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staircase that glittered with the modern chandelier reflecting off the marble floor. The house was decadent but cold and Stacy knew he had not made it his own, when passing the generic paintings framing their way.
                  True to his word she was shown to a guest bedroom and simultaneous relief and disappointment assaulted her. Although exhaustion battered her she found herself staring restlessly at the shards of light reflecting from the moon.
                  Horatius had provided her one of his t-shirts to sleep in and his scent engulfed her as much as the material. She wondered which door led to his room then instantly scolded herself for her wayward thoughts.
                  Trying desperately to put her thoughts into some semblance of rationality. Stacy planned the morning, determined to return to her flat and start searching for a new job.

Chapter 5
     
    Stacy crept to the front door and cursed the cold marble floor as she tiptoed with her high heals in her hand. Soundlessly she cracked open the door but slammed it shut in an instant when snapping and jeers broke through the dawn.
                  “I wouldn’t recommend leaving without an escort.” Horatius’s deep voice from behind made her jump.
                  Spinning round she forgot to be mad with him as she looked on at his bare chest. So close the heat and power from his broad expanse warmed her skin. His tanned flesh was all she could see and instinctively her hand raised to touch him. Only the hiss of his inhale stopped her and he took a step back.
                  “The press have been camped outside all night.”
                  Reality flooded back watching his tightly controlled expression give no emotion away.
                  How could he be so controlled when she was dripping with desire. It wasn’t fair, she thought as he took her hand and led her to a warm impersonal room full of creams and beiges.
                  Sitting on a sofa she watched an anonymous butler set tea and toast next to the condiments on a glass coffee table in front of them.
                  “Thank you Sam.” She watched as Horatius served her and they both drank without further discussion.
                  “That table looks lethal.” His confusion was about half of what Stacy felt at her own statement. Having no idea why she was talking about decor, when her world was changing all around her, she laughed nervously.
                  “Actually it is, I’ve caught my shin on it many times.” Horatius was looking at her with a sincerity that reminded her of the man beneath the control. “I hate it.” He even seemed surprised by his own admission.
                  Taking her hand he absently rubbed his thumb over her palm. “I’m sorry I put you in this position.”
                  “I’ll be fine. I would just rather not leave wearing last night’s clothes.” Stacy pulled her hand away with the pretense of helping herself to a piece of toast. She wasn’t hungry and the triangle slice sat absently in her hand.
                  “So you still intend to leave.” Frustration vibrated from each word. Horatius stood and began his pacing. “Sam was just about to pick up your things.”
                  Stacy remembered belatedly that she had given Horatius her keys last night, while she watched him pace.
                  “You do that a lot.” At his confusion Stacy clarified,  “Pace.”
                  “Only with you. I normally get what I want. I seem to have to fight for you.” He stopped pacing as if he had slipped up and he looked startlingly at her. “I mean, with you.” He corrected himself.
                  Stacy smiled behind her toast unable to resist the melting of her anger.
                  “I’m still