Текст книги "Beneath This Man"

Автор книги: Jodi Ellen Malpas

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‘Jesse?’ I shake him slightly. ‘Jesse, please, open your eyes.’

Sam, Drew and John all crowd around us and Jesse’s arm starts to rise above his head, flapping around in thin air. I clasp it and place it back by his side, but no sooner have I released it, he brings it back up in front of my face, mumbling inaudibly and thrashing his legs about.

‘He’s looking for you, girl.’ John says quietly.

I throw a shocked glance at John, and he nods at me. He’s looking for me? I reach for his hand again and guide it to my face, spreading his palm against my cheek. He instantly calms. His cold palm on my face offers me little comfort, but it seems to soothe him, so I hold it there and let him feel me, horrified that he has, quite possibly, been out here on the terrace for days, unclothed and unconscious. It might be mild in the May daytime, but nightfall brings cooler temperatures. Why did I walk out on him? I should have stayed and calmed him down, not walk away.

‘I’ll go and get some bedding from upstairs.’ Drew says, heading back into the penthouse.

‘Shall we?’ John prompts, nodding at Jesse on the floor.

I reluctantly release Jesse’s hand and let Sam and John flank him on either side to coordinate a lift. As he’s lifted from my lap, I pull myself up and run ahead to make sure their path is clear. I free the entire leather corner couch of a million cushions – all courtesy of me – so it looks more like a bed when I’m done.

As Drew comes down the stairs with his hands full of blankets, Sam and John wait patiently with Jesse’s naked weight spread evenly between them. I take a velvet throw from Drew and lay it over the cold leather, and then move back so John and Sam can lower him onto the couch before propping his head up on some pillows and laying another throw over his naked body. I drop to my knees at his side, smoothing my hand down the side of his stubbled face.

Regret washes over me, tears starting to fall again. I could have stopped this. If I hadn’t stormed out, he wouldn’t be in this state now. I should have stayed, calmed him down and sobered him up. I hate myself.

‘Ava, are you okay?’ I hear Drew’s quiet voice over my suppressed sobs, and a hand starts rubbing my back.

I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. ‘I’m fine, sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise.’ Sam sighs.

I lean over Jesse and rest my lips on his forehead, leaving them to linger for a few seconds, and as I lift myself from the floor, his arm shoots out from under the blanket and grabs me. ‘Ava?’ His voice is cracked and hoarse, and his eyes open slightly, searching around the room and when they find mine, all I can see are empty pits of nothing, his usual green, addictive eyes bordering on black.

‘Hey,’ I place my hand over his on my arm.

He tries to lift his head from the pillow, but I don’t have to reprimand him. Before I have a chance to push him back down, he gives up trying. ‘I’m so sorry.’ he murmurs pitifully, his hand starting to pat its way up my arm to find my face again. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…’

‘Stop.’ I whisper on a quivering voice, helping his hand to reach my face. ‘Please, just stop.’ I turn my lips into his hand and kiss his palm and when I turn to face him again, his eyes are closed. He’s gone again.

I take his hand and place it on the blanket, then make sure he is tucked in well, before pulling myself up and turning to see Sam, Drew and John, all standing silently watching me tend to him. I had completely forgotten I wasn’t alone with Jesse, but I’m not in the least bit embarrassed.

‘I’ll make some coffee.’ Sam breaks the silence and heads for the kitchen, John and Drew following.

I take another glance at Jesse, my instinct wanting me to crawl onto the sofa and snuggle up to him, stroke him and soothe him. I might just do that, but first I need to talk to the guys. I follow them into the kitchen and find Sam and Drew picking up barstools and John heaving the freezer up from the floor. It wasn’t like this when I left on Sunday. Jesse clearly flew into a rage.

‘I’ve got to shoot,’ Drew says regretfully, placing the last stool upright. ‘I’m taking Victoria out.’ He looks a little embarrassed.

