But I have to go with this, I have to continue the plan while I formulate the next. And I’ll enjoy what I can while we’re still together.
So I just let him. I don't fight it. I roll over, but I'm a little more awake now. I close my eyes as he lifts the blanket and drapes it over my shoulder.
There's a distant buzzing of a phone, and I hear him leave the room.
I'm somewhere between sleep and being awake, and I can't really hear his voice, just the gentle rise and fall of it, as if he's keeping his voice quiet so he doesn't wake me.
I can tell he's agitated about something, but I don't know what. I try to open my eyes, but they're too heavy. I fall back to sleep.
I wake the next day suddenly, one thought on my mind. I sit up suddenly.
Did I erase my texts?
I don’t know what I dreamt about when I was asleep, but I’m wide awake and in a panic.
I blink and look beside me, but Mac isn’t there. There's one thought insistent on my mind. I don't know if I dreamt about it, or if it was my subconscious working while I slept, but it suddenly dawned on me, I don’t have my phone.
And worse… if Mac looked at my texts and saw anything that I've texted my father it could be incriminating. It’d damn near destroy us.
I look at the bedside table to where I usually put my phone when I'm sleeping, but it isn't there. Now I'm really beginning to panic. I don't call for Mac, because I don't want him to know that I'm worried. I don't want him to suspect anything at all.
From where I’m lying, I can see the door to the toilet, but it’s ajar and the light’s off. He isn’t there, then.
What did I do with my phone? Where the hell is it?
I try to quell my rising panic as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I quickly throw the sheets and blankets to the side and walk over to Mac's dresser. I take out one of his T-shirts, and quickly toss it over my head before I go to the living room. He isn't there either. Where the hell is my phone?
Did he take it? Would he just take it like that with no warning at all?
God.
I find my bag hanging on a hook beside the jacket that I wore the night before. I rifle through it. No phone. I try to think about the last time that I used it. We were up at the house… We had dinner with his family… I pulled up my phone to show Cairstina that I downloaded the e-books so I could read the romances they’ve been talking about, and after that… I don't have any recollection of using it.
I had a little wine, we ended up back at his chalet…
Did I leave it up at the house?
Oh, bugger.
bugger bugger bugger!
I kick the couch in a moment of utter frustration, just as the front door opens and Mac walks in. He’s sweating and panting, like he’s just come in from a run. He looks at me and grins but gives me a funny look.
“Mornin’, beautiful.”
Thump, goes my bloody heart.
He kisses my cheek, then leans down and begins to unfasten his boots. "Something bothering you? Did I really just see you kick my sofa?"
I bite my lip because I'm embarrassed. I shouldn't have kicked his sofa like a child.
“Just stubbed my toe is all,” I lie. I give him a sheepish look. "Sorry."
“No worries, darlin’.” He gives me that lopsided grin that shows his dimple. “Want me to kiss it better?”
I may be in love with you, Mac Cowen.
I laugh at that, as he kicks his second boot off. He can’t know what I’m thinking.
“No, but thanks. I’m fine. I was a little frustrated because I couldn't find my mobile. Have you seen it?"
He shakes his head and looks as perplexed as I do. "No, sorry, I haven't. When's the last time you had it?"
"Up at the house last night at dinner. I was showing Cairstina something… bugger, Mac, it’s got to be back up at the house.”
He nods. “I’ll call and ask if anyone’s found it.”
I wince. I hate the thought of anyone finding it, reading my texts or worse. I have private information on that phone.
"Can we just go back up and get it?" That's when I realize that he’s still sitting in front of me dripping sweat. "By the way, what the hell were you doing? Looks like you just ran a marathon or got out of the boxing ring.”
“I like to lift weights of a morning,” he says with a shrug. “It’s been a few days.” He pats his bulging bicep and gives me that grin that makes my knickers wet. “And I need to keep myself in top shape to wrestle my feisty girl.” He shakes his head. “A girl like you’s hard to keep up with, a bloke’s got to prepare.”