadCashinvitedherhere?Hesaidhehadworkforher,andshedefinitelyneededthat—

but what could she do in a place like this? She was a psychology undergrad and a part-
timebarista,notatattooartist.

Herrapidly-movingfingerspausedashergazesnaggedonafamiliarpairofpiercing

green eyes. Bailey’s brows shot up as she recognised the very man she was here to see,
smoulderingupatherfromthemagazinepage.Cash’shairhungoverhishandsomeface,
asmirktiltinghislips.Hisarmswerefoldedoverhisbroadchest,cordedwithmuscleand
coveredinink.

WunderkindCashEvansReturnsAsHometownHero,thearticlesaid.Baileyzeroedin

ontheopeningparagraph.

Cash Evans burst onto the international scene way back in 2010, and he’s stayed

relevant ever since through a combination of fine-artistry, innovative techniques, and
global touring. Now the versatile artist is back in his home city of Nottingham, opening
hisownstudio:FallenTattoos.

Bailey flipped to the magazine’s front cover, searching out the publication date.

September2016.SoCashwassomekindof,what—tattoosuperstar?

Sheskimmedthroughthenextparagraph,whichdescribedtheshop,eagerlysearching

for more information on her enigmatic rescuer. But her focus on the magazine was
interrupted by the sound of the shop’s door opening. She looked up in time to see Cash
himselfwalkin,ablackcrashhelmettuckedunderhisarm.

“Morning,Gem,”hesaid,hisvoicelowandweary.Itwasalittlepast10A.M.,yethe

soundedlikehe’djustfinishedaday’shardlabour.

“Hey,”Gemsaid,lookingupfromhercomputerscreen.“Youhaveavisitor.”

Cash followed her gaze to the seating area, a frown furrowing his brow. Bailey rose

fromherseat,clutchinghisjacketlikeatalismanunderthefullforceofhisglare.

“Hi,”shesaid,steppingforwardhesitantly.“Um…Ibroughtyourjacket.”

Hislipcurled.Theexpressionwasn’tasmile.“Isthatall?”Heasked.

Baileybitherlip.Shehadnoideawhy,butthesweetguysheknewfromthecoffee

shopappearedtohavedisappeared;inhisplacewasanintimidatingbear.Perhapsthedark
circles under his eyes explained his sudden attitude—he looked like he hadn’t slept all
night.

Yeah.Thatwasall.Hewasjusttired.Pushinghernervesaside,Baileystraightenedher

spineandforcedherselftospeakclearly.“That’snotall,”shesaid,hervoicefirm.“You
mentionedlastnightthatyoucouldhelpmewith…Withmyjobsituation.”

Okay—was she imagining things, or had Gem’s jaw just dropped? If it had, the girl

regained her composure in record time. She was now tapping away at the computer as
thoughshehadn’tacareintheworld.

“Yes,”Cashsaid.HestalkedtowardsBaileylikeatigerafteritsprey.Shehadtoforce

herselftostandstillasheloomedoverher,mereinchesbetweenthem.Hereachedouta
hand,andsheheldherbreathasshewaitedforhimtotouchher…

Onlytoexhalewhenhetookthejacketshewasholdingout.

“Thanks,” he said with a smirk. The knowing gleam in his emerald eyes brought a

blush to her cheeks. Cash turned and headed towards the far end of the room, where an
open doorway beckoned. “We’re looking for a receptionist,” he threw over his shoulder.
“Comeuptomyofficeandwe’lldiscusstheposition.”

After a moment of indecision, Bailey scurried after him in her sensible heels. She

smiledatGemastheypassedbythedesk,onlytofalterasshesawtheexpressiononthe
otherwoman’sface.

Gem’sjawhaddefinitelydroppedthistime.

Oh,dear.

ChapterFour

Bailey kept her eyes glued to Cash as they ascended the narrow staircase—which was a
mistake, because his jeans were tight and his arse was tighter, and it all made her feel
slightly…warm.

Still,shefollowedhiminself-conscioussilence.Heledheralongtheshortcorridorat

thetopofthestairs,thenintoaspaciousofficefilledwithcheapchairs,cheaperdesks,and
severalthousandpoundsworthofMacBooks.

“Sorryaboutthedecor,”hesaid,slidingintoawheeledchairbehindthelargestofthe

desks. It sat directly in front of a wide window and was flanked by two locked filing
cabinets.“WeneedtogetGemtoworkhermagicuphere,”hecontinued.“Butshe’sso
busynow.”

“Right,”Baileymurmured.“AboutGem—”

“Hang on.” He reached into one of his desk drawers and produced a battered A4

notepad and an old biro. Bailey watched as he flipped through the pages, revealing
snatches of darkly-shaded artwork. The glimpses were so compelling, she was drawn
forwardalmostagainstherwill.

Butthenhecametoacleanpageandpoppedthelidoffofhispen,lookingupather

withaprofessionallyblandexpression.“Shop’sopenten’tilfive,forconsultations,butwe
onlytakeappointmentsfromeleven.Gemgetshereabouthalfanhourearlytoopenup,
butthatwillbeyourjobfromnowon,too.UnlessIgettherefirst.We’reopenMondayto
Saturday.Whathourscanyoudo?”

Bailey reached up to fiddle with one of her locs, then remembered that they were

coiled neatly on top of her head. She drummed her fingers awkwardly against her
collarboneinstead.“Um…Ican’tdoMondays,orWednesdaymornings.Uni.Butareyou
sure—?”

He looked up sharply, his frown cutting her off. “What do you mean, uni?” He

demanded.

“University,”shesaidslowly.“I’manundergradat—”

“Howoldareyou?”Hedroppedthepenandfoldedhisarms,leaningbackinhischair.

Buttherelaxedposewasatoddswithhisclenchedjawandthewayhiswordswereforced
outfrombetweengrittedteeth.

“I’m twenty-five,” she said. “Oh, no—twenty-six, actually. It was my birthday last

week.”Awkwardly,shegavealittlewaveofherhands.“Hoorayforme!”

Hestared,stony-faced.God,whythehellwasshesoembarrassing?

“But anyway,” she forged on, folding her hands safely behind her back. “What I’m

tryingtosayis…well.I’m…I’mnottakingGem’sjob,amI?”

Hestaredatherforamomentlonger.Then,suddenly,hebarkedoutalaugh.

“That’swhatyouthink?ThatI’dthrowoutmyemployeesforthenextprettygirlthat

comesalong?”

Baileyfelthercheeksheat.“No!Imean—wait.Pretty?”

Hearchedabrow.

Funny;he’dbeenahellofalotmorecharmingwhenshewasjustsellinghimcoffee.

Withasigh,Baileyexplained.“Ijustmeant,Iknowyou’reakind-heartedguy.”Even

if he appeared to have undergone a personality transplant overnight. “And if Gem is
alreadydoingthisjob,there’snoreasonforyoutopaytwopeoplefortheworkofone.”

Cash unfolded his arms and picked up his pen again. He began marking out bold,

swirlinglinesonthecornerofthenotepad,notevenlookingdownathishandsashedid
so.Likeitwashabit.Musclememory.Hiseyesremainedonhers,andshefeltlikeafly
drowninginlemonadeonahotsummer’sday.Doomed,andalittletoohappyaboutit.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said. “But don’t worry. My kind heart—” and the

twitchofhislipstoldherwhathethoughtofthatclaim—“doesn’tstopmefromrunning
mybusinessproperly.”

“Oh,Ididn’tmean—“

“Bailey.It’sfine.Gem’sanapprentice.Sheworksthedeskrightnowbecausewedon’t

haveareceptionist,andtheapprenticegetsalltheshittyjobs.”

“Ah,”Baileysaid.“Isee.Soshewon’tfeelpushedoutifItakeover?”

Cash chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Bailey. She won’t feel pushed out. Are you

alwaysso…Painfullyconsiderate?”

Sheshiftedonherheels,resistingtheurgetolookawayfromhismockingsmile.How

couldhemakeherfeelsouncomfortableandsoelectrifiedallatonce?

“Dountoothers,”shemutteredfinally.

“You a Christian?” The doodle on his page was turning into a full-on work of art; a

cascadeoffeathers,fallingfromatwisted,dyingtree.

“No,”shesaid.“ButIusedtoreadtheBiblealot.WhenIwasakid.”

Heraisedhisbrows,andsheraisedhers.Lethimquestionher;itwastrue.TheBible

wastheonlybooktobefoundinmosthotelrooms.

Andshe’dspentalotoftimeinhotelroomsbackthen.

Butheletthestatementpass.“Whatdoyoustudy?”Heasked,suddenlydroppinghis

pen again. It was as though he didn’t want to hold it, but his fingers kept picking it up
anyway.

“Psychologywithcognitiveneuroscience,”shetoldhim,herfeetbringinghercloserto

thedeskwithoutpermission.Closertohim.Hewatchedheradvancewithcoolcertainty,
asthoughheknewexactlyhowhypnotichisattentionwas.Intheabsenceofanotherchair,
she leaned against the side of his desk, and his gaze sank lazily to the place where her
rounded hip met the wood. He took his time looking, unashamed, and the bold perusal
arousedherawareness.Desire,warmandlanguid,awoke.ItunfurledinBailey’sbellyand

took a look around. Decided it liked the view. Settled in for a while, ready to make her
thighsclenchandherlifehell.

Thismanmightbemorethanshecouldhandle.

Cash met her eyes again, and she found herself studying the colour: cold jade shot

throughwithflecksofmoltengold.Impossibleeyes.

“Areyougoingtopsychoanalyseme?”Heasked,hisvoicelow.

“I’mnotadoctor.Idon’tevengraduate’tilJuly.”

“Butcouldyou?”

“Idon’tthinkI’dwantto,”shewhispered.

And just like that, the crackling energy between them was wiped out. His face was

smoothasheleanedbackinhischair,puttingdistancebetweenthem.

“Good,” he said. And then, his voice strained, he continued, “When you mentioned

universityIthoughtyoumightbe…YoungerthanI’dhoped.”

Hoped?Whywouldhehopeforanythingtodowithher?Itcouldn’tbethejob;Gem

wasyoung,too.No;somethingtoldherCashhadslippedupwiththatcomment,andhe
knewit.Firsthecalledherpretty,andnowhe…Hoped.

“Itooksometimeoffaftercollege,”sheexplained.“Illnessinthefamily.”

“Oh?”

“My mother.” Why was she saying this? She never said this. She usually stared in

silenceuntilthesubjectwaschanged.“Lungcancer.Shedied.”Alone.Aloneexceptfor
Bailey.Becauseallthosemenshe’dspentherlifechasing…

Well.

Cashclearedhisthroatandbrokeeyecontactforwhatfeltlikethefirsttimeinforever.

But then he was back, his gaze hypnotising her once more. Only now, she remembered
whyshecouldn’tletthathappen.“I’mverysorry,”hesaid,andshealmostbelievedhim.
When he looked at her like this, she could pretend he was the man she’d dreamed up,
ratherthanthemanhewasturningouttobe.

“Also,” she said, desperate to wipe the softness from his face, “I was held back at

school.”

“Heldback,andnowyou’restudyingneuroscience?”

Sheshrugged.“It’salongstory.”

He looked like he wanted to hear it—only the sound of laughter interrupted them,

floatingupfromdownstairs,shortlyfollowedbyaburstofmusic.ThankGod.

Theclose,intimateairoftheofficedispersed,leavingbehindashabbyroomwithtoo

manyfluorescentlights.AndthesoftnessinCash’sgreeneyesfadedaway,untilonlythe
harshly-drawnlinesofhisfaceandthesharpsetofhisjawremained.

“That’stherabble,”hesaid.“Whydon’tyougodownandletGemsetyouup?I’llsort

outtheformsyouneedbytheendoftheday.”

“Um… Alright.” Bailey paused for a moment, despite her determination to let go of

her attachment to this man. Now that she’d decided he was nothing but an illusion, she
perverselywantedtoseesomeevidencetothecontrary.Someglimpseofthemanwho’d
charmedherwithhissweetsmileandgentleness.

But Cash remained a stony-faced stranger, beautiful and untouchable and so fucking

hot.ThesightofhisbroadchestanddefinedbicepsbeneathhissimpleblackT-shirtwas
burnedintoherretinas.

Therewasnothingsoftaboutthisman.

Withaquietsigh,Baileyturnedtoleave.Butassheapproachedthedoor,shenoticeda

smallsprigofplastichollytapedtoitsframe,haphazardandincongruous.Itremindedher
oftheChristmascheerdownstairs.ShelookedoverhershoulderatCashandfoundhim
staring at her, his features full of something achingly intense, yet tender. If she didn’t
knowbetter,she’dthinkthatitwaslonging.

Butthenheclearedhisthroatandavertedhisgaze,theshuttersfallingoncemore.

“Whoputthisup?”Sheasked,pointingatthemistletoe.

Hecoughed.“Idid,actually.”

“Yeah?Soyoulikeallthatstuffdownstairs?”

Helookedpointedlyattheclockonthefarwall.“Youshouldgetgoing.Appointments

willbestartingsoon.”

“Right,” she said quietly, and hurried off. But as she made her way out, a reluctant

smilecurvedherlips.

MaybeHotCoffeeGuywasintheresomewhere.

ChapterFive

Therabble,asitturnedout,referredtotherestoftheemployees.

Theystoodtogether,Gembehindthedesk,twomeninfrontofit.Onewasyounger,

brown-skinned,andhandsome.Theotherwasolder,rougher,tougher;awhiteguywitha
thickbeardandheavyfrownlines.Allthreeofthemweretalkingandlaughingtogether,
clearlyclose.ButthatstoppedwhenBaileycameintotheroom.

“Hel-lo,” the younger of the men said, straightening up immediately. He glanced at

Gem.“Who’sthis,then?”

“That’s the new girl,” Gem said. She blew a bubble, let it pop, and the older man

staredatherpursedlipsasthoughtheyheldthesecrettolifeitself.ButGemdidn’tappear
tonotice.“She’sgonnabeourreceptionist.SoI’mfinallyfreeofthedesk!”

Theyoungman’sbrowsshotup,practicallydisappearingintohisrazor-sharphairline.

But then a smooth smile took over his face, and he approached Bailey with practiced
charm.

Itwaseffective.Butitwasn’tCash.

“I’mJay,”hegrinned,holdingoutahandforhertoshake.Hehadbighands.Hereally

wasahandsomeguy.Sheshouldfeelsomethingwhensheputherpalmagainsthis.

Butshedidn’t.Shejustshookhishand,andsmiledpolitely,andsaid,“I’mBailey.”

“And this is Steve,” Gem interjected, gesturing at the other man, who had a gruff

shynessabouthim.HegaveBaileyanod,buteveryinchofhisbeingwasfocusedonGem
—likeshewasthesunandhethesunflower.BaileywonderedifGemknewthatthisguy
wasinlovewithher.

Probablynot.

“Hi,”Baileysmiled,noddingbackatSteve.Shewasabouttomakeherwayoverto

thedeskwhenJaystoppedher,afrowncreasinghisbrow.

“Havewemetbefore?”Heasked.“IfeellikeIrecogniseyoufromsomewhere.”

“Um…”Baileywrackedhermind,butcameupblank.“No,”shesaid.“Idon’tthink

so.”

“Huh.”Hefloatedbackovertothedeskandshefollowed,brushingthemomentoff.If

itwasaline,ithadn’tworked.Thenagain,hehadn’texactlyfollowedthrough.

“Cashsaidsomethingaboutyousettingmeup?”SheaskedGem.

“Oh,yeah.I’llgiveyou,like,alittleinduction.I’mkindofshitatthisjobthough,soit

won’tbethatgreat.Comeroundhere.”

Docileasalamb,Baileymadeherwayroundtotheothersideofthedesk.Themen

wandered towards the back of the shop, into another room that she could only catch a
glimpseoffromhere.Sheheardthemtalking—well,JaytalkingandStevegrunting—over
theclassicChristmassongsdancingthroughtheair.

“YouguyslikeChristmas,hm?”

Gemgaveherastrangelook.“EveryonelikesChristmas.”

“Well,maybenoteveryone…”

“Everyone,”Gemrepeatedfirmly.“Evenpeoplewhodon’tcelebrate.”

“Uh…Really?”Baileyaskeddoubtfully.

“Of course. They have more money for the Boxing Day sales.” Gem snorted at her

own joke, then reached beneath the neckline of her vest to scratch her collarbone. The
movement shifted her clothing slightly—just enough for Bailey to see the lavender and
indigotattooontheotherwoman’schest.Itwasdelicatelylined,surroundedbysplashes
ofpigmentthatlookedlikeawatercolourpainting—apaintingetchedintoherpaleskin.
Fascinated, Bailey stared at the tattoo. It was an intriguing shape—a merging of the
symbolsformaleandfemale,alongwithathirdsymbolthatshedidn’trecognise.

“What?”Gemdemanded,hervoicesuddenlyhard.“Whatareyoulookingat?”

Baileylookedupsharply.Caughtstaringagain.Everyonewouldthinkshewassome

kindofweirdo.“I’msorry.Ijustsawyourtattoo.Thecoloursandthe…”Shewavedher
hand,unsureofhowtodescribeit.“I’veneverseenonelikethat.”

“Oh,” Gem said, and the guarded panic in her eyes faded. “Right. Jay did it.

Watercolourtatts.It’sacooltechnique.”

“It’spretty.”

“Thanks,” Gem smiled. “Anyway, let me show you the books, okay? It’s all very

simple.We’rekindabasichere.”

They spent a cosy half hour behind the desk—probably longer than necessary, but

BaileyfoundherselfwarmingtoGem.Thegirlwasfunny,andherexcessiveenergywas
endearing. They were so busy giggling together, Bailey almost didn’t notice when Cash
camedownstairsjustintimetogreethisfirstclient.

Andshedefinitelydidn’tnoticethattheclientwasabeautiful,heavily-tattedwoman

whoclearlyknewCashverywell.

Andshecertainlydidn’tnoticethefactthatCashgrinnedwhenhegreetedthewoman,

orthewayhehuggedher,asthoughitwereahabit.

Nope.

Nope,nope,nope.

Shedidn’tnoticeanyofthat.

∞∞∞

ThelowwhineofthetattoogunkeptCashinastateofmeditationwhileheworked.

Hetracedoverthefaintlineswithasteadyhand,fallingintoafamiliarrhythm.Line,line,
wipe.Line,line,wipe.

Charlenewassittinglikearock,asusual.Shewasmorecanvasthanhuman,sheheld

sostill—whichwasn’teasywhensomeonewasdragginganeedleacrosstheundersideof
your breasts, Cash was sure. It had been a three-hour session with no breaks, and her
hyper-detailed,ocean-inspiredsternumtattoowasalmostdone.

Hemadeafewfinishingtouches,thenturnedoffthegun.Asthebuzzreceded,sodid

hiscalm.Realitycamefilteringin.

Fuck.

ThatwasBaileylaughinginthenextroom.He’dheardheruncontrolledgigglesoften

enoughtorecognisethemwithease.Butwhothehellwasmakingherlaughlikethat?His
calm shattered, Cash cleaned the finished tattoo with practiced movements before
coveringitinclingfilm.

“You like it?” He asked Charlene. But for once, he honestly didn’t care about the

answer.

“OhmyGod,yes,”shegushed,hoppingoutofthechair.Shestoodinfrontofthehuge

mirroronthewall,twistingherslimbodythiswayandthat.Shewastopless—hadtobe,
for this—and one slender arm was pressed against her full breasts, hiding their nipples
from view. He knew for a fact that those nipples were cherry-red and thick, but the
memorydidlittleforhimtoday.

Usually, Charlene was one of the women who made him regret his policy—ninety

days,nogoingback.Thatwasallhecouldofferagirl,nomatterhowbeautifulorsmartor
charmingshemightbe.

But right now, with the echo of Bailey’s laughter teasing his memory, Cash didn’t

regretadamnthing.

The reflection of Charlene’s glittering eyes met his in the mirror. Blue. Perfectly

pretty.Butsomehownotwhathewantedtosee.

“Youhavemagichands,Cash,”shemurmured.

“Thanks,”hesaidshortly.

Sheturnedtofacehim,hersmilewry.“I’llneverconvinceyoutobreakthoserulesof

yours,willI?”

“ItoldyouIwouldn’tchangemymind,”hesaid,butthiswasfamiliarground,andso

hefeltcomfortableenoughtocrackasmile.

“Ididn’tbelieveyou.Ishouldhave.”Shesoundedrueful.Butthenshelethergazeflit

mischievouslydowntohiscrotch.“Worthit.”

Cashchuckledashelefttheworkstation,pullingthethincurtainaroundittogiveher

somesemblanceofprivacy.“Getdressed,Char.I’llseeyououtfront.”

He found Bailey seated behind the welcome desk, with Gem at her side. The two

women appeared to be discussing some TV show about werewolves, while Jay leaned
againstthecounterlikesomekindofsleaze.

Hiswhiteteethwerebrightagainsthisgoldenskinashedisplayedhisfamoussmile.

That smile had won him mountains of pussy; it was handsome, debonair despite his
relativeyouth,andtheverydefinitionofcharming.

AndhewasusingitonBailey.

“IswearIrecogniseyoufromsomewhere,”hewassaying,hisgazealittletoofocused

onBailey’sfulllips.

NotthatCashcouldblamehim.Butheclenchedhisfistsregardless.

“Ireallydon’tthinkwe’vemet,”Baileysaid.“I’mgoodwithfaces.”

“SoamI.Comeswithbeinganartist.”Jayleanedfurtheragainstthecounter,making

sure that his biceps flexed—and Bailey actually smiled, a sweet, shy smile that fired
Cash’sbloodinmorewaysthanone.Shit,wasshefallingforthisline?

But then it hit him—it might not be a line. Jay might actually recognise Bailey.

Because,likeanidiot,Cashhadbeensketchingoutherfacesincethedayhe’dfirstseen
heratthatfuckingcoffeeshop.

Crap.

Surging forward, Cash interrupted the happy little trio just in time to hear Jay purr,

“Youshouldcometolunchwithme.”

“She can’t,” Cash said, surprising himself. Six eyes swivelled to focus on him, all

questioning.Hedidn’thaveanexplanationforhisvehemence.Well;notonehecouldsay
aloud.

“What do you mean?” Gem asked, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. Little

trouble-maker.

Cashclenchedhisjaw.“Imean,Baileycan’tgooutforlunch.Wehavethingstodo.”

“Oh,comeon,”Jayrolledhiseyes.“Likewhat?Yougonnashowherthatshittycoffee

shopyoulike?”

Bailey’seyessliddownintoherlap.Shebitherlip.God,whatafuckingmouth.The

thingsCashcoulddowiththatmouth…

“I don’t know why you even go there,” Gem said, and something in her voice made

himsuddenlynervous.“Youhatefancycoffee.”

ThathadBaileylookingup.Oh,yeah.Frowning,sheasked,“Youdo?”

“Ah…”

“Yep,”Gemconfirmedgleefully.“Heonlydrinksitblack.Whyhehastogotosome

artisanalplaceforacupofblackcoffeeisbeyondme—”

“Black?”Baileyechoed.“Seriously?Youonlydrinkblackcoffee?”

Jayblinked,lookingfromCashtoBaileywithafrown.Andthen,allofasudden,he

remembered.Cashsawit.HesawtheprecisemomentthatJayplacedthewomanbefore
them.TheprecisemomentthatherealisedBaileywasthegirllitteredthroughoutCash’s
sketchbooks.

Theyoungermanstraightened,takingasubtlestepbackfromthedesk.“Noworries,”

hesaidcasually.“First-dayadmin.Igetit.Youwantmetopickanythingup,boss?”

Cash caught his friend’s eyes, and relief flooded him as he saw understanding and

surrenderintheirdepths.

“No,”hesaidgruffly.“I’mgood.”

“Alright.I’llbeoff,then.Gem;theusual?”

“Cheerslove”Gemsmiledsunnily.“You’reastar.”

AsJaylefttheshop,Charlenecamesaunteringoutfromthestudio,hercoatslungover

hershoulder.Despitethecoldweather,sheworeatightT-shirtthatrodeuptorevealher
taut,tannedbelly.Sheswishedherhipsasshecameclosertothedesk,thesmileonher
facegrowingwitheachstep.Shewaslovely.Andhedidn’tgiveafuck.

“Thanksforsortingmeout,Cash,”shemurmured.

“Noproblem,”hereplied.Buttheweightofherquestioninggazewouldn’tleavehim

alone. He pushed his hair out of his face, his fingers twitching with the nervous urge to
pickupapen—toputawholeworldofcreativitybetweenhimselfandhumancontact.

Nodice.

So,hismindracing,hereachedinstinctivelyfortheclosestthingtofreedom.

“Bailey,”hesaid,alreadyturningtowardsthestairs.“Stepintomyoffice,willyou?”

“Alright.”Hervoicewaslow,subdued.Hedidn’tlikethat.Butthen,itwasreallynone

ofhisconcern,wasit?

“Cash,”Charlenecalledafterhim.“You’regoing?Ithoughtwecouldhavelunch.”

“Sorry.”Hemountedthefirststep.“Dutycalls.”

Andthenhehurriedupthestaircasebeforeshecouldsayanythingelse.Becausewhile

Charlenewaspretty—gorgeous,really,withherredhairanddoll-likefeatures—andsweet
andfun,shewasalsothepast.Hedidn’treturntooldconquests;notever.Sheknewthat.

See,keepingsomeonearoundfortoolongmeantbecomingattached—andCashdidn’t

doattached.

Hesimplycouldn’t.Attachmentwasdangerous.

∞∞∞

For the second time in one day, Bailey found herself watching Cash from across a

desk.

The situation wasn’t quite as uncomfortable this time, though. Now that she’d found

herconfidence,she’ddraggedanotherchairupratherthanstandinglikeachildwaitingto
bescolded.

Hisauburnhairfellforward,hidinghisfaceinshadowashebentoverthedocuments

in front of him. Then he looked up, and her heart almost stopped at the sudden sight of
thoselush,greeneyes.Damn.Warnagirl,wouldyou?

“Hereyougo,”hesaidgruffly,pushingthepaperstowardsher.“YougotaP45?”

“No.AndI’mnotgoingbacktheretogetone,either.”Shebitherlip.“Michael’slikea

gremlin.Averyangrygremlinwithashinyhead.Idon’tthinkIcanfacehim.”

He chuckled as he handed her a pen—though she noticed that he didn’t let his skin

touchhers.“Iwouldn’texpectyouto,”hesaid.“They’llprobablypostit,anyway.”

“Maybe.”Shebeganfillingouttheform,theactfamiliartoher.She’dspentherlife

following her mother, who’d spent hers following men. Starting a new job was nothing
new.

Ofcourse,hernewbosswasthedefinitionofunchartedterritory.Butthejobitself?At

leastshecouldhandlethat.

“So,”shesaidasshesignedanddatedtheform.“Blackcoffee,hm?”Shelookedupto

findhim…Blushing?

Holyshit.Herbig,tattedbikerbosswasblushing.Itwasanadorablyfaintflushthat

tingedhishighcheekbones.Perilsofbeingared-head,shesupposed.Addittothelistof
things about him that made absolutely no sense—right next to his apparent love of
Christmasdecorations.

“Aboutthat…”Hebegan.

“Yeah?”Sheraisedherbrows,tryingnottosmile.

“Iwasjusttryingtobroadenmyhorizons.”

“Ah.HencetheSurpriseme?”

“Yep.”

He looked stiff as a board. His fingers flexed, and somehow she knew that he was

searchingforapen.Butshehadhispen.Lethimtrytohidewithoutit.

Perhaps it was the sound of All I Want For Christmas Is You floating up from

downstairs,butBaileyfeltmischievous.Sheleanedforward,ateasingsmileonherface,
andasked,“DidyoufinishanyofthecoffeeImadeyou?”

“Ah…”

“OhmyLord.”Shegasped,hersmilewidening.“Youdidn’t,didyou?”

Hemutteredsomethingshecouldn’tquitehear.

“What?”

“I said I—” with a sigh, he broke off, raking a hand through his hair. She caught a

glimpse of the dark ink swirling up to his knuckles, identifying the image for the first
time;acloudynight,thestylisedmoonhangingamidststarsanddarkness.

“Goon,”sheprompted,barelyhidinghersmirk.Therewassomethingaboutseeinga

badboyblushthatmadeherdesperatetokeepthemomentgoing.

His eyes flashed as he finally blurted out his answer. “I like watching you make all

thosedrinks. It’s likea little danceyou do, and youlook so happy,and you like mixing
shitup…”

Bailey paused, unexpectedly shocked by his response. He waited, clearly

uncomfortable,astheimplicationsofthatstatementfilteredthroughhermind.

“Wow,”shesaidslowly.“You’reasweetheart,aren’tyou?”

Hecrossedhisarms.“Whatthehelldoesthatmean?”

“Itmeansthat…Ihavenoideawhyyouactlikesuchanarsesometimes,butit’snot

real.You’reactuallyaniceguy.”

“Niceguysfinishlast,”hemuttered.Buthewasblushingagain.Andsomethingabout

thesetofhislipsbeneathallthatstubblemadeherthinkthathewas…Pleased.

“Boring guys finish last,” she corrected, pushing the completed forms back to him.

“Niceguysfinishanywheretheywant.Especiallywhentheylooklikeyou.”

Andthen,beforeshecouldsayanythingelsewildlyinappropriate,shegotupandleft

theroom.

Butsheletherhipssway,justalittle,asshewent—becauseGoddamnit,HotCoffee

Guywastherealdeal.Andshewasabsolutelysurethathe’dbelooking.

ChapterSix

Niceguysfinishanywheretheywant.

That phrase rung through Cash’s mind like a church bell as he sat in the office,

frantically sketching on the back of… An order form for fresh needles? Whatever. His
sketchbook was somewhere around the shop—probably at his workstation—but
inspirationhadhimbytheballs.Ifhegotuptolookfortherightmaterials,he’dlosethe
magic.

His hands worked frantically, marking out the concept with harsh, black lines. Once

uponatime,anartteacherhadtoldhimheshouldonlyeversketchinpencil.Butbirowas
Cash’s medium of choice; let the mistakes sit there for everyone to see. He’d recreate
againandagainuntilitwasjustright,andthenhe’dputitintosomeone’sskinandevery
flawwouldhavebeenworthit.

Butwhosebodywouldthislatestfantasyadorn?Hehadnoidea.

What the hell had she meant, finish anywhere they want? Surely not the filthy

interpretationthathismindimmediatelylatchedonto.Shewastoosweetforthat.

Butthen,she’dcalledhimsweet,hadn’tshe?Andherehewas,dreamingofthepretty

patternshiscomewouldpaintagainstherdarkskin.Ah,fuck.Hestillcouldn’tdecidewho
andwhatshewas—dreamorreality?Whitesilkorredlatex?

Maybeshewasboth.

Didn’tmatter.He’dneverfuckingknow.Becauseifhelethimselfgetclosetoagirl

likethat,hewouldn’tbeabletosticktohisownrules.Adorationwouldsetin,obsession
would follow—and then he would finally become his father. Whether he liked it or not.
Whetherhewanteditornot.He—

No.

Cash’shandmovedfrantically,scarringthepaper.Hepressedharder,workedfaster,as

thoughhecouldcarveawaythetwistedvoicesinhishead.

