Page 27 of Resisting Mr Black
Work.
Art.
Suddenly the noise from the TV in the living room filters through the crack in the bedroom door and I freeze.
There’s someone in my apartment.
My mind lurches into overdrive as I consider various possibilities.
Lucy? No. Why would she not have gone home?
I can’t remember getting home. Please tell me I didn’t bring a guy home.
I briefly close my eyes as the horrid thought hits me. I don’t do one-night stands but then again, I don’t usually get that drunk. I carefully stand up then reluctantly wobble over to the bedroom door. I swear I’m never drinking again.
I take a deep breath and step out into the hallway then stop in my tracks. Art is standing at the kitchen island buttering a plate of toast as if he owns the place. He’s absorbed in Sky News blaring away on the TV.
Another memory of the previous evening snaps back into place. The guy at the bar. Art showed up. He punched him. Did he bring me home?
An unsettling feeling takes hold. We didn’t… did we?
I look down at my clothes then back at the bed behind me before I push the thought out of my mind.
No, we didn’t.
A million questions swirl around my brain, but all I can really think about is what a treat it would be to wake up to his face every morning.
His hair is swept slightly to the side in his usual coiffed style. A black, collared short-sleeved shirt and grey tailored trousers hang from the toned, gorgeous lines ofhis lean, frame. I feel like death warmed up and my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders, but not every part of my body appears to have got the message and there’s fluttering in between my legs.
“Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he grins as he notices me hovering. “Do you want a coffee?”
I suddenly feel incredibly self-conscious and shake my head. I feel rough and no doubt look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. I’m not getting any closer to him until I’ve had a shower. “No thanks, I’ll get showered and changed first. Erm, did you bring me home?”
He cocks his head to the right as he considers the question. “You don’t remember what happened last night, do you?” He doesn’t sound the least bit impressed or surprised.
My cheeks flush in embarrassment and I feel totally ashamed by what I’m about to admit. “I remember the creep in the bar and you showing up, but after that I can’t remember.”
“You were drunk and couldn’t walk properly. I brought you home and carried you to bed. I slept on the couch.” He points towards the grey sofa.
My eyes slide to the sofa in amazement. He looked after me. “You stayed here all night?”
His broad shoulders roll into a dismissive shrug as if it were nothing. “You could have been sick and choked, so I stayed. I popped back to mine first thing this morning, but I wanted to make sure you were okay when you woke up.”
I cringe. “Was I really that bad?”
“Yes, you were.” His tone is firm, and I get the distinct feeling he’s not impressed with me getting so drunk. “Now go and take a shower. I’ll make you some breakfast.”
My stomach churns at the thought of food and I pull a face.
“You need to eat something,” he insists.
I hesitate. The man is standing in my apartment, acting as though he lives here, telling me what to do and taking over. It’s gnawing away at my resolve and I waver as I weigh up whether I’ve got the energy to challenge him. Because if I don’t, I’mallowing him to get closer. I’m letting him in. I’m giving him a sign that it’s okay for him to take control.
His dark brows inch upwards when I don’t move. “Go on. I’ll sort breakfast.”
He’s got a look in his eye which tells me he isn’t going to take no for an answer and I’m not in the frame of mind to argue. As I turn and disappear into the bedroom, I can’t deny the thought of him looking after me and preparing breakfast for me in my kitchen gives me a spring to my step.
The hot shower pummels my flesh and wakes me up but does little to dull the ache in my temples. I dry my hair and apply some make-up, so I feel a little more human at least, and take the two paracetamols he’s kindly left for me. I pull on a black, long-sleeved Bardot top over black pinstripe trousers and black peep-toe wedges. It’s Monday, so I’m hoping there’s not much in the work diary for today. I’m never drinking on a school night again.