With This Man (This Man 4)

‘I don’t even know why I’m here,’ she says on a shrug, making me sag in the uncomfortable office chair.

‘Just come in.’ I flap an impatient hand, beckoning her.

She shuts the door and stands across the office, looking around, a bit bewildered. ‘Nice.’

‘It was better when it was my office,’ I say, following her lead and taking the space in. I sniff my disgust and find my wife again. She’s the only thing that looks right in here, even if she’s staring at me a little blankly, her face asking me what next? Her dark hair, currently piled high in a messy knot, isn’t as glossy, and her eyes aren’t as shiny. But she still takes my breath away.

I get up from the chair and slowly round the desk, dragging my fingers across the wood. Then I rest my arse on the edge, crossing my legs at the ankles and my arms over my chest. Her eyes fall to my torso, and I smile to myself. ‘What do you see?’ I ask, prompting her to look up through her lashes at me.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Here.’ I indicate down my tall frame, eyebrows raised in question. ‘What do you see?’

‘I see you.’

‘Play the game, Ava,’ I warn – low and husky, instantly making her shift on her feet. That’s more like it. She’s fidgeting. Good. Let’s get this fucking show on the road.

She breathes in, long and deep. She’s finding the courage to say what she wants to say, and I silently will her on. ‘I see dirty-blond hair,’ she begins, clearing her throat in order to continue, as if the silly act will wipe her voice of the lust that’s growing. ‘Green eyes.’

‘And?’

‘And a body to die for.’ She smiles shyly on a little shrug of one shoulder, colour creeping into her cheeks again. ‘Which I’m guessing you must work hard for, given your age.’

I just manage to keep my eyebrows from jumping up in surprise. ‘I don’t work that hard,’ I clarify, thinking now would usually be a perfect time to start the countdown and warn her to take that back. But not now. ‘And you don’t know how old I am,’ I point out.

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-three.’

She laughs lightly, looking away. She’s struggling to keep our eye contact, and I just know it’s because she’s finding it too intense to deal with. This is good.

‘You think I’m handsome.’ I pose it as a statement, because I know it to be true. She might have lost her memory, but she can’t have lost her taste in men. I’m her taste. Me. Only me.

‘Devastatingly,’ she confesses, with no hesitance or shame, finding the strength she needs to lock eyes with me.

‘Then we’re off to a good start.’ I half smile, and so does she, more shifting of her feet happening.

‘You’re also cocky.’

‘You love my cockiness.’ I avoid telling her that she also loves my cock. It’s too soon. Or is it? Then her eyes drop to my groin, as if she’s read my mind, and my cock – the one she loves – shouts from behind my fly. I talk it down urgently. It’s definitely too soon for that. I don’t think her mind would cope, and especially not her healing body.

As I take measured steps towards her, her breathing gets more laboured until she eventually gives up altogether and holds her breath. I reach her and dip, kissing her cheek lightly. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ I whisper, smiling when she shudders from top to toe before snapping out of her trance and moving back. ‘You had the very same reaction the first time we met.’

She puffs out a shot of disbelieving laughter, looking away, as if embarrassed by her reactions to me. ‘You . . . um . . . yes . . .’ She shakes herself, and then winces, reaching up to her head and clutching the side. ‘You certainly have a presence,’ she finishes on a face screwed up in discomfort.

My guilt is instant. ‘This was too much too soon.’ I move in and pick her up, and she lets me, welcoming my offer of support.

‘I have legs, you know,’ she says, settling her head on my shoulder.

‘Yeah, yeah, you tell me most days.’ In one swift but careful move, I manoeuvre her body, guiding her legs to around my waist. ‘And this is more like it.’ Our faces are suddenly close again, her unsure eyes on mine. ‘You call it our baby chimp cuddle,’ I say quietly.

She smiles faintly, scanning my face, as if she can’t get enough of it. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t actually sweep me off my feet the first time we met, so what happened after you had me coming over all hot and bothered?’

