Chapter 4
IZZY
‘Come on, Mo. Pick up the phone.’
I’m wearing my sweater once again—I can’t believe I had that whole exchange without realising how I was dressed.Or undressed. And of course,hedidn’t think to point it out to me. And why would he? I’m sure he’s seen women in worse states of undress. Why does the thought make me shiver? Ridiculous, because me standing in front of him in my bra probably didn’t even register on his scale of illicit, beyond the wholejigglingjibe, that is.
With my head full of grumbling thoughts, I pull my still slightly damp hair up into a loose bun, then sweep the run of mascara from beneath my eyes, ignoring the bumps and thuds and grousing drifting up from the floor below.
What the hell is going on right now?I think as I swipe my phone from the dresser and select Mo’s number.
The call connects, and it rings. And rings.
‘Come on, you flaming pink pain in my rear end, pick up the damn phone!’
‘Is he no’ asleep?’ comes a voice from downstairs. ‘Normal people tend to do so during the wee hours, so I’m told.’
‘Thank you Captain Obvious,’ I mutter, ignoring the heavier emphasis on the wordnormalas the ring tone dies, the call connecting.
‘You’re welcome,’ comes the gigolo’s reply.
You’ve reached the message box of Mo, and darling, it’s the only kind of box I’ll ever be in. Leave your message after—
‘Urgh!’ I end the call, throwing my phone onto the mattress, but then pick it up immediately. I dial Mo’s number once more and take myself and the phone off into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Like the rest of the cottage, this room is compact, stylish, and functional, and just like the bedroom, the rafters are exposed, and the walls a mixture of stone and pale tile. A glass shower enclosure takes up one entire wall, and a square basin sits above a dark cabinet. Not that I’m here to admire how the room has been finished, as my call connects once more.
‘Mo, you devil, what have you done?’ I whisper harshly. ‘I didn’t think for one minute yoursurprise packagewould be a dick! An escort, for goodness’ sakes? What were you thinking? I know you loved hearing how Will and Sadie fell in love while he pretended to be an escort, but you seem to forget that Will was only pretending! I’m sure had he really slept with women for money, Sadie wouldn’t have been so keen on marrying him, let alone sleeping with him!’ I can hear my voice getting loud, even while whispering. ‘And yes, I know before you even say it. . . he could’ve made a fortune in that line of work because the man got more arse than a toilet seat, but that’s beside the point! What—he—I can’t believe you did this to me!’ Annoyed and frustrated, I hang up. But as I catch a glance of my flushed expression in the mirror, I call back immediately.
You’ve reached...
‘Yes, yes. Get on with it,’ I mutter. ‘Ah, Mo. It’s me again. It really is a nice package from what I can tell, so thank you. Though I’m not sure if the plan was yours or his for him to greet me in bed, but it was a little forward, don’t you think? I know your heart’s in the right place, even if your mind is in the gutter most of the time. God knows where he’s going to sleep, and yes, you can take that to mean there won’t be any copulating. It’s just not worth it for me. I’ll call in the morning.’
And then I hang up. Again.
As I can’t get any answers from Mo, I’m unsure of my next move. I mean, I know what I can’t do. I can’t leave, certainly not in this weather and at this time of night. Where would I go? It’s not like I could sleep in the car, unless I want to die of hypothermia. Besides, I paid for this place. If anyone should leave, it should behim. And surely sending him home, sans sexy times, would be a bonus to him—sort of the same as me being paid for a day’s work but only staying until lunchtime. I’d be doing him a favour, wouldn’t I?
One thing is for certain. I can’t hide up in the bathroom for the rest of the evening. Also, hiding in the bedroom could be seen as an invitation, so I’ll have to go downstairs. Feeling at least a little more resolute, if not stronger, I straighten the hem of my sweater and slide away a few errant wisps of hair before opening the bathroom door.
‘Here, I poured you a wee dram,’ he says from the kitchen as I reach the bottom of the staircase. He’s added a white T-shirt to the navy plaid pyjama pants since he’d made his way downstairs. I suppose the fact that we’re both fully clothed can only benefit our continued exchange. Not that I can’t say I’m disappointed because that is a whole lot of man standing in front of those kitchen cabinets.
‘What are you smiling at?’ he asks, his own mouth half curled in amusement. His eyes are the colour of chocolate, I realise.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ Because I absolutely wasn’t imagining whipping off my sweater again while uttering some corny porn-worthy dialogue in an attempt to see what’s under his T-shirt again.
Gosh, it’s so hot in here. I think we should take off all our clothes.
And from there, my mind skips to crazy town.
I wonder what kind of kisser he is?
Soft lips and strokes of tongue?
Would he be generous?
Commanding? Demanding?
Good Lord, stop!
As though there’s a chance he can read my thoughts, I keep my gaze from his as I make my way to the countertop where he places my glass, before backing himself up against the sink on the other side of the kitchen. Feet crossed at the ankles, he appears to be contemplating the inch of amber liquid in the glass he holds in his hand. I don’t know whether it’s a trick of the light or the reflection of his drink that brings out the amber tones in his still sleep-mussed hair.
