She deepens the kiss, plunging her tongue into my mouth. I grasp her thighs and tug until she’s straddling me, lining us up perfectly. My hands move, cupping her securely to me as I raise to my feet and carry her to the bedroom.
I gently lay her on the bed and she brushes her cool fingers against my cheek. I capture her lips in mine, pouring all the love I haven’t yet voiced into my kiss. Our hands roam, tender caresses and gentle touches. Our clothes fall to the floor and my heart feels like it’s ready to burst out of my chest.
We make love and afterwards, as I cradle her in my arms and press kisses to the freckles dotting her cheeks, I pray it’s not for the last time.
Chapter 37
ANYA
I wake the next morning to a faint buzzing. Blearily, I raise my head from the pillow and reach beside me, searching for a hard body that’s usually curled around me.
Finding nothing but empty space and squinting against the light, I reach for my phone on the nightstand.
I have twelve missed calls. Furrowing my brow and wondering why anyone is calling me after my contract is up, I scroll to the messages and find one from Jess.
Jess: Have you seen Twitter?
With dread sinking in my stomach, I flip through the app and find the number one trending topic ‘Covington’. My heart in my mouth, I quickly flick through the posts until I come across a news article.
SEXUAL ABUSE ALLEGATIONS BROUGHT AGAINST CHARLES COVINGTON BY FORMER ASSISTANT
Scrolling, I find more and more references to the assault, including a detailed profile on Charles’ former assistant, Georgia.
Then, I find something that nearly makes me drop my phone. It’s a grainy picture of Danny from the other night with the caption:
PLAYBOY DANNY COVINGTON SPOTTED AT POPULAR PARIS CLUB WITH MYSTERY BRUNETTE
And there I am, wrapped around Danny as we leave the club.
There isn’t just one photo. There are dozens. Him pulling me towards him for a kiss, his arm wrapped around me, then us both in peels of laughter. The only saving grace is I’m not named, and the pictures are dark enough to perhaps not identify me. But the amount of calls from the crew makes it pretty clear we’ve not got away with it completely.
Heart racing, I see one final post– ‘Like father like son’– before I fling my phone across the mattress and jump out of bed, buttoning Danny’s discarded shirt up with shaking fingers.
Taking a breath, I open the door to find him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, his phone resting on the table in front of him.
I cross the room to his side and run my fingers through his hair.
“Hey,” I say, softly. “Are you okay?”
He laughs humorously and shakes my hand off with a shake of his head.
He sighs as he stands, clad only in black boxers.
We look at each other. My heart is racing as I desperately scan his face for any signs of panic. His bloodshot eyes can barely catch mine.
He licks his lips. “I need to go.” He breezes past me on his way back to the bedroom, moving so fast I feel my hair whip in his wind stream.
“You don’t have to go yet. Stay a while and take a breath.”
“I don’t need a breath,” he says tugging on his jeans.
“Look, it will be okay, this will blow over.” He remains silent as he begins to pull his shoes on. It’s a repeat of yesterday, but instead of confusion my thoughts swirl with panic.
“Can I have my shirt?”
I clutch it to my chest. Somehow I know this shirt is going to be the last piece of him I’ll ever get, his walls slamming down like a shutter and locking me out.
“Anya,” he snaps. “My shirt.”
