This Man Confessed (This Man 3)

I make to move, but get absolutely nowhere. ‘I need to stretch.’ I complain, wriggling.

I hear a click, and I’m instantly free. ‘I needed to belt you in.’ He helps me to my feet and watches as my arms raise, nearly touching the ceiling of the plane. Oh, that feels too good.

‘Aren’t I supposed to be belted into my own seat for landing?’ I ask, ‘With my seat in the upright position, my table stowed away, and all of my belongings tucked neatly under the seat in front?’

He raises a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Yes. I very nearly had to trample the lovely lady.’ He stands himself and pulls my blouse down, which is riding up my navel from my stretched position. He holds it in place until I’ve finished. ‘Done?’

‘Yes,’ I yawn, as he releases the hem of my top. I know this is probably a sign of things to come over the next couple of days, but he’d better lighten up and fast because I’ve packed my bikinis, and I’ll be wearing them.

As we emerge into the bright sunlight, I smile, the heat hitting my face and warming me to the core. Or warming me further. I already have a lovely, peaceful warmth coursing through me, and that’s only going to increase over the next few days. Taking the steps down to the tarmac, we’re immediately greeted by a smart Spanish man, who hands Jesse a set of keys. Then I spot the DBS.

‘Really?’ I blurt. ‘We couldn’t have taken a taxi?’

He scoffs and signs the paperwork presented to him. ‘I don’t do public transport, Ava.’

‘You should. It’ll save you a fortune.’

Handing back the paperwork, he makes quick work of putting me in the wrong side of the car, throwing me off a little. Once he’s buckled me in and I’ve gathered my bearings, I settle in the familiar, if a little warmer, softness of the leather seat and listen to the bumping and banging of the luggage being loaded into the boot.

Jesse jumps in and slips his shades on. ‘Are you ready to be binged on for the next three days?’

‘No, take me home.’ I grin and lean across, planting a kiss on his lips.

‘Not a chance, lady. You’re all mine, and I’m going to make the most of it.’ He returns my kiss, palming the back of my head to pull me closer.

‘I’m always yours’

‘Correct. Get used to it.’ I’m released before he hastily rams the Aston in gear and screeches away from the Jet.

‘I am used to it.’ I muse, resting my elbow on the door and settling my head so I can watch the unfamiliar world go by. It’s all very boring and concrete-like for quite some time as we make our way out of the airport and away from the hustle and bustle of central Malaga, but then we hit a coast road, and the sight of the Mediterranean meeting the sky holds my attention for the rest of the journey. Mansun sing about a Wide Open Space, and the smell of heat mixed with the kicked up dust of the well-worn road overpowers the usual lingering scent of fresh water, leaving me resentful of its intrusion on my nose. Apart from that smell, it’s blissful. We cruise along in a comfortable silence, the stereo in the background keeping us company, Jesse’s hand resting on my knee, and mine clutching it. I sneak a peek of his profile and smile before I close my eyes, relax further into the leather and think of the tranquil, undisturbed time ahead of us.

* * *

I’m not asleep, but my eyes come open when the road beneath the tyres becomes bumpy and the car starts jolting all over the place. I look to the road ahead and the first thing that strikes me is the appalling condition of it. There’s rubble all over the rut riddled surface, leaving Jesse negotiating the prestigious car with care. I’ve never known him to drive with such caution, but it’s blatantly obvious that any faster, then he’s likely to take out the bottom of the car.

‘Where are we?’ I ask, searching around for any sign of something appealing. There is nothing, only derelict land, this hideous, dusty, shambles of a road and a few houses. No, not houses, shacks would be more apt. There can’t be any people living in them.

‘This is paradise, baby.’ Jesse says, deadly serious. I almost laugh, but worry is preventing it. I’ve seen paradise, in pictures mainly, and this couldn’t be any further removed. I’m about to demand that he turn around, but then a colossal set of wooden, planked gates come into view and my attention is captured by the high, whitewashed wall stemming from each side and stretching out into the distance. And then I see it.

Paradise.

There is a sign on the wall next to the gate and it says Paradise. He cannot be serious. Paradise? Not only is it not paradise, but could he have picked a cheesier name for a place to stay? Paradise? Those walls don’t look like they’ve been touched by any white-wash paint in two decades, and I’m starting to feel nauseous from being tossed around in this lovely car. He’s brought me to this dump? He has me to himself for three days and he’s brought me here? I would rather sleep in the car. My tranquil mind isn’t feeling so tranquil, not now that I’m surrounded by this most un-tranquil vista. Yes, it’s quiet, but the whole deadness of our surroundings is just making it feel eerie, rather than peaceful.

‘Jesse…’ I’m not sure what to say. He doesn’t seem in the least bit perturbed by all of this, which leaves me thinking that he’s been here before. If he has, then why would he return? I’m not given any explanation, he just flips a switch and smiles fondly as the wooden gates start to creak open. He has been here before. I choose to keep my mouth shut, despite my better judgment. I’m not staying here. No way.