CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I knocked twice but there was no answer.
Impatient, I headed back down to Ian’s lobby.
“Excuse me,” I told the concierge, “but can you check to see if a guest named Ian Aberdeen is still here?”
“Of course, miss.” His fingers cracked the keys of his keyboard. “I’m sorry but Mister Aberdeen has checked out.”
My heart raced. “Thank you,” I told him before hauling back out to my car, hopping in and racing toward home.
I dialed my cell.
“Pemmy?”
“Yes, dear? Fantastic job today in court,” he said. “I was just telling your father so.”
A lump formed in my throat. “I-Pemmy, listen, I need you to do me a favor.” I weaved between two semis, almost clipping one. No wonder you aren’t supposed to talk or text while driving. “Can you find out if Ian is flying back out tonight?”
He sighed. “Come home first, your father needs to talk with you.”
“Pemmy!” I yelled, exasperated. “Please, Pemmy, can you just check for me?”
“Come home, love. I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Thank you!” I said, pressing end and tossing the phone on the passenger seat.
Fifteen minutes later, I whipped my car into my parents’ drive and pulled into my garage space. I turned off the ignition, attempted to get out but realized I’d left my phone. I bent back in to retrieve it.
“You’re wealthy,” I heard behind me, staying me in place.
My mouth instantly went dry, my hands trembled, my breathing labored. I climbed out of my car and shut the door, leaning against the frame.
“No, my parents are wealthy,” I told him, mimicking what he’d told me outside his own home in Cape Town.
He smiled at me. “I see.”
“Does this change your opinion of me?” I asked.
“Hardly,” he told me, a rogue smile playing on a mischievous face.
We stood there staring at one another.
“My mom told me everything,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m sorry. For what she said. For what I said. I’m just…sorry.”
“What you did for me in court. That was…incredible. Thank you.”
“I’d have done it again and again if it meant freeing you.”
I smiled. We stood, staring again.
“Who was that guy at the courthouse?” he asked, his fists unwittingly tightening at his sides.
“That was Spencer.”
“Spencer. The Spencer who took you dancing that night?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in love with you, ya’ know.”
“No, I-”
“He is. I could see it,” he coolly replied, inching closer, “but that means nothing.”
“Oh?” I asked, one brow raised in question.
“Yes, because you belong to me, Price.” I opened my mouth to confirm what just that but he cut me off. “And before you argue with me,” he continued, grabbing me quickly and clutching me closely to his chest, sucking the very breath from mine.
He brought both hands up to my neck. I could feel the thumping of his heart against my own. “Would you like to know how I know this?”
I simply nodded, unable to speak.
“This,” he said before slamming his mouth on mine.