Pitch Black: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 1) (16 page)

“Because you had to run the company?”

He put his fork down and sighed. “That and Mother had a nervous breakdown, and there was nobody else to look after Tia. It took a year for her to recover and another two for me to turn HC Systems around.”

“It must have been satisfying to do that.”

“I guess. Sure, I’ve made money, but now I’m stuck there. I always liked messing around on computers as a teenager, but I never wanted to do it for a living. The corporate side sucks.”

“Couldn’t you sell it?”

“I’ve thought about it, but it would be like selling part of myself. I still enjoy working on the ideas side of things. It’s the day-to-day management that gets me down.”

“Get good managers in place and delegate.”

“That’s the crazy thing—I have good managers.” He stared at the wall over my head. “It’s the leap into the unknown that scares me.”

“Sometimes a gamble can pay off. You could free up some time to do what you enjoy.”

“Maybe I’ll try it. Hell, I could do with some excitement in my life.” He leaned back in his chair. “Dammit, just listen to me. I invite you over to dinner, and we spend the evening talking about business.”

“Talking can help.” Fuck, I sounded all preachy. It was very much a case of do as I say, not as I do.

The oven timer bleeped from the kitchen, and I helped Luke clear away the plates and bring out the next course. The salmon and asparagus dish was delicious, better than Susie’s cooking and infinitely tastier than mine. While we ate, the discussion turned to Lower Foxford.

“There’s a rumour going round that Henry got taken to hospital after the Hunt Ball but nobody knows why. Have you heard anything?”

I choked, and Luke looked at me strangely. “I think it may have been something to do with having his testicles rearranged.”

“Who by?” He sounded shocked.

Oops, I forgot I was talking to Mr. Violence-never-solves-anything. I stayed quiet.

“You did that?”

“He should have kept his hands to himself.”

“I suppose he had it coming.”

I helped Luke to stack the plates in the dishwasher. He’d gone a bit quiet. Was he upset about the kneeing-in-the-nuts episode?

I turned to face him, and under the brighter lights in the kitchen he didn’t look so good.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You look kinda grey.”

“I think I’m just tired. I had to work late every evening this week so I could take the weekend off.”

I wasn’t totally convinced, but I let it go, making a mental note to myself not to admit to walloping any more arseholes. While Luke slouched over the breakfast bar, I made myself useful by caramelising the tops of the crème brûlées.

“Here you go.” I pushed one over to him then dug into mine.

He picked at the top, staring at the table. Should I offer to leave?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

His response was to push his stool back and run from the room. From the manner in which he left, I suspected he’d gone to make an offering to the porcelain god.

So much for a nice, relaxing evening.

Chapter 16

I WAITED A few minutes, and when Luke didn’t reappear I went to find him.

I’d hoped I was wrong about him being ill, but when I heard the gagging noises coming from the downstairs cloakroom, that hope faded. He was kneeling over the toilet and judging by the mess on the floor, he hadn’t made it in time.

He looked up at me and groaned. “Please go out. I’m fine.”

He clearly didn’t want me to see him in that state. And he most definitely was not “fine.”

“I’ve seen worse.” Although not by much. He’d gone from nought to Norovirus in sixty seconds. “Somebody has to look after you.”

 
“Yes, but not you. I don’t want you here while I’m like this.” Under his grey pallor, he looked mortified.

“Well, do you want me to call someone else? Your mother? Or your sister?”

“No! My mother would totally over react. She’d probably convince the doctor to admit me to hospital. And Tia would just call my mother. She doesn’t deal with things like this.”

“You’re stuck with me then. Suck it up.”

The fact he didn’t argue further showed how rough he must have been feeling. That was further demonstrated when he turned and threw up again.

I dampened a wad of tissue and handed it to him, then averted my gaze while he wiped his mouth.

“Think you can get up?” I asked.

I took his groan to mean yes.

With my am around his waist, I guided him past the mess and towards the stairs that wound up both sides of the entrance hall.

“Just lean on me. We can go as slow as you like.” He’d have given a tortoise a run for its money, but we made it to the top. “Now where?”

“To the right, last door on the left.” He was barely audible.

I hadn’t planned on ending up in Luke’s bedroom tonight, but that was where I found myself. The elegant decor spoke of his mother’s touch again.

He sank onto the bed and leaned forwards, head in his hands. His face was paler than the cream quilt, and I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose at his clothes. They still had splashes of vomit on them, and the smell turned my stomach.

“Lean back,” I said, then unbuttoned his shirt. Not bad at all. He had a gym, and he knew how to use it.

There was no time to stop and admire, though. I needed to find him something clean to wear.

Opposite the bed, two doors hung ajar. I tried the left one first. Unlucky—that was the bathroom, complete with jacuzzi. Did every house around here have one?

The right door hid what I was looking for—Luke’s dressing room. I rummaged around until I found a clean T-shirt. He was listless and didn’t help as I tried to shove his arms through the holes. Dressing Nate’s four-year old was easier.

Luke’s jeans were dirty as well. I reached for his belt. “Please say you’re wearing underwear?”

He managed a weak nod, so I stripped him down to his underwear and shoved him under the duvet.

I needed drugs. His bathroom cabinet yielded a box of condoms, vitamins and four kinds of moisturiser. Surely he had painkillers? Ah, there they were, a half-empty packet of paracetamol, shoved behind his spare razor blades.

By the time I got back to him, he’d fallen asleep. I filled a glass of water and left the pills next to it on his nightstand. He could take them when he woke up.

What promised to be a pleasant evening had turned to shit, just like everything else in my life. Was I cursed? I stuffed Luke’s dirty clothes into the washing machine and found a pair of rubber gloves and disinfectant in the cupboard under the sink so I could sort out the downstairs loo. Even after it was spotless, the smell of vomit still haunted my nose.