‘You go, bud,’ Sam pushes as he hunts for the mugs. ‘I’ll call you later.’

‘Last cupboard on the right, top shelf.’ I give Sam the directions to the mugs and he turns, looking at me quizzically.

I shrug.

‘I’ll be off then. Speak to you tomorrow.’ Drew says.

I offer a small smile and John does his signature nod as Drew leaves us to it and Sam finishes the coffees.

He transports three mugs of black coffee to the island where John and I have taken our seats. ‘We won’t risk the milk, that’s if he’s even got any. Black okay?’ Sam asks.

I nod and help myself, John following suit, putting an incredible four sugars into his coffee. I know there is no milk, but it would be pointless sharing this.

‘So,’ Sam begins. ‘Now we’ve found him, what are we going to do with him?’ he jokes.

Carefree Sam is back and it’s quite a relief. Seeing him so fraught had only fuelled my own worry, and as it turns out, he had every reason to be anxious. I inwardly shudder at the thought of Jesse alone and suffering for the last five days. How much longer would he have been lying there if I had refused to come? They would have surely phoned the police.

John pipes up. ‘Everything is running smoothly at The Manor. We don’t have to worry about that. He’ll be back to normal after nursing a week long hangover.’

‘Doesn’t he need to go to rehab?’ I ask. ‘Or therapy, I don’t know.’ I have no idea how these things work.

John shakes his head and puts his glasses back on, and I start to wonder about his relationship with Jesse. I thought he was just an employee, but he seems to be the one in the know about all of this.

‘No rehab.’ John states firmly. ‘He’s not an alcoholic in the classic sense of the word. He’s not obsessed with alcohol, Ava. He drank to lighten his foul mood, to fill a gap. Once he starts, he can’t stop.’ He offers me a small smile. ‘You helped, girl.’

‘What did I do?’ I ask defensively.  I don’t know why I sound so hurt by John’s statement. He has just told me I helped the situation, but I can’t help feeling like he’s insinuating that I might have helped with the relapse as well.

Sam places his hand over mine on the worktop. ‘His attention was focused elsewhere.’

‘But then I left him.’ I say quietly. I’m just confirming what they are both thinking. We were not together in the couple sense for me to leave him, though. Nothing had been established as to where we both stood. We never did get to lay our cards on the table or sort this shit out.

‘It’s not your fault, Ava.’ Sam reassures me firmly. ‘You weren’t to know.’

‘He never told me,’ I whisper. ‘If I had known, things would have been different.’ I’m still defending myself. I’m not sure how things would have been different if Jesse had told me, or if I had worked it out myself. I know I never want to see Jesse like he was last Sunday again. If I leave now, will that happen again? Or I could stay and help him, but would I be doing that out of guilt or because I love him? He might not even want me here. He was so mad at me. My head is a jumbled mess. I prop my elbows on the counter and plant my head in my hands. What the hell am I supposed to do?

‘Ava?’ John’s deep rumble pulls my head back up. ‘He’s a good man.’

‘What made him drink? How bad is it?’ I ask. I know he’s a good man deep down, but if I know more I might understand better.

‘Who knows?’ John muses, and then looks at me. ‘Don’t be thinking he was smashed all day every day. He wasn’t. How he is right now, that’s just because of misery, not because he’s an alcoholic.’

‘And he didn’t drink when I turned up?’ I can’t believe that.

John laughs. ‘He didn’t, although you have brought out some other rather nasty qualities in him, girl.’

I frown, but I know exactly what John’s talking about, and so does Sam by the look on his cheeky face. I’ve been told Jesse is usually quite a laidback type, but I have only ever seen snippets of a laidback Jesse Ward, and that was mostly when he was getting his own way. Most of the time, all I’ve seen is an unreasonable control freak. He even admitted himself that he’s only like it with me…lucky me.

What would they be faced with if I was to walk away again? ‘I’ll stay, but if he comes round and he doesn’t want me here, I will be calling one of you two.’ I warn.

