London Falling (18 page)

He’d put his career in danger for her, and what did he get in return? Nothing but a puppy that didn’t belong to him and a room full of his sister’s clothes.

Now her behavior at dinner made more sense. She had been on edge the whole night–tapping her fingers, shaking her foot, barely listening to him talk, biding time–and if that didn’t make him feel like the most gullible man on earth, he didn’t know what did. His willy was thinking for him, because he actually thought she was someone he could talk to at the end of a long day of work. As someone he could trust.

The Scottie perked up his ears. Simon froze.

Total silence.

But then he heard it: a click, almost like a door shutting. Before he could even decide what to do, the Scottie had taken off in a full-out run.

Simon followed the puppy’s path. At the bottom of the stairs, Aimee held her boots in her hand and was trying to quiet the dog.

“Shh!” The dog trotted in a circle around her, as his nails clacked against the hardwood floor in the hall. “Shh!” she said again.

Simon clenched his jaw. “Afraid you’ll wake me?”

“Oh Shit!” she said, snapping her head up to look at him.

He stalked down the stairs. “Not exactly the word I’d use to greet someone, but to each his own.”

“You scared me!”

He reached the bottom of the stairs, but stopped about five feet away from her. He didn’t want to do anything he might regret. “I startled the person sneaking into my house at 2:30 in the morning. How rude of me.”

Aimee had the grace to look sheepish. Good.

“I hope you don’t have the effrontery to pretend you were in the house when we both know you weren’t.”

“I–” She bit her lip. And damn if he didn’t respond to the site of her tiny white tooth pulling on her bottom lip. “What gave it away?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He wanted her, even now, when she’d defied him and taken off without a word. Crossing his arms, he reminded himself about how angry he was with her. “I take it you went to find that Rodney bloke?”

Her mouth opened into a little “o” of surprise.

Did she think he wouldn’t figure out what she’d done? It was exactly what he would have done in her situation, except he wouldn’t have snuck out in the middle of the night and risked his safety. He would have done the smart thing and notified the cops. “Did you find him?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No one has seen him.”

Having her confirm his thoughts only made him angrier. “What happened to your promise to tell the detective if you knew anything that might help track this bloke down?”

“Ha! They already know. And they’ve been doing such a stellar job so far, I’m sure they’d follow up on a tip that someone Rodney and I were both talking to the other night recommended this hostel to us. It was a long shot anyway.”

“What if he’d been there? Have you thought of that?”

“Well that would have been great news. I’d get my stuff back and be able to go home. I don’t understand why you’re so pissed.”

“I’m not pissed. I’m angry. What if he’d done something to you? You didn’t have anyone there to protect you if he turned violent.”

She actually snorted.

“Oh, and you’re such a brilliant evaluator of character?” he asked. “I believe you are the one who invited him on the trip in the first place.”

“That’s not fair.”

“And sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night without telling me is fair?” He took a deep breath and let out the air in a loud sigh. “You have to start trusting people. You can’t do everything on your own all the time.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You have no right to judge me! I’m doing just line on my own.”

Couldn’t she see what a mess she was in? Someone needed to knock some sense into her. “Why don’t we ask all your friends how well you’re doing on your own? Oh wait, you don’t have any friends. I’ve never met anyone so unwilling to open up and trust people. That’s why you don’t have anyone you can call for help. It’s your own fault.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she fisted her hands at her sides. If she had a dagger, he knew he’d be lying in a pool of his own blood, deader than dead. But it was the hurt he’d glimpsed in her eyes the split second before they shot laser beams of pure hatred that had him wishing he could reach out and reclaim the nasty words before he had even uttered them.

Aimee swallowed. “Fuck. You.”

And then she turned her back on him and stomped down the stairs, the Scottie following her every move. There was no sound for a second, and then a door slammed in the distance.

Bollocks.

