Chapter 52
‘Dylan, stop fussing, I’m fine!’ Flora was beginning to tire of him hovering around her the whole time. It had been two days now since he had found her collapsed over the kitchen table and at last colour was starting to show in her cheeks. She had felt so much better after having soaked in a luxurious hot, bubble bath he had prepared for her. She had declined the offer of his assisting her in it and washing her back. Instead he had patiently waited outside the bathroom, sitting on the top stair, and chatted to her. It was endearing the way he had been so attentive, but as her strength was beginning to return she found him getting under her feet. Flora didn’t want to seem ungrateful, realising how lucky she’d been that he’d found her and was looking after her, but he’d turned into a lap dog. Flora hadn’t lifted a finger. He was forever there, fetching, carrying, plumping up cushions, making drinks and preparing meals.
He’d surprised her with what a good cook he was. Even though she didn’t have much of an appetite, Dylan made sure she ate something nutritious every day.
‘You’re actually quite domesticated, aren’t you?’ she remarked as he came through to the lounge carrying a tray with their lunch on.
‘I believe in looking after oneself,’ he replied, putting the tray down on the coffee table. Flora sat up from lying on the sofa and he handed her a plate of spaghetti carbonara. ‘Here, this will build up your strength.’
‘Thanks.’ She looked at him. ‘Dylan, you don’t need to sleep on the floor in my room, you know.’ His head shot up: was this the green light he’d been waiting for? ‘Honestly, you can go back home now. I’ll be OK.’
‘Not just yet. It would be irresponsible of me to leave you.’
Even though his back was killing him from the hard floor boards, he didn’t want to go. He enjoyed being there, around her. She made him laugh. Yesterday they had watched DVDs together, huddled on the sofa drinking Cup-a-Soups. They shared the same sense of humour. At one point when they were watching TV his Racer commercial appeared, making them both howl with laughter. The thought of going home to an empty house was a depressing one. He felt completely himself with Flora. He could relax and justbe. She didn’t hound him (unlike Samantha, who had text him again). She didn’t expect anything from him. Truth be told, he needed her, not just her sweet body he had spied on through the bathroom door last night, but all of Flora. She was a kindred spirit, they were so…in tune.Then his phone bleeped again.
‘Is that yours?’ Flora asked between mouthfuls of carbonara.
‘Yep.’ He tried to sound casual, knowing full well what was waiting for him.
‘Hadn’t you better get it?’
‘Suppose so.’ He reached inside his jeans pocket and braced himself.
Still waiting for monster cock.
Dylan closed his eyes. Right, this needed nipping in the bud. He was going to put a stop to it.
‘Everything all right?’ Flora was watching him.
‘Yes, it’s my agent. He wants to see me urgently. I’d better eat this and get going. Will you be OK for a few hours?’
‘Of course I will.’ Dylan hesitated. ‘Honestly, I’ll be fine,’ insisted Flora.
Within the hour Dylan was parking outside the Taits’ mansion.
Samantha greeted him immediately, looking seductive in another flimsy dress. He took a deep breath and walked inside the hallway. A Norah Jones CD was playing in the background; he could see champagne in an ice bucket on the kitchen worktop.
‘Relax, Dylan.’ She’d crept up behind him and was rubbing his shoulders. ‘My husband’s in Ireland for the next few days, so we won’t be disturbed this time,’ she laughed softly in his ear.
Dylan clenched his jaw. Her nails were long, pointed and painted a vile purple colour. His flesh was still recovering from when they had pierced into him. Her hands moved from his shoulders, down his back, to his hips, then slowly wandered round to the front of his waist. She unbuttoned his jeans. Dylan went numb, literally. Those roving hands with the vile purple nails fumbled inside. Still Dylan felt nothing. Zilch. Samantha paused for a moment. Then she started to kiss his neck. He could smell her perfume, its strong, potent aroma making his eyes water. Her lips felt dry and crisp, not full and moist like Flora’s.Flora.He resisted the urge to fling Samantha off him. He had to play this right. She was a paying client, after all. A lot of money was at stake here. Her tongue curled inside his ear, making him cringe; it was hard and intruding. Again her fingers endeavoured to wrap round him, but he was limp, lifeless. Dylan was concentrating hard, but in all honesty it wasn’t difficult. He genuinely did not find Samantha attractive any more. Not in the least. If anything, she now appeared desperate, dishonest and dirty. His skin was beginning to crawl under her touch.
She let out an impatient sigh. ‘What’s the matter, Dylan? It wasn’t like this before.’
He turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry. It’s a problem I have.’
Her eyes widened, ‘A problem?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not the man you thought I was.’
‘But… but… you’re a playboy, a—’
‘Hype,’ interrupted Dylan.
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s all hype, publicity. The article, the commercial, it’s just public relations. I blame my agent.’
‘You mean… you’re impotent?’
