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‘Whatever the reason, no one stays around. So why have you?’
‘Because I like a challenge,’ I say honestly, my chin jutting out, my eyes holding to his. And he is still. Watchful. The air between us thickens.
‘I’m a challenge?’
I laugh. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
He reaches for a piece of sushi. I watch him eat it and my stomach squeezes. How can I want him again already? I am fire and flame, bursting with need.
‘Were you always like this? Or is it just since...Lucy?’
He frowns and doesn’t answer right away. I can practically see the cogs turning in his brain. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, before she...she died, did you have a constantly changing stream of staff?’
He shrugs. ‘No.’
I nod, slowly. So this is a hangover of Lucy’s death. My job, my being here, it all comes back to her. To Lucy.
The emotional strangulation of that is not something I think I’ll easily comprehend, and so I stand up slowly.
‘I’ve had enough for now.’ My eyes meet his and now I am the one issuing a challenge. ‘So show me.’
‘Show you what?’ he asks with a purposeful glint in his eye.
‘Show me what you want.’
Chapter Seven
I’M IN LIMBO.
Not asleep...not awake. I lie in his bed, my body throbbing with pleasures untold, my mind exhausted.
It is late. Somewhere between midnight and dawn. And I am his.
I lift up on one elbow, my eyes hazy as I look down at him. He is beautiful and he is sexy. He is groggy. Almost asleep. But his eyes flick to mine and I see blank speculation in them.
Confusion.
Wariness.
‘How are you?’
I smile—I hope it’s as reassuring as I intend and not maniacal as I suspect. ‘Good.’
He nods tersely, pushing up out of bed, dragging a hand through his hair as he stalks across to his wardrobe. He emerges after a moment, boxer shorts on. At least he’s not showering me away immediately.
But he will soon enough. I know Jack too well to misunderstand his mood now, and it pisses me off as much as it worries me. I don’t want a relationship, but I don’t know how we can go from white-hot sex to awkward silence in the space of minutes.
‘Do you need anything?’ His voice is husky. ‘Drink? Coffee? Shower?’
A flicker of annoyance draws my lips into a frown. ‘No, thanks.’
I stand up, feeling as though I’ve run ten marathons. My body is sore and stiff, but still throbbing with pleasures previously unknown. My dress is—where? Out in the living area?
I walk towards him slowly, and pause just in front of him. What he wants is crystal-clear; my own needs are far more difficult to interpret but I do want to interpret them.
Self-preservation draws me inwards, away from Jack before he can push me away. ‘I’m going to go.’