‘You ran.’

‘I ran?’

‘Yes, you virtually threw yourself down the stairs to escape me. Well, after I’d shown you the extension and told you I liked your dress.’

‘The extension? You’ve lost me.’

‘I hired you to design the new rooms I had built here.’

Realisation floods her eyes, as well as a little happiness. Something has just clicked for her. ‘So that’s why I was at a posh sex club!’

I nod and move over to a black leather couch, lowering and keeping Ava on my lap. ‘Tell me your last memory. What’s the most recent thing you remember, Ava?’ I take her hands and hold them on my chest, watching as she falls into thought, her forehead creasing in concentration. I wait patiently for her to try to find what she’s looking for, soundlessly willing her on.

‘I was working for a company called Rococo Union.’ Her lips twist as she looks up at me. ‘There was a man I was seeing. But it wasn’t you.’

I feel like a knife just plunged into my fucking heart, and though I fight not to show it, I know my nostrils are flaring dangerously. ‘Is that it? There’s nothing else?’ I try not to sound too hopeful. It’s hard when I’ve never hoped for anything more. Just a little something for me to work on. ‘Anything?’

Her blank expression, the fact that she’s stalling her answer, tells me she doesn’t. ‘I’m sorry.’ She looks away, probably to avoid the disappointment on my face.

Her despondency kills me. I pull her forward, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Take me home.’ She snuggles into me, and I feel her tears soaking through my shirt. ‘Please.’

I’m up from the couch quickly, carrying her out, trying not to let myself feel defeated. It’s still early days, and she’s heard only a morsel of our tale. Yet she’s exhausted by it already. But I won’t quit. It isn’t in my DNA, especially when it comes to this woman.

Chapter 18

I let us into our home and toss my car keys on the table in the hallway. Ava has been so quiet since we left The Manor, so thoughtful and pensive. And I just know that she’s trying to wrap her mind around the fact that her husband once owned an exclusive sex club. I feel like my past – the secrets, the hard truths – is rushing forward and drowning me again, albeit in an entirely different way. I’ve never felt so fucking helpless.

‘Tell me about our first date,’ she says as she settles at the island and I get us some water from the fridge.

Our first date? Christ, I just know she’s imagining something romantic like women do. All flowers and feelings and smiles. There was all of that, just not in the way she’s probably expecting. ‘It’s a little . . . unique.’ I take some water and shut the door, risking a peek over my shoulder.

‘Unique?’

‘Not much about our relationship is conventional. Never has been.’ I nibble on my bottom lip, wondering where to start. ‘We should go into the lounge where it’s more comfortable.’ I hand her the water and pick her up without thought, carrying her to the crushed velvet couch by the fire in the lounge.

She doesn’t say a word, but I can practically see her thoughts churning. It’s slowly driving me mad, constantly trying to guess what’s going through her mind. I can’t go on like this. ‘What are you thinking?’ I ask, setting her down on the sofa and joining her.

Pulling her feet up onto the couch on a little grimace of pain, promp

ting me to help lift her injured leg, she looks around the grandeur of our lounge. ‘I’m thinking this room has my name written all over it.’

I know that’s not what she was really thinking, but I humour her, also taking in the gold and crimson décor. It’s my favourite room in the house, for that very reason. It is my wife through and through. ‘You were never one hundred per cent happy with it.’ I don’t know why. To me, it’s perfect. But Ava always said there was something missing, and for the life of her she couldn’t put her finger on it.

‘The curtains need something on the header,’ she says out of the blue.

I shoot her a look, finding her staring at the drapes. ‘Like what?’

‘Some decoration on the pencil pleats. A crystal here or there, maybe.’ She shakes her head and returns her attention to me. ‘What are you smiling at?’

‘Nothing.’ I kick my feet up on the coffee table and relax back as best I can with her not in my arms any more. I just want to yank her close. All this gently-gently is weird. Fucking painful.

