He shot me a look before swinging the car around. “Why the move?”
“The bed was too soft,” I lied. “Couldn’t get on with it.”
“Couldn’t they have moved you to another room?”
“Fully booked.”
“I see. I trust this one’s better?”
“Much.” I shot him a false smile and he seemed to buy it.
He pulled up outside the guesthouse, and I unclipped my seat belt.
“If you’re about to sink into the whole that was a mistake bullshit, you should give it a rest before you start,” I said.
He twisted in his seat to face me. “Sorry?”
“I’m saying, don’t you dare think of pussying out on me before it’s my week.”
“I don’t pussy out of anything, Faye,” he snapped. “And I wasn’t about to sink into any that was a mistake bullshit.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you say so.”
“I fucking say so.” He strummed his fingers on the steering wheel and my stomach lurched at the memory of them inside my asshole. “Look, Faye, I don’t see the point in maintaining some bullshit pretence that it’s not going to happen again. It will happen again. It’ll probably all end in tears and a business relationship that’s more fucked up than the fucked up one we have already, but it’s going to happen again regardless. Why pretend it’s not?”
“I’m not pretending, I thought you were.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not.”
“Fine,” I said, making my move out of the car. “I’ll see you in the morning. I’m absolutely totally fucked, in more ways than tiredness, thank you very much.”
“Don’t be fucking late,” he said.
I gave him the finger before I turned away.
I flicked on the kettle and ran my poor feet a very, very hot bath before calling it a night, and only pulled out my phone at the very last minute to check my alarm was set for the morning.
I shouldn’t have looked for the message icon, should have just pretended it didn’t exist.
But there was a message icon, and it was blinking right at me.
1 new: Vincent
Shit.
I opened it with a sigh, confident it would just be another like all the others, with the same load of fly back to me, my love crap he’d been spouting of late.
But that wasn’t what the message said at all. Not even close.
I stared at it for long seconds before I pressed delete, turning it over in my head like it could have some alternative meaning.
It couldn’t. It was quite simple.
If my Pretty Bird won’t fly home to roost, the roost will fly to her. I’m London-bound, sweet Magpie. I’ll be seeing you very soon.
Oh fuck.
***
Chapter Nine
Faye
“It pains my heart when my beautiful magpie looks so sad.”
Vincent’s voice brings me back to the room, even though my eyes stay fixed on the mountains in the distance. Afternoon sunlight pours through the studio window, warm against my naked back. It’s the very definition of perfect, this place, nestled into the side of the Prealps, with this beautiful, creative, tempestuous man.
But he’s right. I am sad.
He rises from his chair, and I breathe a sigh at the inevitable. I turn away as the bed dips under his weight, holding off the moment when I have to meet his eyes. His fingers tickle the inside of my thighs.
“Speak with me, pretty bird, tell me of your sadness.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie.
Strong hands pull at my waist until I roll to face him. “Are you not happy here, Magpie?”
“Of course I am,” I protest. And I mean it; even though it’s been less than twelve months with a man like Vincent and I’m already breaking. His quest to explore the seedy depths of human experience knows no boundaries, and I’m simply a moth fluttering in the flame of his perverse indulgences, fragile and erratic.
“Then, what is it, pretty bird?” He grips my chin. “A good girl never keeps secrets from her master.”
I pull his hand from my face. “I’m just tired. Must we entertain again tonight?”
His scowl confirms his disappointment and my heart races.
“Our guests travel a long way, Magpie. They travel so far for the pleasure of our company, and you wish to send them away without courtesy?”
“No,” I say. “It just feels as though it’s never just us anymore.”
“It’s always just us,” he smiles. “Even when there are others, Magpie, it is always just us in my heart.”
A flash of anger in my stomach, and it rises too quickly for me to subdue it. “It’s not always just us in your bed, though, is it? You never love just me anymore, Vincent. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to share.”