The Billionaire from Her Past (9 page)

CHAPTER NINE

B
Y
THE
TIME
Seb had walked back to his apartment block Mila was already there. She was waiting in the foyer, pacing a short path in front of the mirrored lifts.

She paused the instant Seb stepped through the automatic doors, making as if to hurry towards him—but then she stopped. Instead she waited for him to approach her.

‘Nice place,' Mila said, meeting his gaze.

He shrugged. ‘It's fine,' he said. ‘I plan to build something like this—but better—some day soon.'

She nodded sharply. ‘You will.'

She'd wrapped her arms around herself even though it was perfectly temperature-controlled in here—not too hot, not too cold. She wore skinny blue jeans and spiky heels. Her jacket was of some type of faded grey linen, with sections of a silky pink camisole top visible where her arms weren't gripping herself tightly. She looked fantastic.

He wasn't being objective.

‘Can I come up?' she asked.

There was no point acknowledging that it was a bad idea—to himself or to Mila. ‘Sure,' he said.

He reached past her to push the elevator's ‘up' button, then when the doors opened gestured for Mila to walk into the small space before him. Her heels clattered loudly on the marble floor as she fidgeted inside the elevator—walking over to the back to run a finger along the railing, then over to the side, and then simply standing almost exactly in the middle, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Seb scanned his access key and pressed the button for his floor. He didn't move as the doors swished shut, not sure what to do. Keeping his distance from Mila seemed the best idea. He didn't know why she was here.

‘Not the penthouse?' Mila asked as they stepped onto his floor.

‘No,' he said with a shrug. ‘New business. New priorities.'

Not that he was exactly slumming it. He still had half of the entire floor to himself. Unlocking his front door revealed a tastefully decorated, luxury serviced apartment—and, more importantly, the view across the river he'd just walked beside to the twinkling lights of the South Perth foreshore.

‘Nice,' Mila said simply, walking before him into the main living space.

It was an open-plan conglomeration of gourmet kitchen, dining room and living room, looking out over a wide herringbone-paved balcony complete with a barbecue he never used and an outdoor setting he used nearly every day. He was definitely taking advantage of the Perth sun after years in far less sunny London.

‘Can we go outside?' Mila said. ‘It's a bit stuffy in here.'

It wasn't, but he followed her onto the balcony. Since she'd greeted him she hadn't met his gaze at all. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so highly strung. She was constantly moving—crossing and uncrossing her arms, lacing her fingers together, touching every different texture she found: the grain of the jarrah outdoor table, the shine of the stainless steel barbecue lid, the rough surface of the stone-hewn abstract sculpture in one corner.

‘This is really ugly,' she said.

It was, but that wasn't the point. ‘What's going on, Mila?' Seb asked. ‘Why do you need to see me?'

Finally she turned to look at him—to
really
look at him. He stood in front of the still open sliding door. Mila was metres away from him, near the balcony railing.

‘Aaron kissed me,' she said.

Seb simply had no words.

Mila filled up the silence. ‘He's a really nice guy, it turns out. And he's tall. And hot. In a really, really young kind of way...'

‘Am I supposed to offer you congratulations?'

‘No,' Mila said. ‘
No
. That's the point. I wanted to kiss him. I think so, anyway. Or maybe I just wanted to
want
to kiss him. I don't know.' She pivoted on her heel to face out towards the river. ‘But kissing him wasn't great. Wasn't even good. It was awful, actually. And awfully quick. It was over in seconds—I just couldn't do it. I knew it was wrong. Really wrong.'

Seb walked up to stand beside her, also leaning against the rail.

Mila ran her hands through her hair, her fingers leaving it all haphazard. ‘It was wrong, totally wrong, because...'

And now her avalanche of words ended.

She turned again, propping her hip against the rail so she faced Seb. He did the same, although their casual poses were failing in any attempt to relax the growing tension between them.