Heknewwhattheywere,ofcourse.Intrusivethoughts,histherapisthadcalledthem.

They didn’t come from him; they came from his monster. He also knew that he was
supposedtoignorethem,butitwasprettyfuckinghardtoignoresomethingthatwenton
insideyourownmind.

Still;he’dtryhisbest.Thatwasallhecouldeverdo.

“Whatyouworkingonthere,mate?”

CashlookeduptofindSteveenteringtheoffice,hisownsketchbooktuckedunderhis

brawnyarm.

“Uh…”Theorderformnowboretheimageofawoman,herlonghairswirlingabout

hershoulderslikelivingwind,pointedlittlehornsatopherhead.Thewoman’sfacewas
wickedlygleefulasshebroughtherfingersuptohermouth,herdarkeyesflashingbehind
herglasses.Tinyfangspeekedoutfromfulllips,andhertonguewasintheactofsliding

outtotastethedropletsonherfingertips.

Fuck.He’ddrawnBailey.

Again.

“Nothing,”helied.

“Really?” Steve ambled over to his own desk, his slow movement and gentle tone

deceptive as always, hiding the sharp intellect beneath. When he spoke again, his voice
wasquiet.“BecauseitlooksahellofalotlikeBailey.”

Cursing, Cash flipped over the page. He was acting like a fucking teenager, and he

knewit.Buthewasn’tabouttobackdowninhisownshop.

“It’snothing,”herepeatedtersely.

Stevegavehimalevellook.“Youknow,inmytimeI’velearnedthatyoushouldgrab

agoodthingwithbothhands.Beforeitdisappears.”

Casharchedabrow.“Yeah?SowhenwereyouplanningongrabbingGem?”

The temperature of the office dropped until it almost matched the icy street below.

Steve’smouthtwistedintoagrimlineandhefoldedhisarms,leaningbackinhisseat.

“YouknowIcan’tdoathingforGem,”hesaid,hisvoiceabrickwall.

“What I know is that you’re as much of a coward as I am. So you can hold the

inspiringspeech.”

Foramoment,themenstaredeachotherdown,theatmospheretense.ButthenSteve

letoutagrudgingchuckle,shakinghishead.

“Rightpairoftwatswebothare,”hesaidgruffly.

Relieved,Cashrolledhiseyes.“You’renotwrong.”

“Youdonefortheday?”

“Nah.Mynextclient’sinat—”Cashglancedattheclockonthewall.“Oh,shit.”

Stevesmirked.“Losetrackoftime?”

Snorting,Cashignoredtheotherman’swords.Somehow,hislunchhourhaddwindled

awaytonothing,andnowhehadlessthantenminutestocallJohn.Cursinghimself,he
pulledupthehotel’swebsiteanddialledtheirnumber,keepingoneeyeontheclock.

“Hi,”hesaid,afteranexceptionallycheerfulmangreetedhim.“CouldIspeakto,ah…

John,please?Room302?”

“MrHalliday?Certainly,Sir.I’llputyouthroughnow.”

“Thankyou.”

Therewereafew,longbeeps.Afewtoomany,maybe.Cashstartedtowonderwhere

John was. Started to hope the young man hadn’t done anything stupid, the way Cash
might’vedoneonce.

Butthenthebeepsdisappeared,andafamiliarvoicesaid,“Hello?”

“John,”hereplied,relieved.“It’sCash.”

“Oh,hi!”

“I’mreallysorry,butIhavetomakethisquick.I’vegotaclientcominginsoon.Ijust

wanted to let you know that I spoke to my friend about you last night, and he wants to
meetyoutodiscussajob.”

“What?Areyouserious?”

“Deadserious.He’sthedirectorofanon-profitfordisadvantagedgroupsinthearea.

Hewantstotalktoyouaboutanadministrativeroleandmaybesomekindofmentoring
position.”

John was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was suspiciously

hoarse.“Thankyou.Thisisfuckingunbelievable.I—Ican’tbelievethisishappening.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I…” Cash looked over at Steve, who was bent busily

overhisowndesk,pencilinhand.“Let’sjustsayI’vebeenwhereyouarerightnow.But
listen,Ineedtogo.Andweneedtogetyouamobile,too,soyou’renotwaitingaroundin
thehotelroomformetocallyou.”

“Oh,don’tworryaboutthat.Baileyrangmeearlier,andshe’scomingovertomorrow

nightwithasparephoneofhers.”

Cash swallowed the lump that suddenly materialised in his throat. His eyes fell

towardsthedrawinginfrontofhimashetraceditsstarklines,theslightindenthispen
strokeshadmadeinthepaper.“Yeah?That’sniceofher.”

“She’sagreatgirl.Andshementionedthatyougaveherajob?”

“Yeah,well.Weneededareceptionistatmystudio.”

“Did you? Because the way she was talking, it seems the job’s pretty light.” John’s

tone became playful. “She didn’t say anything, but it made me wonder if you had some
othermotivationforhiringher?”

“What? No.” Cash ran his hands through his hair, pushing the strands back irritably.

Heshouldgetitcutsoon.Itwasfuckingannoying.

“You sure? Because women aren’t really my cup of tea, but even I can see Bailey’s

appeal.”

Yeah.Cashbethecould.Bailey’sappealwasprobablyvisiblefromhalfwayacrossthe

planet.

“Listen,John,I’vegottogo.I’llbeintouch.You’vegotmynumber?”

“Yep,”theothermansaid,hisvoicerichwithamusement.

“Alright.Uh…Talksoon.”

“Bye.Andthanksagain,Cash.Seriously.”

“Stopthankingme.”Heputthephonedown.

Then he wasted a few precious minutes staring down at the picture he’d drawn of

Bailey.Tracingthecontoursofherfacewithapracticedeye.He’dgotthenoseslightlyoff
—it was broader, flatter on the bridge. Her brows were higher, more finely arched. But
he’dgottheplumpcheeksjustright,alongwiththesoftlipsthatcouldgofromsweetto
sensualinfiveminutesflat.Andmostimportantly,hethought,he’dcapturedthatgleamin
hereyes;theonethatspokeofwhole-heartedenthusiasm,oftheadorablewayshethrew
herself into everything and thoroughly enjoyed it, even if she became embarrassed a
momentlater.Heknewherfacewell.He’ddrawnheroften.

Toofuckingoften.

Attachmentwasadangerousthing.

Cashtorethepictureintwo.

ChapterSeven

“Whatareyoudoingtonight?”Gemasked,throwingalilacrucksackoveroneshoulder.It
was covered in bright, bold pins; from torn-up teddy bears to declarations of a femme
revolution.AndtherewasalittleSlytherinbadgeonthecorner,too.

Baileysmiledatthesightasshepackedupherownboringbagandthrewonhercoat.

“Goingtothelibrary,Ithink.IneedtogetstartedonmyJanuaryassignments.”

“Ugh. Kill me now.” Gem rolled her eyes as she switched off the Christmas tree’s

lightsforthenight.“Youcouldn’tpaymetogobacktoschool.”

“Sadly,I’mpayingthem.”

“Morefoolyou,chick.”Shethrewacheekysmileoverhershoulderassheheadedfor

thedoor,struttingawayinherpinkDocMartens.“Look,it’stheweekend.Ifyouchange
yourmind,I’mmeetingsomematesforadrinktonight.Textme,yeah?”

“Maybe,”Baileysmiled.Shewasn’texactlyinthehabitofgoingout;savingmoney

was a serious business. Or maybe the few years spent waiting in the backroom of a
nightclubwhilehermotherbartendedhadputherofftheideaforlife.

Whatever.Shetriednottoexaminethosekindsofthoughtstooclosely.

ThemusicwasgoneandtheChristmaslightsweredark.Still,thetinselpinnedtothe

frontdeskrustledathercheerfullyasshebrushedpastit,headingtowardsthestudio.The
lightsintherehadbeenlefton.She’djustsortthemout,shethought,beforeleavingfor
theday…

ThestudioatFallenTattooswasasprofessionalandsterileasthefrontoftheshopwas

quirky. Jay had explained that Cash took trust seriously: the customers needed to know
that their bodies weren’t about to be defaced, or worse, actually harmed. And so, the
studiomaintainedanalmosthospital-likeaura,ensuringcustomersfeltutterlysafethere.
It was an interesting approach, one that made her wonder what Cash had seen and
experiencedwhiletouringtheworld.Andmaybeifhe’deverhadanegativeexperienceof
hisownwhenitcametohiscountlesstattoos.She’dliketoaskhimabouttheinkcovering
hisbody—oratleast,whatshe’dseenofit.

And maybe now was her chance. Because here he was, sitting at his workstation,

leaningoveroneofthehuge,electricchairsthatclientslayorsatonwhilebeinginked.
Hishandworkedbusily,dartingbackandforthoverapageinhissketchbook,thestrokes
boldandaggressive.She’dassumedthathewasupstairs,intheoffice.

“Hey,” she said. He didn’t seem to hear her, hadn’t even noticed her come in. And

she’dcertainlyhadnoinklingthathewasthere;hewasutterlysilent,focused,asthough
hisarttookhimfarawayfromthislittleshoptuckedintothegreycitystreets.

“Cash,” she said, louder this time. The sound jolted him out of his trance, and he

looked up at her with unfocused eyes. The usually harsh lines of his face were soft, the
waytheymightbeinsleep,andtherewasnocruelcurltohismouth.

She might have imagined seeing him this way—utterly relaxed, unaware—once. Or

twice.Hey;mostguysfellasleepaftersex,right?AndBaileystroveforaccuracyinallof
hermasturbationfantasies.

Agirlhadtohavecreativestandards.

“Bailey,”hemurmured,hiseyesfinallyfocusingonher.

Shesmiled.

Andthen,ofcourse,heruinedit.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, his gaze hardening. He glared at her as

thoughshe’dbeenspying,andshuthissketchbookclosedwithasnap.“Youshould’veleft
already.”

“Um…IwasjustcheckingthatallthelightswereoffbeforeIwent.”

“Why?Icandothat.BeforeIlockup.”

Sheraisedhereyebrows.“Well,excusemeforhelping.Iwon’tbotheragain.”

“Bailey,”hesighed,“there’snoneedtobedramatic.”

Dramatic?Bailey’s temper rarely came out to play, but when it did, it tended to run

awaywithher.

She employed her most precise diction as she replied, taking care to make each

consonantassharpascouldbe—shedidn’twanthimtomissasinglesyllable.Hersmile
sweetandherwordsslow,Baileysaidsimply:“Gofuckyourself,CashEvans.”

As she turned on her heel, she saw his jaw drop from the corner of her eye. But he

didn’tsayasinglethinginresponseasshestormedoff.

Fucking men. Bailey slammed the shop door behind her before trudging through the

icynight.Herbreathplumedinfrontofherfaceasshemutteredtoherself,jammingher
frozenhandsintoherpockets.

Givethematasteofsweetnessandwatchthemcomeoverallhighandmighty.There

wasn’tamanonearthwhodidn’tdevelopanattitudewhenhethoughthecouldgetaway
withit—shewasconvinced.

Theknowledgewashard-won,too:gainedthroughwatchinghermothermakeafool

ofherselfformenwhoturnedcruelerthehardershepushed.Therewasonesure-fireway
toturnaprinceintoafrog:showhimalittlekindness.

Baileywouldn’tfallintothattrapagain.Oncesomeoneviewedyouasanobject,every

interactionwastransactional—andthesadtruthwasthattomostmen,awomancouldbe
nothing but an object. Maybe a trophy, maybe a childhood blanket, maybe a piece of
rubbish.Itmadenodifference.Thebottomlinewasthatshehadtoplaytheirgame.Every
interactionwastransactional.

Attheendoftheday,mostmenwereonlygoodforonething.

Shechantedunderherbreath,intimewiththestampofherfeetagainstthepavement.

“Rememberthat.Rememberthat.Rememberthat.”

ChapterEight

On Sunday evening, Bailey knocked at John’s bland hotel door. When it swung open,
Baileyhelduphershoppingbags,awidesmileonherface.“Knockknock,bitch!”

“Ugh,it’syou.”Johnrolledhiseyes.“Iwashopingforthehottattooartist.”Butthen

hebrokeintoasmileofhisown,andsheknewhewasgladtoseeher.

“Boy,shutup.”Shesmirkedasshepushedpasthimintothehotelroom,droppingher

bagsonthetable.“Icomebearinggifts!”

“LikeIhaven’thadalifetime’sworthofChristmasblessingsinthepastfewdays.”

Shegavehimalookbeforetakingoffhercoat.“Look,here’sthephone.Igotyoua

SIMtoo—”

“Oh,Bailey.”

“Andsomegingerbread.”Hesatdownnexttoheronthecarpetassheemptiedouther

bags.“AndacoupleofChocolateOranges.They’rebuy-one-get-one-freeatTesco’s.And
somelittlemincepies,look,andaChristmasnibblesselection.”

“Bailey.”Heraisedhisbrowsashesurveyedthejunkfood.“Thisisn’tallforme,is

it?”

“Well…”

“Letmeguess:you’dbehappytohelp?”

Shegiggledguiltily.“Onlyifyou’llhaveme.”

“OfcourseI’llhaveyou!Infact,there’slotsweneedtodiscuss…”

JohnclamberedontothebedandarrangedtheirfeastwhileBaileypoppedtheroom’s

littlekettleon.

“Thephoneisjustintime,”hegrinned.“Ihaveaveryimportantnumbertoputinit.”

“Oh?”SheaddedtwosugarstoJohn’steaandonetoherown,thinkinghappilyabout

howmuchfullerhischeekslookedalready,andthewayhiseyessparkled.

“Yep.Mypotentialnewboss.”

“What?!”Shecameovertothebed,clutchingthecupsoftea.

“Cashhassortedmeaninterviewalready!”

“Seriously?”

“Andhe’stakingmeouttogetasuittomorrow.”

Bailey handed John his cup before taking a sip of her own. She wasn’t sure what to

make of this new information. Yes, she’d known that Cash was… Kind. But since the
disasterofyesterdayevening,she’dmaintainedthesortoffrostyenergytowardshimthat
madeiteasytoforgethewascapableofthingslikethis.

“You’reawfullyquiet,”Johnmurmured,breakingopentheplastictubofgingerbread.

“Ithoughthemighthavementionedittoyou.”

“Hm?”

“Youknow.”Heeyedherclosely.“Atwork?”

“Oh.Um…Wedon’treallytalkmuch.I’mjustthereceptionist,andhe’ssomekindof

tattoogod.”

“Whatdoesthatmean?”

“YouknowIsawhiminamagazine?Apparently,hespentyearstouringtheworldand

tattooingcelebritiesandwhatever.”

“Really?”Johnconsideredthatforamoment.“Makessense.Iknewhewasloaded.”

“Loaded?”

“Myinstinctsneverlie.WhichisalsohowIknowthatsomething’sgoingonbetween

youtwo.”

Bailey stared, flabbergasted. When a bite of mince pie threatened to fall out of her

mouth,shefinallyclampedherjawshut.“Oh,myGod,”shefrowned.“Nope.Sorry,man.
Theinstinctsarewayoffthere.”

“What’sthatoldquoteaboutprotestingtoomuch?”

“Shutup.”

“You’retellingmeyoudon’twanttosmashhimtosmithereens?”

Baileyalmostchokedonherownspit.“Shutup!”

“All I’m saying is, you could do worse.” John lowered his gaze demurely, fiddling

withhissleeves.Sometimeinthelasttwodays,he’dboughtapairofstripedpyjamas.He
lookedunfairlyadorable,consideringhewassuchademon.

“IcouldnotdoworsethanCashEvans.Trustmeonthat.”

“Hmmm,”Johnmumbledaroundamouthfulofgingerbread,sprayingcrumbsacross

hissheets.“Ismelldrama.”

“Don’tspeakwithyourmouthfull.”

“Dramawaitsfornoman,ormanners.”

Baileyrolledhereyes.“I’lladmit,Ithoughthewascute,backwhenheusedtocome

into the coffee shop. But you already knew that. Now I’m getting to know him better,
he’s…Well.He’shotandcold.Idon’tlikeit.Thatshit’smanipulative.”

Johnchewedthoughtfullybeforeheanswered—thankGod.“OrdinarilyI’dagreewith

you,”hesaid.“ButIsweardown,hemightbethesweetestmanI’veevermet.He’svery
‘torturedartist’.Youknow?”

“‘Torturedartist’iscodefor‘attractivearsehole’.”

“Onlywhenthey’refakingit.Haveyouconsideredthathemighthavesomegenuine

baggage?”

Baileyshrugged.Truthfully,no;shehadn’tconsideredthatatall.Butitopenedupa

wholenewworldofpotentialproblems.

“I’mjustsaying.Everyonehasbaggage.Don’tyou?”

“Well…Yeah.”Sheadmittedreluctantly.

“Butyou’restillanamazingperson.Ithinkanymanwouldbeluckytohaveyou.”

“Aw,John.”Sheslappedhisskinnyshoulderplayfully.“Stop.”

“AndI’msureyouwanttothinkthatsomeone,somewhere,mightbewillingtohelp

youthroughthatbaggageinsteadoflettingitpushthemaway.”

The teasing smile slid off Bailey’s face as she considered that statement. She didn’t

wantthat—didshe?

No.Shedidn’twantanyman.Oratleast,notinthatway.Semi-regularhookupsdid

herjustfine,thankyouverymuch.Andfortheall-too-oftentimesthatshecouldn’tbear
togooutonthehunt—toglamherselfupandkeephermouthshutlongenoughtoseduce
aman—well.Itwasthe21stCentury.Thankyou,babyJesusfortheblessingofvibrators.

Sure; every now and then, she might indulge in the odd romance novel. And she

swoonedoverthegrowingintimacy,theheartfeltdeclarations,theintenseadoration,just
likeanyoneelse.Butthatwasafantasy.Itdidn’tmeananything.Oratleast,shemightbe
abletoconvinceherselfofthat,ifitweren’tforthefactthatshestudiedpsychology.But
Baileyknewbetter.Fantasiesalwaysmeantsomething.Thequestionwas,what?

“Isupposeyoumightberight,”shemurmured.

“Iusuallyam.”

“Hm.”Sheputdowntherestofhermincepie,herthoughtssplittingintoathousand

overwhelmingpieces.

“Justthinkaboutit,whydon’tyou?”

Asthoughshecoulddoanythingelse.

ChapterNine

John’swordscontinuedtohaunther,butsodidherown.

Gofuckyourself,CashEvans.

She heard them every time she saw Cash around the shop, every time he asked her

stiffly about appointments or she passed him the phone. They danced around each other
like strangers for almost a week, and she spent her time off wondering how she’d ever
comebackfromthegauntletshe’dthrowndown.

Notthathe’dretaliatedatall.Infuriatingfucker.

He just looked at her in that way of his, with those gleaming predator’s eyes. She

developedaworryingobsessionwithcataloginghisink.HeonlyeverworeT-shirts,soall
she’d seen so far was the full sleeve on his right arm—which disappeared up under his
clothingandspreaddowntohisknuckles—andthepieceonhisleftforearm.Theformer
wasaninvertedlandscape,fromthecloudynightskyonhishandandwrist,risingupto
black, jagged trees—bare of leaves—and then further into the earth, where gems and
fossilshid.Thelatterwasanunderwaterscene,featuringanoctopusthatwounditsway
aroundhisthickly-muscledforearm.Shestudiedtheartworkcovertly,drinkinginsnatches
everytimehepassedbythefrontdesk,loweringhergazewhenhelookedoverather.

And when he was working, she rifled through the magazine she’d found on her first

dayatFallen,readingthefeatureonhim.

He’d denied an interview—as was his habit, apparently. It was his social media

presence,hisdirectandunassumingcontactwithclientsandfans,thathadpropelledhim
into the spotlight. His distinctive style and undeniable skills had kept him there. His
gorgeousfaceandbadboycharmhadmadehimallhismoney.

And he had a lot of money. The article took pains to make that clear. It mentioned

somethingelse,too:hismysterious,darkpast,thedetailsofwhichwerelargelyunknown.
The fact that his privacy was widely considered to hide an internal conflict that his art
only hinted at. And his love for his family, his mother and sister. Apparently, the first
majorpurchasehe’dmadewithhisnewfoundricheswasabigoldhouseforhismotherin
somequiet,countryvillage.

Thisknowledgehighlightedtheissuethatwasreallygettingunderherskin:whothe

hellwasCashEvans?Because,forallherpseudo-stalking,Baileycouldhonestlysaythat
shehadnoidea.

A week after her night in with John, Bailey was just slipping in her earphones and

opening her music app when his name flashed up on her caller ID. She grinned. His
irreverencewasjustwhatsheneededrightnow.

“Night,guys,”GemcalledassheandSteveleft,headingforthepub,nodoubt.

“Night.”Baileywavedbackabsently.Then,acceptingthecall,shedemanded,“Spill!

Tellmeall!Immediately!”

“Give me a second woman, bloody hell!” John laughed down the phone, his broad,

Northernvowelsfillingherears.“Youstillatwork?”

“Areyoustillatwork?”Johnhadacedhisinterview,andtodayhadbeenhisveryfirst

dayathisbrandnewjobasanadministrativeassistant.

“Ijustleft,”hesaidsmugly.“Workinglife,youknow.”

“Oh,yes,darling,”Baileydrawledjokingly.“Quite.”

“IsCasharound?”

At the mention of Cash’s name, Bailey felt her smile slip. “Um… I think so? Last I

sawhim,hewasheadinguptotheoffice.”

“Great.Goandgethim!Ineedtotellbothofyouaboutthisatonce.”

Bailey faltered, her mind working frantically to come up with some excuse. But she

couldn’tletwhateverpettyissueslaybetweenherandCashruinJohn’sbigmoment.With
aresignedsigh,sheslidoffherchairandwalkedoutfrombehindthewelcomedesk.

“Alright,”sherelented.“Givemeasec.”

“Hurryup!Ihavesomuchtotellyou,honestly.”

“Ibet,Mr…MrProfessionalMan.”

“Ah,Bailey.Thatrazor-sharpwitnevergetsold.”

“Shutup.”Shejoggedupthestairsandalongthecorridor,hernervesmountingatthe

sightoftheclosedofficedoor.Takingadeepbreath,shesteppedtowardstheforeboding
entrance…

Onlyforthedoortoswingopen,lightspillingoutforafractionofasecondbeforeit

wasblockedbyCash’slargebody.Hesteppedoutintothehall,hismovementsasdecisive
asever,andbarrelledrightintoher.

Bailey cried out as she stumbled back. Though she’d long since swapped sensible

heelsandskirt-suitsforjeansandConverse,matchingthecasualstyleofhercolleagues,
herfeetappeareddeterminedtoembarrassher.

Butjustbeforeshetrulyfellontoherarse,Cash’sbighandsshotouttograbher.And,

ofcourse,hemanagedtogetafirmhandfulofthebiggestdamnpartofher.Hisfingers
sankintoherwidehipsashedraggedherupagainsthim,bringingherfirmlyintothesafe
zoneofhisbody.Herhandsroseautomaticallytopressagainsthischest,broadandfirm
andhotbeneathherpalms.

Shetookamomenttocatchherbreath,herheadspinning.Hesitantly,shelookedup…

Andfoundhismesmerisingeyesonher.Hislipspartedashestaredatherlikeshewasthe
biggestsurpriseofhislife.

“Bailey,”hesaidsoftly,hishandstighteningaroundher.

“Cash,”shebreathed.

“Whatthehell’sgoingon?!”Johnsquawkedinherear.

Fuck.

Sharply, she stepped away from the tempting heat of Cash’s body, planting her feet

firmlyonthegroundthistime.Slappingaplasticsmileontoherface,shepulledherphone
outofherpocketandheldituptohim,shakingitawkwardlyasiftosay‘Ta-dah!’

“GuesswhoIhaveonthephone?”Sheasked,hervoiceartificiallylight.

Cash cleared his throat, the vulnerability in his expression disappearing like sunlight

behind the clouds. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway, his usual smirk
firmlyinplace.

“Letmethink.John?”

“Howdidyouknow?”

“Icanhearthescreechingfromhere.”

“Areyoutalkingaboutme?”Johndemanded.“Putmeonspeaker!”

Baileyrolledhereyes.“Waitaminute,willyou?”Andthen,toCash:“Hewantstotell

usbothabouthisdayatthesametime.”

“Veryegalitarian,”Cashmurmured.Heturnedandledherintotheoffice,whereJay

was working over at his desk in the corner. The younger man gave her a distracted nod
beforefocusingonhislaptopscreenoncemore.

“Keep the earphones in,” Cash said as he sat down. She perched on the edge of his

desk,aquizzicalfrownonherface.Thenhereachedupandtuggedoneearphonefromher
ear.Quickly,sheunderstood.

Herheartsuddenlythumping,sheshuffledarounduntilshewassatfacinghim,sheon

thedesk,heinhischair.Sheleanedforward,faceinherhands,elbowsagainstherknees,
untiltheywerecloseenoughtoshare.Shecouldfeeltheheatofhisbreathbrushpasther
cheek,butshekepthereyesdown,whichwasamistake.Hadhisthighsalwayslookedso
fuckinggoodinapairofjeans?Andwasthathis—

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Bailey reigned in her rampant thoughts and focused on the

conversationathand.

“Alright,”shesaid.“Cashislistening.”

“HeyJohn,”Cashchimedin.“Howwasit?”

“Oh,you’llwishyouneverasked!”Johnlaunchedintoanexcitedplay-by-playofhis

first day on the job, his enthusiasm contagious. As he gushed about his experiences,
BaileyfoundherselfsharingmorethanjustspaceandaphonewithCash.Theylaughed
together,exchangingamusedlooksandhappysmiles.Bythetimethecallended,shefelt
as though the ghost of her temper was finally laid to rest. The trap of her own anger
disappeared, and so did her resentment towards Cash’s on-off attitude. She remembered
whatJohnhadtoldheraboutbaggage.

It was possible that her own issues played a role in this too. Because when it came

downtoit,shewantedCash.Badly.Andifshewashonestwithherself,shehatedthat.

StillchucklingatJohn’sbubblingwit—hisimpressionsofthepeoplehe’dmetthatday

had been hysterical—Bailey slid her phone back into her pocket and clambered off of

Cash’sdesk.Andsheknewbynowthatshewasn’timaginingthingswhenhisgazedarted
momentarilydowntoherarse.

Hewantedher.Andmaybehehatedthat,too.

“Youguysaredoingagreatthing,youknow.”

Bailey’sheadwhippedaroundatthesoundofJay’svoice,smackingherselfintheface

withherownhair.Jay’dbeensoquiet,she’dforgottenhewasthere.

“Whatdoyoumean?”Sheasked.

Hegaveheralook.“Withthatguyyou’rehelping.Thehomelessguy.”

Bailey shrugged, uncomfortable. “He’s my friend. Anyway, I’m not doing anything.

It’sCash.”

ButCashhookedhisthickarmsbehindhishead,tossinghishairoutofhisface.She

couldn’tescapehispiercinggazeasheargued,“I’vegotmoneytoburn.You’repayingfor
hisphone.”

“Itwasanoldphone.IjustputcreditonhisSIM.”

Hearchedabrow.

“Everyoneneedsaphone,”sheinsisted,fiddlingwithherhairself-consciously.“You

can’tkeepajobwithoutaphone.”

“Whatever,” Jay interjected, closing his laptop and standing up. “All I’m saying is,

mostpeoplewouldn’tmakefriendswithahomelessperson.They’djustwritehimoffas
somedrugaddictedloserandsayheshouldpullhimselfupbyhisbootstraps.”Hepaused
onhiswayoutoftheroom.“AndIknowthatCashalwaysdoesthissortofthing.Share
the wealth. But you, Bailey? I don’t know. Most people wouldn’t take the time.” He
shrugged.“Anyway,Ibettergo.IhaveBakeOffrerunstowatch.”

“Seeyou,”Cashcalled.

Baileysaidnothing.ShewastoobusythinkingaboutwhatJayhadjustinadvertently

revealed.

Cashalwaysdoesthissortofthing.

It was just a small piece of the puzzle that was Cash, but a certain picture was

beginningtotakeshape.

Theysatinsilence.Cashleanedcomfortablybackinhischair,watchingBaileyinthat

predatory way that usually made her want to blush—but she refused to give into that
impulsenow.Instead,shefacedhimhead-on,makingherownleisurelyperusal,revelling
in her newfound freedom. All this time, she’d been catching the odd ray of his beauty,
whenallshereallyneededtodowasgrowapairandbaskindirectsunlight.Herakedhis
gaze unapologetically over her chest—not that there was much to see—her hips, her
thighs.Andthenherlips,alwaysbacktoherlips.Sheconductedherownboldstudy,her
focus shifting indecisively from his hands—so big and yet so dextrous, fingers stained
withink—tohisbroadshoulders,tothehairshelongedtorunherownfingersthrough.
Theairstirred,shimmered.

Thenthedoorslammeddownstairs,sendingripplesthroughthemoltenheatthatgrew

betweenthem.

“Were you ever homeless?” She asked. The words ran into one another like train

carriages,andshefoughttheurgetowringherhands,totakethequestionbackandreturn
topolitedistance.

There was a moment when she thought he might tell her to piss off. But then he

heavedoutasigh.

“Yep.Foralittlewhile,asakid.”

“Isee.”

“Mymother,mysisterandI.Wewerehomelessforawhile,nomadsinbetween.It’s

not quite how people envision it to be, or it wasn’t for us—maybe because we were a
family,awomanandherkids.Andmymotherwasterrifiedthatsocialservicesmighttake
usaway,soshe—well.Shegotcreative.Itwaslesshomelessness,moreanabundanceof
otherpeople’shomes.Longridesonthenightbustoplaceswehadnobusinessbeing,and
thenanotherlongrideback,justsono-onecouldreportawomansleepingwithherkidson
aparkbench.”

Cashdidn’tstoptalkingsomuchasheranoutofwords.Helookedshockedathisown

verbosity,andhewasn’ttheonlyone;shedidn’tthinkshe’deverheardhimtalksomuch.

Hedrummedhisfingersagainstthedesk,reachedforapen,andgrabbedthenearest

scrapofpaper.Sheknewwhathe’ddonext,orshethoughtshedid.

Buthedidn’tdoit.Hedidn’tdrawhimselfintoawholenewworld.Hedroppedthe

pen,andhelookedupatherwithfireinhiseyes,andhespoke.

“Whywereyouheldback?”

“What?”Shefrowned,confusedatthesuddenchangeintopic.

“Youtoldmeoncethatyouwereheldbackatschool.Iwanttoknowwhy.”

Ah.Ishowedyoumine,nowshowmeyours.

Well.Maybesheowedhimthat.

Butshewasn’tsurehowtobegin.

“We…Movedaroundalot.Mymotherhadaproblem,Isuppose.Withmen.Noteven

men—she was addicted to… Romance? Romantic love. She wanted to be adored. But
adorationdoesn’tlast.It’slikechampagne;youhavetodrinkittoenjoyit.Keepholdofit
fortoolong,justtowatchthebubblesdance,andit’llgoflat.”

