This Man Confessed (This Man 3)

‘Thank you for taking me to Paradise.’ I murmur quietly.

He kisses my shoulder and rests his mouth at my ear. ‘Baby, you take me to Paradise every day.’

* * *

I’m not a happy bunny. He’s woken, gone for a run, showered and dressed, all without me, but he left my ginger biscuit and folic acid by the bed with some water. I’m standing in front of the floor length mirror in my lace, drying my hair, when I see him in the reflection, strolling into the bedroom. I’ll give him just a little credit. He’s not shaved and he has on his grey suit, black shirt and the tie I requested, but it doesn’t improve my mood, even if he does look edible.

‘Morning,’ he chirps, all happy and awake.

I flip him a scowl and chuck my hairdryer on the floor before stalking into the wardrobe to find something to wear. I know what I should be pulling down from the hanger, but in a fit of pure childishness, I pick something else, pulling it on and zipping it up quickly. I exit the wardrobe and slip my feet into my black suede heels, and then head straight for the bathroom. I’m aware of his large frame to the side of me, following my every move. I snatch a quick look as I pass and see his hands resting lightly in his trouser pockets and an amused expression on his face. I don’t humour him with my time or silver tongue, instead finding my way to the bathroom mirror and making fast work of my make-up.

He walks in and comes to stand behind me, his fresh water loveliness smacking me right in the nose. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asks, still displaying amusement on his face.

I pause, mid-mascara application, and pull back from the mirror. ‘I’m putting my make-up on.’ I answer, knowing this is not what he means.

‘Let me rephrase that. What do you think you’re wearing?’

‘A dress.’

His eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘Let’s not start the day on a bad note, lady.’ He holds my black pencil dress up. ‘Put the dress on.’

I take a deep breath of calm, and turn to take the dress before exiting the bathroom without a word. I’ll put the dress on, but only because I’m worked up enough. Not only have I been snatched from Paradise, but, as predicted, I’ve also been tossed off Central Jesse Cloud Nine. London does our relationship absolutely no favours. No, let me rephrase that. Jesse in London does our relationship no favours.

I go out of my way to make the biggest deal of demonstrating the inconvenience he’s causing, not that he’s bothered. He stands patiently and observes as I remove my unauthorised dress and replace it with the one he’s sanctioned. Reaching behind my back, I grasp the zipper and pull it up my back, but I only get halfway before I lose my grip of the little piece of metal. I quickly locate it again, but the same thing happens.

I close my eyes, hating having to ask the smug arse for assistance. ‘Will you zip me up, please?’

‘Of course,’ he chirps, and the next second he’s pressed against my back, his mouth at my ear. ‘With great pleasure.’ he murmurs, instigating a ferocious wave of treacherous tingles to ride through me. My hair is grasped and draped down my front before he takes the zip and tugs. ‘Oh dear.’

‘What? Is it broken?’ I could laugh. Not because my dress is damaged, I love this dress, but because I know he won’t send me to work with material gaping open at my back.

‘Urm…’ he tries again. ‘No, baby. I think you may have grown out of it.’

I gasp, completely horrified, and turn to see my back in the mirror. There’s a good inch on bare flesh revealed and the material is not stretchy. I sag on the inside and out. And so it begins. All of the pregnancy side effects will be accelerated because I have two peanuts, not one. I refuse to cry, although I could, quite easily. I need to embrace this. I need to match Jesse in the enthusiasm stakes. It’s all right for him, he’s still going to be a God at the end of all this, whereas my body will probably be ravaged. I turn to face him, finding an apprehensive face around a chewed lip. He thinks I’m going to disintegrate. ‘Can I put my other dress on now?’ I ask quietly.

He visibly relaxes and even fetches my other dress for me, helping me out of the now redundant one and into the newly authorised one. ‘Beautiful,’ he says. ‘I need to scram. Cathy’s downstairs and she’s made you breakfast. Please eat it.’

‘I will.’

He can’t hide his surprise at my easy submission. ‘Thank you.’

‘You don’t have to thank me for eating.’ I mutter, grabbing my bag. I make my way out of the bedroom.

‘I feel like I should thank you for everything you do without arguing with me about it.’ He follows me down the stairs.

‘If you were still f**king sense into me, then I would argue.’ I land at the bottom.

‘Are you pissed because I didn’t service you this morning?’ he asks, amusement rife in his tone.

‘Yes.’

‘Thought so.’ He grabs my hand and swings me around so my body crashes against his hard chest. Then he eats me alive. I’m taken with purpose and conviction, and I don’t stop him. It’ll never make up for the sex we didn’t have this morning, but it might quench my thirst until later. ‘Have a nice day, baby.’ I’m spun back around and my arse is slapped, before I’m guided to the kitchen archway. ‘Make sure my wife eats her breakfast, Cathy.’

‘I will, boy.’ She waves a whisk over her head, but doesn’t turn around.

‘I’ll see you later. And don’t forget to speak with Patrick.’ He strides out without waiting for confirmation that I will, indeed, talk to Patrick. I know my time is up on that matter.