True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(12)

'If I wanted to distract you, I wouldn't use food.' He takes a seat on a stool opposite me.

'You've got to talk to her.'

'And I will.' Picking up a pair of huge silver spoons, he dishes out a  serving for me, tears off a piece of bread and places it onto my side  plate. 'Eat.'

He watches me, and I watch him right back, incapable of working out  what's going on behind that perfect face of his. At last, his features  soften.

'I'll do it, Maya. I promise. But let's not talk about it tonight. Let's  just eat.' He pushes the plate further towards me. 'And then let's  fuck.'

I'm not entirely sure if it's his words that cause it, or the way he's  looking at me right now, his eyes dancing with promise, lips curled up  into a knowing smile, but suddenly, for some reason, something seems to  be pulsating between my legs.

'How romantic,' I comment.

'Eat.'

This time, I do exactly as I'm told. Picking up a fork, I twirl it  through the spaghetti, silently triumphant when I finally manage to  catch a single strand. Before it can escape, I shovel it into my mouth,  savouring the taste.

'This is gorgeous,' I mutter, going in for more with a spoon. 'What's in it?'

'Tomatoes, anchovies, capers, garlic, chili peppers.' Dishing out his own serving, he reels off the list as if it's nothing.

I gobble up another mouthful, this time managing to collect spaghetti  and sauce. God, I'm so hungry. A single fish finger sandwich in over  twenty-four hours just doesn't cut it, especially when you're halfway  through a shag fest with Mr Foster.

'So, you can cook?'

'A bit.'

'How come?'

'Betty taught me the basics.' He takes a mouthful of pasta and chews. 'And I went from there.'

'Mmm,' I muse. 'I've landed on my feet.'

'Of course you have.'

While we settle into a comfortable silence, devouring the piles of  spaghetti, I take every opportunity to admire the man in my life. At  last, I just can't hold it in any longer. Egged on by a contented  stomach, my heart brims over with happiness and I'm suddenly consumed by  a need to let Dan know how bloody wonderful he is.

'I've got the perfect man,' I muse.

He looks up from his plate. 'How come?'

'Well, for a start, he's good in bed.'

'Excellent in bed,' he corrects me.

'And he's fucking gorgeous.'

'If you say so.'

'With a perfect backside.'

'Is it?' He shifts to one side, pretending to inspect his bottom.

'God, yes. Those receptionists in the lobby eye it up whenever they can.'

'Remind me to sack them.'

He levels his gaze at me.

'And he can cook. He's the real deal.'

'Of course he is.' He points his fork at me. 'And you should move in with him.'

I should have seen myself walking straight into that one.

'Are we heading towards a yes?' he asks, expertly gathering up strands of spaghetti.

'No.'

Pausing mid-chew, he rolls his eyes. 'Che la dura.'

'What?'

He chews some more, swallows and then explains. 'Persistence pays off.'

I lay down my cutlery. Somewhere in the depths of my brain, a light  flickers. He's at it again, speaking Italian as if it rolls of his  tongue. And here I am, seriously considering the prospect of moving in  with a man I barely know.

'Italian,' I state simply.

'What about it?'

'You speak Italian.'

A frown appears. 'Just a smattering.'

A smattering? Oh come off it, Mr Foster. Rifling back through the last  few days, my thoughts land on our visit to Gabriel's Wharf and his  little chat with the Italian barista.

'It's more than that. When did you learn? It wasn't at university  … '         

     



 

'No, it wasn't.' He rests an elbow on the table. 'It was after I left.'

'After you got thrown out.'

He eyes me suspiciously. Shit. I shouldn't have spewed that one out. Not yet.

'Lily told me,' I explain sheepishly.

'Of course she did.' He picks up the wine bottle, pouring a half glass  for each of us. 'So exactly what is this? Small talk or big talk?'

'It all depends on what you tell me. What happened after you left university?'

'Not a lot.'

'Lily told me  … '

'Lily's got a big mouth.'

I pick up my glass. Suddenly, I seem to be in need of some Dutch  courage. 'If you want me to move in,' I take a sip, 'then you've got to  give me a bit more than that.'

He leans back, sucks in a deep breath and stares at me. It takes a few seconds for him to make his decision.

'Okay.' He cocks his head to one side. 'I travelled. I took off for a  couple of years and I just travelled. I was a mess. I needed to sort my  head out.'

'And you did?'

'Yes.' He picks up his own glass and gulps down a mouthful of wine.

