Beneath This Man (This Man Trilogy)(16)

‘Your hand. It’s never going to heal if you’re hoofing me all over the place.’ I jump down, kick my sodden ballet pumps off and undo the side zip of my dress before pulling it over my head. I’m then thrown up over his shoulder and carried out of the bathroom.

‘I like hoofing you about.’ he declares, chucking me onto the middle of the bed. ‘Where’s your stuff?’

‘In the spare room.’ I say, recovering from my flight.

He makes a point of demonstrating his disgust with an audible grumble before he stalks out of the room and returns moments later with all of my stuff spread between his good hand, under his arms and in his mouth. He dumps it all on the bed. ‘There.’

I reach into my bag and retrieve some clean knickers and my oversized, black sweatshirt, but my comfortable cotton knickers are soon snatched out of my hand. I frown as I watch him riffle through my bag and pull out a pair of lace replacements.

He hands them to me. ‘Always in lace.’ He nods in approval to his own demand, and I comply without hesitation or complaint, putting the lace knickers on, and then my oversized jumper. I watch as Jesse ditches the wet shorts and swaps them for a blue jersey pair. I can see new definition in his back and arms as his muscles roll and flex when he pulls them up. I sit and admire from my position on the bed before he picks me up again and carries me down to the kitchen.

First, I turn the music off on a little shudder, then I stand in front of the fridge scanning the shelves. ‘What do you want?’ Maybe some eggs, he could probably use the protein.

‘I don’t mind, I’ll have what you’re having.’ He comes up from behind and reaches past me to grab a jar of peanut butter, dropping his lips to my neck.

‘Put that back!’ I make a grab for the jar, but he evades me and beats a hasty retreat to the barstool, shoves the jar under his arm to unscrew the cap before dipping his finger in to scoop a dollop out. He smirks at me as he slides his finger into his mouth and forms an O with his lips as he pulls it out.

‘You’re a child.’ I settle on chicken fillets, grabbing them from the fridge. I’ve already eaten, but I’m going to have to tuck some more away if it means he will eat with me.

‘I’m a child because I like peanut butter?’ he asks over his finger.

‘No, you’re a child because of the way you eat peanut butter. No one over the age of ten should finger dip jars and as I’m being kept in the dark over your age, I assume that you are over ten.’ I fire a disgusted look at him as I find the tinfoil and wrap the chicken up with some Parma ham, then put them in an oven dish.

‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Here.’ He thrusts his peanut butter covered finger over the island and into my line of vision. I screw my face up. I detest peanut butter.

‘Pass.’ I say, putting the chicken in the oven. He shrugs and then licks it off himself.

I get some sugar snap peas and new potatoes from the fridge and load them into the built in steamer, then fiddle with a few knobs before it kicks into action.

Lifting myself up on to the worktop, I watch him on a small smile. ‘Enjoying that?’

He pauses mid-scoop and looks up at me. ‘I can eat the stuff until I feel sick.’ Another finger goes in.

‘Do you feel sick?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Do you want to stop now before you do and save some room for the well-balanced meal I’m making you?’ I fight to prevent a grin.

He doesn’t. He smirks and slowly screws the lid back on. ‘Why, baby, are you nagging me?’

‘No, I’m asking you a question.’ I correct him. I don’t ever want to be a nag.

He starts chewing his bottom lip, watching me carefully, his eyes dancing. I shiver from top to toe. I know that look. ‘I like your sweatshirt,’ he says quietly, running his eyes down my front to my bare legs. It’s oversized and it covers my bum. It’s hardly sexy. ‘I like black on you.’ he adds.

‘You do?’

‘I do.’ he asserts quietly. He’s going to distract me again. I need to get some proper food in him and we need to discuss the fact that it is Monday tomorrow and I’m going to have to go home and to work. After his sly stunt of depositing a stupidly over-the-top advance payment into Rococo union  ’s bank account, I’m concerned that he’ll maintain his previous unreasonable request to have me working at The Manor all day everyday.

‘It’s Monday tomorrow.’ I say positively. I don’t know why I choose that tone. Positive as opposed to what?

‘And?’ He folds his arms over his chest.