Sam visibly sags. ‘That won’t happen, Ava.’

John nods. ‘I need to get myself back to The Manor and run that mother fucker’s business.’ He gets himself up from the barstool. ‘Ava, you need my number. Where’s your phone?’

I look around for my bag and realise that I’ve left it on the terrace, so I jump up and leave Sam and John in the kitchen while I go to fetch it.

On my way back to the kitchen, I see Jesse is still out for the count. How long will he be like this and at what point should I really worry? I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

I stand silently watching him, his lashes flickering mildly, his chest rising and falling steadily. Even unconscious he looks troubled. I approach quietly and pull the blanket up to his chin. I can’t help it. I’ve never looked after him before, but it’s instinctive. I kneel and rest my lips on his cold cheek, soaking up the little bit of comfort I get from the contact before standing and making my way back to the kitchen. John has gone.

‘Here,’ Sam passes me a piece of paper. ‘John’s number.’

‘Was he in a rush?’ I ask. He could have waited for me.

‘He never hangs around for longer than necessary. Listen, I’ve spoken to Kate. She’s bringing some clothes over for you.’

‘Oh, okay.’ My poor clothes are going to wonder where they live. They have been transported back and forth to this place on numerous occasions.

‘Thank you, Ava.’ Sam says sincerely.

‘Don’t thank me.’ I protest, feeling uncomfortable, especially since this is partly my fault.

Sam shuffles nervously. ‘I know. It’s just…well, after last Sunday, the whole Manor shock.’

‘Don’t, Sam.’

‘When he drinks, he really drinks.’ Sam laughs lightly. ‘He’s a proud man, Ava. He’ll be mortified that we’ve seen him like this.’

I imagine he will be. The Jesse I know is strong, confident, domineering and a whole heap of other things. Weak and helpless are not included in the long list of Jesse’s attributes. I want to tell Sam that The Manor and its activities have been diluted by this drink issue, but it hasn’t. Not really. Now I’m here and I’ve lay my eyes on Jesse again, it’s all screaming very loudly in my head. Jesse owns a sex club. He also uses the facilities of his own club. Sam confirmed it, even though it was glaringly obvious when I was faced with the husband of one of Jesse’s conquests. I knew deep down that he must have put himself about, that he was a pleasure-seeking playboy, but I certainly didn’t ever imagine how.

We spend the next hour collecting empties from around the penthouse and dumping them in a couple of black bin liners. I empty the fridge of more vodka, tipping it all down the sink. I’m staggered by how much he has loaded up in there; he must have bought a whole crate of the stuff. It’s obvious he planned on being here alone with his vodka for quite a while. I do know one thing, though; I won’t be drinking it ever again.

Clive rings up to tell me that a young lady is in the foyer by the name of Kate, and after I’ve advised Clive of what we’ve found, we go down to meet her, each dragging a black bin bag full of rubbish and empty bottles. I make a mental note to sort the mangled door out.

When we arrive in the foyer, Kate is waiting under the close observation of Clive. ‘Hey,’ she says cautiously as we approach, dragging the clanging bin bags with us. ‘How is he?’

I release the bag, causing more clanging, and give Clive the eyeball, just to let him know that I’m really pissed off with him. If he had let Sam, Drew or John up to Jesse’s penthouse before now, we may have only found him drunk instead of completely comatose. He has the decency to look apologetic.

‘He’s asleep.’ Sam answers her when it becomes obvious that I’m too busy making Clive feel guilty.

When I turn my attention back to Kate, I see Sam slip his free arm around her and give her a hug. She bats him away playfully. ‘Here,’ Kate passes me my overnight bag. This thing is like a yoyo between Kate’s house and Lusso. ‘I just chucked anything and everything in it.’

‘Thanks.’ I take the bag.

‘So, you’re staying here then?’ she asks.

