The Australian by Lesley Young

Author:Lesley Young [Young, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: L.A.Y. Books
Published: 2015-03-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

As it turns out, I woke up before Jace and slipped out of the bed and into the shower, managing to get dressed and pack without waking him. (He is a heavy sleeper.)

When he did finally wake up close to the time we had to leave, he was extremely cross with me, and demanded to know why I had denied him a morning shiny. I said it was because he appeared to need his sleep, but truthfully, I could not bear it. I had awoken at eight, an hour before we needed to rise, in his arms, my face in his chest, his thigh strapped over me, and never felt so safe in my life. Knowing it was the last time I would feel his being on mine . . . I could barely open my eyes.

The ache that I had felt after hurting his feelings last night was nothing compared to this. I had asked him to have sex with me, knowing it would end my employment, and he had agreed. What did I expect? Certainly not to feel such intense emotion at our pending separation. To have had sex one more time would only make matters worse, of that I was sure.

I was quite pale and ghostly as I disobeyed his orders to wait in the room while he took a shower; when I heard the water running, I slipped into the living room. I realized he was thrown by my cold behavior, and I was confused as to why he did not think that avoiding each other was the best strategy for the end of a personal and professional connection. Julie and Peter were present already, cleaning up the empty beer bottles and dirty plates. A naked woman was on the sofa, one of the Australian girls, just rousing as I came out. She got up, definitely hungover, perhaps experiencing memory loss, as she seemed bewildered, found her clothes and left without a word to anyone. I did not encourage her to seek help for her addiction, knowing all too well that was a decision only she could make.

I nodded at Joe, who emerged from his room a few minutes later, alone, with wet hair and freshly-pressed clothes. He greeted me with nothing more than a nod, thankfully. Security details slowly convened while we waited for Jace. I worried Joe would speak to me, but he simply busied himself with his phone, glancing at me now and again.

I had on the black skirt I wore on the way here with an old Dr. Who T-shirt I usually wear to sleep in. I would not be wearing my silk blouse ever again, and I had no other clean clothes. When Jace emerged with his suitcase and shirt—barely pulled on—I nearly toppled off my barstool from the glare directed solely at me. He dropped his bags at the hall and came over, yanked me off the stool and commandeered me out of The Bangalow.

Outside, he hissed, “What’s your

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