He deserved that. After he sat down on the staircase, he hung his head in his hands. What was it about that woman that made him turn into a total prat? At work he was known for being exceptionally perceptive and supportive, yet every time he was around her he did something that he needed to apologize for. The irony was laughable. What was it about her that drove him completely insane?

He was under too much pressure working like a dog these past few months, putting up with his father’s additional pressure, and fighting off the lurgy. He was stressed. Throw in the fact that she put everything he was working towards at risk, and of course he was a little short with her.

Okay. More than a little short. He’d been rude and unforgivably mean.

He was going to have to apologize to her. Again.

However, the thought of doing that when she wanted to rip his head off made him think twice. He’d wait until tomorrow, when she cooled off a little bit. Now he just had to figure out a way to get a few hours sleep without thinking about her. Or the way her eyes turned into bright diamonds when she got angry with him. Or her soft pink lips. Or that one utterly kiss-worthy freckle just below her eye. Or the feel of her pressed against his hips.

It was going to be another long night.

The next evening, immediately after returning home from work, Simon headed downstairs to apologize to Aimee, but she wasn’t in the room. He heard the shower running and decided to wait for her in the kitchen–where he wouldn’t be tempted to join her. As he turned to leave, he discovered something quite surprising.

Fifty pounds were stacked on the table next to her bed.

He couldn’t figure out how she’d come by the money, but it couldn’t have been legal, since she didn’t have a work permit.

At first he thought she must have found the Rodney bloke last night, although she’d denied it. But then he realized she’d most likely be on a plane ride home, rather than cooking him dinner and cleaning his house. Briefly, he’d wondered if she’d gotten the money from RBB, but he couldn’t figure out why they would give her money if they were trying to catch Simon paying an illegal. And, while a small part of him still thought Aimee could be a plant from his competition, his gut didn’t believe it.

Then he realized that she had one more option to earn money, and it didn’t involve work. She could sell information about him to the tabloids. He practically ground his teeth to nubs thinking about her betrayal after the risk he’d taken keeping her in his house.

So when she snuck out of the house that night, he followed her, hoping to catch her in the act and discover who was buying the information. Behind her, she dragged a cart that was probably filled with items and photographs from his house. An injunction was probably his best option, but it wouldn’t work unless he knew the culprit. And Aimee wouldn’t be the one to give them up.

She finally settled outside a bar in SOHO, but her contact wasn’t there yet, so Simon hid across the street in an unlit doorway and waited, unable to disperse all his angry energy.

Her red hair glowed almost orange in the neon glare from a beer sign, and he finally had a chance to take in her clothing. Her mini-skirt was almost hiked up to her armpits, and she wore her stiletto boots with fishnet stockings that highlighted her long, pale legs. Although she wore the winter coat his sister had loaned her, from the waist down she looked like a prostitute.

He sucked in a volume of cold air. It all made sense now. The hard-earned cash. The outfit. She wasn’t selling information about him. She was selling herself to earn money for her ticket home.

He couldn’t let her do this.

He fisted his hands and stalked towards her. What if she had been assaulted? What if the cops arrested her for prostitution and discovered she was living at his flat? He wanted to strangle her for putting them both in danger. Did he need to watch her 24/7?

As he got closer, two blokes staggered out from the pub and stopped in front of her, standing way too close for his comfort. She said something to the taller one and the tosser pulled out his wallet.

Fucking prat! Simon’s blood screamed for justice. Every slight, every injustice coalesced into this one chance for revenge and gave him the power of twenty men. He tore up the remaining length of sidewalk, launched himself at the bloke, and dragged him to the ground. After shoving the bastard to the sidewalk, Simon stuck his knee on his neck. Someone’s breath came in ragged bursts and drowned out every other sound on the street. Shit, it was his breath. Slowly, his world came back into focus.

“Oh my God!” Aimee yelled behind him. “Simon! What are you doing?”

She tried to pry him off the other guy. “Get off him! Oh my God, don’t hurt him!”

Simon braced himself for an attack by the bloke’s friend, but nothing happened.