‘Yeah,’ I answer on a shrug. Sam gives me that appreciative stare, and I immediately feel uncomfortable again.

‘How long are you staying for?’ Kate asks.

That’s a point. How long for? How long do these things take? He could wake tonight, or it could be tomorrow or the next day. I have a job to do and an apartment to find. I look at Sam for some clue, but he shrugs so is no help at all. I look back at Kate and shrug too.

I’m suddenly aware that I’ve left Jesse upstairs and I start to panic. He might wake up and no one will be there. ‘I should get back up there.’ I say, looking back towards the elevators.

‘Sure, you go.’ Kate shoos me with her hand and takes the bin bag from the floor. ‘We’ll get rid of these.’

We say our goodbyes and I promise to call her in the morning before I head back to the elevator, instructing Clive to sort out Jesse’s car window and the door to his penthouse on my way. He, of course, gets straight onto it.

When I arrive back on the top floor, I shut the door, but it doesn’t secure fully. It will do until the repair man turns up, though. I wander into the living room and see Jesse still asleep.

So, what do I do now? I look down my body and note I’m still in my taupe dress and heels, so I take myself upstairs, allocating myself the natural room at the far end of the landing. I’m staggered to find all of the pillows on the floor and the bed sheets crumpled from my brief lay down before Jesse transported me back to his bed after the dress massacre. I set about fixing the bed and then change into my ripped jeans and a black t-shirt. I could do with a shower, but I don’t want to leave Jesse alone for too long. It’ll have to wait.

Making my way back downstairs, I make a black coffee and as I stand sipping it in the kitchen, I figure it would be a good idea to read up on alcoholism. Jesse must have a computer somewhere.

I go in search, finding a laptop in his study. I fire it up, and I’m immensely relieved when it doesn’t prompt me for a password. This man has personal security issues. I take it downstairs and settle myself in the big chair opposite Jesse so I can keep an eye on him. Pulling up Google, I type in “Alcoholics”, and I’m presented with seventeen million results. At the top of the page, though, is “Alcoholics Anonymous”. That would be a good place to start, I suppose. John might have said that Jesse isn’t an alcoholic, but I’m doubtful myself.

After a few hours of browsing the internet, I feel like my brain cells have been zapped. There is so much to take in – long term effects, psychiatric problems, withdrawal symptoms. I read a piece about severe childhood trauma leading to alcoholism, which leaves me wondering if Jesse had something happen to him when he was a boy, the vicious scar on his abdomen springing to mind immediately. There are also genetic connections, so then I wonder if one of his parents was an alcoholic? I’m bombarded with information, and I don’t know what to do with any of it. These are not the sort of questions you just come right out and ask.

My mind flicks back to last Sunday and the things he said to me. “You’re a fucking prick tease, Ava”, “I needed you and you left me”. Then I had left him…again. He’d said he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to have another excuse to leave him, but then he said he wasn’t an alcoholic. John said the same thing. If it’s a problem and it involves alcohol, then doesn’t that make him an alcoholic?

I shut the laptop in exasperation and put it on the coffee table. It’s only ten o’clock, but I’m totally spent. I don’t want to go upstairs to bed in case he wakes up and I don’t want to make myself comfortable, so I gather a few cushions up, lay them on the floor next to him and settle myself, resting my head on the sofa and stroking the hairs on his toned arms. It relaxes me to have the contact and it’s not long before my eyes are heavy and I’m drifting off.

Chapter 3

‘I love you.’

I’m vaguely aware of his palm holding the back of my head, his fingers running through my hair, and it feels so comforting…so right. I open my eyes and I’m met by a duller version of the green I know so well.

I jump to my feet and smack my ankle on the coffee table. ‘Shit!’ I curse.

‘Watch your mouth!’ he scolds me, his voice gritty and broken.

I grasp my ankle, but then I wake up fully and remember where I am. I drop my foot and swing my gaze to the sofa, finding Jesse sat up slightly, looking terrible, but at least he’s awake. ‘You’re awake!’ I cry.

