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I pullthrough the gates and park up, turning off the engine and looking at her. Absolutely dead to the world. Has been since we pulled out of the gates of The Manor.
Ejecting myself, I round the front of the car and gather her into my arms. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I whisper, trying to get her limp body out of the seat without disturbing her.
“Watch your mouth,” she mumbles, circling her arms around my neck and holding on.
“Or else what?” I ask over a light laugh as I walk us into Lusso. But my amusement dies when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I stop, turning to face the glass doors with Ava in my arms, scanning the darkness outside. “What the fuck is that?” I ask quietly, a coldness creeping through my veins, cooling them.
“What?” Ava murmurs sleepily.
“Nothing, baby. Go back to sleep.” I feel like a fish in a bowl standing here, exposed. So I step outside again, scanning the car park, listening. The odd car, a few joyous yells in the distance. My eyes naturally dart as I reverse my steps, backing up, and I turn, constantly looking over my shoulder as I walk to the elevator.
“Evening, Clive,” I say, having one last look, not that I can see anything out there in the darkness. Paranoid? Making nothings into somethings. Again?
“Mr. Ward,” Clive says, coming out from behind his desk, eyeing Ava in my arms. “Need any help?”
“No.” I’m looking back over my shoulder again. “I’ve got her. Thanks.” I step inside and lift a knee to rest Ava on while freeing a hand to punch in my code. “Good night.”
He tips his hat and the doors close. I feel like I’m going crazy.Ironic.
I get us into the penthouse, lock the door, something I rarely do—don’t need to, because the conciergesandthe private elevator—and wander around the floor, checking each room, carrying Ava as I do. Why? Who do I think I’ll find? “Reallyfucking losing my mind.” I head upstairs, feeling Ava stir in my arms. I look down as I carry her up and see her fighting to open her eyes.
She smiles, clinging on tighter. “You’re so handsome, Jesse Ward of an age I now know.”
I chuckle. “And you’re so fucking amazing, lady.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
I place her carefully on the bed and reach up to yank my tie loose and release the top button of my shirt as she rolls onto her side on a grumble. “Come on, you.” I discard my tie and pull at her hip. “Let’s get you out of that dress.”
“Leave it.”
“I am not sleeping with you fully dressed, lady. Not ever. Come here.” I take her limp hands and hoist her to the end of the bed, kneeling, removing her shoes, before getting her to her feet. I inspect the dress, the front, the back. “How do you get this thing off?” I start feeling around the lace, not finding anything that indicates a zip, until Ava points it out.
I unfasten her, and the moment the dress hits the floor, I gulp. Jesus Christ. More lace. Sexy lace. Delicate, tasteful lace. She hits my chest, falling into me. “I think I might just leave you in this,” I say, my hands falling to her waist. I’m having a serious mental battle to stop myself from getting too carried away. She’s good for nothing.
Except just... being here. And that will do. It’ll always do. I take her to the bathroom, and she watches me with drowsy eyes as I brush her teeth, taking my time, making sure I do a thorough job. She spits when ordered to, leaving a trail of paste across her bottom lip that I am more than happy to mop up. Mistake. The moment I suck my thumb, her tired eyes win back their sparkle and she’s hauling me into her.
“Has someone woken up?” I ask, pushing my lips onto hers, tasting the mint.
“It’s you. It’s instinctive.” Her hand feels down to my dick and strokes me, but it’s slow, languid. Tired. We’ve got all weekend to make love, and I’d prefer it if she’s fully awake when we do.
“I never in a million years thought I would ever say this”—I stroke her hair out of her face, smiling at her struggle to appear alert when she’s on the verge of passing out—“but I’m not going to take you tonight.” Her answer to that is a lethargic flex of her hips into me. “No.” I look to the window in the bathroom, not that I can see outside. “Do you want to wash your makeup off?”
“Are you denying me?” she asks.
Oh, the irony. “I guess I am. Who would have thought?” I grab a face cloth and wet it, taking it to her cheek. “Show me that beautiful face.” And let’s see if we can wash away the indignance.
“But I thought we were going to make friends properly?”
“Are we not friends?”
“No, we’re not.”
“Oh?” This is news to me. “Would you snuggle with someone you’re not friends with?”
