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“That’s okay, I can pick her up.” Even better.
“She’ll not be getting in a car that resembles a lunch box with wheels, it’s not good for the baby,” he says, his voice holding not only an air of authority but and underlining tone that I recognise to be possessive. What’s that about?
He’s also being rude, “Thank you Mrs Harris, I’d love to come. If it’s all the same I’ll take his car, just in case I feel the need to leave before you do. I tire easily.”
She smiles widely and nods eagerly, “Just Paula dear. Such good manners for such a young woman. I’ll leave you both to your afternoon.”
“Have a nice day,” Nathan’s farewell is as snide as his hello was.
“Don’t worry about the dish dear, bring it back when you’re done,” she calls over her shoulder.
I don’t get to wave as Nathan has closed the door.
Lasagne.
I follow him into the kitchen and watch as goes to tip the contents of the dish into the bin. “NO!” I scream like my life depends on it and grab the plate. “My lasagne.”
He blinks in shock, “You’re not eating this. You don’t know what she’s put in it, what meat she’s used.”
“So?” I retort and tug on the dish.
“Fine!” he snaps and let’s go. Unfortunately due to the extra hundred pounds in my stomach I fall backwards.
Quick hands snag my wrists to stop my descent, but in doing so the lasagne dish tips and smashes against his front.
“Oops,” I say and slowly step back assessing the damage. “I am so, so sorry.”
He stares down at the mess on his chest and abdomen. The red juice clings to him as the small clumps of minced meat slide to the floor with the pasta sheets. He looks pale. Extremely pale.
“Are you okay?” I ask and take a step towards him. His hands are trembling.
He shakes his head. “Germs.”
Oh right, the germ thing.
“Nathan,” I say softly. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” he takes a step and dry heaves, his entire body bending over with it. Holy shit. “I can feel it on my skin.”
“Okay, okay, just stand there,” I grab a cloth from the cupboard under the sink and soak it with warm water from the tap.
I see sweat bead on his brow as he stands perfectly still waiting for me to help him, his eyes are lowered and his lips pinched together. Shit. This is a real condition. I should have Googled it but I don’t have anything to Google it on. Maybe he has books on it that I can study. It seems like something I need to learn about if I’m going to be staying under the same roof as him.
“I’m going to take these off,” I say cautiously and start undoing the buttons on his jacket. He doesn’t move an inch as I slide it from his shoulders and place it on the side. “You know?” I try to make him feel better as I slowly and carefully untuck his shirt from his trousers. “I have a horrible phobia of rats. It doesn’t seem much compared to this but it’s a deep one. It comes from when I was little,” I slowly start unbuttoning his shirt from the top, revealing a light spray of dark hair over his sternum. “My mum took me on holiday to my grandpa’s dairy farm and we all got to camp outside for the night. It was brilliant at first.” I slowly undo the last two buttons and step behind him so I can peel it from his body without getting the sauce anywhere else. “While I was sleeping I felt something running across my legs.”
“What happened?” Finally he speaks. Relief.
“Wait there,” I say and walk over to the sink and warm the cloth once more, all the while still talking. “Well, I woke up obviously but I couldn’t see anything. It was dark and I was on my own. My mum was in the tent next to mine with her boyfriend, at the time.” Swiping the wet cloth across his front I take my time, I’m not sure why I do it so slowly, maybe because it’s close. I’m close to somebody. And his torso is delectable, it’s golden and smooth and powerful. Every dip and groove is muscled perfection. He shudders as I sweep it over his pebbled nipples so I move away from that area. “All I could see were these two red eyes in the dark moving around my tent. I screamed and screamed. Eventually my mom came, her boyfriend killed the rat and she made me stay in my tent. I was petrified, I was five and I didn’t know what a rat was.” I look at his clean chest and go to pull my hand away.
In a quick move his gloved hand presses it back to his abdomen, his fingers clasping my wrist rather than my hand itself, “Don’t stop.” His eyes come to mine. “I can still feel it.”
