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Her hands land on my arse, hauling me in again. This time, I don’t stop her. Her head drops back, and she looks up at me. My smile. It’s unstoppable. Just... look at her. Mine. All fucking mine. And best of all? She wants to be. “I might,” she says sleepily, “if my non-friend promises to make friends with me in the morning.”
It’s an easy deal. I take her off the unit and carry her into the bedroom, stripping her down to nothing and gesturing for her to climb in as I undress, leaving my clothes in a pile with Ava’s and getting in with her. She crawls onto me and settles. Never too tired to find her place. On me. Close to me.
I blow her hair out of my face and hold her, stroking, kissing her head, breathing her into me. “Tomorrow,” I whisper, “we get all your things from Kate’s.” She doesn’t protest. “On Monday, we tell Patrick, and I think you should be letting your parents know I’m more than just a friend.” I wait for what she might say to that.
I get nothing.
I’m not surprised. She’s dragging her feet, being non-committed on that front, and it isn’t because she’s dog-tired right now. So in the morning, we’ll talk about it. Make a plan. I need to meet her parents before I ask her to marry me. And if Ava blocks me meeting them, I’ll take matters into my own hands.
John will be delighted.
I peek down at her, seeing her face squished into my chest, her mouth open, but I don’t move her. Not yet. I wait another five minutes—five minutes that feels like five hours, before I start to peel her arms and legs away from me, taking the utmost care not to wake her, and remove her necklace carefully before I grab my phone from my suit jacket and head downstairs, stopping off at my study to put the diamond in the safe.
Leaving the penthouse, I lock the door behind me and go down to the foyer. “Mr. Ward.” Clive looks at me tiredly when I reach his desk. “May I recommend clothes?”
I laugh mildly at the old goat.
“What’s that on your chest?”
I look down, to the bruise Ava has put there. Marking me. “Nothing, Clive.” I look over my shoulder to the darkness outside. “The security is all working fine, right? The cameras, the alarms etcetera?”
“Always, Mr. Ward.”
I nod, turning back to him, but something catches my eye, moving outside. “What was that?”
“What?”
I’m off, running out into the darkness.
In my boxers.
“Fuck!” I yelp, as I crash into something.
A cart.
A fucking shopping cart.
“Dude,” someone yells, as it topples onto its side and bedding, bags, and fuck knows what else tips all over the car park.
I gather myself, shaking my head, taking in the scene. “Sorry,” I splutter, wincing at the pain in my shin, taking in the hairy man before me, his clothes big and utterly filthy.
“Mr. Ward.” Clive darts out, looking between me and... a homeless man? I scan the ground around me. His worldly possessions are strewn everywhere. “Oh no, not you again.” Clive grumbles.
“Who again?” I ask, looking between them.
“He keeps sneaking in when residents come in and out of the gates. Making a home for himself by the trash cans.”
“You folk sure do throw out some decent rubbish.” The guy starts picking up his things and I set his cart back on its wheels.
“For fuck’s sake.” I dump his duvet in the cart. “You shouldn’t be in here, mate.”
“Yeah, well, you do what you have to do to survive,mate.”
“I’m sure,” I say, going for my pocket for my wallet. Frowning.
“You supposed to be wearing clothes?” he asks, taking the handle of his cart.
I laugh under my breath and scrub a hand down my face. “Goodnight.” I leave Clive to see off the vagrant, wandering back into the foyer and returning to the penthouse, unlocking the door and letting myself in. And I stand there, laughing to myself. So fucking paranoid.
