This Man Confessed (This Man 3)

He laughs. ‘Hello.’

‘You’re a menace.’

He seems to find his feet with no effort, rising from the water like some kind of otherworldly creature. ‘You love me.’ he tells me confidently.

I lean down, but I can’t reach him. ‘I want to kiss you.’ I whine.

‘I know you do.’ In a stealthy set of coordinated moves, I’m whipped from his shoulders and laying across his arms in a nanosecond. ‘And now you can.’

This grin feels like a permanent fixture on my face, and his sparkling eyes are deeply set and showing no sign of fading. We’re so happy. Laidback Jesse is full-on and drowning me in lust and roguishness. Central Jesse Cloud Nine doesn’t get any better than this.

Chapter 25

I could get so very used to this. I could lay every morning and stretch happily, feel the breeze all over my nakedness and wander out onto the veranda to admire my God from a distance, running the curve of the bay. I could prepare him breakfast, despite the fact that I absolutely hate cooking, and I could sit naked at the table while he demolishes it with constant hums of approval around his fork before plunging his finger into a jar of peanut butter, which I’m sure he packed because it’s Sun-Pat. I could open my mouth when instructed so he can feed me, and I could reach over and just stroke his bare, sun kissed chest because I feel like it. I could puddle on the chair when he winks and yanks me over onto his lap to ravish me, and then continue with his breakfast with one hand while he holds me with the other, offering forkfuls of salmon to me. I could slip into my bikini within the privacy of Paradise, receiving no look of horror or demand to put something more substantial on, and go for a swim in the giant freshness of the villa’s pool. I could be pulled out by my hand and dried off, then wrapped up and taken to the shower, where I’m soaped down and served in every shower time way possible. Every shower time way possible… and a little more. I could get very, very used to this.

It’s our last day in Paradise, and I’m feeling a little forlorn. It’s our last day of indulging solely in each other, with none of the distractions or issues that are all currently waiting for us in London. I’m sitting on the bed with tissue wedged between my toes and a bottle of bright pink nail polish in my hand. It’s gone noon. We’ve spent all morning doing all of our normal, and I’m now prepping and preening for an afternoon down at the port and a twilight dinner. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay in Paradise forever, just me and Jesse.

‘I thought we agreed no more nail painting and hunting down scarce whiskey?’

I look up, seeing Jesse performing the mundane task of rubbing his dirty blonde mass of wet hair with a towel, but it’s not so mundane when Jesse is doing it. Nothing this man does is dull or ordinary. I lean back on my pillow and savour the delightful view. He’s naked. I’m dribbling. ‘I need to paint my toenails.’ I shake the bottle and unscrew the lid. ‘It won’t take long, and I don’t need to do my hands.’ I wave my already dried pink fingernails at him.

He saunters over and crawls up the bed until he’s sitting on his knees by my feet. ‘Let me.’ The towel gets laid across his thighs and he takes my foot

in his strong hands.

‘You want to paint my toes?’ I ask, a little amused at my manly husband taking on such a girly task. He flicks me an indifferent look, clearly not bothered to be tending to his wife to this extent.

The nail polish is taken from my hand and my foot positioned on the towel so that he may carry out his self-appointed duty. ‘I may as well get some practice in.’ he informs me, straight-faced and all matter-of-fact. ‘You won’t be able to reach them soon.’

My foot lashes out on reflex, jabbing him straight in his stomach, not that it has the desired effect. He grins down at his lap and re-positions my foot. ‘I don’t want to go home.’ I say quietly.

‘Me either, baby.’ He doesn’t seem shocked to hear it, like he has read my mind, or clearly has been thinking the exact same thing. He gives my big toenail a stroke down the centre with the brush, then one on each side.

‘When can we come back?’ I ask, watching as his concentration frown emerges. It makes me smile, momentarily forgetting my dispiriting thoughts.

‘We can come back whenever you like. Just say the word, and I’ll put you on that plane.’ He wipes across the flesh at the base of my nail and sits back to observe his handiwork. It’s not bad at all, considering his big hands and the tiny brush. He looks up at me. ‘Have you had a nice time?’ he asks on a smile, knowing all too well that I have.

‘Paradise.’ I muse, resting my head back. ‘Continue.’ I nod at my foot in his lap.

His eyes narrow playfully. ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Good boy,’ I sigh dreamily, relaxing into the pillow. ‘What happens when we get home?’

He continues with the painting of my nails, not giving my question the acknowledgment it deserves. Something needs to be done, preferably by the police, not Steve. While Jesse evacuating me from the country was a welcome escape, I also know it was to maintain his sanity. He can’t hide me in Paradise forever, although I know he doesn’t think that his ambitious intention is irrational at all, and if he keeps up this mood and relaxed persona, neither will I.

‘What happens is that you’ll go to work and finally fulfil your promise to enlighten Patrick of Mikael.’ He tosses an expectant look, which I ignore.

‘Do you think Mikael stole your car?’