She sighed, already feeling disloyal. But something about setting these words free

felt…Cathartic.Afteramoment,sheforgedon.“See,mymotherwasverybeautiful.She
had, you know… Curly hair, coloured eyes. She used to watch Disney princess films.
We’dwatchthemtogether.HerfavouritewasCinderella.”

“Whatwasyourfavourite?”Heasked,startlingher.

Butshesmiled,whenthequestionsunkin.“BeautyandtheBeast.Mymothersaidit

wasboring.Andshedidn’tunderstandwhyanyonewouldwantabeastlyprince.”Bailey
laughedsoftlyatthememoryofhermother’stheatricalscoffs.“Butshelikedthesongs.
Sowe’dgettowatchitoftenenough.

“Mother—I called her Dorothy. So people wouldn’t think she was old. She was

married four times, the first time to my father, who died. In between marriages, she ran
aroundlookingforthenextprincecharming,youknow?Shewasveryglamorous.Ajet-
setter.Whenshewasyoung,sheworkedasacroupieratacasino.That’showshemetmy
father.Bythetimehedied,shewastheonedrapedindiamondsatthegamblingtable—
but the diamonds didn’t last very long. Dorothy had quite atrocious taste in men. So we
would move and move and move—because she had to live with her latest love, who
happened to hail from Portsmouth or Manchester or Cambridge. Or we would move
because we found ourselves financially embarrassed, as she used to say, and we had to
disappearonourdebtors.”Baileylickedherlips,hermouthdry.

“Soyouwerehomelesstoo,”Cashsaid.

Sheblinked.“No.No,weneverwere.”

Buthelookedathersteadily.“Doesn’tsoundlikeyoueverhadahome.”

Shestaredforamoment,hermindturningthatstatementoverandover.

Andthenshesaid,“Ihavetogo.”

Andshefelthiseyesonherasshefled.

ChapterTen

Over the course of the next few days, they reached a kind of uneasy truce. Neither
mentioned the secrets they had shared. Cash continued to stare at Bailey with hunger
writtenacrosshisface,andshecontinuedtopretendnottonotice.

Butatleastnow,theyspoke.Andsometimesheshowedheraflashofthelight-hearted

banter, of the sweet charm, that she’d gotten to know at the coffee shop. In fact, she’d
startedtothinkofhimasacupofcoffee:black,withashotofgingerbreadsyrupcurledup
atthebottom.

Someonejustneededtostirhimupandmakehimsweetallthewaythrough.

Almost two weeks after she began working at Fallen, he spent three hours with a

regularcustomerofhis,Gareth;anolderguywhoseemedtobegoingthroughsomesort
ofmidlifecrisis,anddefinitelyhadthemoneytofundit.SheoftenoverheardCashgently
steeringhimawayfromsomeofhismoreradicaltattooideas,presentinghimwithclassic,
neo-traditional options that suited him aspect way better—notwithstanding the diamond
studinhisdroopyear.

CashwalkedoutofthestudiowithGareth,shakingtheotherman’shandwithagrin

on his face. Bailey knew that grin by now; it was the expression of pure elation that
alwaystookoverhisfacewhenhe’djustfinishedatattoo.Ifshedidn’tknowanybetter,
she’dthinkhegotoffontorturingpeople.

But in reality, he was addicted to the thrill of creating. She understood because she

recognisedit.Oh,shewasn’tacreator—shecouldn’tdraworwriteorevencookforshit.
But that thrill of joy, of pure pleasure, was something she knew well. She tasted it for
herselfeverytimeshesankintoafictionalworld—beitHarryPotter’sorMerlin’sorone
oftheDisneyprincessesshestillgeekedoutovertothisday.

Notthatanyoneneededtoknowaboutthat.

She stifled a jaw-cracking yawn as Cash walked his client out. But as soon as he

wavedthemanoff,Cashwasturningbacktoher,anintimidatingfrownonhisface.

“Whyareyousotired?”Heaskedsharply.

Gem,whowasmakingteaforherselfandJayatthemachineinthecorner,lookedat

Baileywithherbrowsraised.Cashdidn’tusuallyspeakinquiteso…Emphaticatone.

Withafrownofherown,Baileyshrugged.“I’mnot.Ijust—”

“Yes,youare.You’vebeenyawningconstantlyfordays.”

“Um…” She looked over at Gem for assistance. The traitor gave her a wink before

scurryingoutoftheroom.

Drat.

Cashstalkedovertothefrontdesk,restinghisforearmsagainstitsblacksurface.The

tinselstrungalongitsedgewassquashedagainsthisT-shirtasheleanedforward,peering
atherclosely.

“Youhavedarkcirclesunderyoureyes,”hefinallysaid.

Shepursedherlips.“It’simpolitetocommentonalady’sappearance.”

A slight blush flooded his cheeks, and she almost melted. How could someone so

infuriatinglygruffbesodamnedadorable?

Butthentheblushfaded,replacedbyaknowingsmirk.“WhatifItoldyouthatyou’re

beautiful?”

Thattoreherhumourintwo.Shefeltherjawdrop;thenshesnappeditshutsofast,

shewassurehemusthaveheardherteethclick.

“Don’ttakethepiss,”shegrittedout.

Hefrowned.“I’mnot.ImeanwhatIsay,andIsaywhatImean.”

“I bet,” she muttered acidly. “Listen. Beauty is like a firework: it shines. You stare.

Andthenit’sgone.Mentioningitisjustaspointless.”

Hepulledback,histeasingairgone.Ofcourse.

Bailey wasn’t like her mother, and never had been. She couldn’t take a compliment.

Shecouldn’tmakeamanfeellikehewastenfeettall.Shehadnodesiretodoso.

Butstill,shemournedthelossofhissmile.Andsoshesaid,“Myboiler’sfucked.”

“Begyourpardon?”

“Myboiler’sfucked.Heatingwon’twork.Toocoldtosleep,soIspendallnightinthe

libraryatuni.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh,yeah.It’sexamseason;it’sopen24hoursrightnow.”

“Bailey.Imeant,seriously,youcan’tsleepinyourownhome?”

She shrugged, uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare. “Student landlords.

Notoriouslyshoddy.Butthey’llgetaroundtoit.”

He pushed his hair out of his face irritably. “Fuckers. You should have told me. I’ll

comeoverandfixitforyou.”

“Um.What?Youcandothat?”

“OfcourseIcan.I’llniphomeandgetsometoolsatlunch,yeah?”

Sheblinked.

“AndI’llcomeoverafterwork,ifthat’sokay?”

“Ah…Yeah.Okay.That—thatwouldbeamazing.”

And that’s how she ended up sitting behind Cash Evans on his terrifyingly huge

motorbike,whippingthroughthecitylikesomethingoutofaU.S.blockbuster.

Shehadapairofwoolyglovesstuffedintohercoatpocket,butshehadn’twantedto

putthem on—the thoughtof losing hergrip on Cash andflying off theback of his bike
wasnotawelcomeone.Herfingerswerestiffwithcoldasshelacedthemoverhisbelly,

herarmswrappedtightlyaroundhiswaist—butthatwasn’tenoughtodistractherfromthe
waveofsensationscrashingoverher.

Slicing through the air at this speed felt like something close to magic, like living

within the wind itself. If Cash hadn’t insisted that she wear a helmet, her locs would be
billowing out behind her like May Day streamers. The powerful thrum of the engine
betweenherlegswasonlybeatenbytheirresistiblepullofthebodypressedagainsthers.
Couldhetellthatshewasdrinkingthisexperiencedownlikehotchocolateonawinter’s
night?Thatherfirmgripwaslessfearandmoreafascinationwithridgesofmuscleshe
sworeshecouldfeelrightthroughhisleatherjacket?

Shewasplayingwithfire,here.Sheknewthat.Shejusthadn’texpectedittoburnso

good.

Bailey’sstudentaccommodationwasablockofflatssituatedaboveapizzaplaceand

waslargelyoccupiedbypost-grads.SotherewerenowildpartiesgoingonassheletCash
into her pathetic little studio room, fighting embarrassment. There was no shame in her
circumstances;sheworkedhard,shestudiedhard,andherflatwasperfectlytidy.That’s
whatshetoldherselfashesteppedintotheroom,hiseyestakinginthewholethingwith
onesweep.

Shefollowedhisgazeassheshutthefrontdoor.Akitchenettestoodononesideofthe

room, the tiles on the floor transitioning to wood as it turned into a meagre living-cum-
sleep space. Her bed was pushed against the far wall, by the window, with a series of
prettyscreensstationedarounditforsomemodicumofprivacy.Thescreenshadbelonged
tohermother.TheywereoneofthefewthingsofhersthatBaileyhadkept.

Another was the little jewellery cabinet that sat on the rickety drawers in which her

clotheslay.Asidefromallthat,thelargestpieceoffurnitureintheroomwasthetablethat
separated the kitchen from everything else, on which piles of books and her crappy old
laptop sat. At least the bathroom was separate, like a tiny ensuite. Still, it wasn’t the
greatestplaceshe’deverlived.

She turned to look at Cash, unsure of what she’d see in his face. But she shouldn’t

haveworried.

“You like Christmas,” he chuckled. A few steps of his booted feet took him to the

cheap little Christmas tree she’d already put up and decorated. Lights hung along her
windowandacrossherbed,thoughtheyweren’tturnedon.

“Yeah,”shesaid.“Doesn’teveryone?”

“You’dbesurprised.”

Sheheadedtothekitchenette.“Tea?”

“Please.Where’syourboiler?”

Baileyshowedhimthelittleboilerhiddenawayinakitchencupboard,andheputhis

toolkitonthecounterandgottowork.

“MymothertookChristmasveryseriously,”shesaidasshestirredinthemilk—alittle

for him, a lot for her. “It was the one time of year I knew I’d have her undivided

attention.”

“Whataboutyourbirthday?”

Shesmiled.“Thatwashercelebration,actually.Sinceshepushedmeout,andall.”

“Really?”Hestuckhisheadoutfromthecupboard.“Neverheardanythinglikethat.”

“Itookitasacompliment.”

He gave a chuckle. “I can tell you watched a lot of Disney as a child. You have an

unnaturallypositiveoutlookonlife.”

Shebroughthisteaoverwithasmile.“Maybe.Butit’sservedmewell.Anyway,who

saysIeverstoppedwatchingit?”

“Youdon’thaveaTVhere.”

“IwishIdid.Butalas…Allthesebooksareexpensive.Iusedtowatchonmylaptop,

butit’ssooldnow,Icanbarelywritemyassignmentsonthething.”

“Huh.”Hesippedhistea,buthiseyesneverlefthers.“Well.That’sashame.”

“Yeah. Hey, do you mind if I get changed? I need to put on 5,000 layers of extra

clothingifI’mgonnasitaroundinhere.”

“Goforit,”hesmiled.“Youknow,theboilerissueisprettyminor.Ishouldbedonein

fiveminutes.”

“Really?” She made her way over to the bed and switched on her Christmas lights.

Thenshebeganartfullyarrangingherscreensformaximumprivacy.

“Yeah.It’sjustthe—”

“Don’ttellme.Iwon’thaveanyideawhatitmeans.”

“Fairenough,”helaughed.

She watched for a moment as he grabbed a spanner from his toolbox before turning

backtotheboiler,hisgazeintent.Hewassofuckingfocused.Everythinghedid,hedid
completely.Andshebetthatintensitytranslatedwelltocertainotherareasofhislife…

Bitingherlip,Baileyshiftedthelastofthescreens,hidinghimfromview.Ifshewere

actinglikehermother,she’dtakethisasagoldenopportunityandlethimcatchaglimpse
hereandthereassheundressed;turnitintoadanceofdemureseduction.

Butshewasnothinglikehermother.Sherememberedthatassheturnedherbackon

thesilhouetteofthemanshewasstartingtowantalittletoomuch.

∞∞∞

Cashtightenedthelastcopperboltbeforehesetdownhistoolsandleanedagainstthe

kitchenette’s narrow counter. The knowledge that Bailey was undressing behind those
bloody screens like some kind of Victorian lady sent a spark of heat to his gut that was
evenmoreintenseinthefrigidcoldofherlittleflat.

But the sight of her shadowy outline moving behind those screens was too fucking

much.

Hewatchedinstrainedsilenceassheundressed,despitethevoiceinhisheadtelling

himthathewascrossingaline—thatshecertainlyhadn’tintendedhimtostandhereand
enjoyanimpromptushow.ButwhentheshadowthatwasBaileybegantopeelherjeans
offofherlush,roundedhips—whenthesilhouetteofherthighsjiggledasshebentover—
helosttheabilitytocontrolhimself.Jesus,fuck.

Cashlethisheadfallbackagainstthetiledwall.Allhisadultlife,he’dbeenwaryof

desire. Of need. Of the addiction that one person could develop for another. And he’d
thoughtthathedancedwithdangereverytimehetookawomantobed,becausehisneed
fortouchwassostrong,andbecauseheworshippedeachbodysothoroughly.

He’d been wrong. He’d been so, so wrong. Cash had never been in danger of truly

needingawoman.

Notuntilnow.

He risked another glimpse at the screen and caught her in profile. Her hair must be

hanginginfrontofherface,becausehecouldn’tmakeoutherfeatures.Butherbody…
Hesawthatwellenough.Hertitsweresweet,littleupturnedmounds,barelythere.Hebet
hernippleswerestiffwithcold.God,he’dwarmherup—ifhethoughtshe’dlethim.Ifhe
thoughtitwassafe.Ifhethoughtagirllikeherwouldacceptthelittlehecouldgive.

Herbellywassoftandrounded,herwaistthick.Herthighswerethicker,deliciously

so. She bent over to do something—pull on some sort of clothing—and plump curve of
herarsealmosttoreagroanfromhisthroat.

Cash closed his eyes. He had to, or he’d end up rubbing his hard dick through his

jeans,andthenhereallywould’vegonetoofar.

Butthedarknessofhisownmindofferednoescape.

He strode forward and pushed the screen aside, finding her naked and gasping. His

name crossed her lips, but he barely heard it—he was reaching for her, pulling her into
him,hishandstravellingoverhershiveringfleshlikeatornado.First,hesankhisfingers
intothesoftnessofherhips,herarse,revellingintheirabundance;thenheslidhispalms
up her ribs, cupped her little tits, brought each sweet nipple to his mouth in turn—what
colourwouldtheybe?Hismindrushedtofillinthegaps—theyweredark,sodark,like
ink.Helickedandsuckeduntilshewept,untilsheclawedathimandbeggedforhimand
bloomedbeneathhistouch.Andthenhelayherdownonthebedandplungedhisaching
cock into her slick heat, his body covering hers, her pussy pulling him deeper. But he
lookedintoherlovelyeyesandrealisedhehadn’teventakenoffherglasses—

“Cash?”

Hervoicejoltedhimoutofthefantasy.

“Yeah?”Hecalled.Fuck.Ifhe’dbeenhopingtohidethelustinhisvoice,he’dfailed.

Shesidledoutfrombehindthescreen,fullyclothed.Hedidn’tknowifheshouldboo

or cheer. She was wearing thick tracksuit bottoms and a huge, woolly jumper. Her feet

were covered by fluffy, blue bed socks, and she was gathering her hair into a sloppy
ponytail.She’dtakenherglassesoffforsomereason,soshewassquintingasshelooked
athim.Andholyshit,shewasbeautiful.

“Doyouwantsomethingtoeat—?”

Hecrossedtheroomintwostepsandtookherinhisarms.Shehadjustenoughtimeto

letoutasqueakofsurprisebeforehebroughthislipstohers.

Theneedburninginhisgutwasfierce,butheforcedhimselftobegentle.Shefeltso

soft;hedidn’twanttoscareher.Thatwasthelastthinghewanted.Andthewayhefelt
rightnowwasalmostenoughtoscarehim.

ButGod,thisfeltsofuckingright.Hefeatheredhislipsacrosshers,once,twice,three

times.Likefallingsnow.Sheletoutquicklittleexhalations,andtheytastedsosweetas
theycrossedhislips,dancingoverhistongue.Heslippedahandbehindherhead,losthis
fingersinthemazeofherhair,andthen—there.Shesoftened.Shemelted.

Forhim.

Herhandscametohisshoulders,lightasbutterflies.Fluttering,fluttering,nervously,

untilhepressedhismouthmorefirmlytohers,andthenshemoanedandheldhimtight,
andhethoughtfortheveryfirsttimethatshemightneedhimthewayheneededher.

Fuck.Fuck.Herkisswaslikeadrug,andhisheartratewasthroughthefuckingroof,

andwashereallytouchingawomanlikeBailey—awomanhewasn’tpreparedtoletgo,a
womanhecouldneverpushaway,awomanwhowouldn’tplaybyanyofhisrules?

Everything about her felt perfect. Not flawless; just exactly as God or whoever the

fuckhadintended.Perfect.Forhim.

But she wasn’t for him. She couldn’t be. Because Cash had a bad feeling that

attemptinganythingotherthanforeverwiththiswomanwoulddonothingbutfuckwith
hishead.

Whatthehellwashedoing?

Suddenly terrified, Cash pulled away. He watched as Bailey returned to reality, her

prettyfacecreasingwithconfusion.Godonlyknewwhathisfacelookedlike,becausehis
insideswereanestofvipersrightnow.

“Cash?”Shesaidsoftly.

“I…”Hesearchedforsomewaytofixthemesshe’djustmade,toreversetheprocess

he’djuststarted.Tostophimselffromfalling.

Too late. Gravity didn’t work that way. And sometime in the last few minutes, this

womanhadbecomethecentreofhissolarsystem.

“Ihavetogo,”hesaid.

“Cash.”Hervoicehardened.“Whatthehell?”

“Your boiler’s fixed.” He turned to grab his tools, then abandoned the idea. No time

forthat.Hehadtoleave.Hismindfrantic,heheadedforthedoor.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do this.” Her voice didn’t shake. He hadn’t expected it to.

Onethinghe’drealisedbynow:thisprincesswashardasfuckingnails.

Butdiamondsweretough,too.Andstillprecious.

“Bailey.Don’taskmeto—”

“I’ve never asked anything of you and I don’t intend to start.” Her voice was sharp.

“I’mtellingyou.Don’tdothis.”

Iwon’t…Ican’truinyou,”hechokedout,hisbacktoher.Hishandonthedoor.His

heartinhismouth.

“Thereisn’tamanonearthwhocouldruinme.”

Hebelievedher.

Butobsessionturnedmenintomonsters.

“I’mleaving,”hesaid.

Andthenhedid.

ChapterEleven

Atprecisely10:30thenextday,GemburstintothefoyerwearingaflashingSantahatand
along,silverbeard.

“Santa!Is!HERE!”Sheboomed.

Baileylookedupfromthebookshewasreading,blinkingatthespectaclebeforeher.

Therewasamomentofsilence.Andthenshesaid,“Yourbeardisfallingoff.”

Withahuff,Gempulleddowntheelasticandletthelong,silvercurlshangaroundher

neck.“Thebloodything’stoobigformyface,”shegriped.

“Itlooksbetteraschesthairanyway.”

“Shutup.Youarenowmyelf!Insubordinationwillnotbetolerated.”

Witharesignedchuckle,Baileyslippedapenbetweenthepagesofherbook—Sister

Mine—andpusheditaside.“Iassumeyouhaveataskforme,then,Santa?”

“IndeedIdo.”Gemtookoffherrucksackandplonkeditonthedesk.Itwaspartially

unzipped, a profusion of scarlet and gold tinsel spilling from its depths. “Today, we
decoratetheoffice!”

“Oh,Lord.”

“It’ll be just like this.” Gem swept her hand grandly about the room. “But better!

BecauseIgotmoretinsel!”

The woman’s enthusiasm was almost enough to make Bailey forget the dark cloud

hangingoverherhead.Almost,butnotquite.“Um…DidyouaskCashaboutthis?”

“No.”Gemshrugged.“Hewon’tcare.HelovesChristmas!Whereishe,anyway?”

“He’snotinyet.”ThankGod.

“Weird.Well,whatever.Wecandoitnow!It’llbeasurprise.Comeon!”

“Idon’tthinkIshouldleavethephone…”

“It’llbefine!Ifanyonecallstheycanjustleaveamessage.”Gemskippedaroundthe

desktograbBailey’shands,draggingherup.“Please,please,please?”

AnunwillingsmilecurvedBailey’slips.“Fine.Butwehavetobequick.”

“Yay!” Gem turned to scurry up the stairs, her beard bouncing and her rucksack

emittingsuspiciousjanglingsounds.

Withfriendslikethis,whohadtimetowastethinkingaboutconfusing,arseholemen?

Ortheirwide,firmlips?Orthescruffoftheirstubble,ortheheatoftheirbighands,or—

Oh.

Oops.

∞∞∞

Life was full of little blessings. For example: having a whole morning free the day

afteryoufuckedupyourchanceswiththesexiestwomanonearth.

TheLordgiveth,andtheLordtakethaway.Notalwaysinthatorder.

Cash had planned on sleeping in, but his brain wasn’t down that with that idea. He

hadn’t had a wink of sleep all night, and the sunrise didn’t make things any better; his
mind was running like Usain Bolt on speed. Every time he closed his eyes, snapshots
flasheduplikesomethingoutofafilm.Bailey.Bailey.Bailey.

Herefusedtodrawheragain.

Buthangingaroundthehouseglaringatthefurniturewasn’thelpingthesituation.He

needed to know how she felt. If she’d be furious or cold. Sharp or dismissive. The
anticipationofpainwasalwaysworsethanthepainitself,right?

So he decided to go to work early. He could get some admin done, anyway. He was

beingresponsible,really.Andhedidn’thaveanythingbettertodo.

Oranyonebettertosee.

But when Cash arrived at Fallen, his heart stuttering in his chest, he found the front

deskempty.Suddenlyterrified,hewalkedover,searchingforsomeindicationthatBailey
hadbeenhere—thatshewasjustoutforanearlylunch,orbrunch,orsomesuchnonsense
—thatshehadn’tabandonedhimcompletely.Thathehadn’tdrivenheraway.

Whenhesawthebookrestingontheedgeofthedesk,hesighedwithrelief.Itscover

wasapsychedelicswirlofcolour,interspersedwithaguitar,askull,andapairofwomen
whohoveredlikeghosts.Hehadnoideawhatthefuckitcouldpossiblybeabout,butit
wasdefinitelythekindofthingBaileywouldread.

Hopebloomingfromthewastelandinhischest,Cashheadedupthestairs.Shehadn’t

left.Shewouldn’tleave.He’dhaveachancetofixthissomehow—totakethembackto
the easy, unspoken attraction that had existed between them when she was just a barista
andhewasjustacustomer.

Thatold,simplesweetnesshadnothingonthememoryofherlipsbeneathhis.Butit

wasahellofalotsafer.

AsCashdrewclosertotheoffice,heheardvoices:Gem’sbabblingchatter,thekind

thatcameoutwhenshewastrulycomfortableandcarefree;Steve’swrymutterings,alittle
moreconfidentthanusual;andfinally,Bailey’slaughter.Thatwasquicklybecominghis
favouritesound.

A grin spreading across his face, Cash pushed the door fully open and barrelled into

theroom.

Bailey was directly opposite him, facing the window, balanced precariously on his

chair—hiswheeledchair—asshewrappedalengthoftinselaroundthecurtainpole.The
chatterpausedasGemandStevenoticedhisarrival,andthesilencemadeherturn.

Heknewexactlywhatwouldhappen.Hesawitallbeforehiseyeslikesomekindof

vision.Andthen,beforehecoulddoadamnedthingaboutit,premonitionbecamereality.

“Cash,” she said, the same way you might say, “Chlamydia?!” after the doctor read

outyourtestresults.

Andthenshefaltered,andthechairwobbled,andherfeetgotcaughtupinthestream

ofscarlettinsel,andshefell.

Cashdashedacrosstheroom,mountinghisdeskinaleaphebarelyfelt,sothathewas

kneelingonthescarredwoodwhenBaileylandedsquarelyinhisarms.Herhipslammed
intohisgutwithenoughforcetoknocktheairfromhislungs,andheroutstretchedarm
smackedhimsquareintheface,knockinglittleshredsoftinselloosefromthebunchshe
heldinherfist.Onegleaming,goldpiecewedgeditselfbetweenhislashes,irritatingthe
fuckoutofhiseye.

Butallhecoulddowasstaredownatherface.Shewaspanting,gazingupathimwith

partedlips,andhethoughthesawthatlookagain.Thelookthatsaid,Myhero.Andhe’d
beenreadytoseeBaileypissed,orscathing,butnotlikethis.He’dneverbereadytosee
herlikethis.

Hismovementsbrisk,hepushedheroffofhislap,holdinghersteadyassheregained

herfeet.“Youokay?”Heaskedtersely.

Shenodded.

Cashblinkedthetinseloutofhiseyesandclamberedawkwardlyoffthedesk,glaring

atnothingandno-oneinparticular.

Nobodyspoke.Gemstared.Stevestared.Baileylookedfirmlydownatthefloor.And

Cashfelthistemperflare.

“Whatthehellisgoingoninhere?”Hesaidtightly.

“We’redecorating,”Gemnear-whispered.

Pinchingthebridgeofhisnose,Cashtookadeepbreath.Thelastthinghe’deverdo

wasshoutatGemfordoingsomethinghewantedhertodo.ButJesusfuckingChrist.His
furybubblingover,CashturnedonSteve.

“Whythefuckareyoulettingthegirlsclimbonchairs?”

Stevehelduphishands.“Iwantedtohelp.Buttheywouldn’tletme.”

“We’renotchildren,”Baileysaid,finallyspeaking.Butherwide-eyedadmirationwas

allgone.Shewasfirmlybacktodisgust.“Stevedoesn’tletusdoanything.”

“Gem is an apprentice,” Cash said, clinging to the edge of his patience. “You are a

receptionist. Steve is a senior artist. And half a foot taller than both of you.” He felt his
voicerisingtounacceptablelevels;reigneditin;controlledthebeast.Hisnextbreathfelt
like barbed wire dragged over raw skin. He took another. And another. When he spoke
again, he sounded a hell of a lot calmer than he really was. “In future,” he ground out,
“pleaseuseastepladder.”

Therewasapause.AndthenGemsaid,clearlyastonished:“Wehaveastepladder?”

Withagroan,Cashthrewuphishandsandstalkedoutoftheroom.

SomuchforcharminghiswaybackintoBailey’sgoodgraces.

ChapterTwelve

Bailey hunched over her book, her eyes tracing its words for the tenth time in as many
minutes. Aside from a slight ache in her ankle, which she’d banged against the edge of
Cash’sdesk,she’dsufferedlittlefromherfallearlierintheday.Theworst-bruisedthing
washerpride.

And,apparently,herconcentration.

“Hey,you.”

ShelookeduptofindJayleaningagainstthefrontdesk,hishandsomefacesplitintoa

grin.Great;shewassupposedtobethereceptionist,andshehadn’tnoticedhimstandinga
footawayfromherdamnedface.Excellent.Amazing.Goodwork,Bailey.

“Whatareyoureading?”

“Um…” She closed the book and held it out to him. “Sister Mine.” Not that the

readingitpartwasgoingtoowell.

“Huh.”Heturneditovertoskimtheblurb.“What’sitabout?”

“Demi-God twins. One of them has magic, the other one doesn’t. The one without

magic is being chased by a murderous spirit. And her sister is dating Jimi Hendrix’s
guitar.”Jaydidn’tbataneyelid.“It’ssetinCanada,”sheadded.

“Weird,” he said. He was studying the cover art with an expert eye. “This design is

cool.Itwouldworkwellforatattoo.”

“Maybe.”

Hehandedthebookbacktoher.“Youdon’thaveanytatts,doyou?”

“Imight.Whereyoucan’tsee.”

“You don’t.” His voice was sure. “I can tell. You’re a virgin.” He waggled his

eyebrows.

“Behave yourself,” she snorted. And then, warming to the topic: “I’ve been thinking

aboutgettingoneforawhile.Ijustdon’tknowwhatI’dget.”

“Yournan’sbirthday,”hesaiddryly.“Universalstartertattoo.”

Shechuckled.“NotexactlywhatIhadinmind.I’dliketolosemyvirginitywithmore

ofabang.”

And of course, at the worst possible moment, Cash appeared. He marched into the

roomwithascowltwistingtheharshlinesofhisface,theinkonhisforearmsshiftingas
heclenchedhisfists.

“Whatthehellareyoutwotalkingabout?”Hedemanded.

Oh,crap.Baileyfelthercheeksheat—butJayjustslidanamusedgrinherwaybefore

turninglazilytofacehisboss.“Nothin’,”hedrawled.

“Jay,”Cashsaid.Hisvoicewasroughasamountaintop,hardasstone.Baileythought

sheheardathreadofwarningthere—onlythatcouldn’tberight.Couldit?

Themenstaredeachotherdownlikecowboysbeforeaduel.Thetensionratchetedup

witheachbreathofsilence.Andthen,justasBailey’sthoughtsveeredfromconfusionto
concern,Jaybrokeoutintolaughter.

“Ah, come on man!” He cried, reaching forward to slap Cash on the shoulder. “I’m

justfuckingwithyou.”Cash’sfaceremainedimpassive,hisbroadframeunmoving.And
yet,beneathhisutterstillness,Baileycaughttheimpressionofarabiddogstrainingatthe
leash.

But Jay seemed blissfully unaware. He sauntered off into the studio, chuckling to

himself, shaking his head. In the silence that remained, Bailey forced herself to meet
Cash’seyes.Hewatchedherlikeahawkwatchesamouse.

“Weweretalkingabouttattoos,”shesaid,finally.

Heshruggedthosehugeshoulders.“Noneofmybusinesswhatyou’retalkingabout.”

Hesaidgruffly.Butshefeltanurgentneedtoexplainthat…Well…

“I’mnotavirgin.”

Hestaredblankly.

“I’m,y’know—atattoovirgin.”Shestretchedherfaceintoanawkwardgrin.“Haha!”

Cashdidn’tlaugh.“Iknowthat,”hesaid.

“Youdo?”

“Of course.” He finally moved, walking across the shop to look out of the high

windowsandintothestreet.Hisbacktoher,hecontinued.“Notyourstyle.”

Shespluttered.“Youdon’tknowmystyle.”

“SureIdo.”

“Noyoudon’t,”sheinsisted.Andthen,recklessindignationgivingherthatfinalpush,

sheblurtedout,“Actually,Iwantatattoo.”

Heturnedtolookather,archingabrow,andshefoughttheurgetosquirmunderthe

intensityofhisgaze.“Doyou,now?”

“Yes,”shesaidfirmly.Maybe.Wait,no,definitely.Yeah.Thelastofherreservations

dealt with, Bailey nodded so hard that her glasses slipped down her nose. Blushing, she
nudgedthembackupintoplace.

Cashwonderedovertothedeskwithaneasethatdidn’tquitematchthefireburningin

hiseyes.Whenherestedhishandsagainsttheblackwood,closeenoughtotouch,shebit
herlip.Whenheleanedforward,hislonghaircastingashadowacrossherface,hislips
closeenoughtobringbacklastnight’sawkward—brilliant,beautiful,magical—kiss, she
gulped.

Butsherefusedtolookaway.

“Ididn’tthinktattooswereyourthing,”hesaidslowly.

Shearchedabrow.“Iworkhere,don’tI?”

