Desk Job (London Menage Book 2) by Lily Harlem Page B

Kent that we shared together. I signed it over to her and started afresh on the property ladder.”
    “Wow, that was generous.”
    “It was the least I could do after what I’d put her through.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Were you that bad?”
    He kind of chuckled but it held little humor. “I didn’t beat her or have affairs but I was never there for her. I didn’t treat her the way she should have been treated or make her feel special the way a man should make his wife feel special, so yes, I was bad and I’ll always regret that.”
    I squeezed his hand. “Sounds like you had a rough time.”
    “It wasn’t fun, but it was my own doing. I blew my chances with her and goodness knows, she gave me enough of them.” He drew my hand up to his face and set a kiss on my knuckles. “But I want to do it differently next time I fall in love. I won’t make the same mistakes again.”
    Next time he falls in love. A bubble of something scarily like hope grew inside me. Love was a big word, he’d also confessed to what he wanted for his future, and damn the guy was quite a catch. Handsome, kind, successful. I could live with all of that in the short term and the long.
    But right now, there were some more basic needs to attend to.
    We pulled up beside a high red brick wall that had huge dark green gates set in it.
    “Thanks.” Andre handed a few notes over to the driver then opened the door. He climbed out, then held offered his hand once more for me to take.
    I stepped out, clutching my throw at my chest and looked up at the tall greenery that went higher than the wall that lined the pavement. “Is this your place?” I asked, nodding at the gates.
    “Yes, not the most impressive entrance but it’s secure and private.” He pulled out a key and inserted it into a small Yale lock on the gate.
    A smaller gate opened up, enough for a person and not a vehicle.
    “Come in,” he said, stepping through and holding it wide.
    I did as instructed, my feet sinking in the small stones on the inner driveway. I looked up. “Wow.”
    Before me stood a grand Georgian house. It was painted cream, had thick pillars on either side of the black front door, huge bay windows and a balcony leading over the porch. It had a high roof with several sturdy chimney pots and next to me, on the driveway, sat a silver Maserati.
    “Do you like it?” he asked, guiding me past the car toward the steps that led to the front door.
    “It’s beautiful.” It was my ideal house. It was the type of house I would have drawn as a little girl, the kind I mooned over in estate agent windows and could quite happily live in forever.
    “I did some work on it. The inside was stuck in a time warp from last century, and not a particularly stylish decade at that.”
    “I can’t wait to see inside.”
    He grinned and led the way up the steps. After opening the door and turning off a quietly beeping alarm, he held out his hand. “Shall I take that?”
    “Yes, please.” I let the throw slip from my shoulders and watched as he draped it over a mahogany chair set beneath a gold gilded mirror.
    “This way to the kitchen,” he said. “Or would you rather sit in the lounge?”
    “I want to see your kitchen.” I smiled. “Where the magic happens.”
    “Magic doesn’t happen in the kitchen.” He glanced up the stairs then back at me.
    Oh fuck. He was so damn sexy and I wanted some of his magic. But I decided not to respond to his flirty comment and keep him guessing as to whether or not I would go upstairs with him.
    “What would you like to drink?” he asked, turning and heading through a wide door to his right.
    “Gin and tonic, if you have it.” I followed him.
    “I certainly do.”
    The kitchen was ultra-modern, the units white and a vast amount of sparkling black granite covered the work surfaces. A big island was set in the center and held a tall, sleek tap and a vase of white peonies.
    Andre shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on a white