'But Lily said  … '

While I trail off into silence, wondering if I'm going too far too soon,  he stares at me some more, waiting, holding the glass in mid-air. And  then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to say 'go on.' Gathering my resolve,  and a whole pack of words along with it, I push it all out at once.

'She said you were different when you came back. Did something happen?'

His lips tighten. Putting down the glass, he picks up his fork and jabs at his pasta. 'People just change.'

'Maybe  … '

'Maybe what?'

'Maybe losing your parents changed you? Your adoptive parents.'

'Maybe.'

Deep in thought, he stares at his plate, absent-mindedly shoving food  around. Within the space of a minute, I've transformed him from playful  to deadly serious and I really should leave it now, but intrigue has  elbowed its way into my head, barging right past common sense and  knocking it to the floor.

'So, you went to Italy?' I ask.

'Eventually.'

'And that's where you  … '

'That's where I learned to speak Italian.' He sighs. 'It's a good place  to learn it because that's where they speak it. In Italy.' He puts down  his fork, rubs his forehead and finally makes eye contact. 'I lived in  Rome for about a year.'

'On your own?'

'No. I lodged with someone.' His bottom lip twitches, a cagey twitch, an  I'm-not-telling-you-everything kind of a twitch. He bites it into  submission: a sure sign that there's something more. And I think I might  just know what it is.

'With a woman?'

He stares at me, his face inscrutable.

'Yes,' he says at last.

And memory kicks into action. That's not what he's told me before. In  fact, it's the exact opposite of what he's told me before: No serious  relationships. No non-serious relationships. I've never been married.  Never had any children.

'But I thought you'd never lived with a woman.'

'I lodged with her. There's a difference.'

He folds his arms, unfolds them, reaches out and tears off another chunk  of bread. Examining it for a moment, he drops it onto his plate.

'And you fucked her?' I ask, nervous of the reply, because unless she  was a huge Italian mama, I can't imagine he kept his hands off her.

'Yes.' He leans back again, resigned.

'Great. So I'm here for what, three hours, and I've already had another Dan bombshell.'

'It's not a bombshell. It's nothing. It wasn't exclusive.' With a scowl,  he takes another sip of wine. 'And just for the record, I also fucked  half of Rome.'

Suddenly, my face seems to have a life of its own. My nose scrunches, my eyes narrow and my lips curl up in disgust.

'Any European capital cities you haven't shagged your way through?' I demand.

'Berlin, Madrid, Lisbon. Do you want me to keep going?'

'You've been a serious man-slag.'

He smiles at that.

'This isn't news. You know I used to sleep around. And now I'm a serious  monogamist. Don't read anything into the arrangement I had in Rome.'

'Arrangement?'

He leans forwards. 'Yes. Arrangement,' he breathes. 'It was an arrangement.'

Oh Lordy, arrangement. He's mentioned that word before, on more than one  occasion: an arrangement with Claudine, arrangements with other women.         

     



 

'So, it was a kinky thing?'

'Yes. It was the first kinky thing. She's the one who got me into it.'

I must be pulling an almighty I'm-disgusted-by-this sort of expression  now because he's inspecting my face. And before I can say anything else,  he's putting me firmly in my place.

'If you want to do the big talk thing with me, Maya, you're going to hear some things you don't like. You asked for this.'

Yes, I did. And now that I'm getting it, I'm not so sure I want it at  all. Perhaps I should just do what Dan wants me to do and brush the past  under the carpet. But no, I remind myself, that's not the way ahead. If  I'm going to spend the rest of my life with this man, then I need to  know everything about him. I need to hear it all, digest it, process it,  and at least try to understand.

'How?' I demand.

'How what?'

'How did she get you into it?'

He sucks at his top lip.

'She picked me up in a bar and took me home. It went from there. She introduced me to the BDSM scene in Rome.'

'Rome? They do it in Rome?'

His eyes flash.

'You get kinky weirdos all over the world, not just in London,' he explains, evidently amused by my innocence.

While he busies himself with another mouthful of wine, I remind myself  that I shouldn't be so surprised by all of this. After all, just because  Italians are super stylish and uber cool, it doesn't mean that they're  averse to a bit of heavy duty slap and tickle.

'So  …  you'd never done it before Rome?'

'No.' His expression clouds. 'But I took to it and it suited me, and  that's that.' He touches his forehead. 'When I came back to London, I  just carried on.'