“Why have you chosen this one?” he asks sleepily.

The gentle and warm cadence of the song reminds me so much of Charlie’s presence. It’s sunny and warm like him. I pull him close and bury my face in his wavy blond hair, inhaling the scent of melon.

“I just like the tune,” I say, aware that he’s fallen asleep as quickly as a child.

Chapter Seven

Misha

I come awake with a start when I hear the click of the door lock and then a soft curse as the door fails to open. Harry.

The room is dimly lit by the lamp on the bedside table, and I cast a quick look at Charlie. He’s sleeping obliviously, his mouth open slightly and his hair everywhere. I grab my trousers and shirt and pull them on before throwing open the door and stepping out quickly.

It forces Harry back, and he staggers slightly. I make no move to help him. Instead, I fold my arms over my chest and stare at him. He’s flushed and obviously a little drunk, his clothing disarranged, and when he steps closer, I catch the bitter tang of spunk on his breath. So the fucker was out scoring while Charlie was ill. My temper rises. What a total and utter wanker.

“Can I help you?” I say coldly.

He sneers. “How the hell can you possibly help me unless it’s to get the fuck out of my hotel room?”

“Ah, there’s been a slight change of plan.”

“What?” he says warily.

I smile icily. “It’s been decided that Charlie is going to stay in this room on his own and you are going to fuck off.” I pause as if considering my words before nodding. “Yes, that’s about it. We ended with you fucking off and never showing your face around him again.”

Something crosses his face, but it’s gone before I can decipher it. He folds his arms over his chest. “And you’re going to keep me out of the room, are you? I bloody paid for it.”

“Well, maybe you should consider the fact that you’ve had more than enough for your money, mate,” I say silkily.

He laughs and my anger rises another notch. “Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you.”

“What do you mean?”

He makes a sneering noise. “Because I got what you’ve always wanted, Misha.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I got Charlie,” he says as if I’m thick.

“Charlie’s my best mate. I don’t want him.” I’ve said those words so many times over the years, but tonight I have to actively work to put conviction in my voice. It obviously doesn’t work because he leans against the opposite wall, a sneer on his lips.

“Okay, Misha, however you want to play it.”

“I’m not playing anything.”