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I wince, disgusted. “Are you insinuating she only wants me for my money? Kick me in the gut, why don’t you?” I motion down my body. “This body is the most desired around these parts, so take your conclusion on Ava’s intentions and shove it up your tight arsehole.” I turn and stalk off, hearing Sarah laugh as she follows.
“This arsehole isn’t very tight after last night, actually.”
I grimace, pushing my way through the final door. “Too much information,” I say, but at the same time, I smile, remembering last night, the kitchen, the bedroom, the ecstasy. Ava’s flushed cheeks. Her wonder. How easily she accepted me into her body. All positive signs. But what about her heart? Will she accept me into that?
“I’m just pointing out the obvious,” Sarah goes on. “As I’m sure many will.”
I sigh, deflating. Many can go fuck themselves. Besides, it’s a moot point, because Miss O’Shea has done everything she could to resist me. Too bad for her, I’m irresistible. And persistent. If she was interested in my money, she would have jumped into bed with me at the first opportunity. She’s not like that. She’s different from what I know, and that’s just making her more wonderful. “Do me a favor, Sarah,” I say, inspecting the finished beams. “Stay out of my relationship with Ava.”
“So it’s a relationship?” she asks, shocked. “You? In a relationship?”
My shoulders drop. I can’t be affronted. It is quite amusing. “I’m done here.” I leave, finished for the day. “I’ve got to collect Cathy from my rental.”
“What about the membership renewals I put on your desk?”
“Get John to deal with it.” I can’t think straight, my mind bouncing between deep-rooted fulfilment and contentment, to dread and self-doubt.
I need a distraction, and I’m not getting it here.
13
Chris the prickmeets us at Lusso to give me the codes I need for the gates and elevator. He definitely has a spring in his step. Apparently, the concierge isn’t in until tomorrow so security will be covering and I should request a code change ASAP.
After seeing him off, I take Cathy up to the penthouse, smiling at her constant sounds of awe. “I’ve bought the essentials,” she says, wandering into the kitchen and opening the fridge. She starts pulling out jars of peanut butter and setting them on the shelf. “But you’ll have to do a supermarket run for other supplies.” She shuts the door and smooths a palm over the countertop, then tuts, rubbing her fingers together. “This won’t do,” she mutters, magicking a bottle of kitchen cleaner from her bag and attacking every surface in sight. I’m glad. There were dozens of people here last night, and I’ll be glad to have all their fingerprints cleaned off my... home. Not a rental, not a crash pad. A home.
I leave Cathy to it, placing her bags on the side and heading for the lounge. Boxes are stacked everywhere, and I blow out air, wondering where the fuck I start.
“When do you go back to Ireland, Cathy?” I call, grabbing a random box and pulling off the tape.
“In the morning, boy,” she says, and I sigh. The boxes just keep appearing—in corners, under tables, behind the couch. “We’ll get as much done today as we can. Then you’ll have to survive without me until I’m back.”
I crouch and pull the box open and immediately wish I hadn’t. Of the hundreds scattered everywhere, I picked this one? My heart squeezes as I pull out a framed photograph of Jake and me. My eyes sting. My throat clogs. He stares at me, his eyes twinkling madly, his smile bright. Alive. And like I’m not sad enough, I pull out another picture. A little girl gazes back at me. My hands start to shake, my vision blurred.
“Jesse?” Cathy asks softly, and I quickly clear my throat, scrubbing at my cheeks roughly. I look up at her, and she smiles sadly. I can’t take it. I stand and take the pictures to the nearest sideboard, pulling a drawer open and slipping them away. Jake and Rosie don’t deserve to be hidden, but I just can’t right now. Cathy doesn’t murmur a word. Never does. She knows better than to raise a conversation I never want to have.
“I’ll start on my wardrobe,” I say, making my way up the stairs. I don’t go to the wardrobe. I head straight into the bathroom and close the door, roughly wiping at my cheeks as I sniff back the suffocating hurt. God, I miss them. Every fucking day.
I fall back heavily against the door, my head in my hands, my palms squeezing my temples in an attempt to push the visions away.Alcohol. Drink it all away. Fuck your way through the pain. “Fuck,” I breathe, my eyes landing on the vanity unit.
Ava.
She’s everywhere in here. She’s everywhere in the whole penthouse. My heart kicks. Jesus, I’ve got it bad. Whateveritis.
I meant what I said. I knew that once I’d been intimate with her, she would be mine. She better believe it.
I suddenly jolt forward, courtesy of the door being pushed from the other side. “Yo, Jesse, my man, you in there?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah.” I move back as Sam swings the door open. He looks as crumpled as always. “Christening your new loo?” he asks, grinning.
No, I was having a minor breakdown.I pass him and pull one of the suitcases onto the bed. The obscenely colossal bed. She’ll be in it soon.
“Fuck me, man, this place is something else,” Sam says, poking around in my bedroom. “I can see why you’d sack off The Manor.” He lands on my bed, arms and legs spread.
I pull out a pile of jeans and take them into the wardrobe. “Where’s Drew?” I’m mentally planning an impromptu housewarming as I find a home for my jeans, just the three of us. Here. Tonight. It’ll keep me busy for a while longer until it’s acceptable to call her.
“He’s at work this morning. Said he’d be here later.” Sam appears in the doorway, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “You okay, mate?” he asks, his concerned eyes running up and down my form. “You look...”
If he says I look stre—
