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I scrunched my face. “. Fuck that.”
“Don’t worry. It’s a big mattress. I promise to behave.”
Carson seemed to enjoy this hell, whereas I felt so out of my skin, I did not know who I was anymore. I was helpless. I needed him there, yet I wanted to hit and scream at him for forgetting that fucking tyre.
I watched as he made the bed. The roaring fire helped. The room was no longer bleak and damp.
Carson went to the kitchen, and I followed. Despite the improved ambiance, I hated to be alone in the room. That childhood belief in the house being haunted probably lingered.
“You must be hungry,” he said, looking for something in a drawer.
I rubbed my belly. “Starving. But I don’t know if I can bring myself to eat that.” I pointed at the tin he’d opened.
“Well, I’m game.” He smiled.
Thunder struck, and I jumped. Carson headed back into the front room and, like a puppy dog, I followed at his heels.
From the large window, we watched cracks of lightning illuminate a grey, angry ocean.
“That’s fantastic,” he said. “I love a storm over the sea.”
“I do too when surrounded by twenty-first-century comforts,” I said.
He pulled a subdued smile. “Don’t worry. We’re fine here. We’ve got everything we need.”
I followed him back into the kitchen and watched him move around with ease like it was his home.
As he stirred the pot, he pointed at a cupboard. “Can you grab a couple of plates?”
I went over and found a plate and returned it to the table.
The Burgundy remained unopened and despite a few shots of whisky, my body craved more alcohol. “Could you do the honours?” I pointed at the bottle.
He pulled out a contraption with lots of bits to it and miraculously opened the bottle. Something told me that Carson could resolve most things. A comforting thought despite this stubborn resentment towards him for putting us in this mess.
To be reasonable, it wasn’t completely Carson’s fault, since Jim the caretaker was the baddie here.
Despite my shitty attitude towards him, I found myself more and more attracted to Carson. I loved how my comfort meant everything to him, and how resourceful he was. There was nothing he couldn’t do.
He stirred the pot and then added more logs into the stove’s furnace, which proved a turn-on. A pang of desire shot through me on seeing those flexed muscles straining through his polo as he lifted logs.
Who would have thought watching a man toiling away could be such a turn-on?
“Are you okay?” Carson must have noticed my wince.
“Um. I get the odd twinge here and there.”
His eyes darkened. “If I get my hands on that prick…”
I regretted bringing up my ordeal. Bram was the last person I wanted to think about.
“Where’s your plate?” Carson scanned the table.
“I don’t want to eat that shit.” I stuck to my guns despite the aroma making me hungrier.
He shrugged. “You should have some.”
I found a couple of glasses and poured out the red wine. I took a sniff.