‘So, our first date?’ she asks, pulling me out of my funk, my head dropping to the side to find her.

‘It depends what you call a first date.’

‘Oh God, was I easy?’

I bark out a bout of laughter. Easy? I fucking wish. ‘Far from it. And it drove me wild.’

‘But I went on a date with you?’

‘We’d had sex a fair few times by the time I actually took you out for dinner.’

‘I was easy.’ She grimaces, as if disappointed with herself. She shouldn’t be. If anything, it was me who was disappointed that it took so long for her to finally give in to the pull that was driving us both to distraction. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised since I know how quickly I fell pregnant.’ She shakes her head in dismay, and I keep my mouth firmly zipped closed. ‘But part of me was hoping you’d tell me we met, sparks flew, you asked me out, we dated for a time, we eventually fell into bed and made romantic love, and then when the time was right, you proposed. And we lived happily ever after.’

It’s as I thought. All sweet and light in that mind of hers. Idyllic fairy tales. Fucking hell, she’s so far off the mark, she may as well be on another planet. ‘Not quite like that.’

‘Then like what?’ She’s hungry for information, keen to learn. I’m not sure I’m very keen to tell.

‘Well, when you refused to entertain my . . .’ I pause, wondering how best to position it. ‘Advances.’ That’s diplomatic enough. ‘I had to get creative.’

‘I refused?’ Her eyes take a little trip down my reclined body, clearly wondering why she turned me down. It plants another seed of hope that I pray won’t be killed off before it has a chance to grow into something beautiful.

‘Yes, and it’s a question I asked myself many times, too.’ I smile when she finds it in herself to rip her stare away from my chest. ‘You’re stubborn. Always have been, always will be.’

She sniffs though doesn’t argue, pressing on with her thirst for information. ‘Creative how?’

I open my mouth to tell her exactly how, and then think better of it. This needs careful approaching. ‘You refused to come back to The Manor to fulfil your designs, and I knew it was because you were wary of me, of the feelings you had. It was most frustrating.’ I half scowl at her, and she half smiles in return. ‘So I promised I’d stay out of your way if you came back and finished the job.’ I can see her trying to cast her mind back. ‘But I didn’t.’

‘Stay out of my way?’

I nod. ‘Staying away from you proved very . . . tricky.’

‘You must have had a real crush.’

‘A crush?’ I laugh. ‘An obsession would be more apt. You blew me back, with your beauty, your voice, your passion for your job. For the first time in years, I felt alive.’

‘Years?’

I knew we’d have to go over this, but . . . God, it’s not something I relish the thought of. ‘I was a bit of . . .’ I fade off, thinking how to make it sound less sordid. ‘A playboy.’

‘Well, that’s not a surprise, since you owned a sex club.’ She’s taking it rather well. It’s a stark contrast to the reaction back in the day. If only she’d been this willing to listen and accept back then, when she discovered the communal room. I shudder, remembering the train wreck that ensued. ‘So you used to screw around?’ she asks.

‘Something like that.’

‘But you stopped when you met me? ’

‘I stopped,’ I say, hating myself for bending the truth. Positively hating myself. I’m being selective with what I tell her, and I know in my heart of hearts that it isn’t fair.

‘Why don’t I believe you?’ She tilts her head, scanning my worried face. ‘You’re lying to me, aren’t you?’

I close my eyes, stress creeping up on me, and swallow down my fear. I can’t even appreciate the fact that she’s reading me like a book, like she knows me inside out. ‘There was this one incident.’

‘You cheated on me?’ She’s up off the couch quickly, glaring down at me through the discomfort her sharp move has spiked. I’m about to be trampled, Ava-style.

‘Not exactly.’ I grab her hand and encourage her back down, not releasing her when she fights to regain possession of her limb. ‘We weren’t really . . .’ Fuck, how can I put it? ‘Exclusively dating.’

‘But we were seeing each other?’

‘I guess so. If that’s what you want to call it.’

