Chapter 24
I am no bird; and no net ensnares me;
I am a free human being with an independent will,
which I now exert to leave you.
(Charlotte Brontë,Jane Eyre)
I wake in the grey gloom of morning, blinking groggily and wondering why I’m naked in a bed surrounded by black velvet curtains. My memory kicks in.Oh yeah, the night of pleasure and pain.
I run my hands through my birds’ nest hair and over my dry cheeks, generally feeling like shit. My muscles are sore and achy since I’ve had only a few hours’ sleep. I can’t check the time either as my phone is in my bag downstairs and probably dead. Great. Of course, I, eager to spend the night with Dain, didn’t think of the practicalities of charging it. And I need it since I’m heading to Oxford today.
Dain is nowhere to be seen, but I can hear clatter and the sound of running water in the bathroom next door. A hollow feeling resides in my stomach. I need to broach the subject of him and Gareth sensitively so I can get some clear answers.
I know him. If I don’t handle this properly, he’s likely to get defensive and shut me out. He’s a private snail who peeps out of his shell only when it’s safe; if it isn’t, he’s going to duck his little head back in and lock the door. I’m going to need calm and tact—traits I don’t normally possess during a confrontation. This could get messy.
I must fall into a doze. When I open my eyes, Dain is standing by the side of the bed. He’s wearing his blue-and-white-striped pyjama bottoms and smiling down at me.
‘Hey, sleepyhead.’
‘Urgh.’ I sit up and wipe drool from the side of my mouth. ‘What time is it?’
He hands me the tumbler of water from the nightstand, and I take a sip, studiously avoiding looking at the book of poetry.
‘Just gone seven.’
I relax a little. Great, I’ve still got a couple of hours before I have to leave, so I can charge my phone.
Dain bounces on his toes, and I eye him as I take another swallow of water. He seems excited about something.
‘What have you been up to?’ I ask suspiciously.
He grins. ‘Feel like a bath?’
I’m tugged—protesting lightly at the indignity of being naked, which he ignores—to the bathroom door. ‘Hang on.’ Dain puts a hand over my eyes and fiddles with the knob, nudging the door open with his knee. Foggy warmth envelops my body. His hand falls from my eyes, and I discover the room has morphed into a Turkish bath.
The copper tub is full of hot, steamy water topped with a meringue of bubbles; and there’s a new copper wire tray attached to the side with a fresh cake of vanilla soap, a loofah, and my bottles of shampoo and conditioner, along with a small yellow rubber duck.
‘My lady.’ Dain takes my hand and helps me step into the water, which is exactly the right temperature. Mmm, lovely. I’m about to lie back and luxuriate alone, but Dain hops in behind me.
‘Oh, here’s trouble.’
‘You know it.’
My resolve to talk to him about Gareth rears its ugly head but slips when I’m lying in his arms and he’s soaping my stomach and breasts as well as lightly tweaking my nipples. My traitorous body responds, instantly wanting him and knowing, from his hard length floating beneath me, that he’s feeling frisky too.
He fills the wash jug with warm water from the newly attached tap.
‘I’ll wash your hair for you.’
‘Oh ... you don’t have to.’
‘You haven’t seen it ...’ he teases.
I touch my bed hair self-consciously, knowing how unruly it can get. ‘Is it really puffy?’
He kisses my shoulder lightly. ‘To be expected after last night. That was wild. Thought you might not want your ex asking questions.’
