True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(11)

'I understand.' Reaching into a bedside cabinet drawer, he takes out a  tissue and cleans me up. When he's happy with his work, he flops back  onto the pillow and holds out an arm, inviting me into his embrace. I  snuggle up to him, wondering how he can still smell this good, even  after breaking into a full-blown sweat.

'So, how do we do this?' he asks.

'How do we do what?'

'Get to the point where you say yes?'

I stare at him, incredulous, and then I remember. He's never done anything like this before. He really doesn't have a clue.

'It's very simple,' I explain. 'We spend time with each other and we talk. Small talk. Big talk. That sort of thing.'

He grimaces, bites his lip and claps me on the arm before edging his way  out of bed. 'Fair enough.' He bends down and grabs his jeans. 'I'll  give you the small talk and the big talk, but you can do it my way.'

'Which is?'

'Ever heard of fast-tracking?'

'You can't fast-track a relationship.'

'Think outside the box, Miss Scotton.'

'Think inside the box, Mr Foster.'

He ruffles his hair. 'Never.'

While he searches for his T-shirt and pulls it on, I chuckle to myself  and close my eyes. I let out a yawn, content to be back in his bed and  back in his life. The world is locked out and we're locked in. And right  now I just don't care. Feeling the bed dip, I open my eyes to find him  sitting next to me. He draws a finger down my cheek.

'You're tired.'

'I didn't sleep last night.'

'I know.'

'How? Have you got Lucy spying on me?'

The same finger runs lightly across my bottom lip. He watches its  progress. 'I asked Lucy how you were. That's not spying.' Rain drops  patter against the skylight. It's an age before he lifts his eyes to  mine. 'I was worried about you yesterday. When the storm broke, I just  wanted to hold you.'

'I wish you'd been with me.'

'I'm with you now.' He leans down and lands a gentle kiss on my mouth. 'Take a nap. I'll go and rustle up some dinner.'

I'm smiling like a village idiot as I close my eyes again, brim-full  with contentment, and before I know it, I'm back in a world of dreams.  But this time, there are no nightmares. Instead, I'm in a kitchen  garden, sitting on a bench beneath a shower of sweet peas.

And Dan is by my side.





Chapter Six


When I wake up, I find a crisp white shirt laid out on the bed next to  me. Taking the hint, I put it on, stumble into the bathroom and retrieve  my toothbrush from the space age cabinet. I'm half way through brushing  my teeth when I notice a host of toiletries arranged next to the sink.  Swilling out my mouth, I leave the toothbrush on the side and the  cabinet door wide open while I set about sorting through the bottles and  tubes of shower crème, face wash, moisturiser and God knows what else.  It's all brand new, distinctly expensive and definitely female. And all  part of the dastardly plan to move me in. Grinning to myself, I survey  the bathroom: the marbled floor, the vanity unit that stretches along  the length of one wall, the sleek mirrors hanging above it and the huge  walk-in shower that I've already experienced, Dan style. But no bath,  and that will never do. Making a mental note to add it to my list of  requirements, I wander back into the bedroom and take a look out of the  window, watching as a cruiser makes its way downriver, an oasis of light  against the black glass of the water. The Houses of Parliament are  glowing now against the darkness and according to Big Ben's illuminated  face, it's just after eleven. A strange time for dinner  …  but never  mind, I'm ravenous.

I find him in the living area. With his back to me and his shoulders  hunched, he's looking out over the river, talking quietly. For a split  second, I wonder if he's talking to himself, and then I quickly come to  my senses. That's a mobile clasped to his ear. A bloody mobile. I'd love  to ambush him, grab the mobile out of his hand and demand to know why  he lied to me, but he's listening intently to someone at the other end  of the line, and I want to hear what he says next.         

     



 

'So, where is he now?' He pauses. 'You don't know?' Another pause. 'Bank  accounts. Withdrawals. Come on, you can get access to all that.' He  listens again. 'How can I be patient?' Finally, he turns and spots me.  'Dig some more,' he says coldly. 'Everything. I need to go.' He hangs up  and throws the mobile onto a sofa.

'So, I see you've got your phone.'

'Oh, that.' He prowls towards me. The closer he gets, the more my body  seems to sparkle. 'Yes, I forgot. It wasn't in my car after all.' He  reaches out and skims a finger down my arm, sending a rush of adrenalin  right through me. Fight it, my brain calls out. He's bloody well  distracting you.