He winces, clasping his head with his good hand.

Oh shit!

He must have the hangover from hell and here I am screeching like a banshee. I walk back the few steps needed to find the chair behind me, and then lower myself onto the seat. I have no idea what to say to him. I’m not about to ask how he’s feeling, that is pretty obvious, and I’m not going to hit him with a lecture about personal safety or for disregarding his health. I really want to ask him if he remembers our fight. What should I do?

I don’t know, so I resolve to sit with my hands in my lap and shut up.

I look at him, looking at me and my mind is racing with things I want to say, none of which I can. I want to tell him that I love him, for a start. And I want to ask him why he didn’t tell me he owns a sex club or that he has an issue with drink. Is he wondering what I’m doing here? Does he want me to leave? Oh, God, does he need a drink? The silence is killing me.

‘How are you feeling?’ I blurt, instantly wishing I had kept my mouth shut.

He sighs and inspects his damaged hand. ‘Shit.’ he states sharply.

Oh, okay. Now what do I say? He doesn’t seem pleased to see me at all, so perhaps I should go before I push him to crack another bottle open. He’ll have to go buy some more, though. That will probably be even more of a reason to be mad at me.

I decide he must need some fluids, so I get up and head towards the kitchen. I’ll get him some water and then I’ll leave.

‘Where are you going?’ he asks, slightly panicky and bolting upright on the couch.

‘I thought you might need some water.’ I assure him, my heart lifting a little. He doesn’t want me to leave. I’ve seen that face plenty of times. The domineering control freak usually follows, after he’s pinned me down somewhere, but I won’t get my hopes up too high. He hasn’t got the strength to be chasing, pinning or dominating me at the moment. I’m disappointed.

He settles at my response, and I carry on my way to the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the oven as I fetch a glass. Eight o’clock. I’ve slept for ten hours straight. That hasn’t happened since…well, since I was last with Jesse.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and fill the glass before traipsing back into the vast open space to find Jesse sat up on the sofa with his head in his hands, the blanket pooling in his lap.

When I reach him, he lifts his gaze to mine and our eyes lock. I hand him the water. With his good hand, he takes the glass, his fingers resting over mine. I retract mine quickly, the water splashing out of the glass. I don’t know why that happened, and the look on his face makes me feel instantly heartless. He’s shaking dreadfully, and I’m wondering if it’s withdrawal. I’m sure I read shakiness as a symptom, along with a catalogue of other signs.

He follows my eyes to his hand and shakes his head. This is weird. Things have never been like this between us. Neither of us knows what to say.

‘When did you last have a drink?’ I ask. This is pink elephant in the room territory, but I’ve got to say something.

He sips his water and then slumps back on the sofa, his abdominals looking sharper from his slight weight loss. ‘I don’t know. What day is it?’

‘Saturday.’

‘Saturday?’ he asks, obviously shocked. ‘Fuck.’

I’m assuming this means he’s lost a lot of time, but he can’t have been in this penthouse for five days solid, just drinking. Surely he would be dead?

And then the silence falls again and I find myself back on the chair opposite him, twiddling my thumbs and searching my brain for the right thing to say. I hate this. I wouldn’t usually think twice about diving on him and throwing my arms around him, letting him smother me completely, but he’s so delicate at the moment, which is crazy, considering his tall, if a bit leaner frame. My strong rogue is reduced to a shaking mess. It’s killing me. And on top of all that, I don’t even know if he would want me to. I’m not sure I really want to either. This man is not the man I fell in love with. Is this the real Jesse?

He sits and fiddles with his glass thoughtfully, the familiar sight of the cogs turning is comforting, it’s a little piece of him that I recognise, but I can’t bear this silence. ‘Jesse, is there anything I can do?’ I ask despairingly, while silently pleading for him to give me something – anything.