Mila met his gaze and held it. He could practically see it—that one last boulder, teetering at the top, waiting for Mila to open her mouth again.

‘Why was it wrong, Mila?'

She glared at him. ‘You
know
. You do—and don't pretend you don't.'

But he really wanted to pretend. Everything would be simpler if he did.

Yet they both just stood there.

‘It was wrong because of you,' Mila said eventually, unnecessarily. ‘It was wrong because of this. Because of us.'

She gestured between them, pointing to Seb and then to herself.

‘I hate this,' Mila said, very softly.

‘Why did you come here?' Seb asked.

‘Because I was angry. At myself. At you.'

‘Why are you angry?'

‘Because this shouldn't be happening.'

‘I know,' he said. But he needed to know her reasons. ‘Why not?'

‘Because it isn't how it's supposed to be. I'm not supposed to feel this way about you. You're
Seb
—you're Steph's husband. You're my best friend's husband.'

‘Not any more.'

‘I know,' she said. She ran a hand through her hair, looking past him towards that ugly sculpture. ‘And that isn't even really the reason. I just don't want to feel this way. Because I know what will happen. I know—' She stopped abruptly, then looked straight at him. ‘And I'm angry at
you
. For not walking away when I told you to. I needed you to walk away, Seb...'

‘I could never walk away from you, Mila.'

She looked up at the sky, rolling her eyes.

He didn't understand—how could she not believe him? ‘Why did you need to see me, Mila?' he asked again, this time with a hard edge. ‘What did you want to happen?'

He couldn't work it out—what she was thinking, what she wanted. But he did understand the tension between them.

‘I don't know,' she said, but Seb didn't really believe her.

She shouldn't have come. And he definitely shouldn't be glad she was here. But she had, and he was.

‘What do
you
want to happen?' she asked.

‘I don't know,' he said, lying too.

There wasn't much space between them. A metre...maybe a little less.

Mila still held his gaze. He wished hers was unreadable, but it wasn't—not any more. He was sure his wasn't either.

All he had to do was reach for her...

And that would be it.

It would change everything. Their friendship—the friendship that was so important to him, that he needed so badly—would be altered for ever.

And Mila... Was this really what she wanted?

‘I just want tonight,' Mila whispered, reading his mind.

And with that he was losing himself in those eyes, falling into their depths. He needed to touch her. He needed Mila. There was no going back.

He shifted his weight, pushing himself away from the railing. Mila remained still, but watched him. He stepped closer, with plans to drag her into his arms. But then he paused.

Instead he leant forward, bending closer, until her breath was against his lips. Her breath hitched.

Heat flooded Seb's body. He wasn't even touching her, yet every cell in his body was on high alert, desperate for Mila.

Then, finally, he kissed her. It just seemed fitting for their lips to meet first, for their kiss to be their focus—maybe to give Mila that one last chance to back away from the point of no return.

Because Seb knew he didn't have the strength to do it himself.

Her lips were plump, soft. Their kiss was intimate. Different from that kiss on the beach. More considered, more knowing. This was a kiss without a question—this was a kiss with a destination.

And Mila was definitely coming along for the ride.

Mila's hands were suddenly behind his neck; his were at her waist. And then she was in his arms, pressed as close as she could be.

Their kiss deepened as Seb's hand slid beneath Mila's camisole top, finding warm, smooth skin at her back. Mila slid her hands downwards, greedily discovering the shape of his shoulders and his chest.

His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, to her neck—desperate to explore all of her, to taste all of her.

Mila continued her own exploration, her hands shoving up his T-shirt, feeling his skin hot beneath her touch.

Somehow they were back inside. Seb was backing her against the nearest wall. Mila was smiling and sighing against his mouth as they kissed.

But even now—even as his whole world was focused on Mila and how she felt, how
this
felt—Seb knew what he was doing. Knew what he was risking.

But he couldn't make himself stop. He couldn't walk away from this—this maelstrom of need and desire. He needed this. Needed her. Needed tonight.

