Beneath This Man (This Man 2)

This is true, he’s said it all when he’s awake, but he was in such a state.

He smiles. ‘Ava, I was probably having a bad dream. I don’t remember.’ He turns back to the fridge.

‘You were just a bit frantic, I was worried.’ I say timidly. It wasn’t normal.

He shuts the fridge door, harder than is really necessary, and I immediately regret bringing this up. I’m not scared of him. I’ve seen him go off at the deep end plenty of times, but the way he is holding himself is making me wary. I don’t want to start a fresh day on a quarrel. It was just sleep talk, after all.

He wanders over to me chewing his bottom lip, and I watch him with caution. When he reaches me, he muscles between my legs and takes my hands out from under my thighs, holding them between us and stroking the tops with his thumbs.

‘Stop worrying about what I say in my sleep. Did I say I didn’t love you?’ he asks softy.

I feel my brow knit. ‘No.’

His green eyes twinkle as one side of his mouth tips upwards at the corner. ‘That’s all that matters.’ He plants a kiss on my forehead.

I pull away from his lips. Yes, actually, it does matter. He’s doing it again. He’s evading. ‘That wasn’t normal. And I’m getting pissed off hearing that tone.’ I scowl, real hard, and he recoils in shock, his mouth gaping slightly, but I don’t give him a chance to come back at me. ‘You either talk, or I’m gone.’

His gaping mouth shuts, but he still doesn’t speak. I’ve shocked him.

I raise cocky eyebrows at him. ‘What’s it to be?’

‘You said you’d never leave me.’ he says quietly.

‘Okay. Let me rephrase that. I won’t leave you if you start answering me when I ask you something. How about that?’

He’s chewing his lip and staring at me, but I don’t look away. I maintain the eye contact and keep a deadly serious face. His thumb strokes become firmer. ‘It’s not important.’

I laugh in disbelieve and make to move, but he moves in closer, hampering my attempts to get myself down from the counter. ‘Jesse, I’ll walk away.’ I so won’t, I know this.

‘I dreamt you were gone.’ He fires the words out quickly, almost panicky.

I stop with my struggle to free myself. ‘What?’

‘I dreamt I woke up, and you were gone.’

‘Gone where?’

‘I don’t f**king know,’ He releases his grip of me and his hands plunge straight into his hair. ‘I couldn’t find you.’

‘You dreamt I left you?’

His frown line is fierce. ‘I don’t know where you went. Just gone.’

‘Oh.’ I don’t know what else to say. He won’t look at me. He got himself in that state over me leaving him?

‘It wasn’t a nice dream, that’s all.’ He’s embarrassed, and I suddenly feel a little guilty. This is a serious hang up.

‘I’m not leaving you,’ I try to reassure him, ‘but we’ve got to talk. I have to torture information out of you, Jesse. It’s exhausting.’

‘I’m sorry.’

I reach forward and pull him back between my thighs. This is one of those moments – the ones where I’m the strong one. They are becoming more frequent as I’m working out this man. ‘Have you had bad dreams before?’

‘No.’ He accepts my hold and squeezes me tight to him.

‘Because you drank.’

‘No, Ava. I’m not an alcoholic.’

‘I didn’t say you were.’ I hold him tightly, feeling a little sad for him, but quietly pleased that he’s opened up. He is so strong and self-assured, but these little cracks are becoming more obvious. Am I making these cracks?

‘Can I make you a well-balanced breakfast now?’ He pulls out from my clinch.

‘Yes, please.’

‘What do you want?’

I shrug. ‘Toast.’

‘Toast?’ he asks questioningly. I nod. It’s six thirty in the morning. My stomach hasn’t woken up yet. ‘It’s hardly well-balanced.’ he mutters.

‘It’s too early to eat.’

‘No, it’s not. You’ll eat. You’re too thin.’ He releases me and goes to put some bread in the toaster.

I lower myself down from the island and take a seat on a stool to admire him as he faffs around the kitchen. I’m touched. He openly admits he’s crap at cooking so the fact he has offered to make me breakfast is quite pleasing. Resting my elbows on the worktop, I sit my chin in my palms and study him. He had a bad dream. Or nightmare. Either or, though, he told me, and that must have been hard. He’s a big, strapping man who was reduced to a cowering mess by a bad dream. I hope they are not frequent because it was horrible seeing him like that – scared and vulnerable. I didn’t like it

I sigh to myself. He looks as handsome as ever this morning. He’s not shaved, and I love the one day stubble on him. He’s hasn’t got a full suit on, just charcoal grey trousers and a black shirt. I might change my mind about lunch so he is forced to give me a reminder f**k.

I watch him gather the butter, knives and plates and place everything in front of me on the island. Then he goes back to the fridge, returning to sit next to me with a jar of peanut butter. I look at him in disbelief as he unscrews the lid and dunks his finger in.

He wraps his lips around his coated finger and looks at me with it half hanging out of his luscious mouth. ‘What?’ he mumbles.

‘You’re giving me a hard time about a well-balanced breakfast?’ I flick my gaze to the jar in his hand.