Page 144 of Pure Recklessness

Those thick, firm thighs.

My eyes dropped between his legs.

And that dick.

‘Stop ogling me, drink your coffee and let’s go.’

I did as I was told and followed him into the lift.

When we stepped out of the building, I was reminded just how prime the location of Blake’s penthouse was.

The River Thames was right in front of us.

‘We’re going to run along the South Bank,’ Blake explained. ‘The views are amazing, hence the sightseeing. If we go too late, it gets busy and we have to play dodge the tourist.’

‘Great!’ I said, excitement flooding my belly.

‘Let’s go.’ He raced off and I attempted to catch up.

I enjoyed working out and always considered myself to be relatively fit, but Blake’s fitness levels were in another league.

‘We can stop if you want.’ He turned to face me.

‘No,’ I said, a renewed sense of energy flooding my veins as we sped past the London Eye, Royal Festival Hall and the Tate Modern. ‘Let’s keep going.’

By the time we headed back to his penthouse, I was exhausted and starving.

The scent of coffee, pastries and what smelt like freshly cooked pancakes instantly flooded my nostrils.

‘Is someone… cooking?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Iris, my chef. I need to make an important call, so have a shower then we’ll have breakfast on the terrace.’

His chef?

If I wasn’t sure we came from completely different worlds before, it was obvious now.

The man organised for a load of designer clothes to be delivered in the early hours of the morning. When all of the shops were closed. All in my size.

And now his chef had just whipped up breakfast. Which we were about to have on his penthouse terrace.

I still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a dream.

When I finished showering, Blake was still in his office, so I went out to the terrace. There was a table filled with pastries, muffins, fresh fruit and jugs of juice.

I was trying to drag my jaw off the floor when Blake strode outside and pulled up a chair beside me.

Never mind this magnificent spread. I’d happily eat him for breakfast.

Blake’s hair was damp from the shower and he was wearing a white T-shirt and grey tracksuit bottoms or sweatpants as they called them in the American romance novels I’d read. And Blake fitted the romance hero image perfectly.

‘Are you expecting guests?’ I asked.

‘No. Why?’ He frowned.

‘Because there’s enough food to feed ten armies!’ I chuckled. ‘Do you have any Tupperware? I could take some leftovers home for breakfast, lunch and dinner. For an entire week! Then again, you probably don’t even know what Tupperware is.’ His family probably stored food in 18-carat gold containers.

‘Of course I do.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘But nothing goes to waste. Iris or Geoff take it home. Now less talking, more eating. You’ll need your strength.’