Page 75 of Resisting Mr Black
“No, how can we possibly repay you?” asks Mum, horrified.
He takes my hand in his. “There’s no need. It was lovely to meet you.”
“Art—” I begin.
“It’s done.” He squeezes my hand. “I’ve already agreed to settle the bill with the waiter.”
We pay the bill, say our goodbyes, and leave my parents beaming like fools as we head outside into the night. He slides his hand around my waist as we walk across the road to the car.
I climb in and rest my head against the head rest. My muscles relax for the first time in three hours now the interrogation is over, and it didn’t all go completely wrong.
“You didn’t have to pay for the meal.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine. It wasn’t expensive and I didn’t contribute to the present, did I?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “I’m sorry.” “About what?”
“The interrogation you’ve just been subjected to.”
He laughs softly. “They’re your parents. They’re bound to worry about you.”
“Not anymore. You’ve managed to charm the pants off them both, I think.” I cast him a sideways look.
“Charm is my forte.” He smirks and pushes a few buttons on the centre console of the car. The deep, intense, bass beats of the opening lines of Vera Blue’s “Hold” fill the car.
“I’ve always loved this song,” I sigh, briefly closing my eyes.
“Good, because we’re going to make love to it when I get you home.”
He’s going to make love to me.
My eyes snap open and I feel a twinge between my thighs as my heart flips. He flicks me a scorching look, then pulls away with a squeal of tyres.
Twenty-Two
Islip into my black silk nightdress and climb under the bed covers, staring up at the ceiling. Uneasiness has descended on my thoughts as I go back over the evening in my mind. More than one thing my mum said has made me think. Her use of the word “boyfriend,” for a start. We haven’t had that conversation yet and I’m not sure how it’s going to go, given that he’s never had a relationship before. Wanting to share things with one another is one thing. Committing to the same person, day in, day out is very different.
“What are you thinking about?” He’s standing at the foot of the bed and I didn’t even hear him come into the room. He unbuttons his shirt, peels it from his shoulders, and throws it on the chaise longue, then unfastens his jeans and steps out of them, watching me all the while.
“What are we?”
He slips into bed beside me and props his head against his hand. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you had to label this—this thing we’re doing—what would you call it? What would you call us?”
His brown eyes stare down at me. “This is because your mum called me your “boyfriend,” isn’t it?” He frowns as if he has a problem with the word and my heart sinks.
I shake my head as if pre-empting what he’s about to say. “You’re not my boyfriend.”
“I’m thirty. Boyfriend is playground talk.” He grazes his knuckles against my right cheekbone. “But I’m the only man in your life and you’re the only woman in mine.”
“We’re exclusive?”
“One hundred percent.”
“We’re a couple?” I ask.
He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. “Yes. We’re a couple of people who love spending time together and who care about one another very much and the sex...” His eyes widen and he shakes his head slowly. “Is unbelievable. We’re a couple.”