‘Who says I’m staying?’
‘You should. I think you’ll enjoy what I have in mind for dessert.’
‘Why do I feel like it isn’t going to be cake or ice cream?’
I laugh, throwing her my shirt. The majority of her clothing is still in the kitchen, and as much as I’d love to see her walk around my house naked, I don’t think she’s quite ready for that yet.
‘The kitchen will be colder now, the floor especially. Help yourself to socks or whatever from the dresser.’ I point in the vague direction, not wanting to take my eyes from the golden creature lying across my bed like some temptress. I clear my throat and run my hand through my hair, all things to distract me from making her stay there indefinitely.And under me. ‘The bathroom’s through there.’ Again with the pointing. ‘I’ll be waiting. Don’t be long.’
I hope it sounds like a warning as I stride from the room.
Chapter Six
LOUISE
Sometime later, I make my way down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen, thinking maybe Dan didn’t know what cold was because the flagstone floor is warm on my toes. He must be spoiled. His back is to me as I enter the kitchen, still naked to the waist. Ink peeks out from his low-slung jeans, and I wonder how I hadn’t noticed that, mentally adding it to my list of curiosities.
As he hears me, he turns and smiles, holding some kind of implement in his hand.
‘Please, sit,’ he says, conducting me to a seat in the large bay window as if the spatula is a conductor’s baton.
I do as I’m told, though I feel pretty odd sitting here in his window in nothing but a shirt—his shirt, no less. I curl one leg under my ass in the odd way I usually sit, my eyes drawn to the garden.Is that a swing set?I can’t be sure as I don’t have my glasses on. I mean, it’s green and so far away that it blends into the lawn. But could it be that he has a kid? My dangling leg begins to bounce minutely against the panelling in anticipation of my question.
‘Wine.’Thatisn’t a question as he hands me a glass. My eyes slide to the scrubbed table, the spilled wine and bottle from earlier nowhere to be seen. My cheeks burn pink with the memory as his voice pulls me from my head. ‘What shall we drink to?’ I shrug; I have no idea beyond the trite kind of toast. His eyes slide over my shoulder to the window and garden beyond. ‘How about to ex-wives and sweethearts?’ He raises his glass. ‘May they never meet.’ I’ve no idea what to make of that as he turns back to the kitchen. ‘Do you like venison?’
Do I? I have no idea. I’m overcome with the ridiculous need to snort;oh deer. I’m not even hungry anymore. Just confused.
Dan turns his head over his shoulder, sliding me a sly smile. ‘Well, I know you like meat.’
I roll my eyes, bringing the glass to my lips and swallowing a large mouthful. ‘I, er...’ I clear my throat. ‘I see you’ve got a cat,’ I say, making bland conversation and pointing at the matching pink bowls on the floor.
His answer is a noncommittal murmur as he turns away, but surely, the bowls spoke for themselves? Unless... no.I’ve definitely read too many books.The man is a little bossy and a little commanding in bed, but not a dominant. He didn’t look the type to keep those sort of pets.
And no way am I interested in playing those kinds of games. I shake my head minutely.What was it Flo said? I must be fuck drunk?
‘What’s her name?’ I ask. Pink bowls? I’m guessingher.
‘Depends who’s calling.’ As he pauses, I see the bunch in his shoulder, the muscles flexing before he forces them to relax with an exhaled breath. ‘If you must know, her name is Pussy. Or Twat.’
I choke a little on my next sip. ‘You’re kidding!’
‘She’s a sort of a salmon pink colour.’ Was that supposed to be some kind of explanation? As he turns, the spatula is still in his hand. ‘Annabelle, my ex, calls her Pussy, and I...’ His words trail off, his eyes gliding down to my seated but barely covered crotch.
‘You got custody of a cat; a cat you don’t even like?’ No one would call a treasured pet such a horrible name. I can’t imagine taking the thing to a vet with a name like that; both were equally awful. Maybe he’s the vindictive type?
‘Who says I don’t like the thing? Maybe I just like twats.’ His short laugh has a hard edge. ‘Besides, we have a sort of joint custody agreement, instigated by the cat. It’s not like she moved very far away, and the damn thing keeps coming back.’
The implement—spatula, flip, or whatever the name was for that thing—waves in the direction of the window I sat in.
‘What?’ I turn my head in the direction his pointing, trying to make sense of his words. ‘The cat lives nearby or. .. ?’
‘Annabelle, and by default, the cat, live next door.’
Un-fucking-believable! Yet, by his face, apparently true. Trying not to show any reaction, I definitely refrain from turning my head to look out of the large bay window I’m currently back-lit in.
‘I think I mentioned good old Charles, the bloke from next door. She had an affair with the neighbour.’ He tries to sound unaffected, an effect ruined as he adds, ‘The clichéd whore.’
‘I thought you were kidding.’ Wow. Why would he stay?