He sighs. ‘There are lots of things you can do, Ava. But I can’t ask you to do any of them.’ He doesn’t look at me.

I want to scream at him, tell him what he’s done to me. Sat here looking at him, all disheveled and tracing the rim of his glass, is just reinforcing the sensible side of my brain’s instinct to run.

‘Do you want a shower?’ I ask. I can’t sit in silence anymore. I’ll tear my hair out.

He leans forward and winces. ‘Sure.’ he murmurs.

I watch him struggle to his feet, and I feel like a cold cow for not helping him, but I don’t know if he wants me to, and I’m not sure that I can. The atmosphere between us is so awkward.

As he stands, the blankets fall to his feet and he looks down at his naked body. ‘Shit.’ he curses, reaching down to retrieve one of the blankets. He wraps it around his waist and turns towards me. ‘I’m sorry.’ he says on a shrug.

Sorry?

Like I haven’t seen it all before – lots, in fact. In his words, there is not a place on my body that hasn’t had him in it, on it or over it.

My shoulders droop and I sigh as I start walking with him up the stairs to the master-suite. It takes a while and we’re surrounded by an uncomfortable silence the whole way, but we make it, eventually. I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. This is a million miles away from what I’m used to with this man.

‘Would a bath be better?’ I ask, walking ahead into the bathroom. He looks exhausted after his trek up the stairs, so standing in the shower isn’t going to be fun. A good muscle soak in the bath will probably help.

He shrugs again. ‘I suppose.’

Okay, I’ll run him a bath, and then I’m leaving. I can’t do this. This is the man who I was beginning to think I knew, who I was desperately hoping I knew, but I’m destroyed to discover that I don’t know him at all – not even a little bit. I’ll ring John and see what he suggests. I’m not cut out for this. He is inhibited, withdrawn and all of the hurtful things that he bellowed at me during our altercation are getting louder and clearer the longer this goes on. Why did I get into that elevator?

I turn the giant mixer tap on and run my hand under it until the temperature is right, while trying my hardest not to think about tub talk and the fact that Jesse is a self-proclaimed bath man now – but only when I’m in there with him. I push the button for the plug and let the water run, knowing the giant thing will take an age to fill.

I turn and come face to face with the vanity unit. That is where we had our first sexual encounter. This bathroom is where we showered together, bathed together and had many steamy sex sessions together. It’s also where I last saw him.

Stop!

I shake my thoughts away and busy myself finding some bath soak and generally pottering about, while Jesse stands propped up against the wall in silence. As I knew it would, the bath takes forever to fill, and I begin to wish I had just shoved him in the shower.

Finally, it’s full enough. ‘There.’ I say shortly, walking out of the bathroom. I’ve never felt compelled to escape his presence. I’ve stormed off in strops and evaded his touch for fear of losing my mind, but I’ve never really wanted to leave. I do now.

‘You’re acting like a stranger.’ he says softly, just as I reach the door, stopping me in my tracks. This is so very painful.

I don’t turn around. ‘I feel like a stranger.’ I say quietly, swallowing hard and trying to prevent the shakes that are threatening to invade my body.

Silence settles again, different instructions tangling in my head. I really don’t know what to do for the best. I thought the pain couldn’t get any worse. I thought I was in the lowest level of hell already. I was wrong. Seeing him like this is crippling me. I need to leave and continue with my battle to get over this man. I feel like I’ve been knocked back a few steps, now that I’ve seen him again, but the truth is, I hadn’t really made any progression in my recovery. If anything, this will make the whole painful process easier.

‘Please look at me, Ava.’

My heart sprints up to my throat at his words that are a plea rather than the usual demand. Even his voice sounds different. It’s not the familiar deep, husky, sexy rumble I know. Now, it is cracked and broken. He is cracked and broken, which means I am cracked and broken.