“Notexactlythroughchoice.”

“IfIdidn’twanttobehere,Iwouldn’tbe,”shesaid.

“Tattoos aren’t just about the thrill,” he went on. “Body mods are a pretty fucking

heavycommitment.”

Shegavehisinked-upforearmsasignificantglance.“Howironic.”

Heinhaledsharply.Amuscleleaptinhisjaw,andsheknewherhithadlanded.Good.

But then, through gritted teeth, he fought back. “Whatever you might think of me,

tattoosaremylife.I’vebeenworkingtosucceedinthisindustrysinceIwasateenager,
and every piece of art on my body means something to me. Might be significant; might
justbethememoryofagoodday.It’senough,becauseIwantthem.Always.Whentimes
change,andevenwhenIchange,Iwantthem.”

Baileystared,morethanalittleshockedbythatspeech,andhestaredback,asthough

hecouldn’tbelievehe’devensaidthewords.Asthoughhehadn’tmeantto.Asthoughhis
passionhadleaptaheadofhisreason.

Thatseemedtohappentohimalot.

Shelikedit.

“Alright,”shemurmured.“Iunderstand.But…Iwantone.Ido.Iwantto—tocommit

tomyself.Forbetterorforworse.”Sheshrugged.“Doesthatmakesense?”

Hepaused,asiftoletthewordsruminate.Andthen,finally,herelented.“Yeah.That

doesmakesense.”

For some twisted reason, his approval sent a wave of satisfaction through her. He

straightenedup,turningtoleave—butthenheadded,“I’lldoit.”

Baileyfrowned.“What?”

“Yourtattoo.I’lldoit.”

“Oh, no,” she spluttered. “That’s not what I meant. I just—wanted your advice. You

can’tdoit.You’rebooked.”

“Don’tworryaboutthat,”hesaid,asthoughhiswaitinglistwasn’tmonthslong.

“But—”

“Stayafterclosingtonight,okay?We’llhavealittleconsultation.”

“But—butIdon’tknowwhatIwant!”

“That’swhattheconsultation’sfor.”

“Ican’taffordyou!”

Hefrowned.“Bailey.Don’tberidiculous.”

“But—”

“Afterclosing.”Andthenheleft.

Bailey huffed out her frustration, muttering her outrage to the empty room. The

audacityofthatman.Hewassobloodyhigh-handeditbeggaredbelief.

Sowhywasshefightingasmile?

ChapterThirteen

Somaybeshe’dbeenabithasty.

Baileycouldadmitthat.Notaloud,obviously,becauseCashwassittingrightnextto

her, smirking at the sight of her in the big old chair-bed thingy he tattooed people on.
Probablystilllaughingatthefactthatthestraight-edgegeekygirlinglassesthoughtshe
wascoolenoughforthis.

Oh,whatever.Shewasjustcollectingtrouble.Asidefromhisinitialreaction,Cashhad

beenentirelysupportive.

Itwasalmostlikelastnighthadneverhappened.

Almost.

“Sowhatwereyouthinking?”Heasked,hisvoicelow,intimate.Butthatwasjustan

illusion, because he’d made it quite clear that he didn’t want to be intimate with her.
Didn’twanttoruinher,whateverthatmeant.

Well.She’dalwaysthoughtthatmenshouldcomewithawarninglabel.Itwasrather

accommodatingofhimtoattachoneofhisownaccord.

“Um…” She thought about the flash on the walls of the entrance room, of Gem’s

unique collection of tattoos, a scrapbook written across her skin. Of Jay’s watercolour
brights and Steve’s traditional style. But before she could organise her thoughts, Cash
turnedandrifledintheshelvesbehindhim,producingaslimsketchbookslightlysmaller
thanhisusualone.

Heopeneditatthefirstpageandturneditaroundtofaceher.“Whataboutsomething

likethese?”

She barely had the time to process the stylised, geometric drawing of—was that a

badger?—before he flicked to the next one, where countless small illustrations were
littered in a neo-traditional style. Dark quotes within sweet floral borders; a teacup that
lookedsuspiciouslylikeChip,fromBeautyandtheBeast,inwhichswirledatempestuous
storm.

“When did you do all this?” She asked. But then he turned the page again, and she

gasped.

Somehow, with the harshest and darkest of shading, in a style that was all his own,

he’dcreatedtheimpressionofluminousglass.Itwasadomecontainingasingleredrose,
but the case was shattered. No; shattering, from the base up, cracks snaking along its
smoothcontours.Onlytheheadofthelushbloomremainedsafe,andnotforlong.Some
indefinablemagicswirledaroundtheimage,atrickoflightandshadowthatonlyatrue
artistcouldbegintounderstand,nevermindwield.

Shelookedupathim,unabletohideherawe.“Youdidthis?”

Henodded.

“For me?” But she already knew the answer. Of course it was for her. “How did

you…”Shetrailedoff,unsureofexactlywhatshewasasking.Howhadheknown—?

ThatI’vebeenfascinatedbytherosemywholelife,bythetickingtimebombthatlay

betweenBeautyandherBeast.ThatIwasstillsuchachildontheinside,stillsocaught
upinmypast.ThatI’mreadytoacceptthat,andownit,andetchitintomyskin.

HowdidyouknowbeforeIdid?

Butallshesaidwas,“Thisone.Iwantthisone.”

“Yousure?Youdon’twantsomethingsmaller,fornow?”

“I’msure.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice gruff as he snapped the sketchbook shut. But he was

pleasedwithherreaction;shecouldtell.Helethislonghairfallintohiseyes,andhislips
curledslightlyinsomethingthatwastoosofttobeasmirk.

“IknowwhereIwantit,too,”shesaid.

“Ah,yeah;Iwasgonnaask.It’sabigpiece,orI’dlikeittobe.”

“You’dlikeittobe?”Shearchedabrow.

“Yeah.IknowexactlyhowIwanteverytattooIcreate.Whetherthecanvasfeelslike

cooperatingisadifferentmatter.”

She laughed as she leaned back in the huge chair. That was the funny thing about

beingwithCash—nomatterhowonedgeshefeltatfirst,somehowshealwaysendedup
relaxed.Comfortable.Happy.Lordknewwhy.Hewasagrumpyfuck.

A grumpy fuck who’d spent half the day wearing Gem’s flashing Santa hat. But a

grumpyfuck,nonetheless.

“Itwouldbeinteresting,gettingintoyourhead,”shemurmured.Itwasjustapassing

thought;oneshehadoften,butnotanythingshethoughtwouldeverhappen.

Yethereactedlikeshe’dtiedhimupandstartedaninterrogation.Instantly,thelight

lefthisgreeneyes,asthoughcloudshadpassedoverthequietsunshineofhishappiness.
Hestiffened,foldedhisarms,andthemenacingcombinationofthickmuscleanddarkink
sentathrillthroughherthatwasn’tentirelytodowiththefightorflightresponse.

“Nothinginterestinginmyhead,”hesaidtonelessly.“It’sawasteland.”

“You’reanartist.That’simpossible.”

“Guesswe’llneverfindout,then.”Hisfacemightaswellhavebeenhewnfromstone.

Baileystudiedhimforamoment,hercuriositywellandtrulypiqued.Butsomething

about the set of his jaw, the brittle line of his broad shoulders, told her to change the
subject.

“I was thinking my thigh,” she blurted out. Steamroller the conversation, and he’ll

forgetiteverhappened.Goodone,Bailey.

Butitworked.Helookeddownatherbentlegasthoughshe’djustkickedhiminthe

facewithit,blinkingslowly.

“Right,”hesaid.“Yourthigh.”

“Plentyofspace,right?”

Hemutteredsomethingunderhisbreath.ItsoundedlikeHell,yeah.

Buthewouldn’tmakefunofherlikethat,wouldhe?Sheknewshewasn’texactlythe

idealwoman,butCashhadneverseemedtheshallowtype.

Then again… She remembered the woman from a couple of weeks back, the one

who’dclearlyhadsomethingmorewithhim,onceuponatime.Shewasaskinnything.
Model-like.

BaileyjumpedasCash’shandlandedonherknee.

“Whateveryou’rethinking,”hesaidfirmly,“stopit.”

“I—What?”

“Idon’tlikethelookonyourfacerightnow.”

Shebitherlip.Andthenshelookeddownathishandonher;itwashislefthand,un-

inked,theskinpaleagainstherdarkbluejeans.Shelookedbackupathimandtheireyes
clashed.Herbodytingledasthatfamiliar,indefinableheatgrewbetweenthem,sparkedby
theraw,openlookinhiseyes.

“Bailey,” he choked out. That was all. Just her name, his voice strangling the two

syllablesasthoughtheywerethehardestthinghe’deverhadtosay.

She tore her gaze from his, her pulse racing. Without her permission, her hands

moved,andbeforesheknewitherfingersweretracingtheswirlinglinesofhisoctopus
tattoo.Hisskinwashot,almostburning,andsosoftdespitethehardmusclebeneath.

“Bailey,”hesaidagain.“Sometimes…Sometimesyoulookatmelike…”

“Likewhat?”Sheaskedwhenhisvoicetrailedoff.

“Idon’tknow,”hesaidfinally.“Idon’tknowhowtodescribeit.Butitmakesmewish

Iwasabetterperson.”

She frowned up at him. “Why would you say that? You’re already the best man I

know.”Andassoonasthewordslefthermouth,sherealisedtheyweretrue.Hewasthe
bestmanshehadeverknown.

And so, when he leaned in close, a question in his eyes, she didn’t push him away.

Instead, she reached up and took her glasses off, folding them carefully before putting
themonthelittletablebesideher.AndthensheturnedbacktoCashandcurledherfingers
around the cotton of his T-shirt, pulling him closer. Without her glasses, and with their
facessoclose,heappearedingentledetail;beyondbeautifulandbeyondreal.Andhewas
here,withher.Thatwascloseenoughtobeinghers.Wasn’tit?

Butwait—shedidn’twantthat,anyway.Shedidn’twantthatatall.Soshereachedfor

whatshedidwant:archingup,Baileybroughtherlipstohis.

He may have been the one leaning over her, a hand gripping her thigh, the other

cradling her head—but she was the one in control this time. She surrendered to the

insistentthrumofdesirethathispresenceroused,baskedinhisheatandthefamiliarsmell
of ink and paper and coffee that clung to him. Her tongue slid between his lips and she
tastedhimlikehewasafinewine,lockedawayfordecades,forcenturies,inanticipation
ofthisverymoment.Because,Lord,itfeltlikeshe’dbeenwaitingherentirelifetokissa
manlikeCashEvans.

No.Notamanlikehim.

Justhim.

He groaned against her lips, and then she felt the huge chair shift as he climbed on,

overher,hislegsbracketinghersandhisbroadbodycoveringherown.Shearchedinto
him and was rewarded when her core brushed against the stiff column of his erection,
sendingadeliciousthrillthroughherveins.Desperate,thoughtless,wanting—herreality
sharpenedtoafinepointinwhichnothingbutneedmattered.Sheroseupagain,writhing
beneathhiswickedlydecadentweight,grindingherachingpussyagainsthisswollencock.

“Oh,fuck,”hemoanedlowintohermouth,andthenhisbighandsskimmedtheirway

up her torso, pushing her jumper out of the way. He pulled back to gaze down at her
exposedchest—becausesherarelybotheredwithbras.Whatwasthepoint,whenshehad
so little to fill them? Except now, she wished she had—a Wonderbra, perhaps, with a
mountainofpadding,soherbreastsdidn’tlookquitesosmallcuppedinhisbighands.

Butthen,hedidn’tseemtomind.Hewasgazingdownatherwithhungerinhiseyes.

Thenheloweredhisheadtosuckonestiffnipple,histongueworshippingthetipevenas
hislipstugged,andsuddenlyshedidn’tgiveafuckaboutthesizeofhertits.Howcould
she,whenhemadethemfeelsofuckinggood?

She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips almost instinctively, her mind more

animalthanrationalaslusttookover.Hereacheddownwithonehandtograbherthigh,
kneadingthethickfleshasthoughhecouldn’tgetenough,andshemoanedhisnamelikea
prayer.

Hereleasedhernipplewithalittlepopthatalmostmadehergiggle,histhickstubble

ticklinghersensitiveskin.Butthenshesawthedeadlyseriouslookonhisface.

“Whatisit?”Shewhispered.

Hestudiedherwithsomethingclosetowonderinhiseyes.

“Ijust…Ineverthoughtitcouldbelikethis,”hesaid.“You’reso…”

Shedidn’twaittoheartheendofhissentence.Shedidn’tneedtohearit.Shedidn’t

wanttohearit.

Becauseshe’dhearditallbefore.

Herdesiredrainedlikebloodfromawound.Herbodystiffenedbeneathhim,buthe

didn’tseemtonotice.Probablytoobusydreamingupprettyspeechesdesignedtotalkher
outofherknickers.

“Youdon’tneedtodothat,”shemuttered.

Hefrowned.“Dowhat?”

“Talkallthatfairytalebullshittome.”Shepushedagainsthischest,nothard,buthe

pulledbackasthoughhe’dbeenburned,standingupbeforeshecouldblink.Rearranging
herclothes,Baileystoodtoo.

“Wait,”hesaid,reachingforher—butshesteppedsmartlyoutofhisway,andhelet

hishandfall.“What…WhatdidIdo?”

She squinted in the general direction of the side table, fumbling for her glasses and

trying not to knock any ink bottles over. Then she felt his hand close over hers as he
passed them to her. Her jaw tight, she took the glasses and put them on. They were
smudged,butshewasn’tabouttostandthereandcleanthem.

“I’mnotanidiot,Cash.Idon’tknowhowyouusuallyoperate,butyoudon’tneedto

givemethePrinceCharmingspeechifyouwanttofuck.Justask.I’llgiveyouayesorno
answer.”

He raked his hand through his hair, and she was almost undone by his apparent

frustration.Almost.

“It…Itwasn’taspeech,”heinsisted.“Imean…What,youthinkI’mjustmakingthis

shitup?YouthinkthewayIfeelaboutyouisfake?”

She smiled sadly. The way he felt about her? God, he was good. “When it comes to

relationships, everything’s fake. We all convince ourselves that lust has to mean happily
ever after, or it doesn’t count. And when you base one thing on a lie, everything that
followsisfalse.”

Hefoldedhisarms,hisfacehardening.“That’saninterestingwayoflookingatthings.

Butnothingaboutmeisfake,Bailey.”

“Careful,” she said softly. “Don’t make a liar of yourself.” But then she shook her

head, smiling at her own foolishness. “What am I saying? You can’t help it. Everyone
does.Eventually.”

He stepped closer, and she was suddenly reminded of how very large he was. His

broadbodyloomedoverher,almostvibratingwithanger,despitethecarefulrigiditywith
whichheheldhimself.

“Youwantme,”hesaid,hisvoiceurgent,insistent.

“Obviously.”Shedidn’tstepback,didn’tcower.Shehadnoneedto.Shewasn’tafraid

ofCash.

Justofthewayhemadeherfeel.

“Sowhyareyouputtingupsomebullshitbarrier?”Hedemanded.

She set her jaw stubbornly. She was right. She knew she was. God—she’d watched

enoughfilmsinherlifetoknowalinewhensheheardone.

Heshookhishead,amockingsmilecurvinghislips,becomingsomethingsharpand

savage.“Alright,then.Icangiveyouwhatyouwanttohear.”Hebentoverher,crowding
her,untilshefinallyfelttheurgetostepback,justtoescapetheintensityofhisgaze.“I
don’t know how that romance shit works. None of it. You’re right. I don’t know what I
wasthinking.”

Thoughshe’dsuspectedasmuch,theadmissionfeltlikeablowtoBailey’schest.To

thepurepleasureshe’dfeltjustmomentsago.Butthenhereachedout,wrappedhislong
fingers around her forearms, and when he spoke again, his tone was almost desperate.
“Butyou,Bailey—I want you. Badly. Except I can’t fucking have you. Because all I’ve
ever offered a woman is ninety days. A fling. Three months, at most, and I’m gone. No
emotional bullshit, and no going back. It’s all I’m good for and it’s all I know.” A sour
smirkcurvedhislips.“Yousayyoudon’twantfairytales—butIdoubtyouwantthat.”

She swallowed, working hard to keep her face impassive. To keep the barrier erect.

And if she thought she saw a glimmer of disappointment, of hopelessness, behind his
tiger’seyes…

Shewasmistaken.Shemustbemistaken.

Bailey thought fast. His words were wreathed in challenge, and she knew what he

thought.Thatshewasagoodgirl.Thatsheneededheartsandflowersornothingatall.It
neveroccurredtopeoplethatawomanmightpossessmorethantwodimensions.Thatshe
mightbeawkward,geeky,andhornyallatonce.

Sowhenshereachedoutandputherhandagainsthischest,sheexpectedtheflareof

surpriseinhiseyes.

Andwhenshesaid,“Actually,you’rewrong.I’lltakethat.Happily.”

Hisspeechlessnesswastobeexpected,butitwasstillbloodysatisfying.

Sheturnedtoleave—butshedidn’texpecthimtopullherback.Tocaptureherbythe

wristandtughertohimandwhisper,hisvoiceraw,“Don’tfuckwithme,Bailey.”

“I’mnot,”shesaid.“ButI’dcertainlyliketofuckyou.”

Shegaveherselfasecondtoenjoytheshockonhisfacebeforesheturnedandwalked

out.

ChapterFourteen

LustwasnothingnewtoCash.

How could it be? He was a man of intense appetites. Hence the strict time limits he

placedonhisrelationships.

WhenhewokeuponSundaymorningwithahardcockandaheadfullofBailey,he

wasn’t surprised. He’d been dreaming of the damned woman for months now. It was
almostembarrassing,atthispoint.Andwhilehe’dassumedthatatasteofherwouldbe
enoughtoslakehisthirst,thatdidn’tseemtobetrue.Becausesincethemomenthe’dfirst
kissedher,Cash’sneedforBaileyhadbegunspirallingoutofcontrol.

Thatworriedhim.Thatworriedhimalot.

And now—holy shit. Now she was, theoretically, within his reach. As long as she

didn’tchangehermind.

JesusChrist,hehopedshewouldn’tchangehermind.Itjustmightkillhim.

Astheearlymorningsunfilteredthroughhispalecurtains,Cashthrewoffhisthick,

winter duvet and exposed his naked body to the cool air. He wrapped a fist around his
erectionandstroked,fastandhard,memoriesflashingthroughhishead.

Bailey, her head thrown back, her face a picture of agonised lust. Her body beneath

his, the plump softness of her hips, the silky skin of her tits, those black-coffee nipples
hardeningbetweenhislips…

Thenthememoriesslowed.Changed.Becamesomethingelse.Fantasies,thingshe’d

neverseenbefore.

Hernakedbodyinhisbed,relaxedandsatisfied.Herhandinhisasshesmiledupat

him, her brown eyes sparkling, her joy uncontrolled. Her fingers playing softly with his
hair.Heheardhervoicewhisperinghisname,andshesoundedlikeshelovedhim.

Cashopenedhiseyesandsatboltupright.

“Whatthefuck?”Hemurmured.

Andthenhisphonerang.

Itwasher.Ithadtobe.Hereachedovertothebedsidetable,answeredthecallwith

embarrassingeagerness.

“Bailey?”

“It’sJohn,idiot.Don’tyouhavecallerID?”

Cash sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. Of course it wasn’t Bailey. She’d never

calledhim.“Forfuck’ssake.Whattimeisit?”

“ObviouslynottooearlyforBaileytoringyou.”

“Bailey’salotprettierthanyouare.”

“Soyouadmitthatyouthinkshe’spretty?”

Cash rolled his eyes and lay back against the bed, resigned to his doom. “I admit

nothing.Didyoucallmeforareason?”

“Idid,actually.”

“Yeah?What?”

“I just wanted to let you know that you don’t need to drag me to your mother’s for

Christmasanymore.NotthatIdon’tappreciatetheoffer,becauseIdo.”

“Really?Yougotplans?”CashhadinvitedJohnhomeforChristmasafterconfirming

thattheothermanhadnofamilyworthmentioning.Johnwassettlingintoworkwelland
they were looking into a flat for him, but he’d been set to spend Christmas alone. And
Cashcouldn’thavethat.

“Yep!Thisguyfromwork,Pete,hedoesn’tgetonwithhisfamilyeither.Sowetalked

aboutit,andwe’vedecidedtospendChristmastogether!”

Cashfeltasuspicioussmilecurvehislips.“Really?That’svery…Neat.”

“Yep!”Johnsaidbrightly.“Justtwolonersjoiningforces!”

“Oh,that’swhatitis,isit?”

“Mmhm!”

“Right.Soyou’renotinterestedinthisPeteguyatall?”

“Umm…” The embarrassment in John’s voice practically seeped through the phone.

Butthen,afterapause,hesaid,“Nomorethanyou’reinterestedinBailey.”

“I’mnot—”Cashstopped,draggingahandacrosshisface.Fuck.“Didshe…Didshe

sayanythingtoyou?”

“Nope,”Johnsaidsmugly.“Butyoujustdid.”

“Youlittleshit.”

“MerryChristmas!”Johnputthephonedown.

Ah,crap.Cashrakedahandthroughhishair,gazingatthesoothingblanknessofhis

bedroomceiling.Hecouldhearthefaintnotesofgospelmusicfromtheflatabove.Mrs
Adebayomustbecleaning.

HeshouldbepissedatJohnputtinghimonthespot.Instead,hewasfightingtheurge

togrinlikeasap.Whichwasbad.Verybad.

HewasbeginningtothinkthatthisthingwithBaileywasn’tgoingtogoliketherest

of his… Relationships, if they could be called that. Things weren’t going the way they
should.Hisfeelingsweretoofast;everythingelsewastooslow.

Butmaybethatwastheproblem.Maybehewasspendingtoomuchtimeinhisown

head. She was only a woman, after all; she was only human. And she’d agreed to his
terms,evenifhecouldn’tquitebelieveit.

If Cash stopped torturing himself with the idea of her, stopped putting her on some

kindofperfectpedestalandjusthadher…

Well.Thenhe’dhavehadher,wouldn’the?Pasttense.

Done.

∞∞∞

OnMondaymorning,Casharrivedattheshopbrightandearly,morethanreadytosee

thewomanhe’dspenthisSundayfantasisingabout.Heparkedhisbikeouttheback,as
always, and stamped carefully across the sheen of ice coating the carpark, his heart
poundingalmostasloudashisboots.

But he frowned as he approached the shop: it looked dark. The lights were off. And

whenhetriedtoopenthedoor,itdidn’tbudge.

Becauseitwasstilllocked.BecauseBaileydidn’tworkMondays.

Fuck.

The next day, Cash dragged himself in with fresh determination and no little

frustration. And even though the lights were on, flooding the frozen street with warmth,
andthedoorswungopenwhenhepulled,hecouldn’thelpbutworrythatshe’dbeabsent.
That he’d have to spend another day desperate to see her, to speak to her, choking on
wordsthathadnooutlet.

But she was there, of course. Alone. Perched at the desk in one of her funny little

Christmas jumpers, reading some huge book with tiny writing and lots of diagrams, a
highlighter pen in her hand. She didn’t look up as he came in. She simply became still,
painfullystill,andhereyesflickedoverlinesoftextrapidly,andtheluminousyellowpen
shewasholdingbobbedupanddownintheair.

Cash moved around the room, turning on all the Christmas lights. She didn’t ask—

didn’tevenacknowledgehispresence—buthetoldheranyway.

“Ilikeitwhenit’salllitup.”

Hethoughtshemightnotrespond.Butafterafewmoments,shemurmured,“Okay.”

Softly,absently.Asthoughshehardlycaredeitherway.

Butheknewthetruth.Shewasnervous.

Hewalkeduptothefrontdesk,leanedagainstit,hisforearmsinchesawayfromher

book.“Whatareyoureading?”Heasked.

“BrainAsymmetryandNeuralSystems.”

“Sounds…Hard.”

Shefinallylookedup,andherdarkgazefeltlikeapunchinthegut.“It’sokay,”she

murmured.“NottheworstthingI’vehadtoread.”

“Right,”hesaid.“Listen—Iwantedtotalktoyou.”

“Okay.”Sheputherhighlighterdowninthemiddleofthebook,thenclosedthepages

aroundit.Restingherhandsneatlyonthedesk,shestraightenedherspine,hereyeshuge

behindherglasses.

“Youdon’thavetolooksonervous,”hesaid.

“I’mnotnervous.”

“Alright.”

God,theysoundedridiculous.Likestrangersorbusinessassociatesoranythingother

thantwopeoplewho’ddrownedineachother’sairandlovedit.

“Bailey,”hebegan.“Ireallyfuckinglikeyou.”Notwhathe’dmeanttosay.Butitwas

true,anditwastoolatetotakeitback,soheforgedon.“AndI’msorryaboutlastnight—
ifIdidanythingtomakeyouuncomfortable.That’snotwhatIwant.”Hesighed,pusheda
handthroughhishair,hisfingersitchingforapen.“Youshouldknowthatif—ifyouwant
tochangeyourmind,oryou’renotsure—”

“Not sure about what?” She said softly, cutting him off before he could ramble any

further.“Aboutus?”

Hegrimaced.“Aboutmy….Rules.”

“That’swhatyoucallit?”Hersmilewaswry,teasing.Shewrappedalocaroundher

fingers,andCashwassuddenlydesperatetodothesame.Totouchhersomehow,notin
passionbutincasualintimacy.Asifhehadtheright.

Andthen,asthoughshe’dheardhisthoughts,shereachedoutandputherhandonhis.

Tracedherfingersoverthefaceofthemoonetchedintohisskin.Thesimpletouchwasso
achinglysweet,hefoundhimselfleaningforwarduntilhisforeheadbumpedhers,hiseyes
closed,hislipsabreathawayfromtheirultimategoal.

“I’mnotsomekindofprincess,”shewhispered.“Youdon’thavetotreatmelikeone.”

“Yesyouare,”hewhisperedback,“andyesIdo.”

“Fine.Butprincesseslikeno-stringssexjustasmuchasthenextgirl.”

Fuck.

Justlikethat,hewashardasarock.AndthenBaileypulledaway,slidingoffherstool,

herbrowneyesglittering.Hungry.

“Comeroundhere,”shesaid.

Well,shit.Hiscockstrainingagainsthisjeans,Cashpracticallyranaroundtoherside

ofthehuge,highdesk,hisheartbeatpoundinginhisears.Hestoodbeforeher,thedesk
separatingthemfromtherestoftheworld.Andwithamischievoussmile,shepulledhim
toher.

Notbyhishand.Byhisbelt.

“Sit,” she said lightly, pushing him towards the stool she’d just vacated. And then,

beforehecouldfollowherinstructions—“Oh,butwait.Let’staketheseofffirst.”

CashwatchedinadazeasBaileyfuckingCooper,thewomanhe’dwantedforfucking

weeks,undidhisjeansandpushedthemdownhisthighs.

Washehigh?

Undertheguidingforceofherhand,hefinallysat,watchingherwatchhiscock.He

was embarrassingly hard, considering they’d been talking for all of ten minutes. And he
didn’tgiveafuck;notwhenshestareddownathisstifflengthlikeitwaseverythingshe’d
everwanted.

Baileysankdownontoherkneesinfrontofhim,herhandsglidingoverhismuscled

thighs, drawing closer and closer to his aching cock with every passing moment. He
waitedforwhatfeltlikeacenturyasshestudiedhim,asatisfiedsmilecurvingherlips.

Shemightbesatisfied,buthewasn’t.

Yet.

“Touchme,”hechokedout,hisvoicehoarse.

Shelookedupathim,archingabrow.“Whereareyourmanners?”

A growl of frustration tore from his throat as he gave into temptation and sank his

hands into her hair. “Please.” He’d never begged a woman in his life. But whether she
knewitornot,hewasbeggingnow.

“Alright,”shewhispered.Hebracedforthefeelofhersofthandsonhiscock.

Itnevercame.

Sheloweredherhead,lookingupathimoverherglasses,andslowlyranhertongue

fromthethickrootofhisdickuptotheswollenhead.Cashhissedouthisrelief,hisneed,
hisdesperation,throughclenchedteeth.Hetightenedhisgrip,lacinghisfingersthrough
theslenderlocksofherhair,pullingjustabit,showingherexactlywhathewanted.

More.

Apparently,shewashappytooblige.

She gave him another hot, wet lick, and just as he thought he’d combust from the

wanting,herplumplipsfinallyslippedovertheswollenhead.Hefelthertongueswirling
around his fevered skin, lapping up his pre-cum. And then she sucked him deeper, her
cheekshollowing,hereyeswide.

“Bailey,” he growled, watching as she swallowed him whole. He hit the back of her

throat, felt her gag, felt her get over it. Holy shit. Then she took him deeper, and he
realisedhe’dsaidthewordsaloud—wasstillsayingthem,underhisbreathlikeaprayer.
“Holyshit,holyshit,holyshit…”

Sheworkedhisshaftwiththewetheatofherlushmouth,thepressuresendingstars

shooting through his mind. No dark thoughts now. No fucking thoughts at all. Just the
sight of her coffee-coloured eyes, of Bailey on her knees before him in a fucking
Christmasjumper,andthewayhewantedtokissherandcomedownherthroatandhold
herandfuckhersenselessallatonce—

Thefrontdoorcreakedasitswungopen,andCashalmostdied.Hewascertainofit.

Hisspiritjumpedrightoutofhisbody.

“Morning,boss!Youokay?”

Gemwasstandinginthedoorway,stampingicymudontothewelcomemat,hergaze

blessedlyonherprecious,pinkDocMartens.

Cashstoodup,satdown,stoodup,rememberedthatthedeskwashighenoughtohide

Bailey—andhisnakederection—andsettledforleaningagainstitssurfacewithwhathe
hoped was nonchalance. By the time Gem looked up, her smile bright as always, the
orgasmthathadbeenracingtowardshimlikeafreighttrainhadcometoascreechinghalt.

“Hey,Gem!”Hesaid,andshit,wasthattoo…jovial?

Apparently so. Gem paused in the act of unzipping her coat, giving him a quizzical

look.“Areyouokay?

“Um…”

“Whatareyoudoingdownhere,anyway?Where’sBailey?”

“I’m here!” Bailey breezed, popping up from beneath the desk like a fucking daisy.

His wilting dick was still wet from her lips, and she was smiling and nudging up her
glasseslikenothinghadhappened.

“Whatwereyoudoingdownthere?”Gemfrowned.

Cashalmostchoked.

“Dropped a pen,” Bailey said, sauntering out from behind the desk. “Cash is just

checkingthebookingspreadsheetImade.”

Gem wavered for a moment. He could almost see the indecision on her face. The

womanknewhimwellenoughtorealisethathewantedBailey,thatwasforsure—butshe
alsoknewBailey.Sweet,sensibleBailey.

Bailey Cooper would never suck her boss’s cock behind the reception desk, would

she?

In Gem’s mind, apparently not. Because her face cleared and she said, “Oh, you did

one?Iwassupposedtodothat.ButIdidn’t.”

Baileylaughedalongwithher.“Idon’tblameyou.Itwasapaininthearse.ButI’ve

beenmeaningtotalktoyouaboutthewreathweputoverJay’sdesk…”SheledGemoff
towardsthestairs,natteringawayabouttheChristmasdecorationsintheoffice.

