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I laugh and throw my napkin at him, almost knocking over his glass. He catches it with lightning-quick reflexes.
“Your table manners, however,” he says, shaking his head in a pretense of disapproval.
“Oh, I know,” I say, putting on a posh accent. “My manners are just terrible. I never went to finishing school.”
His jaw clenches. I’m hoping he’s thinking, I’ll show you how to finish.
“On the other hand,” I tease, dropping my accent when remembering how he ate me out in bed. “Your table manners appear to be excellent.”
“Yes, well, that’s what happens when you attend the top boarding school in the country.”
I think he’s missed my lewd connotation—probably for the best—but then he adds: “My other skills, however, were honed elsewhere.”
I don’t love the idea of him honing his skills elsewhere, but I do appreciate that he has them. It’s not like you can just magically get that good in bed. Alistair has clearly had a great deal of practice in that department.
Chapter 11
The Billionaire's Pet
Food finished, bottle once again emptied, Alistair pushes the table aside and makes us hot chocolate while I climb back into bed. He joins me under the covers as we rest against huge pillows and drink it together.
“It’s official,” I announce. “You’ve spoilt hot chocolate for me for the rest of my life.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This is so good,” I say. So dark and velvety, and not too sweet. “I’ll never be able to drink regular hot chocolate again.”
“In that case,” he says, putting his mug down, “you’d better stay here. The good hot chocolate is here. The rest of the world outside that door…” He shakes his head. “Well, you just don’t want to know. Best not to risk it.”
He lies on his side, head propped up on his elbow, watching me.
“Are you inviting me to … stay the night?” I ask. “I mean, you know, to sleep?” I laugh awkwardly. I don’t usually do this kind of thing; don’t know how it works.
“Yes.” His hand on my knee is reassuring, like he is saying, Don’t feel awkward, I want you here. “I’m inviting you to sleep here.”
“Thank god,” I say. “Because I’m sure I’ve missed the last tube.”
I’m kind of joking. I know he’d spring for a taxi if I needed one. I was just trying to make it less of a thing. It’s just a place to sleep, and then I’ll be out of his life forever.
He doesn’t smile. In fact, he looks a little too serious for my liking. “I don’t think you understand.”
My stomach clenches.
“I’m inviting you to sleep here … for as long as you want to. Or, rather, for as many nights as you want to.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I did not expect him to say that. That wasn’t the plan.
“That wasn’t the plan,” I blurt out.
“Plans change.”
Apparently, they do. He should know, after all. He’s the self-professed planner.
“Er,” I mutter, not sure what to do. The only reason I jumped at this opportunity was that it was a once-in-lifetime experience. I could put my qualms on hold for twenty-four hours. Temporarily misplace my moral compass. But anything after that would be a … decision. Like a vote for the bullshit greedy consumerist opulent life that I am virulently against.
“You don’t need to decide now,” Alistair says, squeezing my knee. “Sleep on it.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