Back in Luke’s dressing room, I dug out another T-shirt to sleep in. The bedroom I’d borrowed earlier had a lock on the door, but just to be on the safe side, I dragged a chest of drawers in front of it. Not to keep Luke out, but to keep me in.

I checked on him once in the night, and although the covers lay twisted, he was still sleeping soundly. That was more than could be said for me. I’d barely dropped off when the sun rose over the balcony outside my room, waking me. Once, I’d thought of each sunrise as a new beginning, something to be thankful for, but now it signalled another day of sadness.

How much more of this did I have to take?

I was sipping a cup of coffee as I read the doom and gloom in the morning paper when Luke stumbled into the kitchen. He stopped short when he caught sight of me at the breakfast bar.

“You didn’t leave.”

I looked down at myself. “Nope, still here.”

“But I threw up in front of you.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d seen worse.” He shuffled closer, and I laid a hand on his forehead. “You’ve got a fever.”

“I was freezing five minutes ago.”

“You should have stayed in bed. Did you take the painkillers?”

“Yeah, but they’re not working yet.”

“Go and lie down. I’ll bring up some Lucozade.”

And for fuck’s sake put a shirt on. Trousers would be good too. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes on his face.

He did as he was told and went back to bed, and when I took his drink up five minutes later, he was dead to the world again. No, the universe. He didn’t stir for the rest of the day. As he hadn’t kicked me out, I took advantage of his pool table and dartboard. I was tempted to skinny dip in the pool, but sod’s law would have ensured he woke up.

Swimming or no swimming, it was a far more pleasant day than I’d have had at Hazelwood Farm. Susie had drawn today’s shift, and she was no doubt enjoying the company of the whining brats.

As the hours ticked by, I used my phone to find a recipe for macaroni and cheese and attempted that for dinner. It was my comfort food, so I figured it would be good for a sick person as well.

“You didn’t have to cook,” Luke said when he appeared in the early evening. He was dressed, thankfully.

“Don’t get excited. I might end up poisoning you.” And for once it wouldn’t be intentional. At least I’d fished out the fingernail I’d accidentally grated into the cheese.

“Didn’t you cook when you lived in America?”

“Er, not much. We just ate a lot of takeaways.”

He must have been hungry, because he shovelled his plateful down, despite the pasta not being entirely cooked. Not bad for a first attempt, but I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to try a second. At least Luke had some colour back.

“I’ll clear up the dishes before I head off. I’m glad you’re getting better.”

“Stay. Please. I like having you here.”

What did he have in mind? “Why?”

“It’s nice to have company.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed at such a bland response, but in the end hot water won the day. That and the heating were too good to turn down.

I shrugged. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

“Fancy a movie?”

“Sure.”

I vetoed the rom-com that Luke half-heartedly suggested and let him pick out a spy thriller instead. The storyline was vaguely interesting, but I couldn’t help picking out all the factual inaccuracies in my head as it played. Watching a film from start to finish was a novelty for me. Usually if I fancied seeing some action I only had to pop down to the control room at work. That was when I wasn’t in the middle of it, of course.

After an unrealistic ending where the bad guys dropped like flies, my eyelids were heavy.

“You look like you’re ready for bed,” Luke said. “After all the chores you’ve done today, you’ll sleep well.”

“I doubt it. I rarely do.”

“You suffer from insomnia?”

“Not insomnia, exactly. I have a few problems at night.” Problems was an understatement. Murderous tendencies more like it, but I didn’t want to explain that one.

“Doesn’t everybody, sometimes?”

“With me it’s more than that. Promise me that if you hear me shout, or see me sleepwalking, you won’t come near me.”

“Why not?”

“I once hurt someone in my sleep, and I can’t let it happen again. It’s why I always sleep alone.”

“Hurt someone? How?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

He rolled his eyes. He clearly thought I was exaggerating. “If it makes you feel better, I promise.”

It was Luke’s turn to make breakfast the next morning, and mine to wake up sweating. I’d seen my husband’s death again, played out in all its horror. I tried to block it from my mind as I got dressed.

The delicious aroma of bacon filled the air as I shuffled into the kitchen, and Luke greeted me with a smile more genuine than my own.

“My specialty,” he said, pointing at the frying pan with a spatula. “Something I can actually cook from scratch.”

“I’m impressed.” I made both of us coffee and sat down.

“Ketchup?” Luke asked.

“Lots of it.”

He slid a plate over, and I bit into my roll and groaned. “You know if you ever wanted to quit your job, you could become a bacon chef?”

“Keep that up, and I’ll make you breakfast every morning.”

A couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t have contemplated that but today…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I could wake up to worse than Luke’s easy grin.

“Anything you want to do today?” he asked, when we’d both finished.

“I’ve been eyeing up your gym,” I admitted.

“Knock yourself out.” He gestured towards the back of the house.

“I’ll try not to take that too literally.” I’d always preferred to knock someone else out instead. “I’ll have to pass today, though—I don’t have my shorts with me.”

“Have a look in my wardrobe—there’s probably something with a drawstring you can make do with.”

“Thanks. I will.” An air-conditioned gym would make a pleasant change to running through mud.

I found a pair of new navy blue boxer shorts in Luke’s closet. His underwear was tasteful—not a novelty cartoon character in sight, thank goodness. They sat low on my hips, but I was only wearing them in private so they’d do. I snagged another of his T-shirts too. What were the chances of me taking it home without him noticing?

“I’m tired just watching you,” Luke said a couple of hours later. He’d spent the last half-hour sitting on the floor with his tablet while I ran on the treadmill.