Read Online The Last Kolovsky Playboy by Carol Marinelli - Free Book Online
Authors: Carol Marinelli
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shortening, and they were there in less than thirty minutes. ‘Take me back to the city.’
The cab driver started to argue, but stopped as a wad of notes silenced his protest.
‘Just drive.’
So they did.
One a.m. Two a.m. They drove around.
‘Left,’ Aleksi said as once again the city lights receded. ‘Take the exit here,’ he commanded as they swerved into suburbia. ‘Right at the roundabout. And right again.’
Then he saw Kate’s house, nondescript in the darkness. The little streak of grass needed a cut, her car needed a wash, and a ‘For Sale’ sign was posted outside.
‘Stop here.’
Money talked, so the taxi driver didn’t—just stopped there, for five, ten, fifteen minutes, as Aleksi waited for normal services to resume, for this madness to abate, to tap the driver on the shoulder and tell him to take him back.
He had said never again.
He had sworn to himself he’d never come here again.
Hated himself for leading her on—because nothing could ever come of it.
Three times he had ended up here—and loathed himself for it.
Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he would surely regret it again.
Don’t make the same mistake again, he begged himself.
But…
‘Go.’ He stepped out of the cab.
‘I can wait,’ the driver offered. ‘Make sure someone’s home…’
‘Go,’ Aleksi repeated.
He stood there, in the middle of suburbia at three a.m., with no phone, watching the cab drive off and wondering to himself what the hell he was doing here.
Again.
He quashed that thought, tried to dismiss memories of his other late night visits to this house, but they rose to the surface again, demanding an answer he struggled to give.
He’d known her the longest.
It was the first time he’d considered it, thought about it, pondered it.
Apart from family, Kate had been in his life the longest of any woman—their fractured five-year history was the furthest back he’d ever gone. Aleksi travelledlight; when a relationship was over it was over, and as for female friends—well, he’d never quite worked out how to keep it at that…
But he’d had to with Kate.
He walked up the path. Stared at the door. Told himself he could handle it.
And then took a breath and knocked.
Hearing the knocking on the door, Bruce barking just a couple of moments too late to earn the title of guard dog, Kate turned on the light. Half awake and half asleep, even as she headed down the hall she told herself not to hope.
Kate sometimes wondered if she imagined these visits.
There was never any mention of them—and certainly no acknowledgment of them—afterwards.
She didn’t really understand why he came, yet three times before now he had arrived on her doorstep.
Once, a couple of weeks after she had started back at Kolovsky, he had said that the press had been chasing him and he had shaken them off and ended up here. She had loaned him her sofa. His silver car had looked ridiculous in her drive and he had been gone by the time she had awoken the next morning.
Then, a few weeks later, there had been a row and she had resigned when he’d demanded she stay at work late. He had arrived in a taxi, a little the worse for wear, and had asked her to reconsider handing in her notice—had offered to more rigorously uphold the part-time conditions he had previously agreed to and then, when she had agreed to return, promptly fallen asleep on her sofa.
He had returned a third time after the charity ball, incoherent, clearly the worse for wear and at odds with everyone—furious with Belenki, with his family, andwith the world. They had shared their second kiss—a sweet, confusing kiss, because even as it had ended she’d seen the conflict in his eyes. What had taken place would not be open to discussion, and again he had been gone by morning. Then the accident had happened.
But now he was back—not just at work, but in her home, too.
Cruel, restless, angry—and never more so than now—again he was at her
The cab driver started to argue, but stopped as a wad of notes silenced his protest.
‘Just drive.’
So they did.
One a.m. Two a.m. They drove around.
‘Left,’ Aleksi said as once again the city lights receded. ‘Take the exit here,’ he commanded as they swerved into suburbia. ‘Right at the roundabout. And right again.’
Then he saw Kate’s house, nondescript in the darkness. The little streak of grass needed a cut, her car needed a wash, and a ‘For Sale’ sign was posted outside.
‘Stop here.’
Money talked, so the taxi driver didn’t—just stopped there, for five, ten, fifteen minutes, as Aleksi waited for normal services to resume, for this madness to abate, to tap the driver on the shoulder and tell him to take him back.
He had said never again.
He had sworn to himself he’d never come here again.
Hated himself for leading her on—because nothing could ever come of it.
Three times he had ended up here—and loathed himself for it.
Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he would surely regret it again.
Don’t make the same mistake again, he begged himself.
But…
‘Go.’ He stepped out of the cab.
‘I can wait,’ the driver offered. ‘Make sure someone’s home…’
‘Go,’ Aleksi repeated.
He stood there, in the middle of suburbia at three a.m., with no phone, watching the cab drive off and wondering to himself what the hell he was doing here.
Again.
He quashed that thought, tried to dismiss memories of his other late night visits to this house, but they rose to the surface again, demanding an answer he struggled to give.
He’d known her the longest.
It was the first time he’d considered it, thought about it, pondered it.
Apart from family, Kate had been in his life the longest of any woman—their fractured five-year history was the furthest back he’d ever gone. Aleksi travelledlight; when a relationship was over it was over, and as for female friends—well, he’d never quite worked out how to keep it at that…
But he’d had to with Kate.
He walked up the path. Stared at the door. Told himself he could handle it.
And then took a breath and knocked.
Hearing the knocking on the door, Bruce barking just a couple of moments too late to earn the title of guard dog, Kate turned on the light. Half awake and half asleep, even as she headed down the hall she told herself not to hope.
Kate sometimes wondered if she imagined these visits.
There was never any mention of them—and certainly no acknowledgment of them—afterwards.
She didn’t really understand why he came, yet three times before now he had arrived on her doorstep.
Once, a couple of weeks after she had started back at Kolovsky, he had said that the press had been chasing him and he had shaken them off and ended up here. She had loaned him her sofa. His silver car had looked ridiculous in her drive and he had been gone by the time she had awoken the next morning.
Then, a few weeks later, there had been a row and she had resigned when he’d demanded she stay at work late. He had arrived in a taxi, a little the worse for wear, and had asked her to reconsider handing in her notice—had offered to more rigorously uphold the part-time conditions he had previously agreed to and then, when she had agreed to return, promptly fallen asleep on her sofa.
He had returned a third time after the charity ball, incoherent, clearly the worse for wear and at odds with everyone—furious with Belenki, with his family, andwith the world. They had shared their second kiss—a sweet, confusing kiss, because even as it had ended she’d seen the conflict in his eyes. What had taken place would not be open to discussion, and again he had been gone by morning. Then the accident had happened.
But now he was back—not just at work, but in her home, too.
Cruel, restless, angry—and never more so than now—again he was at her
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