‘Well, I don’t know, Jesse.’ She’s getting more and more irate, and I have no idea how to handle it. Usually I’d pounce right back at her. We’d spar with words, and then we’d make friends in the bedroom. ‘Because I can’t fucking remember, can I?’ she seethes.

‘Watch your fucking mouth!’

She recoils, disgust invading her face. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I don’t like it when you swear.’

‘Well, I don’t like finding out that my husband has cheated on me.’

Motherfucking God! I release my hold of her and sink my head into my palms, searching for some calm. I never dreamed we’d be going over this again. ‘Ava, I got myself in a bit of a state over what I felt for you. It wasn’t healthy, the intense feelings so soon. So I walked away from you. I drank, a lot, and I screwed two women. And I didn’t even finish, because all I could see was you. I spent two fucking days locked in my office wondering what the hell to do. Because you didn’t know about The Manor. You didn’t know about my history. You knew nothing, and I didn’t have a clue how to tell you.’ This is fucking knackering me out. All of it. ‘So I threw all of my energy into making you fall in love with me in the hopes that you would accept it all when I found the courage to tell you. And you did, Ava.’ I grab her hand, ignoring her startled expression and soldiering on. ‘You accepted me because you were as hopelessly in love with me as I was with you. You couldn’t be without me, either. You let me take the lead and you followed willingly. You let me lavish you with the attention and suffocation, because you knew it’s what I needed. You learned how to deal with me, Ava, and you are the only person in this world who can.’ My voice cracks. ‘And now I feel like you’re slipping away from me, and I don’t have a fucking clue how to make it right.’

She’s still, quiet, looking increasingly startled. The silence is unbearable. Excruciating.

‘Please, say something,’ I beg, pleading with my eyes as well as with my words. ‘I punished myself. You punished me. I can’t go through that all over again.’

‘You punished yourself? How?’

I’m quickly shifting in my seat, dropping her and raking my hand through my hair. My actions speak volumes, even if my mouth refuses to.

‘Jesse, how?’ she presses, a certain sternness in her demand.

Does she realise she’s reading my body language? For a woman who doesn’t remember me, she’s showing all t

he instinctive signs of knowing me. I wish I could appreciate that right now. I can’t. I’m just more terrified by the prospect of ruining my chances before I’ve even really tried.

‘I had myself whipped.’ I close my eyes as I tell her, unwilling to see the inevitable horror on her face. ‘It was either that or drink myself into oblivion.’

‘What?’ she gasps. ‘Whipped? By who?’

I don’t hesitate. Let’s get this horror show over with. ‘Sarah.’

‘Who the hell is Sarah?’

‘An old friend.’ I open my eyes and find Ava heaving before me. She’s furious. It’s a small blessing because it shows she cares. ‘You didn’t like her much.’

‘I’m not surprised!’ Pivoting, she walks to the French doors that lead to the garden and stands staring out across our land, arms folded over her chest. It’s cloudy out there. Dull. Grey. Miserable.

Apt.

‘Why would you do that?’ she asks.

‘I already told you. To punish myself.’

She remains with her back to me, though I see her shoulders rise. An inhale of shock? Or an inhale of strength? ‘And this Sarah. Your friend. Is she still in your life?’

I’m thrown back to last week, the moment when John told me she’d returned to London. The moment when I went to call Ava to tell her but got a call from the school instead. The moment when my world shattered. ‘No,’ I vow, because she isn’t. ‘She left, moved to the States when she realised there was only one woman in my life. You.’

‘That was good of her.’

Her curtness stings, but I accept that it’s all I can expect. ‘Sarah was my uncle’s girlfriend,’ I explain. ‘They had a little girl together.’

Ava turns to face me, all spite lost, astonishment replacing it. ‘But she was in love with you?’

I nod. ‘Uncle Carmichael owned The Manor before I did. I worked for him as a teenager. He introduced me to that lifestyle.’

‘Bloody hell, Jesse. Do your parents know?’