Page 76 of A Dark Fall
“I’ve got nothing to hide.”
He raises an eyebrow. There’s something mischievous in his eye. “That a yes then?”
“Yes. Go on. Ask me whatever you want.”
He pretends to think about it, because I’m sure as soon as the idea came into his head, he knew what he wanted to ask me. “Did you think about me after we first met? After that night. After you fixed me.”
My breath catches at the intensity in his eyes. At the raw openness in them. I wonder how disappointed he might look if I say no. I swallow thickly, too hot all of a sudden.
“Yes.”
He likes this. The side of his mouth lifts into a satisfied smirk. “What did you think about?”
“Does that mean I get two questions too?” I sip my wine, my eyes locked on his.
“Okay, baby, deal.”
A brief flutter of triumph moves through me. I’m not planning to ask him anything serious—no way do I want to return to the heavy atmosphere that reared its head at dinner the other night—but he doesn’t know that.
“I thought about how I might like to see you again.” I give him a small smile and take another sip of my wine.
“That all?”
I thought about you turning up at the surgery and fucking me silly in the back of your car.“Mm-hmm. That’s all.”
He chuckles. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I thought about you a lot too. I’m happy to go into a bit more detail, but I’m pretty sure we banned that sort of talk from the dinner table.” He smiles sexily at me, just for a change.
“We did,” I say, but it’s too breathy. Too needy.
We stare at each other like that for a few heavy seconds before he shakes his head as though to clear it and moves to stand up. When he reaches over for my plate, my brain finally kicks back to life, and I stand too, lifting my plate as well so we both have a handle on it.
“Let me clear them. You cooked,” I offer.
He shakes his head and nods toward the sofa. “Nah, loading the dishwasher is another of my skills,” he says. I’m about to insist, but his eyes go serious. “Go. You’re distracting me again.” He gestures toward the sofa and pulls the plate out of my hold.
I sigh dreamily and refill my wineglass before padding across to the sofa.
After flopping down, I pick up my phone to text Rob and tell her Jake will be there on Friday. There’s a text. From Ben. My light, happy, relaxed mood disappears in an instant.
Ben: We need to talk, Alex. Call me please. Love Ben x
The“Love Ben x”makes my blood boil.I swipe angrily out of his message and tap out the text to Rob before throwing my phone back in my bag, fuming.
A moment later, Jake strolls into the lounge, fresh beer in hand and T-shirt faintly damp at the front from the sink. He sits down next to me and moves to lift the remote, flicking the TV on. He spreads his arm along the back of the sofa and gives me a look of invitation, so I slide across and into his body, tucking my legs up and under myself. It feels warm and comforting, and the smell of him as I lean my head on his chest is intense. I feel him place a kiss on the top of my head, inhaling deeply.
“There’s probably nothing on,” he says as he flicks through the channels. He lingers briefly on a football match and then mutters an apology and turns it over.
“It’s fine—watch it if you like. I’m enjoying lying here,” I tell him. I feel warm and full. It’s partially from the wine and great food, but mainly, it’s from his arms. I also like the idea of being curled up next to him watching TV.
“Do you like football?” he asks lightly.
“Not particularly.” I smile with my eyes closed. It’s one of the few things I hate. My underhanded, manipulative ex being another. “But I’m happy if you’re happy,” I add.
He leans down to plant a kiss on the top of my head again, his free hand stroking gently over my arm—soft, light touches that tickle and tease at the same time.
“I’m happy,” he says and promptly turns the TV off. “So, tell me about your sister in America. Natasha, is it? You must miss her,” he asks, hand moving up and into my hair.
My eyes close over. Having my hair played with is one of the things I love most in the world, and having him do it only makes it better.