It would have to be enough.

* * *

When Mila woke it was still dark.

She rolled over in Seb's bed, hoping for an alarm clock or something that would tell her the time, but there was none.

Her phone was in her bag, abandoned somewhere in Seb's cavernous living area, so that couldn't help her.

Not that the time really mattered. What would she do with the information, anyway? Work out if it was an acceptable time to call a taxi and make a run for it back to her place? Or maybe, if it was still truly the middle of the night, use the time as an excuse to simply close her eyes again and snuggle closer to Seb's gorgeous warmth?

She didn't really need to know the time to do either of those things. Mila knew that. Either were viable options, regardless of the time.

One was the better option, of course. She should go. But instead she stayed exactly where she was. Naked, but not quite touching Seb, a thin expensive-feeling sheet covering them both.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. It was a nice room, although understandably devoid of any personality. The large bed had a stitched fabric buttoned headboard, and the bedside tables were spindly and clutter-free. Where Mila lay, she faced the door to the hallway. A large abstract canvas decorated the wall immediately opposite her, aligned with the door. It was too dark to work out the colours—they were simply dark splashes and swirls against a pale background. Mila had been too wrapped up in Seb to notice it when the lights had still been on.

She smiled at the memory.

Maybe she didn't need to know the time. Without it the night remained unanchored to reality. Like a dream. Perfect, with no regrets.

Seb shifted behind her, breathing with the steady, deep pattern of sleep.

Mila rolled over so she faced Seb again. He was also on his side, but it was impossible to make out any details in the darkness. She could watch his shoulders lift with his breathing, the shape of his body silhouetted against the window in the almost blackness...

‘Mila...' he said, after a while.

‘Sebastian.'

She never said his full name. Tonight, the longer word sounded like an endearment.

He reached out, drawing a finger along her jaw. ‘You are so beautiful,' he said, very softly.

His thumb brushed against her bottom lip, and she couldn't have spoken if she'd wanted to. She realised she'd been restraining herself from touching Seb. Whatever reason she'd had for doing that instantly evaporated and became impossible to justify. Why, oh, why would she want to do anything
but
touch Sebastian Fyfe?

And so she did—exploring his face the way he'd explored hers, delicately tracing his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his nose, his lips.

She was rediscovering a face she'd known almost her whole life. But it was not the face of a boy any longer. Tonight it was almost unfamiliar—foreign to her. But then, that made sense, didn't it? Yesterday Seb had been a lifelong friend. Tonight he was her lover.

Mila waited for regret to descend.

But it didn't.

It would.

But right now that didn't matter. Right now it was dark. Right now time stood still.

Mila leant closer and kissed him.

* * *

She was having a shower. Seb was awake, sitting up in bed, reading some emails on his phone. From the shower Mila could see him through the open en-suite bathroom door, the shape of one propped knee tenting the sheet, his bare chest golden in the lamplight. He could probably turn the light off now, though. It was morning.

Mila turned her face upwards, directly into the spray of water, her eyes tight shut. This was all very domestic. Not quite comfortable, but not entirely awkward either.

She hadn't left as she'd intended, in yesterday's clothes under the cover of darkness. He hadn't asked her to, either. Although maybe he was just being polite.

She didn't know what the rules were in this situation. How did you have a one-night stand with a friend? Or someone who had once been a friend? Mila didn't know how to define Seb in her life any more. The definition had changed too much recently. A few weeks ago she'd thought she'd never see him again. Then suddenly he was a daily presence in her life, and recently there'd been glimpses of the friendship they'd once had. But now—now she didn't know what to call Seb.

Ex-something, though. Ex-friend...ex-lover. Because this was it, of course. After last night and this morning they were done.

She'd known it last night—known exactly what she was doing when she'd come to Seb's apartment. She'd just focused on her need to see him—on her need
for
him—and allowed herself to do so: just for one night.