Butthen,justwhenhethoughthe’dhaveafewpreciousminutestopulluphisdamn

jeans,Baileypaused.Therewasateasingglintinhereyeasshecalledoverhershoulder,
“Oh—youroneo’clockhadtocancel.Hewantedtoknowwhenyou’renextavailablefor
atwo-hoursession.”

Hewaitedforhertocontinue.

Shedidn’t.

“Andyousaid?”Hefinallygrittedout.

“Thatheshouldcallinthenewyear,whenwestartthenextcycle.”

“Good.”

Itwasamethodthey’ddevisedawhileback,afterthebooksbegantofillupmonthsin

advance.Theyonlyacceptedappointmentsinthree-monthcycles:thebooksopenedonce
everyquarter,andthatwasthat.

“Hewaspissed.”

“I’msurehe’lllive.”ButImightnotifyoudon’tgetGemoutofherebeforeanyone

elsearrives.

Heramusementwrittenalloverherface,sheturnedandcontinuedtowardsthestairs.

Butthenathoughthit,andCashfoundhimselfcallingafterher.

“Hey.Doyouwanttotakemyoneo’clock?”

Shelookedback.“What?”

“Yourtattoo.Wanttodoittoday?”

He held her gaze steadily, letting her see the dare in his eyes. And he watched as

expressionsflittedacrossherface:surprise,hesitation,wariness,andthendefiance.

“Okay,”shesaidfinally.“Sure.Whatever.”

Hearchedabrow.

“I said yes,” she snapped, glancing pointedly at Gem, and then at the door. Oh, now

shecaredabouthishiddennudity.

“Alrightthen,”hesmirked.“I’llholdyoutothat.”

Shescurriedoffupthestairs,draggingabaffledGembehindher.

ChapterFifteen

SweetBabyJesusinamanger,whythefuckhadshesaidyes?

She must have been light-headed. From standing up too fast. Or choking on Cash’s

absurdlybeautifulcock.

Oneofthose.Baileylaybackagainstthehugeleatherchairwhereshe’dbeenrather

wonderfullyravishedjustafewdaysago.Beforeshe’druinedit,thatis.

Nowherskinwastingling,herfacewaswarmandherheartwaspounding,butthere

wasnothingwonderfulaboutit.Shewasabsolutelyshittingherself.

Gem stood over her, looming like a fuchsia-haired ghost. She was chewing on some

obnoxiously bright Hubba-Bubba, pausing every few minutes to blow an acid-green
bubble.

“Younervous?”Sheasked,chompingaway.

“No,” Bailey said. She heard Cash snort, and turned sharply to look at him—but he

wasbentoverhistattoogun,hisfaceblank.Hm.

“She’sbrickingit,”Jaychuckledfromafewfeetaway,workingonaclientofhisown.

Theclient,ahugebaldguywithalong,whitebeard,washavinghisbarebellytattooed,a
conceptwhichmadeBailey’sownstomachtightenreflexively.Thathadtohurt.

Buthewasgrinningmerrily.“Don’tworry,m’love,”hesaidinabroad,localaccent,

thekindhergrandmotherhadspokeninbeforeshe’ddiedyearsago.“Y’bealright.”He
gaveherawink.

Shesmiledweaklybackathim.“Thanks.”

“Okay,”Cashsaidatlast.He’dbeenfiddlingathislittlestationforagoodtenminutes

now,andheranxietyhadbuiltwitheachsecond.“Take‘emoff.”Henoddeddownather
jeans.

Shestaredathim,aghast.“OhmyGod,no.”

“Bailey,” he said patiently. “While I have many talents, I cannot tattoo you through

denim.”

Ofcoursehecouldn’t.Whatwaswrongwithher?She’dbeensoworkedupoverthe

pain, and whether she was about to cry like a little girl and embarrass herself—the
practicalitieshadcompletelyslippedhermind.

“I—Ijust…Iforgotyou’dhaveto…Oh,God.”

Hechuckled,shakinghishead.“It’salright.We’lldrawthecurtain.”

“Doyouwantmyhoodie?”Gemaskedbrightly.“Togooveryour—“

“Yes!Please!”

“Alright.”GemgaveCashalook.“Buggeroff,then.Letusgetready.”

“Must I?” He sighed dramatically. But he was already standing up. He drew the

curtain around their little area, shutting himself and everyone else out. But Bailey could
stillhearthebuzzingofJay’stattoogun,andthesubtleaggressionofthesoundhadnerves
coilinginhergutlikeapileofworms.

“Comeonthen,”Gemsaidbriskly,pullingoffherhoodie.

“Oh, yeah.” Bailey stood and unbuttoned her jeans, beginning the rather awkward

processofpeelingthestretch-denimfromherthighs.“Thankssomuch,Gem.”

“Noworries.Butyouwon’tbeabletoputthoseonafter,youknow.”

“Oh,crap.”

“I’llnipouttotheshopsandgetyousomething.”

“You’realifesaver.”Baileyfreedherselffromthejeansandstraightenedup,folding

themneatly.Atleastshewaswearingdecentunderwear.

“Whatsizeareyou?”

“Um…”

“Icanlookatyourlabel,”Gemmurmured,“ifyoudon’twanttosay.”

“No,no.It’sfine.Eighteen.Onthebottom,anyway.”

“Cool.”

Bailey sat back against the huge seat, and Gem bustled around her, arranging the

hoodieoverherlapsothatonlyonethighwasexposed.

“Alright,”shecalledafterafewfinaltucks.“We’redecent!”

“Baileymightbe,”Jaycalledback,“butyouaren’t.”

“Hilarious.”GemrolledhereyesasCashsteppedbackthroughthecurtain.“I’llbeoff,

then.Won’tbelong.”

“Okay,” Bailey said. Her voice was unnaturally high and strained. She cleared her

throatandofferedGematightsmile.“Seeyouinabit.”

“Seeyou!”Inaflashofgrey,plastic-ycurtain,Gemwasgone.

Cashsatbesideheroncemore,hiseyestender.“Youokay?”Heasked.

“Yeah.”

“Nervous?”

“Maybe. A little bit.” She thought for a second. “Do you think we could open the

curtainnow?SoIhavesomethingtodistractmefrom…Youknow.”

“Ofcourse,”hesaidsoftly.Hestoodupagainandpushedthecurtainback,bringing

Jayandhisbeardedclientintoviewagain.

“Thisyourfirstone,isit,love?”Themanasked.

“Yeah,”Baileysaid.Hadbreathingalwaysbeenthishard?

“Bitnervous,areye?”

ShejumpedasCashpressedapieceoftransferpapertoherouterthigh.“Um.Alittle

bit.”

“Justgottogetonwithit,that’sallm’duck!”

Cashtouchedherforearm.“How’sthat?”Heasked,noddingtowardsatherlap.

She looked down and found the rose design she’d loved so much, blown up and

covering her leg in dark blue ink. A slow smile spread across her face as she studied it,
andherclamouringnervesquieted,justatouch.

“That’sgreat,”shesaid.“Perfect.”

“Good.”Hepickeduphistattoogunandswitchediton,andthemenacingbuzzsent

heranxietythroughtheroofagain.“I’mjustgoingtodoalittleline,okay?Soyouknow
howitfeels.”

“Okay,”shemurmured.

“Don’t look,” Jay told her from across the room. “It’s better if you don’t look. You

mightbeableeder.”

Great.

Bailey stared up at the ceiling and focused on the music coming in from the entry

room. It sounded like Ariana Grande, which meant Gem had got ahold of the sound
systemagain.NotthatBaileywascomplaining.ShelovedChristmasandChill.

Sheletthesilkyvocalsriseabovethebuzzingtattooguninhermind,thentookadeep

breath. Which filled her nose with the comforting scent of Cash’s soap, or shampoo, or
whateveritwasthatmadehimsmelllikesummerlinen.

Andthenheputtheneedletoherskin.

It…didn’thurtthatmuch.Actually,shewasn’tsureifithurtatall.

Hepulledaway,lookedupather.“Alright?”

“Yeah,”shesaidslowly.“It’s…It’snottoobad.”

Hegrinned.“That’smygirl.”Andthenhebenthisheadoverherthighagainandput

theguntoherflesh.

Shegazedupattheceilingoncemore.Nowthatthiswasactuallyhappening,shefelt

kindofsilly.Shecouldfeeltheneedle,sure,butnotenoughtodescribeitaspain.Itwas
likebeingprickledbyakitten:moreshockingthanagonising.

Infact,she’dbeenmoredisconcertedbythesightofCash’sheadsoclosetoher—

“Done!”Jaysaid,hisvoicerisinginsatisfaction.

“Cheersmate.Cor,that’ssomethin’,eh?”

Bailey looked over to find Jay grinning at his client’s round belly. Except, through

abstractshapesandcolours,ithadbeentransformedintoa…fishbowl?Bulbousgoldfish
chased translucent bubbles across the man’s swollen skin. Bailey stifled a giggle as Jay
begantowrapclingfilmoverthefreshink.

“You’resotalented,Jay,”shesaid,unabletokeepquiet.Cash,itseemed,hadnosuch

concern;hewassingularlyfocusedonhiswork,silentasachurch.Buthey;sheshouldbe
gladhewasconcentratingsohard,right?”

“Thanks,Bailey,”Jaysmiled.“You’reasweetheart.”

“IwishIcouldhavecolourslikethat,”shemused.“ButI’mprobablytoodarkforitto

—”

Abruptly, Cash raised his head, pulling the gun away. He glared at her, startlingly

fierce.

“You’re not too anything,” he interrupted. “You’re the perfect natural canvas for all

thisheavyshitIdesign.It’slikeyouweremadefor…”Hetrailedoff,clearedhisthroat.
“Formywork,”hefinished.Then,justassuddenly,hebentbackoverherlegandwentto
work.

Bailey stared at the top of his head, copper highlights glinting out under the

fluorescentlight.ThenshelookeduptofindJayandhisclientstaringtoo,withsimilarly
stunnedexpressions.

“He never talks while he’s working,” Jay said finally. “I didn’t even know he…

Processedwordswhenhewasworking.It’salwayslikehe’sinsomekindoftrance.”

“Aye,”thebigmanagreed,slidinghisT-shirton.“Heisasilentbastard,ain’the?”

“Usually,” Jay muttered. Then he shook his head slightly. “Anyway, Lee, let’s have

you.Comeon,mate.”

Theylefttheroom,theclient—Lee—givingheracheerywaveashewent.Andthen

Baileywasalonewiththesilentbastard.

Shewaitedforhimtospeak.Tosaysomethingthatwouldexplaintheaberrationthat

hadapparentlyjustoccurred.

Buthedidn’t,ofcourse.

God,wherethehellwasGem?

ChapterSixteen

Heshould’veknownthatthingswouldbedifferentwithBailey.

Weren’ttheyalways?

Cashhadfinishedthelastoftheshadingwithoutanounceofhisusualpeace.Working

onBailey,hehadn’tbeenabletoslipintoafamiliarstateofeuphoria,tofloatawayuntil
nothingmatteredbuthishandsandtheskinbeneaththem.

Nope. She kept him right there. Painfully present. Painfully aware. Bailey Cooper

wasn’tjustacanvas.

Hereallyshouldstayawayfromthisgirl,shouldn’the?

Hewassittinginthecorneroftheroom,watchingeveryoneelsecrowdaroundBailey

as she admired her fresh ink in the mirror. Gem had provided her with a long, flowing
skirt,whichshehikeduparoundherthighs.

Jay, Steve, and Gem were all gushing over the tattoo—and he supposed he’d done a

damnedgoodjobonit—butallCashcouldfocusonwastheshapeofBailey’slegs;the
roundedcurvesofherthickcalvesandthickerthighs.

Oneofwhichwasnowmarkedforever.Byhim.

Abruptly,Cashstood.

Thesuddenmovementhadalleyesswinginghisway.Fuck.Heclearedhisthroat.“We

needtogetthatcoveredup.”

“Alright,”shesaidwithasmile.Shehadn’tstoppedsmilingsincehe’dfinished,and

herexcitementwascatching.Itfilledhischestlikeaballoon,madehimwanttocupher
faceandkisshernoseand—ugh.Whatthefuckwaswrongwithhim?

Hestalkedforwardandpickeduptheclingfilm,tearingoffalengthwithasharppull.

Shesatforhim,andhewrappedherup,hisfingerslingeringagainstthesoftnessofher
skin.Itwaswaytoolatetopretendindifference.Sheknewwhathewanted.Orhethought
shedid—butrecently,hewasn’tevensurewhathewanted.

She was singing under her breath, a tune light as air. He stilled, hovering over her

body,strainingtohearthelyrics.

“But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well… I’ve got you under my

skin?”

Her voice was husky and weak, but beautiful all the same. As the familiar refrain

trailedoff,helookedup,rightintotheheatofherdarkgaze.

“Thankyou,”shesaidsoftly.“Iloveit.”

Henoddedstiffly,unabletospeakaroundthelumpinhisthroat.

“Alright young’ns,” Steve said. “That’s enough faffing about for one day. I know

we’veallgotplentytodo.”

“Barely,”Gemsaid,rollinghereyes.“Weclosetomorrow,anyway.”ButsheandJay

dispersedobediently.Steve’sdadtonecouldnotbedenied.

“WhatareyouguysdoingforChristmas?”Jayasked,cleaninguphisstation.

“Going to my brother’s house and pretending his children belong to me,” Gem said

dreamily.

“Becausethat’snotcreepyatall.”

“Hehasfivekids!No-oneneedsfivekids.Hecandefinitelyshare.”

Jaysnorted.“Whataboutyou,Bailey?’

Cash watched as Bailey bit her lip, her face hesitant. Which was odd. She loved

Christmas.

Butthenshesaid,“I’m…It’sjustmethisyear.”

Abeatofawkwardsilencefell.

“Oh,”Gemsaidfinally.“Oh,that’srubbish.Youdon’thaveanyfamilyyoucan—?”

“No.”Baileystraightenedherskirtandstood,forcingCashtostepback.Hewatched

asshefiddledprimlywiththecuffsofherjumper,keepinghereyestotheground.Maybe
thatwasenoughtohidethesadnessthatsurroundedherfromeveryoneelseintheroom.

Butnotfromhim.

“Youshouldcomehomewithme,”hesaid.

Wait.

Wait.

Hadhejustsaidthat?

Shit.

Shelookedupathim,herbrowfurrowed.“Withyou?”

“Imean…Tomymother’shouse.That’swhereIspendChristmas.Withmysisterand

brother-in-law and… They have two kids. I don’t know if you…” He became suddenly
awareofthesilenceintheroom,ofeveryone’seyesdrillingcuriousholesintohisback.
Hefelt the tipsof his earsheat up, which justmade the wholesituation even worse. He
was blushing, for Christ’s sake, like a teenager. He didn’t think he’d ever been so
embarrassed in his life. What the fuck was he thinking, inviting Bailey to his mother’s
house?Thiswasn’tpartofthearrangement.Thiswasn’thisway.Itcertainlywasn’twhat
she’dagreedto—

“I’dloveto,”shesaid.Thewordsranintooneanother,asthoughshe’dblurtedthem

outwithoutthinking,whichwasahabitofhers.Helovedthathabit.

Especiallyrightnow.

“Really?”

“Yes.Definitely.Imean—thankyou.Forinvitingme.Oh,onlyifyou’resure!Idon’t

wanttointrude.”Hersmilefaded,andhewatcheddoubttakeitsplace.Thatkilledhim.

“I’msure,”hesaidfirmly.Shouldn’tbedoingthis.“Extremelysure.”It’sabadidea.“I

wantyoutocome.”Inmorewaysthanone.

“Oh.”Hersmilereturned,lightasabirdonabarewinterbranch.“Okay.”

“I’mleavingonthe23rd.Getbackonthe26th.Thatokaywithyou?”

“Yeah.Um…Whereisit?”

“Oh,notfar.Justoutofthecity.Butshelikesusalltostay,andmysistercomesover

fromDerby.”

“Okay.Cool.Um…Thanksagain.Forthetattoo.”Shemovedpasthimwithapleased

little expression on her face that made him want to pick her up and hug her. Maybe he
would.Except—

Heturned,suddenlyrememberingthepresenceoftherestoftheroom.Hisstaffstood,

gawpingopenly.“Don’tyoufuckershaveshittodo?”Hesnapped.

Jayshothimasmirk.“Ayeaye,boss.”

Cash raked his hand through his hair and stifled a sigh. He’d never hear the fucking

endofthis.

ChapterSeventeen

Cash’sfamilylivedinafantasyworld.

Oratleast,that’showitfelt.

They’ddriventotheoutskirtsofthecityinacarshehadn’tknownheowned.Itwas

small and dark blue and old-fashioned—vintage, clearly, but she had no idea about that
sortofthing.

Hekeptondrivingastheylefttheconcretejunglebehind.Cityscapesbecamesnow-

cloudskiesandbarrenfields.Theypassedwinter-baretrees,theirbranchesspearingupat
theheavenslikeneedyhandsraisedtothegods.

And then the roads grew thin, winding through the landscape like ribbon. The trees

ripened again as evergreens took the place of deciduous plants. They passed a sign that
read:WelcometoCartham,andhousescameintoview,settledcomfortablyintovastplots
oflandalongonesideoftheroad.Ontheothersidetherestoodwhatcouldonlybecalled
aforest,thetreesasdenseanderectasanarmy’sfrontline.

Baileyraisedherbrows.“Thisiswhereyourmotherlives?”

“Yep.”Heslowedthecardownastheypulleduptoasetofhuge,opengates.They

swung into the brick driveway and crawled up towards a grand house of grey stone, its
garden festooned with gaudy, flashing Christmas lights that contrasted boldly with the
austerevibeofthearea.Itwaslikeseeingablow-upsnowmanandSantaStopHere!sign
infrontofNorthangerAbbey.

“You’renottheonlyonewholikesChristmas,”sheobservedwithasmile.

“No,”hesaidashepulledup.“I’mnot.Listen,Bailey…Justtowarnyou,mymother

thinksthatyou’remygirlfriend.”

“What?!”Shesqueaked,hersmiledisappearing.“Why?!”

Hewinced,clearlyuncomfortable.Thisexplainedwhy,asthey’ddrawnclosertotheir

destination,he’dgonefromlaughingwithherovertheirdisparatemusictastestofalling
intoabroodingsilence.Hewasnervous.

“Well,”hesaid.“Itoldheryouwerecoming.Andsheaskedmeaboutyou,because

shewantedtogetyouapresent—”

“Apresent?OhmyGod,shedidn’tneedtodothat!”

“Shelovesgettingpresents.Themorethemerrier.SoItoldheraboutyou,andshejust

kindof…Decidedyoumustbemygirlfriend.”

Baileysquintedathim.“Why?Whatdidyousay?”

“Um…Nothing,really.Itoldheryourname.Howwemet.Thestuffyoulike.Idon’t

know,normalshit.”

“Well, maybe it’s just wishful thinking on her part. Don’t mothers always want their

sonscoupledup?”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “I just wanted to warn you. I don’t—I mean, she’s kind of

enthusiastic.AndIdon’twantyoutofeelpressuredor—”

“It’s okay,” she said gently. “I know what this is, Cash.” Even though he hadn’t

touched her since that day at work. Even though he’d asked for her number and done
nothing with it but text her cute dog pictures. Even though they were sitting outside his
mother’shouserightnow.

Shewouldn’tallowherselftoforget.Ninetydays.

His hands were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, even though the car was

parked,andshereachedforwardtocoverthemwithoneofherown.“Relax.It’llbefine.”

But then he looked at her with those piercing eyes, so well-suited to this green little

village,andshesawvulnerabilityintheirdepths.

“Whatareyousoworriedabout?”Sheaskedsoftly.

“I…” He heaved out a sigh. “It’s hard to explain. But my mother, and my sister…

We’veallbeenthroughalottogether.Theyreallymeanthefuckingworldtome.Andthey
thinkofmeinacertainway—thewrongway.They’redeterminedtoseethebestinme.
Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t want anything to change that. I need them to believe that
I’m…ThatI’mlikethem.”

“Likethem?”

“Yeah.Likethem,andnotlikemy…”

Helookedreadytochokeonhiswords.Hisknuckleswerebrightwhite,thetendonsof

hishandsraisedbeneathherfingersashegrippedthewheeltight.

“Likeyourfather?”Sheguessed.

Helookedathersharply.“Howdidyou—?”

“Generally it’s our parents who fuck us up. And clearly you have no problem with

yourmother.So…”

“Right.”Hetookadeepbreath.“Yeah.Mydadwaskindof…Fuck.Idon’tknowhow

tosaythis.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bailey said softly, silently willing him to look at her

again.Butshewasn’treadyfortheagonyinhiseyeswhenhedid.

“I can’t tell you. Not all of it. But you make me want to… I don’t know. To try.

Everyonesaid,whenIwasakid,youhavetotalkaboutit.Ineverwantedto.ButI—my
mummademe,uh,seeatherapist.Fuck.Thatsoundsweird,doesn’tit?”

She smiled gently. “I study cognitive psychology, remember? Taking care of your

mentalhealthisn’tweirdtome.”

Hetriedtolaugh.Italmostsoundedliketherealthing,too.“Isuppose.Well…Long

storyshort,mydadwasamonster.AndI’vespentalongtimetryingnottobelikehim.
ButsometimesIworrythat…”

Only, before she could find out what he worried about, the front door of the house

opened.Lightspilledoutintothegrowingdarknessoftheafternoon,andBaileyknewthat
theswirlingmessofconcernandconfusioninhergutwouldhavetowait.

Awomanstoodinthedoorway,tallandbroad,achildperchedonherhip—despitethe

fact that he must have been six or seven. Another child barrelled out from behind them,
olderthanthefirst.

“UncleCash!”Heroared,soloudtheycouldhearhimfrominsidethecar.Cashgave

heronelast,longlookbeforeheopenedthedoorandgotout,sweepingthekidupintohis
arms.

“Hey,kiddo,”hegrinned,andtherewaspureloveinhisvoice.

Baileygaveherselfasecondtofiddlewithherhair.Justone.Thensheputonherbig

girlknickersandgotoutofthecar.

Theairwasicycold,aslapinthefacethatmadehergiddybecauseitmeantChristmas

was coming. Of course, it would still be this cold after Christmas—in January, and
February,andprobablyevenMarch—buttherewouldn’tbemagicintheairanymore.Not
liketherewasnow.

Sheletherexcitementfillher,liftherup.Nevermindhernerves,orthethingsCash

wastryingtosay,orthefearthatshotthroughhereverytimehissmilemadeherhappier
thanitshould.ItwasChristmastime.Nothingtrulybadcouldhappen.

Couldit?

She was jolted from her reverie when Cash laid a hand on her shoulder. He smiled

down at her, his big body protecting her from the wind. The boy in his arms had rich,
brown hair and blue eyes, but his sharp features and petulant mouth were like distant
echoesofCash’sown.

“Will,thisismyfriendBailey.Bailey,thisisWill,myeldestnephew.”

“Hello,” the boy said, his tone curious. He was wearing pyjamas and a thick, blue

dressinggown.Batmanslippersadornedhisfeet.

“Hi,” Bailey said, her voice soft and uncertain. She couldn’t remember the last time

she’dtalkedtoakid.Butthisonedidn’tseemsoterrifying.

Cashgaveatheatricalgroan,saggingwithfakeweariness.“God,Will,you’vegrown

somuchIcanbarelycarryyou!I’mgonnahavetoputyoudown…”

“No,UncleCash!”Theboybouncedandgiggled,kickinghislegs.“Notyet!”

“Oh, alright then.” Cash looked over at Bailey, and his smile was so wide and

unguardedandreal,shecouldn’thelpbutsmileback.“Comeon,”hesaid.“I’llgrabour
stufflater.”

“Okay,”shenodded.Theywalkedtowardsthefrontdoor,littleWilltalkingamilea

minute about school, the pancakes he’d made earlier that day with his grandmother, the
presentshethoughthemightget.

As they neared the house, Bailey felt herself falling behind Cash, her gaze lowered.

Acceptinghisinvitationwasonething,butnowthatshewasactuallyhere,ithitherhow

muchanoutsidershewas.Anintruder.Fuck.Shealmostcertainlyshould’vestayedhome.

Cashsteppedintothehouseandputhisprotestingnephewdownsothathecouldgreet

thewomanwho’dopenedthedoor.Hepulledherintoahugebearhug,liftingheroffher
feet—along with the little boy in her arms, who squealed excitedly. Bailey stood
awkwardlyaside,takinginthehallway.

It was light and airy, decorated in warm neutral tones and covered in Christmas

decorations,justlikethefrontofthehouse.Mistletoehungovereverydoorwayshecould
see, and tinsel was wrapped around every inch of the bannisters, trailing up the long
staircase.

“Bailey,”Cashsaid,capturingherattentionagain.“Thisismysister,Monroe,andmy

othernephew,Charlie.Guys,thisismyfriendBailey.”

“Hi,” Bailey said, trying her best to smile. She stepped forward, meaning to shake

Monroe’s hand, but at the last minute she realised that the woman’s right arm was
wrappedaroundherkid.

“Nice to meet you,” Monroe said, her voice warm. She gave Bailey a half-hug with

her free arm, kissing her cheek. “This is momentous day! I had no idea my brother had
friends.”

Baileylaughed,heruneasemeltingawayatthewarmthinMonroe’soceaneyes.The

tallwomanwassolidlybuilt,withplump,pink,freckledcheeksandgingerhairshovedup
intoamessybun.“Friendsmightbeoverstatingit.We’remoreacquaintances,really.”

“Iknewit,”Monroechuckled.“Sayhello,Charlie.”

“Hello,”thelittleboysaidshyly.Hewasthespittingimageofhisbrother,onaslightly

smallerscale.

“Hi,”Baileysmiled.“Ilikeyourslippers.”

He looked down at the Thomas the Tank Engine footwear, a scowl on his face.

“They’reold.Grandmadidn’tgetmenewones.”

“Ohdear,”Baileymurmured.

“Charlie!Don’tbesorude.”Monroeputtheboydownwithahuff,rollinghereyes.

“He’swornout.Mymum’shadthemdoingallsorts.Anyway,comein,won’tyou?Let’s
getoutofthehall.”

The boys ran off into one room together while Monroe led Bailey and Cash into

another. They stepped into a large, warm kitchen, at the centre of which stood an island
piledhigh with food.A plump littlewoman with a cloudof ginger hairwas bent over a
huge,turquoiseAga,mutteringcursewordstoherselfandstirringalargepot.

“Mum,”Monroecalled.“Lookwho’shere.”

The woman turned, revealing a soft, weathered face creased with laugh lines and

crow’sfeet.Sheworeanapronprintedwithhollyandhersleeveswererolleduppasther
pinkelbows.Awidegrinsplitherface,revealingagoldtoothjustbehindonecanine,and
hereyesglintedafamiliargreenassherushedforward.

“Cash!”Shecried,herarmsoutstretched.

“Alright,Mum.”Hepulledherintoatighthug,liftingherup,andherlittlelegswaved

intheair.Thenhesetherdownandshebegansmotheringhimwithkisses,dragginghis
headdowntoherlevelwithbothhands.

“Lookatyourhair!”Shecried.“Yousworetomeyou’dgetitcutforChristmas!”

“Forgot,”hemumbled.“NewYear’s,yeah?”

“Whenwillyoushavethisawfulbeard?”

“It’snotabeard,Mum.”

“I’venoideawhyyoukeepthisscruff.You’vealovelychin,youhave.Youcouldbea

model, you could! I don’t know why you hate your dimples so much.” Cash’s mother
appeared to be slightly deaf. Her every utterance was at least ten decibels louder than
necessary.ButBaileycouldn’tbringherselftomind.

Then the older woman turned to Bailey, her gaze inquisitive. “And this is your

friend!”Shetrilled.“Howlovely!Whataveryprettyfriendsheis.”ShepulledBaileyinto
ahugthatsmelledstronglyofgingerandsyrupandfacepowder.“I’mKaren.Now,please
make yourself at home, sweetheart. I want you to be perfectly comfortable, I do. Oh,
bugger.” She hurried back towards the Aga, where the pot she’d been stirring was
threateningtobubbleover.

“I’mmakingspaghetti!”Shecried.“Yourfavourite,CashewNut!”

“Mum,”Cashsighed.“Couldyoupleasenot—“

“Oh,yes!I’msorry.Idon’twanttoembarrassyouinfrontofyourfriendnowdoI?”

Shegavehimatheatricalwink.“Isspagbolalrightwithyou,Baileydarling?You’renota
vegetarian,areyou?”

“Oh,no,”Baileyreassuredher,stilltryingtohidehersmirkatthenicknameCashew

Nut.“Spaghettisoundsgreat.”

“Notglutenintolerant,areyou?”

“Um,no.”

“NotontheAtkins?”

“No?”

“The5:2?”

“Mum,”Cashinterjected.“She’snotonanykindofspecialdiet.”

“Oh, good! Good! I mean, I made spare food just in case. I wasn’t sure! Anyway,

dinnerwon’tbelong,butthere’ssnippetsifyou’rehungry,loves.”Shewavedvaguelyat
theisland.

It was piled high with a buffet of food, from pigs in blankets on a hotplate to foil

hedgehogs stabbed with pineapple and cheese cocktail sticks. Monroe leant at one end,
munchingonacracker.

“Wewon’tbeabletoeatallthis,Mum,”Cashlaughed.“Youmustknowthat.”

“Rubbish,”Karencried.“Nonsense!You’reabigstrongboy!It’sChristmas!Igotyou

someTerry’sChocolateOranges,Cashmylove,theywereonofferatSainsbury’s.Doyou
likeChocolateOranges,Bailey?”

“I do, Karen.” Bailey grinned, thoroughly enjoying herself. This was like something

outofafilm;likethekindofmothershe’ddreamtofasakid,someonesoftandwarmand
silly and sensible all at the same time. Like Molly Weasley, or something. Only she felt
disloyalforthinkingsuchthoughts,asthoughherownmotherhadn’tbeengoodenough.
Sheshookherhead,pushedthepangofdisquietaway.

“Excellent!”Karenwassaying.“Wonderful!Iwashopingyoumight,soIgotplenty.I

gotAfterEightsaswell,justincaseyouwereamintgirl.”

“I’llhaveanykindofchocolate,”Baileyadmitted.

“Oh,don’ttellherthat,”Monroewarned.“We’llberollingyououtofthishouseby

thetimeChristmasisover.”

“Cash,”Karensaidsuddenly.“Whatonearthareyoustilldoinghere,boy!Buggeroff,

willyou?Goandseetoyournephews.OrfindGeorge.He’sheresomewhereononeof
hisbloodycomputers…”

“Mybrother-in-law,”Cashexplainedwithawrysmile.“Willyoubeokay,ifI…?”

“Be off with you!” Karen insisted. “We’re not going to eat her. We want some girly

time,don’tweBailey?”

“Um…”

“Don’tworry,”Monroegrinned.“I’llrescueyouifshegetscarriedaway.”

BaileygaveCashareassuringsmile.“I’llbefine,”shesaidsoftly.Buthereachedout

and caught her hand in his, pulling her to him. Her heart leapt at the contact, and at the
concerninhiseyes.

