Page 107 of Painted Truths

Walking forward, I pluck the offending garment from his outstretched hand, tossing it on the chest of drawers to my left.

"Oh, Henry." I shake my head. "This t-shirt holds a lot of sentimental value for me." Obviously, he couldn't know this was the t-shirt I slept in the night I met him; the night I lost almost all my belongings in the fire that killed my parents, but it holds such a special place in my heart that I'll never part with it. No matter how tattered it gets.

He looks sceptical for a long beat. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he crosses his arms across his chest and arches a brow devilishly. "I prefer you naked anyway, baby."

Unable to help myself when it comes to taking him down a peg or two, the retort has left my mouth before my brain has even registered the thought.

Mirroring his stance with my arms crossed and brow popped, one side of my mouth lifts in a taunting smirk. "Well, I hope you took a picture because you won't—"

Moving forward with the speed of a rattlesnake, he grabs my biceps to pull me to him, tucking his face into the crook of my neck to nip the sensitive skin gently before soothing the area with his flattened tongue. His words are a whispered promise that sends tingles of anticipation through my instantly attuned body.

"You'll pay for that."

But instead of following through, he moves his hands to my face and pecks my lips chastely. "I've got one last thing to attend to with Martha. I've just received an email alerting me to a disgruntled ex-employee wanting to cause a stir..."

My eyes widen when I realise what he's saying.

Andrea. Oops!

Nodding understandingly, I move around him and pull the satin shorts down along my legs, allowing them to puddle at my feet before flicking them to one side. Then, turning my back to him, I bend over, allowing him to glimpse my naked rear end as I crawl across the mattress on all fours. Spinning around to sit, I tug the sheets over my bare legs and meet his darkened, lust-filled gaze.

"I'll be here. Waiting." Barely suppressing my laughter, I snuggle under the covers, drawing them underneath my chin. He bites his lip as his nostrils flare. "You're killing me over here, Peach." Then, without another word, he marches out of the room to the sound of my chuckling.

I try my hardest to stay awake but evidently, I fail, as the next thing I remember is waking to the smell of sausages cooking. The morning sun shines through a crack in my dark curtains, and there's not a single sign of Henry other than the Henry shaped indent in the mattress behind me.

Grabbing my satin pyjama shorts from where I'd kicked them last night, I tug them up quickly. Then, after a quick trip to the ensuite to relieve myself and brush my fuzzy teeth, I tiptoe out of my room into my kitchen to find the most unusual sight.

Naked from the waist up, Henry is tugging off a frilly novelty apron that Freya bought me as a housewarming gift. He's dressed in the hottest grey tracksuit pants that show me exactly how lucky I am and nothing else.

He catches sight of me, and his face lights up as though he's not laid eyes on me in months, not just mere hours. His eyes are more gold than green, something I've noticed when he's happy, and my stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of being the reason for his joy.

He insists on plating me up a huge breakfast, though I've no idea where any of this food has come from. Without voicing my question, his reply is as Henry-esque as ever. "I have my ways, Peach. And, just a heads up, I’ve told HR you’re taking some personal days, so until the world comes a-knocking, I’m all yours.”

* * *

Two gloriously normal days follow where we play house, mapping each other's hearts, and make love for hours, memorizing each other's bodies.

On the afternoon of day one, we get the call we've been waiting for. Caden video calls Henry and Nate in their group chat to let them know that Layla and bump are both perfectly fine. Though she has been placed on strict bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy—something to do with her blood pressure, though Henry did say that Caden was quite vague.

“There’s some concern that news has leaked to the media about the wedding and the baby. Noah has organised a full feature spread for some big magazine in the hopes it will brush Layla’s hospitalisation firmly under the rug.”

My brows pinch together in confusion. “But why would he want to cover up her accident?”

Henry rolls his eyes skyward. “I’ve known Noah fucking Spellman my whole entire life. If anything that affects him smells like a scandal and can be painted by the media to look like a scandal, then he’s on it quicker than a dog on a bitch in heat!”

I can’t help the unladylike snort of laughter from erupting as he smiles indulgently at me from his perch on the sofa, where he’s been rubbing my bare feet like the domesticated, diligent lover he so clearly is.

“But why would it be a scandal? I don’t understand.”

“With Spellman, he’d never take any chances. Could be to keep news of Layla’s rehab from hitting the tabloids. She was on her second week at the Priory when she found out she was pregnant. Could be any number of things really, baby. Spellman knows way more than he’d ever let on. Suppose that’s how he got to the top of his game!”

“Are you sure? He was so lovely to me.”

He pauses massaging the ball of my foot to meet my eyes with a deadpan look. “Takes a shark to know a shark, Peach.”

“He seemed so nice at the—”

Obviously finished with my little twenty questions, Henry takes matters into his own hands and tickles my feet relentlessly until I’m a weak, laughed out mess on the sofa.