‘Yes, a hundred and fifty years of paint seemed a bit excessive, not to mention time-consuming, to strip by hand.’ Her dark lashes flutter up at me as I resist the urge of a dozen actions.Run my palms down her body. Grip her arse. Bring my lips to hers.While I concentrate on doing none of those things, my arms tighten instinctively.
‘You can let go of me.’ Her eyes slip from mine, her cheeks a deep pink.
‘Or you could stay here.’
‘To what ends?’ I want to take her chin, raise her head, and make her look at me, but I don’t want to let go.It’s too soon, my mind whispers.
‘My end, of course.’
‘Is that some kind of dick joke?’ Now she looks at me—none too complimentarily.
‘I never joke about my dick, Nell.’ I drop my arms with reluctance, allowing her to step back.
‘Now that’s a little more like the Ben I know.’
‘I told dick jokes?’ I frown, wondering what she can mean. I wouldn’t have had the nerve. Girls were like a foreign species to me until I was nineteen.
‘Not specifically, but young Ben lived to embarrass me.’Oh, sweetheart, you’re so wrong. I lived for your attention.‘Did you hear what I said about the doors?’ she asks. Sliding those tempting curls behind her ears, she’s refusing to engage, or lower herself, further.
‘Doors?’ I repeat. ‘There aren’t any. It doesn’t worry me.’ Fact: there’s not a great deal of personal dignity when on deployment. I also happen not to be at all self-conscious about my body.
Though the lack of doors doesn’t worry me, it appears to worry Nell. Very much, if her expression is any indicator.
‘It’s just, well...’ Her dark eyes blink up at me, suddenly solemn. ‘Our bedroom doors almost face.’
‘What doors?’ My tone is low and soft, and I have to coil my fingers in a conscious effort not to reach out and bring her soft body against mine again. A lack of doors between our sleeping quarters sounds like a gift from the gods. It wasn’t my intention to get into Nell’s pants when Melody suggested I stay here. Sure, it was a vague thought or maybe a distant possibility. Though I’ve thought about her often, I couldn’t be sure of her reaction to me. So it wasn’t my intention, but I’d be lying if I said the prospect wasn’t becoming more and more attractive by the minute. She’s soft flesh and sweet smelling and so much more than my memory holds of her.
‘What doors, exactly?’ she almost whispers, her tongue darting out to wet that biteable bottom lip. ‘It doesn’t bode well for privacy.’
No fucking complaints here. Not one springs to mind, strangely enough.
‘I’m afraid you’ll just have to get used to the fact that I sleep naked.’ This time, I can’t resist the lure of the curl, pulling the end of one straight before releasing and watching it coil again. ‘I’m sure the sight isn’t quite as horrifying as your expression. Nell,’ I add, laying my palms on her shoulders. ‘I’m used to sharing my personal space with hairy-arsed blokes.’
‘Maybe you are, but I’m not.’
My hands move to my fly as I make a show of unbuttoning. ‘I’m pretty sure my arse isn’t hairy. You can check if you like?’
‘Stop!’ she says, giggling rather than horrified. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘Let me know if you change your mind.’ The flirty smile I send her earns me a chastising frown in response. ‘When are the doors due back? I can make sure your bedroom is the first door hung.’
‘That won’t work,’ she says with a frustrated sounding sigh.
‘Does the company not replace them? No problem, I can.’
‘No, you won’t be able to,’ she repeats.
‘I’m not just a pretty face, you know. And I don’t mind helping out.’
‘No, I mean youcan’t.’ Quite suddenly, her cheeks turn from pink to red. ‘Because I don’t know if I’ll get them back. The stripping company is currently holding them ransom because they haven’t been paid. Last week, they even threatened to sell them in lieu of the work they’ve carried out.’
‘Can they do that?’
She shrugs, her hands slapping against her mostly bare thighs. ‘Apparently, there’s quite the market for original Victorian doors.’ She sighs as though the weight of the world is balanced on her shoulders. ‘Come on. Let me show you to your room.’
She was right about the bed and had repeated as much, standing in the doorless doorway.Without stepping through.As her footsteps trip lightly down the bare wooden stairs, I drop my bag onto the bed and run my hands through my hair. I consider phoning Melody for a little more intel. What the fuck is going on here? The Nell I knew was pretty bloody fierce. Quick to temper, though just as quick to forgive. This Nell, treading quietly about her own house, it’s like she’s frightened to live. Sure, she’s recently split from her boyfriend, but I remember a girl with more fire than she’s shown so far. Hampstead is an expensive London borough. Despite the state of disrepair, this place would’ve cost a pretty packet. Much more than an NHS doctor can afford. No surprise she can’t buy her fucking doors back.
What kind of prick leaves a woman to pay the bills?