“Areyousure?”Hemurmured,leaningoverher.“I’llstayifyouwantmeto.”

“Honestly,it’sokay,”shetoldhim.Anditreallywas.Shefeltasthoughshe’dfallen

downtherabbitholeandendedupintheverybestofwonderlands.Andthewayhisbig,
warmhandfeltinhers…Thatwassomethingshecouldgetusedto.

Justlikeallofthis.

“Alright,”herelented.Hemovedtoleave,butthenatthelastmomentheturnedback

andpressedaswift,lightkisstoherforehead.Shestoodandwatchedhimwalkaway,her
heartthreateningtofloatrightoutofherchest.

Shehadnoideawhatwasgoingonwiththatman.Butshewasstartingtolikeit.

SheturnedbacktoKarenandfoundtheolderwomangivingheraknowinglook,her

cheeksplumpedupintoasmugsmile.“You’vesoftenedupmyboy,”shesaid,speakingat
anormalvolumeforthefirsttime.

Bailey felt herself blush. “Oh, no, I just—I work with him. I mean, he was kind

enoughtohelpmeoutwhenI…Well—”

“Nevermindallthat,”Karensaid.“IknowmylittleCashewNut.He’safunnyboy,

and he doesn’t know where his own head’s at half the time. But I know.” She nodded
wisely, waving the wooden spoon in her hand from side to side. “Oh, yes! A mother
alwaysknows!”

“Mum,”Monroesaid,comingtojointhemattheAga.“LeaveBaileyalone.I’msure

sheandCasharejustfriends.”

Baileysenttheotherwomanalookofgratitude.

“I’malsosurethatmybrotherwouldjumpinfrontofaspeedingtraintoprotectyour

cat—doyouhaveacat,Bailey?”

“Um…No.”

“Your dog? Guinea pig? Goldfish? The house spider under your bed that you’ve

grownstrangelyfondof?”

“Ah…”

“What I’m trying to say is, he’s smitten.” Monroe smirked. “I’d be concerned if it

weren’tobviousthatyouaretoo.”

“Oh,Roe!”Karencried,whackingherdaughter’sbacksidewithateatowel.“You’re

awful!You’reterrible!AndyouthinkI’maproblem!Leavethepoorgirlalone.Gether
somewine!”

“Youwantsomewine,youmean.”

“Behaveyourself,child!You’renottoobigtogoovermyknee,youknow.”

Baileymightbeutterlymortified,butthatcouldn’tstopherfromlaughinghysterically

atthewoman’santics.

Infact,overthecourseofthenight,shelearnedthatlaughtercameeasyinthishouse.

ChapterEighteen

Baileydidn’tmeetMonroe’shusband,George,untiltheyallsatdownfordinneranhour
later.

Monroe and her mother led Bailey into the dining room before setting the table

together,movingliketwohalvesofonewholeinachoreographeddance.Monroewould
carryasteamingdish,raisingithighastheshorterKarensweptpastherandbackintothe
kitchen. Karen would pour Bucks Fizz with a practiced hand, swinging artfully past her
daughterwithoutevenlookingastheyoungerwomanarrangednapkins.

“There!”Karencooedwhenallwasready,asoftsmileonherfaceasshelookedover

thebeautifullylaidtable.Thenshebellowed,“Boys!DINNER!”

Out of sight, Bailey’s fingers tangled with the tablecloth as the sound of thundering

feetdrewcloser.

Thechildrenarrivedfirst,Willinthelead,withlittleCharliedraggingathisdressing

gown.

“Oh,forGod’ssake,takethoseoff,”Monroeordered,pullingthethicklayersfromher

sons’ shoulders. She turned an exasperated stare at the man who’d just stepped into the
doorway.“Whydidyouputtheminthese?They’llgetbloodyheatstroke!”

“Not a pyjama day without dressing gowns,” the man said mildly. He was tall, like

Monroe,butslight.Hisbrownhairwasthinningandhismouthwasatouchtoonarrow;
his grey shirt was wrinkled and his glasses were slightly wonky. But he had an
endearingly distracted air about him that made his appearance somehow charming. His
gazecametorestonBaileyandhegaveheranod,hislipstiltedintheghostofasmile.
“Hullo,”hesaid.“George.”

“Uh,hi.I’mBailey.Cash’sfriend.”

“You’reUncleCash’sgirlfriend,”giggledCharlie.

“Helikesyou,”Willwhispered,muchmoreseriously.Hissmallfacewasgrave.

“Hey,now,”Cash’svoicecame,playfulandwarm.“Don’tgiveawayallmysecrets,

boys.”Hewalkedintotheroomwithhisusualconfidence,buttherewassomethingmore
there, after just a few hours at home—a kind of comfort, an inner contentedness that
smoothed his sharp edges. He put his hand proprietorially on the back of Bailey’s chair,
then,afteramoment’shesitation,bentdownandkissedherforehead.Theboysexploded
intofitsoflaughter,andBaileyfelthercheeksheat.

“Quiet!”Monroedemanded.“Sitdown.It’stimetoeat.”

Thechortlescontinuedatalowervolumeastheboysmovedtothetable,nudgingeach

otherhysterically.Monroerolledhereyesandsatbesidethem,oppositeBailey.Andthen
BaileyfoundherselfbetweenCashononeside,andhismotherontheother.

But by this point, she and Karen were practically best friends. Aside from Bailey’s

cripplingfearofrejectionandstrongsuspicionthatnomothercouldevertrulyaccepther
darlingson’spotentialloveinterest,allwasgoingswimmingly!

Orsomething.

“Helpyourselves,helpyourselves!”Karencried,wavingherhandsexpansively.“Dig

in!George,whatareyoudoingloiteringbythewindow?”

Georgelookedatthetablewithafaintexpressionofsurprise.“Oh.Sorry,Karen.”He

wandered over to sit by his sons and began nibbling at a piece of garlic bread, his plate
otherwiseempty.

“Eat something, silly boy!” Karen demanded, piling her own plate with a small

mountainofBolognese.

“Daddy ate a whole box of After Eights,” Charlie said around a string of spaghetti.

“Andhedidn’tletmehaveany.”

“Badforyourteeth,”Georgemumbled.

“Badforyourteeth,”Monroefrowned.“Havesomepasta.”

“Leaveme,Roe.”Butasmileplayedfaintlyabouthislips

“Havesomepasta,”shesaidagain,hervoicefirm.

Hesigheddramatically,thenreachedforoneofthehugeservingdishes.Monroerolled

hereyesagain.

Baileyhidasmile,herowneyesslidingtoCash.Hewinkedather,andsheshovelled

inamouthfulofBolognesetostopherselffromlaughing.

“So!”Karensaid.“Bailey.Whatalovelynamethatis.”

“Thanks,”Baileysmiled.“Itwasmymother’smaidenname.”

“Really?”Karenletoutapealoflaughter.“That’swonderful;youmatchmytwo!Last

namesasfirstnames!”

“Oh,right,”Baileynodded.“CashandMonroe.Yeah.”

“EveryonethoughtIwasabitofanoddduck,withthosenames,”Karensaid,leaning

in conspiratorially—as though the entire table and half the village couldn’t hear her
foghornvoice.“ButIwasbeingmodern!Beforemytime,Iwas!Oldisalwaysnewagain,
mylove,yourememberthat.”

“Whereisyourmother?”Georgeaskedsuddenly.

Baileylookedupathim,startledbythequestion.“Um…Shepassedaway.Acouple

of years ago.” Her gaze flew awkwardly to the kids, who were looking at her with twin
expressionsoffascination.Charlie’slittlemouthhungopen,exposingachewedupmound
ofBolognese.

“Oh.Youhavenofamily?”

“George,”Monroehissed,wideninghereyesovertheboys’heads.

“What?”Heasked.“Youtoldmetomakeconversation.”

Monroeheavedoutasighandletherheadfallintoherhands.

“Daddy,”Willsaidhelpfully,“Ithinkyou’redoingthethingMummytellsyounotto

do.”

“Oh,dear,”tuttedKaren.“YoumustexcuseourGeorge.He’sabitfunny.”

“Mum!”Monroecried.

“What, love? He is!” She turned to Bailey, patted her arm reassuringly. “He’s very

clever,yousee.Cleverpeoplehavenothingaboutthem,everyoneknowsthat!”

Monroe groaned into her hands. Bailey sat stiffly, a polite smile pinned to her face.

She had no idea what the appropriate response was here. All she knew was that she
couldn’tbeartolookatCashinthismoment.

“I’m just trying to find out why she’s here,” George said. “If she’s not Cash’s

girlfriend,asheinsists,thenwhyhasshecometotakepartinanotherfamily’sChristmas?
Butofcourse,nowthatIknowsheisanorphan—.”

“George,mate,”Cashsaid,hisvoicelow.“Stoptalking.”

“But—”

“Stop.Talking.”

The table fell into an uncomfortable silence. Bailey chewed her spaghetti

mechanically, the pasta congealing in her mouth. Through the dining room window, she
could see various Christmas lights flashing in the back garden. An illuminated Santa’s
grottoblinkedredandwhite.

Suddenly,Cashsetdownhisforkwithaclatter.Baileyjumped,finallyturningtolook

athim,andfoundhiseyesboringfiercelyintoher.

“Bailey is here because I want her to be,” he said. “I invited her because she’s

importanttomeandbecauseIwantedtospendChristmaswithher.”Hereachedoutand
grabbedherhand,holdingittightontopofthetable.Thenheturnedtolookathisbrother-
in-law.“Youunderstand?”

Georgenoddedasthoughnothinguntowardhadoccurred.“Yes.Thanks,Cash.”

Cashsighed.“Noproblem.”

Andthen,asifoncue,theboysdissolvedintofitsoflaughteragain.

“UncleCash,”Willwheezedbetweengiggles.“You’reholdinghandswithagirl!”

CashgaveBaileyaslowsmile,thekindthatfeltlikemeltedchocolateonhertongue.

“Yep,”hesaid.

Bailey aimed for a demure expression, one that showed she accepted all public

admirationasherdue.Butshefailedmonumentally,andfeltherfacestretchintoagoofy
grininstead.

Shecouldgetusedtothis.

∞∞∞

Hourslater,afterdinnerhadbeenclearedupandthekidshadbeenputtobed,Bailey

foundherselfsittinginthelivingroomwithMonroeandahalf-emptybottleofwine.

The room was vast, yet comfortable and homely. A fireplace sat at the far end, the

mantelpiececoveredbyphotographsandchildren’spaintings.Awoodfireburnedmerrily
in the grate, the only source of light in the room aside from the tiny, winking bulbs
adorningtheChristmastree.

Andwhatatreeitwas.Themonstrousthinggrazedtheceiling,withnoroomforastar

orangelatitstip.Still,itwasweigheddownwithcrimson,goldandcreambaubles,along
with metres of tinsel and little plastic-wrapped candy canes. Underneath, a sea of
beautifully-wrapped presents spread out on the carpet, eating into the room’s space
withoutremorse.Itwouldtakeallbloodydaytoopenthosepresents,Baileythought,but
shewasmoreexcitedthanannoyedattheprospect.Watchingthekidsopentheirpresents,
watchingtheadultssharegifts…ItwouldbesodifferenttotheChristmasessheandher
motherhadhad,alongwithwhichevermanmightbearoundatthetime.

Notbetter,shetoldherself.Neverthat.Butdefinitelysomethingshe’dalwayswanted

toexperience.

“Youwantmorewine?”Monroeasked,andBaileyrealisedwithastartthattheglass

inherhandwasempty.Oops.

“No,Ishouldslowdown.”

“Rubbish.It’sChristmas.Getwastedinthecomfortofyourownhome.”

Bailey chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. Anyway, it’s not my home. I’d

hatetoembarrassmyself.”

Monroerolledhereyes.“Justyouwait.Tomorrow’sChristmasEve;Mumwillcrack

openthesherryandwon’tstoptillBoxingDay.Thenwe’llseewho’sembarrassed.”

Theylaughedtogether,andBaileymarvelledathowquicklythewarm,openwoman

hadstartedtofeellikeafriend.

But then Monroe’s expression sobered. “Listen,” she said, filling up her own glass.

“AboutGeorge—”

“Don’tworryaboutit,”Baileysaidquickly.“Honestly.Don’t.”

“He really didn’t mean any harm. He just doesn’t think before he speaks. And he

forgetsthatotherpeopledon’tseethingsthewayhedoes.”

“Honestly,it’sokay.”

“Helikesyou,youknow.”

BaileygaveMonroeablatantlyscepticallook,andtheotherwomangiggled.

“Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But he told me that you’re ‘both pretty and

pleasant’.”HervoicetookonGeorge’sgentle,distantcadence.

“Oh,well.Aringingendorsement!”

“It’sahellofalotbetterthanhisfirstcommentonmycharacter.”

“DoIevenwanttoknow?”

Monroe shook her head with a snort. “Nope. You don’t. Or you’ll wonder why I

marriedhim.”

Baileywasalreadywonderingthat.Butthen,she’dlearnedalongtimeagothatlove

wasatrickyfucker.

As though she’d spoken the thought aloud, Monroe murmured, “My brother really

doeslikeyou,though.Doesn’the?”

“Oh…Idon’tknow.Isupposeso.”

“You suppose so? I’ve never heard him talk about a woman like that. Not ever.

Certainlynotinfrontofeveryone!”

Bailey shifted awkwardly on the sofa, tucking her feet under her bum. She wasn’t

entirelysurehowtorespondtothat.Shewasn’tentirelysureaboutanythingwhenitcame
to Cash. But she did know that his words at dinner had lit a spark in her—not one that
burnedcomet-brightandfadedjustasfast,oronethatsearedawayhergoodsense.No;it
glowedgently,warmingherupfromtheinsideout.Itdidn’tfeellikeadangerouslove.It
feltlikethekindofsecretthatwasapleasuretokeep.

Monroe was watching her closely. In the low light, the woman’s blue eyes looked

eerilylikeCash’sgreenones.“Mybrotherisacomplicatedman,”shesaid.“Wehadsome
difficulttimesgrowingup.”

Bailey nodded. She’d heard as much from Cash himself. But then Monroe’s next

wordscaughthercompletelybysurprise.

“OurfatherbeattheshitoutofMum.”

Bailey’smouthopened,butnothingcameout.Whatthehelldidyousaytothat?

“Hewasamonster.Hewasobsessedwithher.Therewasnowhereforhertohide.She

ranawayandtookuswithher,anditworkedforawhile.Butintheend,he’dfindus,and
he’d punish her.” Monroe swirled her wine around the glass, as though they were
discussing nothing heavier than tomorrow’s menu. “So I suppose we’re all a little bit
fucked.Whichisfine.ButCash—”

“Whataboutme?”

Baileyjumpedatthesuddensoundofhisvoice,herheartstuttering.Intheshadowsof

the hallway, Cash leant against the doorframe. Darkness danced with light across the
sardonictwistofhismouth.Hishairfellforward,hidinghiseyesalmostcompletely,but
shecouldstillseethatglintofgreen,likeatigerpeeringthroughtallgrass.

Fuck.

ChapterNineteen

Monroe leaned back against the sofa cushions, her expression resigned. “Hello, little
brother.”

“Hello,Roe.Spinningfairytalesagain?”

“Fairytales?”Hervoicewassharp,defiant.

“Turning me into a hero?” He stepped into the room, his arms folded, his jaw set.

“Don’tbother.Itstretchesthelimitsofimaginationtoofar.”

Monroestoodup,herhandsclenchedintofists.“Don’t—”

But Bailey could see what Monroe apparently couldn’t. Cash was on the edge of

absolute fury; every inch of him was vibrating, the lines of his face terrible in their
severity. And the last thing anyone needed was a God-awful war the night before
ChristmasEve.

Andsosheleaptupandwenttohim,pressingherhandagainsthischest.Forcinghim

toconcentrateonsomethingotherthanthedemonschasinghisshadow.

“I’m tired,” she said. And then, when he continued to stare over her head, his face

iron:“Cash.I’mtired.Iwanttogotobed.”

He looked down at her, finally, his eyes focusing on her face. The set of his jaw

softened,justabit.“Alright,”hesaid.“Comeon,then.Let’sgo.”

He turned on his heel and left the room without looking back. Bailey followed,

throwing Monroe an apologetic glance over her shoulder. She was rewarded with a wry
smileandashakeofthehead.

Crisisaverted.Maybe.

Cashledherthroughthenow-darkhallsanduptwoflightsofstairs.“We’reonthetop

floor,”heexplained,thestraineasingfromhisvoicewitheverystep.“Mumchoserooms
forusallwhenwegotthehouse.Shewantedmetohaveskylights.”

“Whoelseisuphere?”Shewhisperedinthedarkness,stayingclosetohim,tracinghis

path by the moonlight beaming through the hallway windows. He passed one door and
stoppedatthenext.

“Rightnow?No-one.Justus.Soyoudon’tneedtowhisper.”Hepushedthedooropen

andflickedonthelight,thentookherhandandpulledherintotheroom.

Hismothermighthavechosenitforhim,butshe’ddecorateditgenerically.Likethe

restofthehouse,itwasdoneinwarm,neutraltoneswithflashesofcolourhereandthere;
inthiscase,skyblue.Still,itwasbigandwarm,andthesoft,creamcarpetwasheavenly
beneathBailey’sfeet.

Therewasabed.Alargebed.Butjusttheone.

Obviously.

SheturnedtofaceCash,suddenlyhesitant.“Is…Didyouputmythingsinhere?”

“Yeah,”hesaidsoftly.“Isthatokay?”

“Um… Yes. Of course. I mean, this is fine.” She sounded like she was convincing

herselfmorethanhim,andsheknewit.Hesmiled,theexpressionchasingawaythelastof
thetensiononhisface.Whichmadeherembarrassmentworthit.

Heheldherhandstightly,histhumbtracingoverherknuckles.

“Bailey,” he murmured, almost to himself. His smile faded, was replaced by

something painfully tender. He pulled her forward, inch by inch, until the only thing
betweenthemwasthecovenantoftheirjoinedhands.Thenheloweredhishead,pressed
his cheek to hers, whispered in her ear. “You are divine. You’re like sunlight through
stainedglass.Thisisn’thowIthoughtthingswouldbe.”Hekissedthehollowjustbehind
herearlobe,andshegasped,herheadspinning.

Then he dragged his lips lower, grazing them along the line of her throat, and

blooming desire became urgent need. “How—how did you think it would be?” She
whispered.

“Heavy.Thickasblood.Notlikethis.Notlikebreathing.AndIloveit.”Hepressed

hisfacetoherskin,inhaled.“IknewIwould,but…Youfeellikesatisfaction.Likeevery
summerIeverhad.ShouldIbeworried?”

Shewasaskingherselfthesamequestion.Butshepressedherpalmsagainsthischest

andfelthisheartbeatinglikeahummingbird’swings,andshesaid,“Trustme.”

Hepulledaway,lookedintohereyesasthoughtheyheldthesecretsoftheworld.“I

do,”hesaid.“Idotrustyou.Idon’ttrustme.”

Thiswasthepartwheresheaskedhimwhy.Whereshecastlightovereveryshadow

thathadeverpassedthroughhisgemstoneeyes.Buthe’dtoldherwhathewanted,andit
wasn’tquestionsandintimacyand—andwhateveritwasthatmadeherblossombeneath
histouch.Cashwantedonethingfromher,anditwassomethingsheknewhowtogive.
Sosheroseupontohertoesandpressedherbodyagainsthisandkissedhim.

Kissinghimwasjustlikebeingkissedbyhim,onlybetter,becauseamanwantinga

womanwasnothingspecial,butBaileywantingaman,wantinghimandchasinghim—
thatwasimpossible.ImpossiblewasCash.

ShepulledatthefabricofhisT-shirt,lettingherdesperationoutofitscage,lettingher

needseethemoonlight,evenifitcouldneverwalkinthesun.AndCashcrumbledjustfor
her, wrapping his arms around her as though they were lost at sea, drinking down her
kissesliketheywerelifeitself.Hishandswenttoherhips,astheyalwaysseemedto,and
sheallowedherselftoacknowledgethewayhewanted—wanteddesperately,wantedher,
Bailey, before he wanted any woman—because his hands told her so; the way they
grabbed, so hungry, so lustful, told her so. Her, and him. No-one else. It couldn’t be
anyoneelse.

Hewalkedherbacktowardsthebedandpushedherdownbeforesherealisedshewas

falling.Themattresshuggedherlikeheaven,letherbouncebackup,andthenhecametoo
andweighedherdown,earthingthecurrentthatflowedthroughherveins.

“Clothesoff,”hetoldher.“Ialwaysseeyounaked,whenIdreamofyou.Clothesoff.”

“Andyou?”

“Whateveryouwant,”hesaid,risinguponhisknees.

“Good.”Shesatandpulledherjumperupoverherhead.Heatflaredinhiseyesasshe

leantbackonherhands,herchestbare.Hemovedtotouchher,butshepulledaway.

“You,too,remember?YousaidwhateverIwant.”

He laughed and stood and stripped. His T-shirt flew and the full extent of his sleeve

wasrevealed:theinkwrappedaroundhisshoulder,fadingintoawingedchestpiece.Then
he unbuttoned his jeans, shoving them off along with his briefs, and straightened before
her. She didn’t know where to look first; at the ink curling over his hips; at the muscle
cordinghisthighs;atthethick,strainingcolumnofhiserection.

Wait.Yes,shedid.

She surged forward and reached for him, but he stepped back, his face tight with

desire.

“Keepgoing,”hesaid,noddingatherclothes.

And so she stood too, and pulled off her long skirt, and thanked God she wasn’t

wearingherawful,tightjeans,andthatherhealingtattoowasnolongerastickymess.

Hedraggedhisgazeoverherbody,fromheadtotoe,andshebaskedinhislust,letting

itwarmherthrough.

“You’renotnakedyet,”hesaidsoftly.

Shereachedupandpulledoffherglasses,hersmileteasing.Hetookthemfromher

withasmirk,puttingthemonthedrawersbythedoor.

“Nicetry,Bailey.Keepgoing.”

Shelookeddownand—oops.Therehestoodlikeafuckinggod,liketheimageofsex

itself,andhereshewasinherBeautyandtheBeastknickers.Notaneasysituationtotake
controlof.Butsheratherthoughtshecouldregaintheupperhand.

Withasmirkofherown,Baileyturnedslowly,presentingherbacktohim.Herback,

andsomethinghe’dalwayslikedfarbetter.

Bending over, she tucked her fingers into the waistband of her underwear and slid

themslowlydown,overthecurveofherarse.Hereleasedalowgroanastheymadetheir
waydownherthighs.

“Fuck,”herasped.Andthenshefelthishandsonher,apalmgrippingeachcheekas

he explored the expanse of round flesh. She stepped out of her underwear a moment
before he spread her wide, pushing her further forwards. And then, suddenly, his warm
breathskatedacrossherslick,exposedfolds.

She braced herself against the bed, opening her legs wider, bending lower, pushing

wantonly back towards his mouth. And he obliged her silent request, his hot tongue
slidingalongherslitinamovethatmadehershiver.

“Ioweyou,”hesaid,pullingback,andhisvoicewasthickandsmoky.“Ioweyoufive

orgasmsatleast.”

“Butyoudidn’tfinishwhenI…”

“Doesn’t matter. Five minutes of heaven equals five orgasms.” He pushed two thick

fingersinsideher,strokingthesensitivewallsofherpussy,pumpingbackandforth.She
moaned, and he laughed darkly, the exhalations caressing her skin. “I think we can
manageit.Don’tyou?”

“I… Um… Oh!” Bailey’s word broke off in a shriek as the tip of his tongue swept

overherswollenclit.“Fuck,dothatagain.”

Hedid,andthenagain,faster,andfaster—allthewhileplunginghisfingersintoher

pussyuntilherbackbowedandherbreathleftherbody.Baileycriedoutherdesperation
as he pushed her closer to climax, his thick fingers and clever tongue claiming her in a
sensual assault. His tongue strayed for a moment to join his fingers at her entrance,
lappingathergrowingwetness,andhemoanedashetastedher.Hislicksgrewfrantic,as
though he couldn’t get enough of the molten desire dripping from her pussy—but then,
finally, he returned to torturing her swollen clit, and she broke. Writhing against the
blankets,Baileycamewithashudderandalow,gutturalsigh.

He pushed her forward until she was lying fully on the bed, left limp as a doll by

pleasure.Thenhefollowed,lyingonhissidebesideher,andsherolledoverontoherback.
His hair hung down as he looked at her, studying her face as though committing the
featurestomemory.Shesmiledhazilyandreacheduptoplaywiththesilkenstrands.

“There,”hewhispered.“That’sjusthowyoulookatmewhenIdreamofus.”

“Doyoudothatoften?”Sheasked,teasing.

Hetracedafingeracrossherlips,followingthecurveofhersmile—buthisownface

wasserious.“Yes,”hemurmured.“Ido.”

Cash knew that he was saying too much. He knew that even if he could keep his

mouth shut—if he could choke down the adoration that sprang from his chest like
wildflowers—his body would give him away. Because surely she must know, when he
touchedherlikethis,thatheneededher.

Andyet,shewasn’tafraidofhisintensity.Shewasn’trunning.Shelookedupathim

withtrustinhereyes—trust,andsomethingsofter.Somethinghardertospotandinfinitely
moreprecious.Somethingsobright,hewasforcedtolookawayfromitsbrilliance.Her
fingerstwistedhishairgently,playfully.Herlegs,smoothandsoftandplump,tangledup
withhis.Andshestillwantedhim.

Heleaneddownandkissedher,lethisfeelingspouroutinsilencethroughthemedium

of lips and tongue. And she pulled him closer and mewled like a kitten and arched into
himinsuchawaythatheforgothimselfcompletely.Hesettledoverher,hookinganarm
underherlegandpushingitupoutofhisway.Thenheshiftedforwardsuntiltheheadof
his aching cock came to rest against the heaven that was her cunt. But the minute that
searingheatpressedagainsthim,heletoutadefeatedsigh.

“Fuck.Condom.”

Shehuffed,pouted,andhelaughed.

“What’sup,kitten?”

“Ifyou’regonnagetmeallworkedup—”

“All worked up, hm?” He climbed off the bed and stood up, taking a moment to

admire her, laid out before him like an unwrapped gift. The flare of her hips, the dark
velvet of her skin, her hair splayed out like ribbons around her head. Then he forced
himselftocrosstheroom,snatchingprotectionfromhisluggage.Openingtheboxashe
walked,Cashreturnedtothebed,pullingoutacondomandtossingtherestaside.Hetore
itopenandsheathedhimselfwiththeeaseofpractice,thenclimbedoverBailey,settling
betweenherlegslikethespacewasmadeforhim.

But then she traced her fingers over the ink on his ribs, and he stiffened. Held his

breath.Waited.

“You have a scar,” she murmured, stroking the thick ridge of tissue that he’d half-

hiddenwithpitch-blackink.Butofallthewomenhe’deverbeenwith,ofcourseshe’dbe
theonetonotice.Theonewhotrulysawhim,whetherhewanteditornot.

“Yeah,”hemanaged.

“How—?’’

He bent down and kissed her, soft and teasing. And by the time he pulled back, she

wassilent,asmilecurvingherlips.Butstill,shetouchedthescar.Sohekissedheragain,
histongueslidingagainsthersuntilshemoanedintohismouthandwrithedbeneathhim.
Until his heart stopped racing and his skin stopped prickling and the lazy, liquid heat of
desireovertookthesharpbiteofpanicinhisgut.

Shestared up athim, her eyeswide, her lips parted,and he prayedhe’d see her just

likethisahundredthousandtimesbeforehedied.Thensheputherfingertipstohischeek
and wrapped her legs around his waist and said, “Cash. Need you now.” And every
thoughtbutonelefthishead.

Hepositionedhimselfatherentrance,feltherwetheatcallingtohim.Thrustforward,

slow and steady, his rock-hard cock pushing its way into her tight cunt as she fluttered
aroundhim.

“Fuck,”shegasped,sinkingintothesatisfaction,thedivinewayhestretchedandfilled

herwitheveryinch.“Fuck,fuck,fuck—”

Hekissedher,swallowedherneedasshesethiseverynerve-endingonfire.Whenhe

settledhimselftothehiltinhersweetpussy,shemoanedagainsthislips,andhethought
he’dloseitinthatverymoment.

Buthedidn’t.Heheldon—easedbackfromthedeath-gripofhercunt,thefrictionso

delicious it sent sparks flying behind his eyes—then thrust his way back in, again and
again.Shegaspedinhisear,pressedhersoft,slickskintohis,pantedandsworeandraked
hernailsacrosshisback.Andeverydesperatecommandshegavemadehisballstighten,
butheignoredthemanyway.Kepthispacesteady.Stokedtheflameshigherandhigher,
untilBaileythoughtshemightfaintwithpleasure.

“Please,” she whimpered, clutching his biceps, digging into the rigid, straining

muscles.“I’msofuckingclose.”

“I did promise you five, didn’t I?” He panted, grinding into her, still achingly slow

despitehiswords.“Andyou’resoprettywhenyoucome.”

“Faster,” she begged, electricity coursing through her veins, need ripening with his

everythrust.

“You feel so fucking good,” he grunted. “How will it feel when you come on my

cock?”Hewasfinallygivingherwhatshewanted—whatsheneeded.Heopenedherlegs
wider,bringingthemuptorestagainsthisshouldersashethrustfasterandfaster.Thenhe
reached between their bodies and rubbed her clit in rough, firm circles, and she thought
she might weep. When he bent his head to suck the stiff peak of her nipple, she came
again,justlikethat.

Nowshewasfucked,becausefromthatpointon,hehadhernumber.Overandover

againhedrovehertotheedge.Hepumpedintoher,strokedthatachingnubbetweenher
legs,workedhersensitivebreasts,andshewhimperedandbitherownfistandbrokeinto
piecesaroundhimeverytime.

“I’msorry,”hegruntedashisrhythmstuttered,ashisthrustsbecamefranticandhis

facetwistedwithpassion.“Fourwillhavetodo.You’retoofucking—”

“What?” Bailey grinned, tightening around him, watching the pleasure spike in his

eyes.“I’mtoowhat?”

“Perfect,”herasped.Andthen,finally,afterteeteringendlesslyattheprecipice,Cash

followedherovertheedge.

ChapterTwenty

CashhadthebestsleepofhislifeinBailey’sarms.Whenheawokethenextmorning,he
found the room bathed in a pale light that reflected his mood perfectly. Peace reigned,
from the winter sun streaming in through the windows to the light tapping of computer
keyscomingfromthechairinthecorneroftheroom.

Untilthetappingturnedfaster,sharper,moreirritable.Heopenedhiseyesjustastaps

turnedtoslaps.Baileywascurledupinthearmchair,smackingatherlaptop,frustration
alloverherface.

“What’s up?” Cash frowned. She looked up at him, and he was alarmed to see tears

gleaminginherdarkeyes.

“My laptop’s fucked. And I think I just lost the last two thousand words of my

dissertation.”

