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‘Well—’
‘Shhhh . . .’
‘Stop shushing me.’ I try to yank my hands free, but before I can fathom what I’ll do if I win them back, they’re behind me and I’m on my front, Becker straddling my arse. My cheek is squished into the pillow. I’m helpless.
He transfers both of my wrists into one of his hands and strokes a teasing path down my spine with his palm, coming to rest on my bum. I stiffen. ‘Still glowing,’ he muses, blowing a cool stream of air into my ear. I clench my eyes tightly shut and brace myself. ‘But not red enough.’ His palm comes down and collides with my left cheek, smooth and sharp.
‘Youch.’
He laughs and frees me, spinning me over and planting a forceful kiss on my lips. ‘I have a meeting,’ he whispers, and it’s all I can do not to grab him and cling on so he can’t escape. ‘Have the McDonald file on my desk by noon.’
‘Okay,’ I breathe, and he grins, all wolfish. He can see my struggle.
‘Super. I’ll see you later, princess.’ After a playful tug of my hair and a chaste kiss on my forehead, he jumps up and struts off to the shower. My eyes drop to his butt.
‘Stop looking at my arse,’ he calls as he disappears into his bathroom.
I smile and sink into the bed. Another ten minutes. I can have another ten minutes.Chapter 27‘Eleanor.’ My name is a distant call, rousing me from my slumber. ‘Eleanor, wake up.’
‘Ten minutes,’ I mumble sleepily, rolling on to my tummy.
‘You’ve had an hour, dear.’
I frown into my darkness, replaying that last word. Dear? My eyes blink open, and I roll back over to find Mrs Potts leaning over my sprawled body. The one that’s all comfy in Becker’s bed. Naked.
‘Oh dear,’ she says, her face creased with disappointment.
Oh shit.
Her stern look is like a foghorn has been held to my ear and evilly blasted to wake me. I’m not wriggling my way out of this one. ‘Morning,’ I croak awkwardly, gathering the covers up to my chin to hide as much of me as possible.
‘Oh dear,’ she repeats. ‘Oh deary, deary me.’
I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’ve just about had enough of the ‘oh deary me’s I sigh and roll my eyes. ‘I’m sorry for misleading you, Mrs Potts,’ I mutter, watching as she slides a tray on to the cabinet next to the bed. I may as well get the inevitable telling-off out of the way.
‘You mean fibbing, dear.’ She rests her hands on her plump hips.
I cringe beneath the sheets, wishing they’d miraculously transform into an invisible blanket and help me escape her disapproval. ‘And that,’ I concede, spotting a vibrant fruit salad on the tray, accompanied by a mug of coffee. My mouth begins to water.
‘Becker sent me to wake you.’ She brushes her hands off and passes me the coffee.
‘He did?’ I sit up and strategically tuck the sheets under my arms to cover my dignity before I accept the mug. He told her?
‘Yes.’ Her double chin hits her chest and she looks down at me, lips straight. Her violet hair is glowing, making me squint. It’s particularly bright today, indicating a recent trip to the salon. ‘Said you might have accidentally fallen into his bed. He had a grin on that handsome face when he mentioned it.’
I flame red, looking away. ‘Okay,’ I squeak, tipping the coffee to my mouth for something to do other than sit like an idiot, waiting for more judgement. I can imagine that grin. I’m also jumping all over the fact that Mrs Potts is at least speaking to Becker after last night’s showdown. What about Mr H? Is he speaking to Becker now? Or, more worryingly, does he know where I can be found this morning?
‘Sorry to hear your terrible news.’
Terrible news? What terrible news? I don’t get a chance to ask her to elaborate on that. She must catch me staring blankly into my coffee mug.
‘About the break-in at your flat, dear.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Yes, of course. Becker’s called the police. Nothing was taken, not even my laptop. I think we must have disturbed them.’
‘The world we live in,’ she muses, dismay and genuine sadness creeping on to her old face. ‘How thoughtful of Becker to sacrifice his bed for you.’ She eyes my static form, a knowing look on her old face. ‘And put you in there naked, too.’
I want to dive into my coffee and drown myself. ‘Hmm,’ I hum, because I have nothing to say, and she wouldn’t want to hear it if I did. It’s game over.
‘About yesterday,’ she begins. ‘I’m sure you appreciate the need for discretion.’
‘I understand,’ I say without hesitation, smiling a little. I won’t mention the NDA.
‘I have to admit, I’m surprised he’s willingly exposed that side of himself to you.’