“Dude! What the hell is wrong with you?” the bloke croaked from his position on the curb.

Simon pushed his knee harder into his neck. Aimee’s hands pulled on his shoulders. There was something all over them. Something brown and sticky and chocolatey. What the…? “Why are there fairy cakes all over the ground?”

“Oh no, my cupcakes!” Aimee wailed in his ear. Tiny fists banged on his back. “You ruined my cupcakes! All my hard earned cash down the tubes.”

The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. “You were selling fairy cakes.” He glanced down at the bloke he was currently suffocating and lifted his knee. The guy took in a giant breath, but stayed where he was. Simon turned around and grabbed Aimee’s fists to stop her from pounding on him.

“Stop!” he said as Aimee struggled against him. “I thought you were selling yourself. I didn’t know you were just selling fairy cakes.”

“You what?” Aimee screeched. The guy on the ground flipped over and scooted back as far as he could get.

Aimee narrowed her eyes at Simon. “What did you just say?

“I … ,” Simon trailed off. There was nothing he could say that would make him look any better in her eyes. It was bad enough that he’d ruined all her fairy cakes, but to accuse her of being a prostitute? He was in a hole so deep he’d never see the light again.

Aimee opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.

She yanked her arms down, pulling out of his grasp and then grabbed an open box and started slamming ruined fairy cakes into the box. Simon picked up the closest fairy cake and added it to her pile. She turned and glared at him. “Don’t touch my cupcakes,” she said, her teeth gritted together.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Tell it to someone who cares.”

Simon pushed himself into a standing position, walked over to the other guy and offered him a hand up. “I apologize. It was a huge misunderstanding.

Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” At that moment, a fairy cake hit him in the face and plopped to the ground.

“Jerk,” Aimee said.

Simon closed his eyes and nodded. He deserved that.

The guy on the ground started laughing. “Dude, you are in so much trouble. I can’t believe you accused your girlfriend of being a hooker!” he said with an American accent.

Was everyone from America living in London right now? Simon didn’t bother correcting him about the girlfriend part. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

The guy shook his head. “Nothing, man. You’re gonna get more than you deserve from that one,” he said, pointing back at Aimee. “Shit. Where the hell did Brian go?”

Looking around, Simon realized the shorter of the two blokes had disappeared. He’d actually scared him off. If he wasn’t such an ass, Simon might have been proud of his performance. Banker scares off two rough Americans. Two rough Americans buying fairy cakes.

After the other guy took off to find his friend, Simon turned to Aimee.

“I’m sorry.” Was he ever going to stop apologizing to her? At this rate, he shouldn’t even say anything to her except that he was sorry.

Aimee walked over to a bin and shoved the box of ruined fairy cakes on top of the trash already heaped there. Grabbing her luggage cart and the one remaining box of fairy cakes, she walked towards the tube stop.

Simon fell into step beside her, although he didn’t know what to say. She was angry with him. Rightfully so. He cleared his throat.

She glared at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. As she stalked past the tube entrance, he thought about stopping her, but decided the prudent action was letting her walk off her anger. “I really am sorry. This isn’t me. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately, but I seem to be acting like an ass every time I’m around you.”

“Seem to be?” she said. She picked up her pace. At this rate, they’d walk home before she cooled off. But she suddenly stopped, twisted her cart around so it leaned against a brick wall and leaned over to reach inside her box.

He stood behind her so no one would see her nether regions in that ridiculously short skirt.

She stood up, holding a fairy cake in her hand. Two laughing women walked out of a pub and Aimee stepped forward. “Hi there! Would either of you like to buy a fairy cake? Only a pound each. Chocolate!”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Simon asked.

Chapter Nine

Her potential customers couldn’t get away fast enough. Aimee lowered the cupcake to her side. What was he still doing here? She was way behind the eight ball on her profits, and with all of the cupcakes he’d ruined, she was going to have to sell extra hard the next few days.

“The longer you stand there glowering at people, the longer it’s going to take me to earn the money to get home,” she said.