“Shit.”Hegotupoutofbed,barelynoticingthefactthathewasstillnaked.Thetwo

ofthemhadstayeduplateintothenight,exploringeachother’sbodiesinbothdesireand
innocence, running through the box of condoms like they were going out of style. He’d
beenhopingformoreofthesamethismorning,butclearlythatwasn’tgoingtohappen.
Bailey looked ready to throw something or burst into tears, and neither of those options
soundedgoodtohim.

“Hey,” he soothed, kneeling before her and pulling the clunky old laptop from her

hands.“Don’tworry.Youhaveplentyoftime,right?Yourdeadline’snotformonths.”

Shesniffed.“Howdoyouknowthat?”

“Idolistenwhenyoutalk,youknow.”

“Inevertoldyouthat,”sheinsisted.

Hewinced.“Yeah.Ilistenwhenyoutalk,butyou’renotalwaystalkingtome.”

Atleastthatadmission,embarrassingasitwas,shockedthemiseryoffofherface.She

giggledslightly,pressingherhandtohischeek,andhelethimselfsinkintothetouch.She
waswearingoneofhisT-shirts,and,hesuspected,apairofhisboxers.Despitehimself,
hefelthiscockharden.

Shelookeddownandarchedabrow.“Seriously?”

“What?”

“Aren’tyoutired?”

Hewaggledhiseyebrows.“Areyou?”

“Stop,”shelaughed.Butthenherexpressionsobered.“Fuck.Idon’tknowwhatI’m

gonnadoaboutmylaptop.”

“Ah,”hesaid.“Right.Well,Iwouldn’tworryaboutthattoomuch.”

“HowcanInot?!”Sheshookherheadfrantically,dislodgingherglasses.Hepushed

themsafelybackuphernoseandwasrewardedwithaglare.

“Just… Hang on,” he sighed, getting up. While she grumbled under her breath, he

wentovertothewardrobe,wherehe’ddumpedtheirluggagelastnight.Heunzippedhis
suitcase—yes, he’d brought a suitcase, but in his defence, it was 80% presents—and
pulled out the biggest box. Just like the rest, it was wrapped in brown paper that he’d
pickedupfromthepostoffice.Butthisonehadaredribbonaroundit,tiedinasclosean
approximationofabowashecouldmanage.

HereturnedtoBailey’slittlecorneroftheroom,puttingtheboxinherlap.“Hereyou

go,”hesaid.“MerryChristmas.”

Shepursedherlips.“It’sChristmasEve.”

“MerryearlyChristmas.”

“Whatisit?”

“Openitandfoundout.”

Shewinced.“It’snotexpensive,isit?”

“Comeon,woman.Openthebloodypresent.”

“It’snotalaptop,isit?Pleasetellmeit’snotalaptop.”

“It’s not a laptop,” he said. She gave him a hard look, but then cracked a smile and

pulledofftheribbon,tearingintothepaperwithbarely-disguisedglee.

“Oh,myGod.Cash!Yousaiditwasn’talaptop!”HewatchedasBaileygapedatthe

boxinherlap,smoothingherfingersoverthepictureonthefront.

“It’snot,”hesaidsmugly.“It’saMacBook.”

“AMacBookisalaptop.”

“Nope.AMacBookisaMacBook.”

Shesmackedthebackofhisheadlightly.“Stopthat.Ican’taccept—“

“Whatyoucan’tdoisrejectaChristmaspresent,youungratefulwench,”heteased.

“But—”

“Bailey.Comeon.Yousaidityourself;youneedsomethingtoworkon.AndIdon’t

want you using a piece of crap that loses your work. Although,” he added with a grin,
“that’s really your own fault. You should save it to a memory stick every few hundred
words.”

“You’reinsufferable,”shehuffed,rollinghereyes.Butherfingerscurledaroundthe

edges of the box, and she looked down at it with a mixture of awe and pleasure in her
eyes.“Ijust…Thisisreallythoughtfulofyou,Cash.”Shelaughedsuddenly.“Thepresent
Igotyouiskindofterribleincomparison.”

“Impossible,”hesaid,standingup.“Ifit’sfromyou,I’msureit’llbeperfect.”

“That’saverysweetthingtosay.”Shesquintedupathimmockingly.“Actually,are

youfeelingokay?You’rebeingunbelievablypleasantthismorning.”

“Yep.CuzIfinallygotyouintobed.”Hegrabbedherhandandpulledherup,intohis

body.Thenhereachedaroundherandsqueezedherarsehungrily.“Youshouldcomeback
andtopmeupbeforetheeffectswearoff.”

She tutted, rolling her eyes at him. But she followed him willingly as he walked

backwards to the bed, their bodies tangling together. And she kissed him happily as he
pulleddowntheboxersshewaswearing.Andshemoanedforhimfiveminuteslater.

Soheguessedshedidn’treallymind.

∞∞∞

“Will!”Monroehollered.“Playnicely!Areyoulisteningtome?”

Willtookthetoycaroffofhislittlebrother’sheadwithaguiltypout.“Yes,Mum.”

“I don’t know why you cluck over them, sweetheart,” said Karen. “When you and

yourbrotherwerelittleyou’dstuffrocksuphisnoseandallsorts.”

Monroegavehermotherahorrifiedlook.CashsharedanamusedglancewithBailey,

whowassittingonthecarpetwiththekids,butdoinglittletotemperthe…Enthusiasmof
theirplay.Turnedoutshewasatotalpushover.George,whowastappingawayatbotha
laptopandatabletatonce,gruntedsomethingthatmighthavebeenalaugh.

As the sun sank into the trees, the living room became a breathing embodiment of

Christmas Eve. They’d spent the day playing hide and seek in the huge, icy garden—
which George was especially good at—and then his mum and Bailey had done some
baking with the boys after lunch. Now every belly was full, yet homemade gingerbread
remainedpiledonthecoffeetable.TheTVwason,playingaShrekfilmthattheboyshad
insistedberecorded—butofcourse,theyweren’twatchingitatall.Thefirecrackled,the
kidsbickered,asdidCash’smotherandsister.

Andhiswomansatthereinthemiddleofitall,exactlywherehewantedher.

Shecaughthimstaring,gavehimashysmile.“What?”Sheasked,pushingherglasses

uphernose.

“Youlookbeautiful,”hetoldher,hisvoicelow.

Her smile widened, and she looked down, letting her hair swing over her face. He

likedthat.Helikedmakinghershy,andhelikedmakinghersmile.

Sofuckingmuch.

“I’mverypleasedforyou,Cash,”Georgesaidsuddenly.

“Youare?”Cashgrinnedathisbafflingbrother-in-law,thoughthemanhadn’tlooked

upfromhisglowingcomputerscreens.“Why’sthat?”

“Roehasalwaysbeenworriedthatyouwouldcloseyourselfoffcompletely.Butnow

youareinlove,justlikeus.”

Cashstared.Hismouthbecamedry,andsoundfilteredintohisearsasthoughthrough

atunnel.Thekids,theTV,whateverhissisterwascurrentlysayingtoGeorge—itallfaded
intothebackground.AndallhesawwasBailey’sshockedface,asthoughhe’dzoomedin

onherlikeapictureonascreen.

Then, all at once, every sense returned, slapping him in the face with their intensity.

Justintimeforhimtohearhimselfsay:“I’mnotinlovewithBailey.”

Silence fell. Actual silence. It was broken only by the sound of Shrek grousing at

DonkeyontheTV.Funny,really;irreverencewasthebackingtracktowhatfeltlikethe
heaviestmomentofhislife.

Bailey looked like she’d been slapped. All the warmth fled her skin, as though the

bloodhaddrainedfromherface.

Cashstood,panicdescendinglikeamist.

“Really?”Georgeasked,clearlyconfused.“BecauseIwasquitesure—”

“Shut up,” Monroe hissed. Then she stood up too and clapped her hands. “Time for

bed,boys!”Shetrilled,hervoicereachingadecibelthatwoulddotheirmotherproud.

Oh,fuck.Mum.Shewasrightthere,staringathimwithdisappointmentinhereyes.

Andwhatthefuckwashesupposedtodowiththat?Disappointmentforwhat?He’d

done everything right, everything he could to avoid turning out like the monster who’d
fatheredhim.Hewasn’tgoingtoriskitallnow,justforawomanwhosetouchwaspure
sunlight.Hewasstrongerthanthat.Thiswasstrength.

“Butit’snotevenlate!”Willwasmoaning.

“Doasyourmothersays,”Georgetoldhim.Asthougheverythingwasfine.Asthough

Cash’sworldwasn’tsplintering.

“I’mnotinlovewithBailey,”hesaidagain,hisvoicevehement.

Monroeturnedtoglareathim.“Ithinkweheardyouthefirsttime!”Shesnapped.

Buthebarelynoticedher.HefocusedonBailey’sface,onthetearsthreateningtospill

overherlashes.Andhesawtheexactmomentwhenshereignedthemin,whenshesether
jawandstraightenedherspineandlockedhimoutofherheartforever.

Andhehadnoideawhythesightfeltlikeadeath.

He looked to the right, where his mother remained—for once in her life—stonily

silent, and then to the left where George—fucking George—continued to frown at him
sceptically.Andpaniccontinuedtoclawathisthroat,drawingblood.

“I…Ihavetogo,”hechokedout.Hepushedpasthissisterandhisnephewsontheir

wayoutofthelivingroom,stumbledintothehall.Hadenoughpresenceofmindtoshove
onhisbootsandgrabacoat.Thenheunlockedthefrontdoorandsteppedoutintotheicy
evening.

ChapterTwenty-One

Bailey shoved her ancient laptop into her holdall with shaking hands. It took three tries,
butshefinallyforcedthewide,plasticcarcasspastthezipperofthebag.Herbreathwas
fastandlaboured,asifshe’djustrunamile—butshehadn’trunatall.No;she’dleftthe
living room and climbed each flight of stairs at a sedate pace, as though she were a
duchessandnotaninterloperwho’djustbeenquitefirmlyputinherplace.

Shit.

Releasingalong,shakingsigh,shesatdownheavilyonthebed.Thebedwherejust

last night, she’d allowed herself to believe that she’d found an impossible man. A man
whowascapableofrealpartnership.

Ofreallove.

She should never have judged her mother. But Bailey hadn’t realised just how

convincingmencouldbe.Howtheycouldspeakwithalook,withatouch,andthenopen
theirmouthsandbringthefantasycrashingdown.

Fuck,Cashhadbeenclearfromthestart.He’dtoldherexactlywhathewanted.She’d

agreed!Andstill,sheendedupascribingimpossiblevaluestointangiblethings.Endedup
developing feelings, for Christ’s sake. She’d made a damned fool of herself, and she
deservedthehumiliation.

Butshedidn’thavetolikeit.

With a huff of disgust, Bailey tore off her glasses, swiping angrily at the tears that

threatened to overflow from her lashes. Was she a child to tantrum over rejection? Her
ownmotherhadhandleddivorceswithmoredignitythanthis.

Clutching that thought tightly to her heart, Bailey took a deep breath. Then another,

andanother,untiltheshardoficeinherchestfeltlikenothingmorethanasplinter.She
cleanedherglassesonthebedsheetandpushedthembackintoplace,thentiedherlocsup
neatly.

There.Nowshewasbeingsensible.Nowshewasincontrol.

Firstthingsfirst:shehadnoride.Ifshewantedtoleave,thatmeantorderingataxito

themiddleofnowhereonChristmasEve.AndshewasprettysurethatUberwouldn’tbe
anoption.

Okay,soshe’dGoogleit.Thepricewouldbeastronomical,butshehadsomesavings.

Humiliatedflightfromherboss’sfamilyhomewasn’texactlywhatshe’dintendedtouse
thosesavingsfor,butwhatever.

Her movements calmer now, Bailey stood and went over to the little pile of luggage

Cashhadleftbythewardrobe.Betweentheirbusynightandadayspententertainingthe
kids,theyhadn’treallyhadtimetounpack.Hermotherwould’vecalledthatasign.

Someoftheirthingshadbeenpulledoutandleftontopofthepile,though,andBailey

spied one of her favourite cardigans amongst the mess. She wasn’t about to leave that
behind, or anything else; if he had to return any of her things at work, she’d die of

mortification.

God,work.She’dhavetoseehimeveryday.Everyonewouldwanttoknowhowtheir

Christmaswent.Ofcourse,thatwasassuminghewouldn’tsackher,afterthismess.But
he’dneverdosomethinglikethat.

Wouldhe?

Bailey flicked through her mental Rolodex of men, the archetypes she’d created

throughyearsofwatchinghermother’smistakes.Forwhatfeltlikethethousandthtime,
shetriedtofigureoutexactlywhatkindofmanCashEvansreallywas.

TherewastheRoger:aguywhowaslookingforatrophy,abadgeofhonour,another

enviablepossessionforhiscollection.

Thatwasn’tCash.Ifitwas,he’dhardlygoforagirllikeher.

Okay.ThePaul:amessofamanwhosebigdreamswereeclipsedonlybyhissenseof

entitlement. Work was for others; rewards were his due. Probably called his bedmates
Mummy.Thought‘girlfriend’wascodefor‘live-inmaid’and‘wife’wascodefor‘slave’.

ButCashdidn’tfitthatmouldeither.

Whoelse?

TheMike:desperatetobeloved—nottoloveinreturn,buttofeellikehewasworth

something. Charming one minute, hateful the next. Every insult he sent your way was
originallymeantforhimself.Toxictothecore.Neededapunchingbagwithapussy.

WasthatCash?Themanwho’dspentalldayplayingtirelesslywithhisnephews,the

manwhoworshippedhismotherinhisownquietwayandlovedhissistersodearly?

Shewasstartingtothinkthathedidn’tfitintoanyofhercategories.Infact,themore

sheconsideredthemanshe’dcometoknow,themoreshethoughtthathemightsimply
be…Good.

Good,andnotatallinlovewithher.Obviously.

Irritated, Bailey tugged roughly at the sleeve of her cardigan, hanging out from

beneath all their other luggage. It came loose—and pulled down the whole pile of stuff
withit.Forfuck’ssake.

Shekneltonthefloorandpickedeverythingup.ItwasmostlyCash’s:hisclothes,the

boxofcondomsthey’dalmostemptied—shefelthercheeksheatupandhatedherselffor
it.And—whatwasthis?

Hissketchbook.No—notthekindshe’dseenbefore,thekindheleftlyingaroundthe

shop and bought in bulk because he went through them so fast. This one was smaller,
heavier,boundinbutteryleather.Aloosesheafofpageshungfromitsedge—theymust
have been dislodged when everything fell. Bailey picked up the book with brisk hands,
pushingtheloosepagesbackin.

Butthenhergazecaughtonasliceoffamiliarity,castinblackBiro.Thecornerofa

smile,theedgeofathickpairofglasses,afewlonglocs.

Thatwasher.Cashhaddrawnher.

She eased the paper slowly out from the sketchbook’s embrace, her heart pounding.

Sheshouldn’tbedoingthis.Itfeltlikereadingsomebody’sdiary.Asmallpartofherbrain
saidFuckhim,anyway!Butmostofherwashorrifiedatherownaudacity.Nottomention
her weakness. She shouldn’t want to look inside his head—she shouldn’t even want to
lookathim.

Thepageslidfreeandshecamefacetofacewithherself,andherdoubtsdisappeared.

Shesimplydidn’thaveroomforthemanymore.

God, he was talented. She hadn’t known that he could do this—portraiture, and so

realistic, too. The drawing took up the whole page; just her, smiling at nothing, wearing
oneofherChristmasjumpers,theonewiththesnowflakepattern.Theimagewascutoff
just below her chest, but that was enough to recognise her clothing. In the corner, he’d
written:Bailey,life,16/12/17.

Sheturnedthepageover.Therewasmore.

This side featured multiple drawings, much smaller than the other one, and more

cartoon-likeinstyle.Therewerefour,andshewasinallofthem.Butshewasn’talways
alone.

In the first, she was drawn from above, lying down in bed. Naked. She remembered

hiswordsthenightbefore:Ialwaysseeyounaked,whenIdreamofyou.Herlocswere
arrangedintoheart-shapesthatfannedoutaroundherhead,scatteredwithroses.Thesight
made her smile. Then she wiped her expression clean. No smiling. No softening. No
weakness.

In the second ,she was another version of herself, a winged version whose hair rose

aboutherheadinamaelstrom,withterribleeyesandawickedsmile,wearingagownthat
lookedlikeadarkweddingdress.

Inthethird,shewasherusualself,cladinjeansandajumper,butsheheldhandswith

someone whose body was just out of frame. Only their forearm was visible. A forearm
decoratedinfamiliarink,tentacleswrappingarounditswrist.

In the fourth, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor. There was a smiling, curly-

hairedtoddlerinherlap.

Shestaredatthefourthpictureforalongtime.Along,longtime.

Thensheopenedthesketchbook.

Bailey, life, 21/12/17. Bailey, 17/12/17. Bailey, life, 12/12/17. She worked back from

themiddletothefront

09/12/17.

28/11/17.

20/11/17.

Bailey,life,30/10/17.

Whatthefuck?Intheseimages,shewasinthecoffeeshop,hersleevesrolledupand

herhairinabun,steamingmilkorstackingmugsorservingacustomer.

He’dbeendrawinghersincethecoffeeshop?

She flicked to the very first page. It was a quick sketch of she and Tara, laughing

together behind the counter. Labelled Coffee Girl, life, 12/10/2017. In bold, block caps
beneaththelabel,Cashhadwritten:TOMORROW,FINDOUTHERNAME.

She remembered that day. The first time he’d come in, dragged by a pretty girl with

bluehairandalipring.She’dneverseenthegirlagain.

Butshe’dseenCash.

Alightknockinterruptedhersnooping.Shedroppedthebooklikeitwasonfire,then

pickeditupagainandcloseditcarefully,layingitontopofCash’ssuitcase.

“Hello?”Shecalled,risingawkwardly.Herleftfoothadgonetosleep.

“It’sme,love!”Cametheloudresponse.

Bitingherlip,Baileysatdownonthebed.“Comein.”

ThedoorswungopenandKarenenteredlikeatornado,crossingtheroominwhatfelt

like a single swoop. She pulled Bailey up off the bed and into her arms, her ample
cleavagelikeapillowtothegut.

“Oh,youpoorthing.Thatbloodysonofmine.Ooooh,Icouldthrottlehim!”Hergrip

onBailey’swaistcamedangerouslyclosetoasimilarlevelofviolence.Butthensheletgo
suddenly and stepped back, slapping her palms to her own cheeks. She looked like a
cartooncharacter.“Monroetoldmenottogetinvolved.Itoldherbuggeroff,it’smyright
togetinvolved;andanyway,I’mnotgettinginvolved!Ijustwantedtotellyousomething
—”

“Karen,”Baileysaid.“Youreallydon’tneedto—”

ButtheotherwomaninterruptedBaileywithawail,hergazegoingtotheholdallon

thebed.“Oh,Lord,you’repacking!You’renotgoing,areyou?Howwillyougethome?
Well,ofcourse,Georgewoulddriveyou.ButIdon’twantyoutoleave!Thatwon’tdoat
all. Cash can leave! It would serve him right! He lives to give me grey hairs, that boy.”
Sheshookherhead.“Listen,nowBailey,IknowI’vegotacheek.ButIlikeyou.Ireally
do.AndIlikewhatyou’vedoneformyboy.”

“Ihaven’tdoneanythingforhim,”Baileymumbled.

“Oh,nowthat’snottrue.”Karenploppedherselfdownonthebedandpattedthespace

besideher,waitinguntilBaileysankreluctantlyontothemattress.“Heringsmeeveryday,
youknow.ButIsupposehenevertoldyouthat.”

Bailey’sbrowsshotupinsurprise.“…No,henever…”

“Doesn’tfithisimage,I’msure.Youknowthesemagazinesandall,theythinkhe’sa

properbadboy!Honestly.MylittleCashewNut!Well.”Karenadjustedherapronwitha
sniff.Lordonlyknewwhyshewasstillwearingthething,butsherarelyseemedtotakeit
off.“Itstartedwhenhewentonhislittleworldtour.Hewasveryanxiousaboutleaving
me to my own devices, so he called me at least once a day. But never mind that; I’m
waffling.Ionlycameuptosayonething,justonething!Isthatalright?”

KarenwasgazingatBaileyveryseriously,asthoughitreallywouldtakejustaword

for her to leave without completing her speech. But the little woman was near bursting
withdesperation;thatmuchwasobvious.

“Okay,”Baileysaid.Hervoicewasalmostawhisper.

“Good. Good. Well. Now I barely know where to begin! But I should tell you the

wholestory,shouldn’tI?So:ImetCash’sfatherwhenIwasfifteen.Hewastwenty-seven
yearsold.”

ChapterTwenty-Two

Bailey blinked as her mind struggled to absorb that information. But Karen was still
going,hervoiceunusuallyhighandtight,hergazefocusedonthecarpet.

“HisnamewasHenry.Hewasthecaretakeratmyschool.Therewasagroupofgirls

that used to pick on me, but when Henry saw them, he’d always run them off. He… he
wasmyhero,backthen.

“SowhenIwassixteen,weranofftoGretnaGreen.Mydadwasabsolutelyfurious.

Heneverspoketomeagain.AndHenry,hegotinallsortsoftroublewiththeschool—
theysackedhim.Sowemovedaway.That’swhentheproblemsstarted.”

Bailey’s fingers pulled at the bedsheets, tightening around the fabric as she prepared

forthenextpartofKaren’shistory.Sheknewenoughofmonstrousmentoseewherethis
wasgoing.

“Ilosttouchwithallmyfriendsfromschool,ofcourse.Henrystruggledtogetanother

job.HestartedtobelievethatIwasabadluckcharm,thatIwasruininghislife.Hesaid
I’dbewitchedhimandforcedhimtodisgracehimselfandnowhewasstuckwithme.He
—hewouldbeatmeandbegmetolethimgo.Ithoughtthathewasright.IthoughtImust
betyinghimtomesomehow,forcinghimtohurtme,andIjustwasn’tcleverenoughto
stop it.” Karen’s voice had gone from frenetic to wooden, utterly dead. She relayed the
terrible history with no emotion whatsoever, as if she had left her body and the words
emittingfromhermouthweresimplyaroboticrecording.

Thetwowomenweresittingsidebyside,butKarenmightaswellhavebeenadistant

star. She was alone, apart, lifetimes away, as she continued. “When I fell pregnant, I
thoughtthatitwouldhelp.Anditdid,foralittlewhile—untilMonroecameoutagirl.He
hadn’twantedthat.Itwasmyfault,ofcourse—italwayswas.Anotheruselesswitch,he
said,justlikeme.HewashappierwhenCashcamealong,buteventually,hewentbackto
hisoldways.Itriedtohideitfromthechildren,butIknowthatIfailed.Theywerewith
meeverysecondoftheday.Makeupandasmileneverworkedonthem.

“I thought about leaving—I thought about it all the time, but I had nowhere to go. I

wrote to my parents, and my mother wrote back to say… to say that Dad was dead.”
Karen’s voice cracked as she held back a sob. “And I wasn’t welcome. She didn’t want
any of my trouble. I thought about going to the police, but I thought… what will that
achieve?Henrymightgetaslaponthewrist.Asocialworkerwouldcomeandthey’dput
my kids on some bloody list. Next thing you know, I’m an unfit mother and they’re in
care.”Shegaveashrill,humourlesslaughandmuttered,“Overmydeadbody.”

Karen was panting now, her face twisted with pain, but she soldiered on—as though

she couldn’t pause, couldn’t take even a second, or she might never continue. “So I
waited. I was biding my time, doing my best to shield the kids—but it didn’t work. As
Cashgotolder…God,youseethesizeofhim.Hewastallerthanmebythetimehewas
nine.Andhestartedtofightback.Tryingtoprotectme,thoughItoldhimnotto.Henry
laugheditoffatfirst;knockedhimaside,hithimatimeortwo,toputhiminhisplace.
But Cash just got bigger and angrier. When he was twelve, he came into my room and

foundmecrying.Itriedtohidemyfacefromhim,buthepulledmyhandsaway,andhe
saw what Henry had done, and I thought he would explode. He went running down the
stairsandhedraggedHenryoutofhischairandthrewhimtothefloor.Andthatwasthe
dayHenrybegantoseehissonasathreat.

“They fought. Cash lost. He was beaten bloody. Monroe was hysterical, I was

hysterical.Henrywassmug.HetoldmeI’dspoilttheboy,butitwouldallendnow.And
thelookonhisfacewhenhesaidthat—hewasexcited.”Karen’svoicecaught,butaftera
raggedpauseshecontinued.“Hewentouttothepub,andIknewhewouldcomehome
drunk. I had to act fast. I’d been saving up, stealing from Henry—he hated giving me
money,andIhadnoneofmyown,butMonroeiscleverwithnumbers.Shealwaysknew
what to do. We’d take a little from the shopping budget here and there, and he’d never
evennotice.

“Wehadeighty-threepoundsandfifty-twopence.WekeptitinasilverpurseMonroe

had,achild’sthing.Andweran.Cashwasamess;twoofhisteethwereknockedout.His
righthandwassoswollenandbloodyhecouldbarelymoveit.Wehurrieddownthestreet
inthedark,andhekeptwhispering—Mum,whatifIcan’tdrawanymore?”Sheletouta
chokedlittlelaugh.“Thatboy.”Anddespiteherself,despiteherhorror,Baileyfeltherself
smilingtearilyatthethoughtofayoungCashindirecircumstances,worryingabouthis
art.

“Wetookthebusacrossfivecounties,”Karensaid.“Itwasn’tliketoday;therewere

nomobilephonesorinternetapps.Wedidn’tknowwheretogo.Wewoundupinsome
dingylittlecityandittookustwodaystofindashelter.Oneofthosefeministplaces.It
waslovely.”Adreamysmiletookoverherface.Butthen,justasquickly,itfaded.“Andit
waslessthantwomonthsbeforehefoundus.Henry.”

Fuck.Therewasmore?Hearingthiswaslikelisteninginonahorrorstory.Knowing

thatithadactuallyhappened,thatitwasn’tsimplyastory?Baileythoughtherheartwould
break.

“Thewomanwhomanagedtheshelter—toughasoldboots,shewas.Sheheldhimoff

atthedoor.Irememberhervoicenow.Shetoldhim,‘Fuckoff,pal.Youain’tcomingin
here.’Andheblusteredandsworebutshejustlaughedinhisface.I-Icouldn’tbelieveit.
Hethreatenedher,andshesaid…shesaid,‘Mydoorwayisaline.Youcrossit,andyou’ll
findmybootupyourbackside.’Andhe…heleft!Hejustleft!

“But we couldn’t stay. There were other women in the shelter, other children, and I

knewhewouldcomeback.ThemanagergavemesomemoneybeforeIwent,outofher
ownpocket,blessher.Thatmoneysavedusmorethanonce.There’salotofkindnessin
thisworld,youknow,hidingbeneaththeevil.”

Bailey wanted, more than anything, to hold Karen’s hand. To remind her that they

werelivinginthepresent,thatshewassafenow.ButthenBaileyrealised:shehadnoidea
ifKarenwassafe.Shehadnoideahowthisstoryended.

“Wekeptmoving,neversettlingatfirst.Hechasedus.Wehadnowheretogo,no-one

tohelpus—itwassoawful.Ican’teventellyou.AlotofthattimeseemslikeastoryI
heard,anightmarethatsomeoneelseexperienced.ButMonroehasnoGCSEsandCash
haspreciousfew.WhenIrememberthat,Iremembereverything.AndIrememberthatit’s

myfault.”Asobtorethroughher,shakingherbody.Baileybitherlipandfinallygavein
to the urge to offer comfort. Without a word, she put her arm around Karen’s narrow
shoulders. And though the older woman said nothing, didn’t even look at Bailey—she
didn’trejectthetouch,either.

“WheneverHenryfoundus,hesaiditwasmyfaultthathecouldn’tletgo.Sometimes

IthoughtIshouldgivein.SomanytimesIalmostdid.Butthekidswouldn’tletme.They
weremystrength.Theyshouldn’thavehadtobe,buttheywere.”Karenpausedtowipea
tear from her cheek, but another took its place. They streamed down her face, coming
faster than ever, and the sight horrified Bailey more than anything she’d heard so far.
Becauseitmeantthatsomehow,somethingworsewascoming.

“ThelasttimeHenryfoundus,weweredoingwell.Ithadbeenfouryearssincewe’d

left,andacoupleofyearssincewe’dlastseenhim;Iactuallyletmyselfhopethathe’d
givenup.I’dgottenajobandwehadalittleflat.Cashwasatschoolagain,andMonroe
wasworkingpart-timeatthesupermarket.Anditwas…itwasgood.Itwasperfect.

“But then he came. I was at work, and so was Monroe—only Cash was at home.”

Karensobbed,thesoundrawandanguished.SheburiedherfaceinherhandsandBailey
rubbedsoothingcirclesoverhershakingback.

Afteramoment,Karenregainedcontrol.Shewipedthetearsfromherface,takingoff

herglassesandlettingthemhangfromtheirlittlechainaroundherneck.“Cashnevertold
mewhathappened.Ihadtoreaditinthepolicereport.Henrybrokeinandhe…Hetried
to kill Cash. With a knife! He stabbed my boy! The woman next door heard the
commotion and called the police. They were both arrested. I had to tell the police
everything.Iknewfromexperience,theydon’tlistentowomenlikeme.ButIhadtomake
themlisten.

“Well,Ineedn’thaveworried.Yousee,Henry’dleftusaloneforsolongbecausehe

foundsomeoneelse.Ayounggirl—hernamewasSummer.Isupposehethoughtshe’dbe
easytocontrol,likeme.Hemiscalculated.Afewweeksbeforehefoundus,he’dlosthis
temper and beaten her bloody over some small thing—I don’t know. She was talking to
thepostman,Ithink,andHenrysaidshewasmakingafoolofherself.Embarrassinghim.
So they argued, and he beat her, and she went straight to the police and showed them
everything.”Karengavealittlesmile,andBaileyunderstood.ThesmilewasforSummer.
Forthegirlwho’ddonewhatKarencouldn’t.

“Henry resisted arrest and disappeared—I suppose that’s when he came after us. So

the police listened. They questioned Cash and they interviewed Monroe and me. Henry
waschargedwithallsorts—domesticviolence,grievousbodilyharm,assaultwithintent
toresistarrest,pervertingthecourseofjustice,breakingandentering,attemptedmurder.”
Shereeledoffthechargesfrommemory,herwordstakingonaclippedprecision.“They
gavehimalifesentence;twenty-fiveyearsbeforeparole.Inear-faintedwhentheyfound
himguilty.”

At the knowledge that, on this rare occasion, justice had prevailed, Bailey felt a bit

faintherself.SomanystorieslikeKaren’swereneverending—orworse.Andthescarsof
thisfamily’sexperiencewouldalwaysbethere.

Butatleast,Godwilling,there’dbenomore.

“Idon’ttellyouthisfor—forsympathy.Notatall.Itsoundssodramaticwhenyoutell

thestoryallatonce!”Karenlaughedsoftly.“Butwhenyouliveit,it’sveryslow.Andfear
becomes mundane. You grow immune. It’s like waking up early for work; at first it’s a
struggle, but eventually you find yourself up with the sunrise on a Sunday. You become
accustomed.

