Everything that happens between us is a result of the potent, sometimes poisonous, love we share. It pushes us to behave erratically and unreasonably. In reality, we’re probably level pegging in the crazy department, or maybe I’ve overtaken him. What I’m planning definitely qualifies me as crazy. And if my crazy husband finds out, then I’ve no doubt I will see him tip over the edge of craziness.
Chapter Twelve
I love you.”
The low whisper makes me smile as I roll over and blindly grab at him. “Hmmm,” I hum, pulling his body down to mine.
“Ava, it’s seven-thirty.”
“Sleepy sex,” I demand, my hand drifting down his thigh until I find what I’m looking for. I grasp him loosely.
“Baby, I’d love to, but when you wake up properly, you’re going to fly into panic and leave me halfway finished.” He grabs my hand and pulls it up to his face, kissing my fingers sweetly. “It’s Monday morning. It’s seven-thirty.”
My eyes open, seeing his wet face suspended over mine. He’s had a shower, which means he’s been for a run, which means it’s late. I bolt upright, and he quickly moves to avoid being head-butted. “What time is it?”
He smiles fondly. “It’s seven thirty.”
“Jesse!” I jump up and run into the bathroom. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I flick the shower on and turn to the sink, loading my toothbrush with toothpaste.
“I didn’t want to disturb you.” He leans on the door frame and watches me frantically scrubbing my teeth. He’s grinning, no doubt at my little fluster.
“Never…bother…’fore.” I spit around my mouthful of paste.
His grin widens. “Pardon?”
I shake my head on an eye roll and return to the mirror, finishing up and rinsing out. “I said it never bothered you before.” I step in the shower and make a quick job of washing my hair and shaving before stepping out and practically running into the walk-in wardrobe. I stand and stare at the rails and rails of clothes, mostly all with tags still attached. It’s too much like hard work trying to choose; there’s way too much, so I yank down my old red shift dress.
By the time I’ve rough dried my hair, haphazardly slapped on my makeup, and landed downstairs, Jesse is suited up and collecting his car keys.
“I’ll take you.”
“Where’s Cathy?” I eye him up. All of him. That’s my husband.
He frowns a little. “I don’t know. It’s not like her to be late.” Grabbing my hand, he starts leading me from the penthouse.
We make our way down to the foyer of Lusso and as we approach the concierge desk, I see Cathy leaning up, chatting with Clive. I grin and look up to Jesse, but he ignores me, even though he knows damn well I’m looking at him and probably what I’m thinking, too. “That would explain,” I say on a little laugh.
“They’re just talking,” Jesse grumbles, leading on.
“They look very friendly.” I watch Cathy fidget and giggle as Clive entertains her with words and hand gestures.
She spots us. “Oh! I was just on my way up!”
“No problem.” Jesse doesn’t sound impressed, and he doesn’t stop. I, however, would love to hang around and see the developments. My grin widens as I pass, and Cathy and Clive both blush profusely. “I’m out of peanut butter,” Jesse calls back crossly.
“There’s a whole box of it in the cupboard, my boy. Do you think I’d let that run dry?” Cathy sounds irritated by Jesse’s critical comment. It makes me laugh, especially when Jesse starts grumbling under his breath.
“Don’t be so moody. They’re only talking,” I rebuke him as we emerge into the sunshine and Jesse slips his Wayfarers on.
“It’s not right.” He shudders and releases my hand.
I start rummaging through my bag for my own shades. “Ooh, she might be inviting him up when we’re not there. I did notice the sheets in the spare room were a little…ruffled.”
“Ava!” he yells as he points a screwed-up face of displeasure to the heavens. “Don’t!”
I laugh. “Stop being ageist.”
“I’m not.” His disgusted face disappears immediately. He’s grinning now.
“What are you smirking at?” I ask.
He removes his shades and closes the distance between us, stooping down so our noses touch. “I’ve bought you a wedding present.”
“You have?” I rest my lips on his. “What?”
“Turn around.”
I pull back and watch his delighted eyes as he nods over my shoulder, so I slowly pivot and stand for a few moments, scanning the car park for whatever I should be looking for. His arm appears over my shoulder and dangles a set of car keys in my face. It’s then I spot a dirty great big, bright white, sparkly wheeled Range Rover Sport. Or tank—whichever.