This Man (Page 147)

I pad back out to one of the two chests of drawers I had made in Italy. Pulling open the first drawer, I find three neat piles of boxer shorts, in black, white and grey – all Armani. They look brand new. I work my way to the next drawer, finding dress socks. Does he have them ironed? I open another to discover belts – all coiled neatly, in every shade of black and brown leather you could imagine.

He’s a neat freak. Oh, this is bad news! I’m shockingly untidy at home. I shut the drawer, opening the last one, but all I find are sports socks and various caps. I proceed to open every drawer on the other chest – all occupied with an array of running shorts and vests.

Giving up and with my towel still wrapped around me, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen, finding Jesse with his head in the fridge.

‘I can’t find my stuff.’ I inform the fridge door.

His head pops up from behind the fridge, his eyes running up and down my towel clad body. ‘I’ll take naked.’ he says, shutting the door and sauntering over to me with a jar of peanut butter. ‘Cathy’s off and the fridge is empty. I’ll order in, what do you fancy?’

‘You,’ I grin.

He smiles, reaches forward and whips the towel off, throwing it to the side and running his appreciative gaze down my naked body. ‘Your God needs to feed his temptress.’ He flashes his dancing eyes to mine. ‘The rest of your stuff is in that dirty great big wooden truck that you had dumped in my bedroom. What do you want to eat?’

I ignore him and shrug. I could eat anything. ‘I’m easy.’

‘I know, but what do you want to eat?’

I must stop saying that. ‘I’m only easy with you.’ I grumble. He thinks I’m easy?

‘You f**king better be. Now, tell me, what do you want to eat?’

‘I like anything, you choose. What time is it, anyway?’ I’ve lost all concept of time. In fact, I lose all concept of everything when I’m with him.

‘Seven, go and dry your hair before I abandon dinner and take you again.’ He turns me around, smacking my backside to send me on my way.

I take my naked body back up the stairs to fulfill his instructions. When I reach the top and take a left to the Master suite, I glance down and see Jesse stood by the archway to the kitchen, quietly watching me. I blow him a kiss as I disappear into the bedroom, just catching a glimpse of his knee trembling smile as he vanishes from view.

Forty five minutes later, my hair’s received the blow-dry it deserves, I’ve cleansed, toned and moisturised, and I’ve got a clean set of lace underwear on. Kate’s forgotten to pack any comfy chill out clothes – of all the things she could forget. But then, Jesse did hijack her at some God forsaken hour this morning, so she probably just shoved in whatever she could lay her hands on. I have my new Thai fisherman pants but no top.

I go to the wardrobe and grab a white shirt. I don’t pick the most expensive one this time, although I’m sure they’re all pretty costly.

‘I was just coming to find you.’ He pauses from forking various dishes onto two plates. ‘I like your shirt.’

‘Kate didn’t pack me any slobby clothes.’

‘She didn’t?’ He raises an eyebrow, and I know instantly, Kate did pack me some slobby clothes. That or she didn’t pack at all – I suspect it’s the latter. ‘Where do you want to eat?’

‘I’m e…’ I snap my mouth shut on a shrug.

‘Only for me, yes?’ He grins, shoving a bottle of water under his arm and picking up the plates. ‘We’ll slum it on the sofa.’ He leads me into the colossal open space and nods at the gigantic sofa. I sit in the corner section, accepting the plate he hands me. It smells delicious and it’s Chinese. Perfect.

The doors on the massive television cabinet start sliding across, revealing the biggest, frameless, flat screen T.V I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

‘Do you want to watch television or would you prefer music and conversation?’ He looks at me on a small smile. My fork is hanging out of my mouth. I didn’t realise how hungry I was.

I chew and swallow as soon as I can. ‘I’ll take music and conversation, please.’ That was an easy choice. He nods, like he knew that would be my answer, and the next thing I know, the room is swamped in the calming tones of Mumford and Sons. This is a surprise. I cross my legs and sit back. I made a good choice with this sofa.

‘Good?’

I glance over and find him facing me, one knee up and his arm resting on the back of the sofa holding his plate. ‘Very, you don’t cook?’

‘I don’t.’

I smile around my fork. ‘Why, Mr Ward, is that something you don’t do well?’

‘I can’t be amazing at everything.’ he says, completely straight faced, studying me closely. He really is an over-confident arse.

‘Your housekeeper cooks for you?’

‘If I ask her to, but most of the time I eat at The Manor.’

I suppose it makes sense that he’d take advantage of the lovely food at his disposal. I know I would. ‘How old are you?’

He pauses with his fork midway to his mouth. ‘Thirty-ish,’ He takes his forkful of food, watching me as he chews.

‘-ish,’ I mouth.

‘Yes, ish,’ A smile plays on the corners of his lips.

I return to my food, not in the least bit bothered by his vague answer. I’ll keep asking; he’ll keep evading. Maybe I should try with my own versions of persuasion – maybe a truth f**k or a countdown? What would I do to him on zero? I drift into musing over exactly what I could do on zero, between mouthfuls of my Chinese dinner. I can think of plenty, but nothing I could carry out with ease. He’d overpower me, very easily. The countdown is off the menu, so it’s a truth f**k then. I need to invent the truth f**k. What could I do?