“The thing is, Cash was always very sensitive. He never became accustomed. He

never got numb like me. He had counselling, both my kids did—I made sure. But I
realised,overtheyears,thathewaspushingpeopleaway;avoidinganythingclosetolove.
Rejectingaffection.Inearlyexpiredonthespotwhenhesaidhewasbringingyouhome.
Heistwenty-nineyearsoldandhehasneverintroducedmetoawoman.Notever.”Bailey
shifted uncomfortably against the mattress. The past month flashed through her mind in
fracturedpieces,likeapuzzlethatwasstartingtocometogether.Andthefinalimage…It
justmightbreakherheart.

“Whenhefeelsthings—anything—toostrongly,Cashwillpushthatthingaway.Even

his career; when he first became successful, he almost sabotaged everything. It was as
though he felt he didn’t deserve it, or that he was doomed to ruin it somehow.” Karen
nibbledatherlipnervously.“DoyouunderstandwhatI’msaying,Bailey?”

“I…IthinkIdo.”Baileyletthehorrorsshe’djustheardsinkintohermind.Herfirst

instinctwastorejectthemutterly,tolistenwithashallowear,toletthewordswashover
herlikeanadvertisementontheradio.Herbrainbeggedtotravelelsewhere,railedagainst
theharshrealitiesforcedontoitinthelastfifteenminutes.

Butshecouldnotallowthat.Karenhadjustspilledherownbloodacrossthecarpet;

basic respect demanded that Bailey truly bear witness. Her mother had always said that
onethingeveryonecoulddotoeaseanother’spainwastoacknowledgeit.Baileyputher
handoverKaren’sandlettheireyesmeet,browncapturingblue.“Idounderstand,”she
said.“AndIthankyou.AndI’msorry.”

“Well… alright then.” Karen patted Bailey’s hand in turn. Then she stood up and

tuggedatherownapronstrings,asthoughherhandsneededsomethingtodo.Afterone
lastlookaroundtheroom,shewalkedtowardsthedoor.

“Karen,”Baileysaid.“Idon’t…Idon’tsupposeyouknowwhereCashhasgone?”

With a small, hopeful smile, Karen turned back. “Probably. He often goes to the old

church,pastthewoods.Helpshimthink.Ifyouwaitalittlewhile,heshouldbebacksoon.
He’snevergoneforlong.”

“Okay,”Baileysaid.“Thanks.”

ShewaitedjustlongenoughforKarentobustleoffdownstairs.Andthenshegotup

andpulledherhatandscarfoutofherbag.

Waitinghadneverbeenherthing.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Thelavenderskyplungedintodarknesslikeapearlintomidnightwaters.Cashwatched
themoongrowbrighteragainstitsdimmingbackdrop,barelynoticingthewhipoftheicy
windagainsthischeeks.

Hedeservedthediscomfort,justashedeservedeverypartoftheachingnumbnessthat

hadinfectedhisblood.Heknewthatmuch.

Thehulkingcarcassoftheoldchurchloomedbeforehim,thewindwhistlingthrough

the jagged remains of its stained glass windows. He gazed up at the imposing arcs and
spearsofitssilhouette,butforthefirsttime,hewasn’tinspired.Hisfingersdidn’titchto
pickupapen.Whichwasjustaswell,becausehehadn’tboughthissketchbookandhis
handswerefrozenstiff.

Anotherpainthathedeserved.

Furious with himself, Cash turned his back on the gothic beauty that had always

soothed him. He’d been a fool to think that the usual tactics would work. There was
nothingusualaboutthissituation.

Therewasnothingusualaboutthewomanhe’dleftbehind,orthewayshemadehim

feel.

I’mnotinlovewithBailey.

“I’mafuckingliar,”hemutteredtohimself.Thewindsnatchedawayhiswords.He

likedthat;itmadehimfeelbraver.“I’maliar,”herepeated.“Andacoward.I—”

He broke off. There was a figure approaching, wandering out from the trees with a

haltinggait.Afigureherecognised.

Butshewas…Limping?

Cashranacrossthefrostedgrass,hisbootskickingupicychunksofdirt.Hereached

herinmoments,pulledherintohisarmsasthoughhehadn’tseenherinweeks.

Butshewasstiff,coldinmorewaysthanone.

Ofcourseshewas.God,wherethefuckwashissense?

Hepulledback,lookeddownintoherfaceandfoundfury.Thatwastobeexpected.

But there was something else there, something that broke his heart. Pain gleamed like a
knife’sedgeinhersoft,browneyes.

“You’rehurt,”hesaid.

“Don’ttouchme.”

“Bailey—”

“Imeanit.”

Cashtookadeepbreath.Lethergo.Steppedback.Andthenhetriedagain.“You’re

hurt.What’swrongwithyourleg?”

“Ifell,”shesaidshortly.“Landedonmyknee.”

“Whatareyoudoingouthere?”

“Lookingforyou.”

Asthoughhewasn’tguiltyenough.“Weneedtogetyouhome.Icancarryyou.”

“Wherethefuckdoyougetoff,actinglikeyougiveashit?”

Thatfeltlikeaslap.Hewantedtodosomethingtostopthis—tostopthepainofthe

bestthinghe’dneverhadsplinteringbeforehiseyes—butheshouldn’t.Hewouldn’t.

He.Deserved.This.

“Well?”Shedemanded.

“Thecoldwillmakeitworse.”Hebeganwalkingbacktowardsthehouse,hopingshe

wouldfollow.Butshedidn’t,ofcourse.

“Whydoyoucare?”Sheshoutedathisback,accusationcrawlingoverherwords.

Helookedbackatherandwonderedifshecouldseehisheartshatteringthroughhis

chest.“YouthinkIdon’tcareaboutyou,Bailey?You’rewrong.Icareaboutyousomuch,
itworriesme.”

“Then stop the bullshit, Cash. Stop the hot and cold, stop with the mystery and just

fucking—justtalktome!Now.Rightnow.”

Shemadeitsoundsosimple.Asthoughtalking—tellingherexactlywhatamesshe

was—wouldmakethingsbetterinsteadofworse.Hisfirstinstinctwastopushheraway
somehow,totakethechoiceoutofboththeirhands.

Butsomethingaboutthewayshewaslookingathimspokeoffinality.Ofthefactthat

this might be his last chance. At what, he didn’t know; but the thought of wasting it
terrifiedhimmorethananyofhisdemonsevercould.

Andthenshesaid,“Yourmothertalkedtome.”

Bailey watched as Cash turned away, ran a hand through his hair. In the swelling

shadows, he seemed to mirror the imposing carcass of a church that stood beyond him,
piercingthesky.Butthenheturnedbacktoherwithahaunted,hopelessexpressionthat
didn’tbelongonamanlikehim;amanwhomovedmountains.Shewantedtoreplacethat
lookwithsomethingelse,somethingwarmandcontented,forever.Butshecouldn’t.

Thatwasuptohim.

“Whatdidshetellyou?”Heasked,hisvoiceragged.

“Well,” she said, gently. “I think I know now, how you got that scar.” Her voice, so

boldmomentsago,wassoftnow.Hesitant.

He laughed, but the sound was harsh. “I want to piss you off,” he said. “I want you

furiousagain,toburnawaythepity.”

“I’ve never pitied you and I never will.” She stood firm, watched as he studied her

face.Ashesawthetruthinhereyes.

Hisgazeshuttered.“Bailey.YoumustknowbynowthatI’mnotthekindofmanyou

canbewith.”

“Why? Because of your past?” She shook her head. “If you’re afraid—I understand

that.ButIwanttohelp.”

Heshookhishead,asharpsmiletwistinghisface.“Isthatwhatyouthink?ThatI’m

scaredformyself?”

“Aren’tyou?”

“No.I’mscaredforyou,Bailey.Doyourealisewhatafuck-upIam?Doyourealise

that—thatifI’mnotcareful,I’llendupjustlikehim?”

“Whywouldyousaythat?”Sheasked,horrified.Atearrandownhercheek,tracing

fireacrosstheicyplaneofherskin.

His arrogant veneer crumbled when he saw her cry. He came to her, swiped the tear

away with a thumb; then he cupped her face tenderly, as though she were something
precious.Sheallowedherselftobesweptawaybythesensation,untilhespokeagain,his
voicesolemn.

“There’sabeastinsideofme.Ikeepitcaged.Youdriveitwild.”

Confusionpleatingherbrow,shepeeredupathim.“Soareyou,like,awerewolf?”

He squinted. “…No, Bailey. I’m not a werewolf.” And then he laughed. The sound

washarsh,broken,butreal—anddespitetheicychill,herheartgrewwarm.Hebumped
hisforeheadagainsthers,andsomeofthestrainwasgonefromhisfeatures.“Awerewolf?
Really?You’resofuckingcute.”

“Shutup,”shehuffed.“It’snotmyfaultyoudecidedtobealldramatic.”Butshewas

smiling, because even when she fucking furious and confused and upset, Cash could
alwaysmakehersmile.

Thenhisfacereturnedtosolemnity,andheshookhishead.“I’mnotbeingdramatic.

I’mamess,Bailey.Anditneverreallymatteredbefore,becauseIhadnobodytoinflictit
on.ButIcan’thideitfromyou.AndIcan’tgiveyouanythingbetter.”

Shestudiedhisface,sawtruthinhiseyes.Butshejustdidn’tunderstand.

“Whydoyouthinkthat?”Sheaskedsoftly.“Tellme.”

He hesitated. When he spoke, the words were wincing and hesitant, as though they

didn’toftenseethelightofday.“Ihave…Thoughts.Intrusivethoughts.Ibetyouknow
whatthatmeans.”

“I do.” Unwelcome, involuntary thoughts that were difficult to manage or ignore;

sometimesassociatedwithmentalillness;sometimestheresultoftrauma.Andinhiscase,
probablythelatter.“Whatdoyousee?”Sheasked.

“Hear.Ihearit.”

“Okay,”shesaidslowly.“Soyouhavethesethoughts.Andtheymakeyouthinkthat

you’re…Thatyou’relikeyourfather?”

He shook his head. “They tell me I’m like him. No matter what I do—they tell me

that…I’llenduphurtingpeople.Likehehurt…”Hisvoicetrailedoffandhesqueezedhis
eyes shut, his expression fierce. He probably looked intimidating to most people.
Terrifying, even. He was a big guy; he was tatted; he stomped around in those fucking
boots and all that leather, and when he wasn’t smiling he looked something close to
savage.

But Bailey had never been scared of this man. Not once. Because she knew who he

reallywas.

“Cash,”shesaidgently.“I’mnotafraidofyou.”

Heopenedhiseyes.“Iknow.AndIwanttokeepitthatway.”

“Iwillneverbeafraidofyou.Intrusivethoughtscan’ttellyouwhoyouare.Onlyyou

decidethat.Ifyouneedtopushpeopleawaytofeelsafe,Iunderstand.Butpushingpeople
awayfortheirsafetyisadifferentthingentirely.Iamagrownwoman.IfIwanttolovean
accountantfromaneatlittlefamilywhogoesfishingonSundays,Iwill.AndifIwantto
loveyou,Cash,Iwill.Youcan’tstoplove.Allyoucandoistakeitorrejectit.”

He stared down at her with something perilously close to hope, something so

vulnerablethatitmadeherheartache.Butthenhisgazeshiftedoncemore,andshefelt
himpullingbackintoself-doubt.

“Youdon’tunderstand,”hesaidstiffly.“I’mjustlikehim.I…Itriedtokillhim,the

dayhecameforus.Iwouldhave,ifthepolicehadn’tarrived.”Atearsliddownhisown
cheek,andthesightalmostbrokeher.Hisvoicewasshakyashecontinued.“Isaiditwas
self-defence. It wasn’t. I saw him before I saw the knife and I decided right then that I
wouldkillhim.Ijustwantedmyfamilytobesafe,andIcouldn’tthinkofanyotherway
—fuck,Ididn’tthink.Ididn’tweighuptheprosandcons.Moralsdidn’tcomeintoit.I
sawhim and Iwanted him dead.”He took a raggedbreath. “That’s thekind of person I
am,Bailey.”

Shereachedupandslidherhandsintohishair,angledhisheaduntilhewasforcedto

lookdownandmeethereyes.

“There’snothingwrongwithwantingtoprotectyourfamily.Defendingtheonesyou

love isn’t twisted or cruel. Can you imagine your father doing something like that?
Knowing he’d spend the rest of his life locked away, without the ones he’d sacrificed
for?”

Cashshookhishead.“Ididn’tneedtobewiththem.Ijustneededtoknowthey’dbe

safe.”

“Exactly.”Sheroseuponhertoes,pressedherforeheadtohis.“Yourloveisasfierce

asyouare,Cash.That’sall.”

His eyes were wide, hungry, desperate. He wrapped his arms around her waist, held

herasthoughshemightdisappearatanymoment.“God,Iwanttobelieveyou.Theway
youmakemefeel…”

“HowdoImakeyoufeel?”

“WhenIsawyouforthefirsttime,Ifeltlike…Fuck,IfeltlikeI’dbeenpunchedin

theface.”Hechokedoutalaugh.“IfeltlikemylifewouldbeafailureifInevergotto
know you. And then I worried that I was building you up too much in my head. But I
wasn’t. You’re… You’re more than I ever dreamed you would be. We met two months
ago,Bailey.Twomonths.AndIwouldkillforyou.That’snotnormal.”

“Doesn’thavetobenormaltoberight,”shemurmured.“Cash…Ineverwantedtobe

withanyone.Notreally.AllI’veeverseenofloveisthewayitdrainspeople;thewayit
usesthemupandleavesthemwanting.Igrewupthinkingofloveasavampire.AndIwas
alwayslefttonursemymotherbacktohealthwhenitattacked.

“I never understood how she fell so hard every time. But I’m starting to. If loving

someone feels like this… I’m starting to. And I know now why they call it falling. You
can’tjuststepintothisshit.Andyoucan’tstopitonceit’sstarted.Youhavetobebrave.
Youhavetobelievethatsomeone’sgonnacatchyou.”

Aroundthem,thetemperaturesanklowerasnightcreptoverthegrass.Thehuge,old

churchbehindhimwasjustaterrifyingshadownow,anysemblanceofbeautyblankedout
bythebone-whiteglareofthemoon.Butbetweenthem,theairwashot.Hiswarmbreath
soothedherwind-chappedcheeks;hishandsonherweresodelicious,shealmostforgot
theacheinherknee.Andhisgazewasburninglikethefireinthehomethey’dleftbehind.

“YouknowthatI’dcatchyou,”hesaid.“Don’tyou?”

“Of course I do,” she whispered, and as she said the words, she realised they were

true.Theyreallywere.Theknowledgerangthroughherbodylikethesoundofshattered
glass.

No—ofshatteredice.

Shewasn’tafraidanymore.

Butitwasnogoodbeingbravealone.

“Doyouknowit,Cash?”

“Itrustyou,”hetoldher.

“Ibelieveyou.Butthat’snotallittakes.Youhavetotrustyourself.”

Hecursedsoftly,andallofasuddenhewasgone.Theshelterhisbigbodyprovided

wascruellystolen,andcoldsweptinwithavengeance.

Cash paced away from her, raking his hands through his hair, muttering to himself.

The traitorous wind carried the sound to her ears—just enough for her to hear the
frustrationinhistone.Notenoughtomakeoutthewords.

Hottearsspilleddownhercheeks,andsheletthem.Itdidn’tmatter,now.Athought

pushed its way to the front of her mind, refusing to leave, even though she knew better.
Nothingmattersnow,itwhispered.Nothing.

Sheturnedandlimpedaway.

“Bailey!”Hewasbackwithinseconds,sweepingherupintohisarms.“Whatareyou

doing?Youaren’twalkingonthatknee.”

Shewantedtotellhimtoputherdown,togetoffofher,todisappearcompletelyso

shemighthavesomechanceofeverfeelingwholeagain.Butshedidn’tevenknowifthat
wouldwork,orifitwouldonlyruinherfurther.Andanyway,whenshetriedtospeak,all
thatcameoutwasagarbledsob.

“Don’t cry,” he said, horrified. “Bailey! Please don’t cry.” And then she felt his lips

tracing their way across her cheeks, making constellations of her teardrops. His thick
stubbletickledherskin,somehowcomfortinganddevastatingallatonce.

“Bailey,” he whispered. “Sweetheart. I know I hurt you. I know I’m… God, I’m a

bastard.Iknowthat.ButIwanttobebetterandIwanttobebraverandit’sallbecauseof
you.”

Wait.This…Thiswasnotwhatshe’dbeenreadytohear.Andmaybeitwasfoolish,

butherhopefulheartsatupandlistened.

“Iwanttobetheonewhocaresforyou.Iwanttobetheonewhomakesyousmile.I

want to be the man you spend every Christmas with. I want to love you the way you
deserve to be loved.” He took a breath. Cradled against his broad chest, she felt the air
shudderthroughhislungs.“Idoloveyou,Bailey.AndIknowIdon’tdeserveit,butifyou
couldgivemeachance—’’

Hewasforcedintosilencewhenshepressedhermouthtohis.Herkisswasclumsy,

frenzied,desperate.Allthethingsshe’dneverwantedtobe.Andyet,whenhekissedher
backwithjustasmuchfervour,shefoundshedidn’tminditatall.

“Isthatayes?”Hepantedagainstherlips.

“Whatareyouasking?”

“Bemine.Formorethanninetydays.Foraslongasyou’llhaveme.”

Baileytangledherglovedfingersthroughhishairandsaid,“Forever,then?”

“Yes,”hewhispered,andhispiercinggazebecameachinglytender.“Forever.”

Shedraggedhisheaddownandkissedhimagain.

∞∞∞

IthadtakenKarenalmostanhourtonoticethatBaileywasmissing.Nowshesatin

the living room with an anxious Monroe and an infuriatingly calm George, pacing and
cursingandgenerallypanickingatashighavolumeasshe’devermanaged.

“Ibetshe’sfine,”Monroesaid.

“Butareyousure?”CriedKaren,twistingherapronwithnumbfingers.

“Yes,”Monroesaidfirmly.

“Butshedoesn’tknowthisarea,”Georgeinterjected.“Andshemightfallintoaditch

and twist her ankle and freeze to death. And then there will be police at the house on
Christmasmorning,andtheboyswillhaveverybadmemories.”

Monroelookedatherhusbandinblankastonishment.Karenwailedandbeganpacing

withrenewedenergy.

“Nowwhatwouldyousaythatfor?!”Monroedemanded.

“It’sagenuineconcern,”Georgesaid.“IthinkIshouldgoandlookforher.”

“Shut up!” Karen said suddenly, flapping her hands. She ran to the window, peering

outpasttheflashingChristmaslights.“Shutup,shutup,shutup!I’mtryingtosee.”

“Mother,”Monroesighed.“Idon’tthinkyourhearingandyoursightareconnected.”

“Oh,no,theydefinitelyare,”Georgecounteredsagely.“I’mquitesureofit.”

“Quiet!” Karen shrieked. “I think…” She squinted into the darkness, watched the

growingshapeinthedistancecomecloser.Withinseconds,itwasidentifiable.“They’re
back!”Shecried,herdespairvanishing.“Oh,they’reback!And—goodnessme.”

Monroerushedtothewindow,andsoverydelightedwasherowncrythatGeorgefelt

movedtojointhepair.

Heambledover,slippinganarmaroundhiswife’swaist,takingamomenttoenjoythe

happinessonherprettyface.Hewasalmostcompletelydistractedbythecurlsspringing
loose from her serviceable bun—but then he remembered that he was supposed to be
seeingwhateveritwasthathadthewomensowell-pleased.

And so George looked out of the window too, and saw Cash walking towards the

housewithBaileyinhisarms.HewaslookingdownatherwithanexpressionthatGeorge
hadneverseenontheman’sfacebefore.AndBailey,forherpart,waslookingupatCash
withanequallybafflingsmile.Itwassoftandsillyandvaguelyfamiliar.IttookGeorgea
secondtoplaceit,buteventuallyhedid.

That was how Monroe looked at him—when he wasn’t making her growl with

frustration.Andsometimes,whenhewas.

Well,then.Itseemedthey’dallhaveaverymerryChristmasafterall.

Epilogue

Fiveyearslater.

ItwasthenightbeforeChristmas,andallthroughthehouse,notasoulwasstirring.

ExceptforCooperEvans,ofcourse.

“I’llgethim!”Karencried,jumpingupfromherseatatthekitchenisland.Cooperhad

been put to bed hours earlier, but now his cries rang out from the baby monitor on the
counter.

“Areyousure?”Cashasked.“Icangethim.”

“No, no. You keep Bailey company. I’ll sort him out.” Karen bustled off out of the

room,leavingCashandBaileyaloneinthekitchen.

Theirswasabigfamilynow.Someonecouldwalkinatanymoment.

Which, in Cash’s mind, meant he’d better go and pester his wife quickly, before

anyonecametointerrupt.

Shestoodwithherbacktohim,slicingupvegetablesfortomorrowasthoughnothing

wasamiss.Butheknewthiswoman.Thesetofhershoulders,theangleofthoselushhips,
told him that she was waiting. Waiting, probably with a smile on her sweet lips, for his
touch.

Well,hewouldn’twanttodisappointher,now,wouldhe?

Crossing the tiled floor in a few short strides, Cash slid his arms around his wife’s

waist,restinghishandsontheswelloflifethatwasherroundedbelly.Hepressedhislips
tothesoftskinofherneck,smiledasshelaydownherknifeandsankintohim.

“Hello,DoctorEvans,”hemurmured.

“Notyet,”shesaidsoftly.“Don’tjinxme.”Buttherewaslaughterinhervoice.

“Youknowit’sinthebag.JustlikeyourMaster’swas.”Herubbedhispalmoverher

stomach, cradled the precious bump. Kissed her neck, then bit gently as she arched into
him.

Karen’s voice came through the monitor, strident as always. “Cooper!” She was

cooing.“Shhh,now.”

“No!”Thetoddlercried,loudenoughtorivalhisgrandmother.“WantDaddy!”

“Yoursoncalls,”Baileychuckled.

Cashrolledhiseyes.“Withanyluck,thisnextonewillattachherselftoyou.”Buthis

smilewaswideandhisheartwasfull.Cashwashisson’sfavouritepersonintheworld.It
madehimpositivelyfaintwithpride.

Andwithgratitude.Baileyhadgivenhimthis.Baileyhadgivenhimlove.

“I believe she’ll be a daddy’s girl, actually,” his wife called after him. “Then you’ll

haveanothershadowtotrailyoureverymove.”

Cashshookhisheadfondlyasheleftthekitchen,Bailey’slaughterchasingafterhim.

He came across John’s daughters on the stairs, playing a game that involved

decapitatedBratzdollsand,itseemed,tragicfallstothedeath.Cashwatchedasonedoll
pushedanothersavagelydownthesteps,cacklinghertriumphinalittlegirl’svoice.

“Shouldn’t you girls be in bed?” He asked finally. The eldest, Magda, paused her

doll’svengefulmonologuetogivehimapityinglook.

“No,UncleCash.I’mtennow,remember?”

He looked at the younger girl, Alice. She avoided his gaze. “And what about your

sister?”Hepushed.

“Um…”

“Tobed.OrI’lltellyourfathers.”

“Uncle Cash!” Their voices rang out in unison. Four eyes—one pair blue, one pair

darkasink—turnedonhiminfrustration.

“TakeAlicebacktobed,Mags.Youknowtherules.”

“Ugh!” Magda cried. But she collected the dolls, along with her six-year-old sister,

andtheystormedofftotheirsharedroom.

Cash continued up the stairs, then ascended the next flight. There he found John,

leaningagainstthebannisterwithasmirk.

“Youknewtheywereup?”Cashasked.

“Justnoticed.Butit’ssomucheasiertoletyougetontheirbadside.”

Cashrolledhiseyes.“DidPeteknowyouweresuchapushoverwhenheagreedtothe

wholeparentingthing?”

“Ofcoursenot.It’smymostclosely-guardedsecret.”

Cashchuckledashelefthisfriendbehind,single-mindedinhisquesttoreachCooper.

From the moment John had met his little girls, he’d become a soft, mushy pudding of a
man.

But then again, Cash thought as he pushed open the door to his son’s room, John

wasn’ttheonlyone.

“Hey,littleman,”Cashmurmured,rushingforwardtorelievehismotherofhersnotty,

cryingload.“What’supwithyou?”Hecradledthetwo-year-oldinhisarms,andtheboy’s
sobbinginstantlyslowed.

“Idon’tknowwhyIbother,”Karengriped.Buttherewasatendersmileonherface.

Cashbentdowntokisshersoftcheek.“Thanks,Mum.”

“Ofcourse,mydarling.Oh,Idolovehavingyouallhere.”Atearsliddownherface,

and she wiped it away impatiently. “All the children. We’ve so many now! And George
and Monroe, and John and Pete, and—“ Her voice cracked, but she soldiered on. “And
youandBailey!Oh,CashewNut,I’msoproudofyou.”

His face heating up, Cash pulled his mother into a hug. Cooper, now babbling

contentedly to himself, patted her head with his clumsy, chubby palm. “Ganma!” He
beamed,snotstillbubblingfromhisnose.“LoveGanma.”

Shechuckledthroughhertears,kissingthetoddler’sdampface.“Iloveyoutoo,little

muffin.”

AndCashpressedakisstohismother’sgingerhead,andthentohisson’sdarkcurls.

Contentment washed over him, bright and pure as the moonlight. In this little room,
silencereigned,andheallowedhimselftoenjoyit.Therewerenowhisperstothreatenhis
fulfilment;nouninvitedthoughtstakingupspaceinsidehismind.Somedaystherewould
be,sure—butwhenthosedayscame,hehadsomeonetofacethemwith.Someonetohold
hishandandchaseawayhisfear.Someonetolovehimanyway.

Cashheldhismotherandhissoninhisarms,filledwithgratitude.Aroundthem,the

housesankintothequietexcitementofChristmasEvelikeababysinksintoacrib.

Ahousethatwasfulloftheverylovehethoughthe’dneverhave.

∞∞∞

Downstairs, the woman who’d given it to him sat at the kitchen island, holding the

babymonitorwithasmileonherface.Shepressedapalmtoherswollenstomach—

Andthen,beneathherhand,theirdaughterkicked.

“Patience,sweetheart,”Baileymurmured.“Nextyear,you’llbeheretojoinin.”

Thebabykickedagain,asthoughexpressinghereagerness.Baileysmiledasshefelt

tinyfeetpressingagainsther,afirmdeclaration:Iamhere,andIwon’tbeignored!This
childtookafterhergrandmother,itseemed.

Bothgrandmothers.

The thought of her mother no longer disturbed Bailey’s equilibrium. Instead of

resentment, she thought only of fond memories; of Dorothy applying her own ruby-red
lipstick to Bailey’s little face; of the two of them watching Disney films on a Sunday
night,throwingpopcornateachotherwhentheotherwasn’tlooking.

Sherosefromherseatandwentbacktothechoppingboardwithasmileonherface.

As she sliced up carrots and parsnips for the next day’s feast, Bailey reflected on the
miracleCashhadbroughtintoherlife.

Peace.

Theverybestgiftofall.

TheEnd.

Author’sNote

HomelessnessinBritainisontherise,andcertaingroupsareespeciallyvulnerable.From
LGBTQ+ youth to victims of domestic violence, the disadvantaged are often the first to
suffer.

This Christmas, whether you choose to celebrate or not, I ask that you bear in mind the
principles of love and kindness to all. Everyone is human; everyone deserves safety. No
matterwhereyoulive,someoneinyourlocalcommunityneedsyou—evenifallyouhave
togiveisfriendship.

Andifyoufindyourselfinneed,rememberthatyourcircumstancesdonotdiminishyour
humanity.

MerryChristmas,everyone.Thanksforreading<3

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AbouttheAuthor

TaliaHibbertisawriterandeducatorfromEngland,U.K.,bywayofboththeWestIndies
andWestAfrica.Shewroteherfirstromanceaged12,andwaspromptlyscoldedbyher
teacherbecauseherstoryofloveinthejunglewasn’t‘proper’.

Sincethen,Talia’sromanceshaveimprovedinqualityandhugelyincreasedinheat.She
nowwriteserotic,interracialromancesaboutdirtyBrits.Theystillaren’tproper,butthey
arealotoffun.

Inherfreetime,sheeatstoomuchicecreamandwatchesKDramaonNetflix.Shealso
spendsaseriousamountoftimeonsocialmedia,somakesureyoustayconnected.

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And,asTaliawouldsay…that’sall,folks.Loveandbiscuits!

AlsobyTaliaHibbert:

BADFORTHEBOSS

Whatawaytofallfromgrace…

TheodoreChamberlainisnotoriousforhisrazor-sharpfocus,histerrifyingtemper,andhis
anti-socialtendencies.Whatmostpeopledon’tknowisthatthepowerfulbusinessmanis
justasdemandinginthebedroomasheisattheoffice.

SowhenmodelemployeeJenniferJohnsonstumblesintohislife,Theoturnshisinfamous
intensity towards a masterful seduction. The plus-sized knockout may be the office’s
angel,butonlyTheoseestheflamessimmeringbeneath.

WillJenremainagoodgirlwitharebel’sheart…Orwillshegiveintoherdesireandbe
badfortheboss?

OUTNOW

ALWAYSWITHYOU

Canfriendshipsurvivedesire?

Jack Woodborough was eighteen years old when he fell in lust with the girl next door.
Sevenyearslater,sweet,shyCassidyThomasisstillinhislife—butJackacceptedlong
agothatallthey’deverbeisfriends.

Untilonered-hot,rainynightthrowseverythingintoquestion.

Cass didn’t mean to lose control, but she’s wanted Jack for seven long years. The
attraction between them feels soul-deep, but with desire clouding her judgement, Cass
doesn’tknowwhattodo.

Untilshe’slefttocopewithoutthemanshe’salwaysbeenabletocounton…

Whenarelationshipisthrownoff-course,caniteverrecover?

Orwillalwaysbeoverbeforeit’sreallybegun?

OUTNOW

OPERATIONATONEMENT

Redemptionain’tallit’scrackeduptobe.

Theminutefoul-mouthedIrishmanAdamMcLoughlinseesDionnePryce,heknowsthat
he’sagoner.Theex-glamourmodelhascurvesfordaysandanattitudetomatch,andher
ridiculousstilettosdofunnythingstohisinsides.

Hemakesithismissiontohaveher.

ButDionneisn’tinterestedinbeinghad.She’sspentherwholeliferunningfromlove,and
nowshe’sbusycleaningupthemessesleftinherwake.Infact,Dionnehasamissionof
herown:OperationAtonement.AndeventhefiercelysexyAdamcan’tdistracther.

…Orcanhe?

OUTNOW

Copyright

MERRYINKMAS:TaliaHibbert

Copyright(c)2017byNIXONHOUSE

Credits:CoverbyCosmicLetterz

Allrightsreserved.

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,eventsandincidentsareeitherthe

product of the author’s imagination, or within the public domain. Any resemblance to
actualeventsoractualpersons,livingordead,iscoincidental.

Noportionofthisbookmaybereprinted,includingbyanyelectronicormechanical

means,orininformationstorageandretrievalsystems,withoutexpresswrittenpermission
fromtheauthor,exceptfortheuseofbriefquotationsinareview.