Mr Garcia

He never has a day off. “Why?”

“Because you look like the evil dead, and I’m playing nurse.” He passes me a fork.

I smile goofily as I take it from him. “Oh.” I take a bite of my omelet. “This is good. Thank you.”

He flicks the tea towel over his shoulder and watches me eat.

“Are you eating?” I ask.

“I ate two hours ago.”

“Oh.” I shovel another mouthful in. “So, what was she looking for?” I ask.

He twists his lips. “I have no idea.”

“She took something; I know she did.”

He pulls out the stool beside me and sits down. “Tell me exactly what happened… from the beginning.”

“I was upstairs, and I was drifting in and out of sleep. I rolled over to get my phone, and Bentley was on the floor beside me. He sat up with his ears pricked up, as though he heard something. Then I heard something. I thought you must have come home.” I shrug. “I walked out into the hallway and I saw the security screens. Someone was walking up the hallway, dressed in black with a balaclava on.”

“A balaclava?” He gasps.

“Yes, like full robber’s kit. I was freaking out. I called you and you didn’t answer. I kept watching the screen, and the person walked into your office.”

He listens intently.

“Has she been here before?” I ask.

“Never.”

“Well, she knew where she was going. It wasn’t like it was her first time in the house.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, she got into the office and took off her balaclava. At that point, I was relieved.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t a serial killer.”

“Trust me, a serial killer is the lesser evil.” He widens his eyes.

“She started going through your desk drawers, and I was freaking out. I didn’t want her to see me, and I couldn’t get you, so I went out onto the balcony and called the police. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

“I left it in the damn car.”

I roll my eyes. “Then she was trying to get into your filing cabinet. She got the keys, and then she tripped over Bentley, so she kicked him.”

“She what?”

“She kicked him.”

“How hard?”

“Not really hard but enough for me to march down there. When I got there, she was rummaging through the top drawer. She put something behind her back.”

“What did it look like?”

“A piece of paper, I think. I don’t know for sure, but it was from the back of the drawer. I’ll show you.”

“Eat your breakfast first.”

“No.” I march down to his office and pull out the drawer. The dividers are spaced apart at the back. “Here. Whatever she took, it’s from around here.”

The divider heading reads:

Bank Statements

“Why would she want a bank statement?” I ask.

“To see how much money I have.” He frowns, deep in thought.

“Why would she want to know that?”

“I don’t know.” He takes my hand. “Your omelet is going cold.”

“I’m sorry I let her get away.” I sigh as I follow him up the hall.

“Don’t you worry about Helena. She’s not your problem.” He sits me back down at the kitchen counter.

I pick up my fork. “Yeah, well, she’s messing with the wrong woman.”

He smirks.

“If she wants to get to you, she has to get through me.” I thumb my chest.

He breaks into a breathtaking broad smile and reaches up to touch my eye socket. I wince.

“It’s such a relief to have a brave, burly bodyguard,” he says.

I smile, embarrassed. “Don’t let this black eye fool you, Seb. I am one tough motherfucker.”

“I know.”

“And if I wanted to take her down, I totally could.”

“Of course, you could, sweetheart.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear as he smiles lovingly at me.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m hideous.”

“I happen to think you look lovely.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“One hundred percent. You’re hideous.”

I giggle, and he leans over to kiss me. “Eat your omelet before I make you eat dick.”

It’s mid-afternoon and, like teenagers playing hooky, we are back in bed. It’s warm and dark, and we’re nestled up together underneath the blankets. Sebastian is leaning on his elbow, lying on his side, facing me. I’m wearing panties and a T-shirt, and his hand is roaming over my body as his eyes hold mine.

It’s the weirdest thing. We haven’t had sex for a long time—maybe a week—and yet I’ve never felt closer to him. There’s an unspoken tenderness passing between us. The same one that used to turn up when we’d lie in each other’s arms after we’d made love. Only now it’s there all the time.

Maybe the therapist did know what she was talking about?

"Maybe I should take your temperature." He whispers as his lips softly take mine, he slides my panties down my legs to take them off.

I smile against his lips, "You really should."

If I were stronger, I would tell him to stop, but I don’t want him to.