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“Is,” I admit. “Itisaddictive.She’saddictive.” Fuck me, I’ve not even been inside her. If I feel this pull toward her now, what will I be like after I’ve made love to her?Made love?Fuck. After I’vefuckedher. “Do you know how frustrating it is to want something but be refused for no good reason?”
“I think Miss O’Shea has plenty of good reasons.” He stands. “She just doesn’t know what the fuck they are.” He walks away from me. “Yet,” he adds, exiting my office. “You’re acting like a crazy motherfucker.”
I drop my forehead to my desk and roll it from side to side. “I fucking feel it,” I admit. But this sense of crazy is so powerful, it clouds everything else. And that is addictive too.
I’ve avoided leaving my office all day, especially since I know Coral is knocking around The Manor. My arse is well and truly numb.
I stand and stretch, glancing at my Rolex, and my stomach flips when I see it’s six thirty. She’ll be on her way, oblivious of what’s waiting for her. I hum to myself as I round my desk. That’s not strictly true. She knows what’s here at The Manor, namelyme. And she still agreed to come.
In the evening.
Out of hours.
If that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is. She’s curious about me. My fortitude gets another quick boost with that thought, and I exit my office, making my way through the summer room. I need to shower. Brush my teeth. Change. I cock my head in thought. Clothes? No clothes? Presenting myself naked might be pushing it. But, on the other hand, it could seal the deal. I glance down at my shirt-covered chest with a smile, diverting up the stairs and pulling my phone out to call John. “Where are you?” I ask when he answers.
“Extension. Checking the beams.” He hangs up, and I round the gallery landing, listening for any activity behind the closed doors. There are a few moans, nothing major. I just hope it stays that way.
I make it to John, finding him with a thick piece of rope in his grasp, the end tied to one of the beams, a stepladder set to the side. He’s removed his black suit jacket and tie.
“Want some help?” I ask, and he stops tugging, handing me the rope. I accept, happy to assist, giving it a few firm yanks before I reach farther up and wrap it around my fist. I let my feet leave the ground, hanging there. “Solid as a rock,” I confirm on a smile.
He grunts and sets about pulling off some more rope to try another beam. “Are you in?” I ask, finding my feet, chewing my lip. He never actually confirmed he’d help me earlier, although I know deep down his parting words were an agreement without actually agreeing.
He doesn’t look at me, continuing to measure the rope through his hands. “I will, but only because I prefer this obsessive, uptight motherfucker to the old, laid-back drunk motherfucker.”
“Uptight?”
“Yes, uptight.” He looks at me. “You’re uptight. Moody.”
“I’m stressed.” But all this frustration will be gone just as soon as Miss O’Shea stops fighting me.
“Whatever. It’s better than plastered.” He goes back to his task. “But if your plan to seduce her fails and she really doesn’t feel whatever the fuck you think she’s feeling, you leave it. You hear me? No more crazy shit. You leave the girl alone.”
“Promise,” I agree without hesitation. But my plan won’t fail. “Sarah gone?”
“Left a while ago.”
“Good. Ava will be here at seven.” I back out of the room. “Ish,” I add, frowning to myself as I take in the rope and beams. “Probably wise to take her to the room at the far end.” Where there are no ropes hanging from the beams to test they’re strong enough to take the weight of a human body. “And could you let me know when she’s here? Text me?”
He hears me, but he doesn’t answer.
“Thanks, John.”
“Fuck off.”
I smile and leave him to it, making my way to my private suite. I go to the cabinet and pull out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then take a shower. I kill time, running through my plan as I wash. Which is, basically, get her steaming drunk on lust. Make it impossible for her to walk away. Be gentle. Patient.
I step out and dry off, pulling on my jeans. I hear the door open. John appears in the bathroom doorway, and I frown. “What are you doing here?” Shit, hasn’t she turned up? I mentally locate my phone on the unit and push past John to retrieve it, my insides churning.
“She’s here.”
I swing around before I make it to my phone, my insides now on fire.
“I left her in the bar.”
“Why?” I ask, horrified. The place is heaving.
“I told Mario. Don’t worry.”