I slowly pivot to face the man who is a stranger to me, finding his bottom lip wedged between his teeth as he looks at me through hollow green eyes. ‘I can’t do this.’ I turn and leave, my heart hammering, but getting slower at the same time. It’s going to stop soon.

‘Ava!’

I hear him coming after me, but I don’t look back. He’s not at full strength, so this might be the only time I actually get away from him. What was I thinking coming here? Flashbacks of last Sunday overwhelm my head as I take the stairs fast, my vision blurry, my legs numb.

As I hit the bottom of the staircase, I feel the familiar grip of his hand around my wrist, and I panic, flying around to push him away from me. ‘No!’ I scream, frantically trying to release myself from his harsh hold. ‘Don’t touch me!’

‘Ava, don’t do this.’ he pleads, grabbing my other wrist and holding me in front of him. ‘Stop!’

I crumble to the floor, feeling helpless and fragile. I’m already broken, but he can dish the final blow that will finish me off. ‘Please, don’t.’ I sob. ‘Please, don’t make this harder.’

He collapses to the floor with me, pulling me onto his lap and smothering me completely. I sob relentlessly into his chest. I can’t control it.

His face pushes into my hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I don’t deserve it, but give me a chance.’ He squeezes me hard. ‘I need another chance.’

‘I don’t know what to do.’ I’m being honest. I really don’t know what to do. I feel the need to escape him, but at the same time, I feel the need to stay and let him make things better. But if I stay, will I get dealt that death blow? Or if I leave, will that be the death blow? For both of us?

All I know is the strong, firm, assertive Jesse, the Jesse who broods when I defy him, manhandles me when I threaten to leave him and fucks me until I’m delirious. This is the furthest away from that man

‘Don’t run away from me again.’ he begs, holding me tight. I notice his shakes have subsided.

I pull back, wiping my tear stained face with the back of my hand, my eyes fixed on his stomach, his scar bigger and more obvious than ever before. I can’t look at his eyes. They are not familiar to me anymore. They are not dark with anger or sparkling with pleasure – not narrowed fiercely or hooded with lust for me. They are empty pits of nothing, with no comfort to offer me. Despite that, though, I know if I walk out of that door, I’m finished. My only hope is to stay, find the answers that I need and pray they don’t destroy me. He has the power to destroy me.

His cold hand slides under my chin and pulls my face up to his. ‘I’m going to make this all right. I’m going to make you remember, Ava.’

I stare into his eyes and see determination through the haze of green. Determination is good, but does it eradicate the pain and madness that has come before it? ‘Can you make me remember the conventional way?’ I ask seriously. It’s not a joke, although he smiles a little.

‘I’m making it my mission objective. I’ll do anything.’

His words, a repeat from the launch night of Lusso, are spoken with as much resolve as they were back then. He kept his promise to prove that I wanted him. A small flicker of hope lightens my heavy heart, and I sink my face back down into his chest, clinging onto him. I believe him.

A quiet exhale of breath escapes his lips as he pulls me closer and holds on like his life depends on it.

It probably does. And mine too.

‘Your bath will get cold.’ I mumble into his bare chest when we’re still crumpled on the floor in a firm hold some time later.

‘I’m comfy.’ he complains, and I detect a familiar piece of Jesse in his tone.

‘You need to eat as well,’ I inform him, feeling strange dishing out instructions to him. ‘And that hand needs seeing to. Does it hurt?’

‘Like hell.’ he confirms.

I’m not surprised. It looks terrible. I hope it’s not broken because five days without any medical treatment could have the bones setting out of place. ‘Come on.’ I peel myself out of his vice grip. He grumbles but releases me. Standing up, I put my hand out to him, and he looks up at me with a small smile before taking it and lifting himself from the floor.

We walk quietly up the stairs and back to the master-suite.

‘In you get.’ I order quietly, pointing at the bath.

‘Are you making demands?’ His eyebrows rise. He obviously finds the reversal peculiar too.

‘It sounds like it,’ I nod towards the bath.