'You lied to me.'

'It got the job done.' Slipping a hand round my waist, he guides me into  his chest and holds me firm. Shit, he's smelling good. Clearly, while I  was in the land of nod, he managed to fit in a quick shower.

'And who were you talking to?'

'A private investigator. The best in the business.'

'But why?'

'Why do you think?' He watches me for a moment, his face impassive. 'I  need to know about Boyd. After Friday night, I want to know everything  about him.'

'You scared him off.'

'And I want to make sure he doesn't come back.'

'He won't come back.'

I'm pretty sure of that. Boyd might have more than just a slight touch  of the psychopath about him, but he doesn't have a death wish. He'd be a  complete idiot to come anywhere near me after his spat with Dan.  Placing my palms flat against his chest, I push away with all the  strength I can muster, but I don't get far. I'm held tight in his grip.

'Just leave it with me. No arguments,' he warns. 'It's going to happen whether you like it or not.'

The determination etched across his face tells me everything. I'd better change the subject.

'So, where's my phone?' I ask.

'In the cupboard.'

Nuzzling his mouth against my neck, he kisses a spot just below my ear lobe.

'Which cupboard?' I gasp, fighting off an attack of quivers.

'That one.' He nods towards a cupboard next to the fridge. 'Just behind  the muesli.' He grins. 'I figured toast woman would never go anywhere  near a healthy breakfast cereal.'

After a second fruitless attempt to prise myself free, I give up on the struggle.

'You don't need it.' He lowers his face to mine, studying my lips.

'You're a complete  … .' I get nowhere near the end of my complaint.  Before I know it, his mouth is on mine and I'm absent without leave. A  hand comes to the back of my head, holding me tight while he kisses me,  pressing his hard-on against my crotch.

At last, he pulls away.

'Fucking hell. You turn me on constantly.'

I'm about to tell him that he has exactly the same effect on me when a  loud growling sound interrupts us. Releasing me, he takes a step back  and glances down at my stomach.

'Somebody's hungry. I think we'd better get some food into you.'

'Food can wait.'

'No, it can't. Once I get started again, I won't be able to stop. And  besides, the pasta's ready.' He holds up his hands, as if in surrender.  'I'm not touching you again until we've eaten.'

Leaving me disappointed, he saunters off to the hob and lifts the lid on a pan. Whatever it is, it smells divine.

'Five minutes,' he calls, lifting the lid on a second pan.

More than enough time to check my mobile. I head straight for the  cupboard, push aside the muesli, and there it is. Grabbing my phone and  leaving the cupboard door open, I settle onto a stool and check for  messages. Three from my mum, along with a handful of missed calls. And a  text from Sara. I open it up.

Are you OK? x

With a sigh, I look up, catching a momentary glimpse of life with Daniel  Foster. Quietly humming to himself, he's busy stirring the contents of a  pan. Places have already been set at the granite bar: plates, cutlery,  two empty glasses and a bottle of red wine, uncorked and breathing.  Another plate sits at the centre of the counter, complete with a  focaccia loaf. I'm smiling now because I really could get used to this.  Tearing myself out of idiot mode, I text back.

I'm fine. Back with Dan. Tell Mum for me. See you soon. x

'Anything interesting?' he asks.

'Just my sister.'

He still has his back to me, but there's an instant change in his  stance: his shoulders tighten and his back stiffens, just a little. I  watch in silence as he takes the first pan and drains it over the sink,  releasing a cloud of steam. When he's finished, he transfers the  contents to a bowl.         

     



 

'You two are going to have to talk at some point.' I slide my mobile onto the counter.

I'm pretty sure he shakes his head at that. Moving to one side, he takes  the second pan, adds the contents to the bowl and then he sets about  stirring it all up with a huge wooden spoon. I'm half tempted to just  enjoy the sight of a sex god making me dinner, but I've got work to do.

'I know it's not easy for you.'

He turns, bowl in hands.

'Puttanesca.'

'Pardon?'

'Spaghetti alla Puttanesca.' Joining me at the counter, he slides the  bowl onto the top and kisses the end of his fingers, Italian style.  'Just for you.'

'You're not going to distract me with food.'