What do I say? Would it be too much to ask him to be reasonable about my requirement to tend to other clients? He has openly admitted he doesn’t like sharing me, socially or professionally.

I drum my fingers on the worktop next to me. ‘And nothing, I was just wondering what you might have planned?’

I see a fleeting look of panic sweeps over his stubbled face, and I’m instantly worried that tomorrow is going to be a trauma. ‘What have you got planned?’ he asks.

I look at him like he’s a dumb arse. ‘Work.’ I answer, watching as he starts chewing his bottom lip and those bloody cogs start turning again. There is no way he’s going to convince me not to work. ‘Don’t even think about it. I’ve important meetings to keep.’ I warn, before he has a chance to spit out what I know he is thinking.

‘Just one day?’ He pouts at me playfully, but I know he is deadly serious. I’m bracing myself for a countdown or a sense fuck.

‘No, you must have lots to catch up on at The Manor.’ I affirm assertively. He does have a business to run and he’s been unconscious for a whole working week. John can’t be expected to run things forever.

‘I suppose so.’ he grumbles.

I mentally cheer. No countdown? No sense fuck? We really are moving forward.

‘Oh, Clive said there was a woman here earlier.’ I completely forgot about that.

‘He did?’ He looks surprised.

‘He said that she was trying to get up to the penthouse. She wouldn’t give her name and you didn’t answer your phone when Clive tried to call you. Blonde woman. Mature. Wavy hair.’ I watch for his reaction, but he just frowns.

‘I’ll have a word with him. Is my well-balanced meal ready yet?’

That’s it? He’ll have a word with Clive? I want to know who she is. ‘Who was it?’ I ask casually, as I get down from the worktop to check the steamer.

‘No idea.’ He jumps up himself and gets some cutlery from the drawer.

Is he avoiding this? ‘You really don’t have any idea?’ I ask doubtfully, while removing the chicken from the oven and putting it in the pan to finish it off.

‘Ava. I really have no idea, but I assure you, I will speak to Clive and see if I can establish who she was. Now, feed your man.’ He sits back down and holds his knife and fork in his hands, upright from the counter. If he bangs them on the table, I’ll wrap them around his head.

I go about serving up and present him with the first meal I have ever made him. I hate cooking.

He tucks straight in. ‘Yum.’ he mumbles around a mouthful of chicken. ‘How was your day with your brother?’

Better if he hadn’t of interrupted me with a meltdown. ‘Fine.’ I answer, sitting next to him.

‘Just fine? This is really good.’

It’s good to see him eat something other than peanut butter. He’s like a different man again – so confident and self-assured, but in the next breath he’s falling to pieces. Do I really have that much of an impact on him?

‘We had a great day. We did Madame Tussaud’s and went to dinner at our favourite Chinese.’ This chicken really is good. I can’t believe I’m eating more.

‘Tussauds?’

‘Yeah, it’s our thing.’ I shrug.

‘It’s nice to have a thing.’ He sounds sincere. ‘You’ve eaten already?’ He looks at my plate and I blush. ‘Are you eating for two?’ he asks, looking up at me. I nearly choke on a potato.

‘No!’ I splutter around my food. I’ve already told him there’s no chance. I wish he would stop fretting. ‘Stop worrying.’ I grumble, returning to my dinner.

He continues eating while making appreciative sounds around his fork every now and again. I would think he might be taking the piss, but I’ve tasted it – it’s good.

Once we’re done, I load the dishwasher and my thoughts start drifting. Him brushing off the mystery visitor is eating away at me. He’s being vague and it’s bothering me.

I turn to challenge him and crash straight into his hard, naked chest. ‘Oh!’

He towers over me, breathing hard, and my eyes weld to his huge erection tenting the front of his jersey shorts. ‘Lose the sweater.’ he demands, his voice low and husky.

I look up into his green eyes and wisely note that he’s not in a fucking about mood. I want to bring to his attention that I’m not happy about his evasion of my enquiry, but I know it will get me entirely nowhere right now. Besides, I’m absolutely delighted to see my domineering man back. It’s been too long.

I grasp the hem of my sweatshirt and slowly draw it up over my head and then drop it to the ground.