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‘Very,’ Ella says from over the rim of her glass. ‘You wouldn’t guess it, would you? I mean, he’s not an awful rigid toff.’
No, definitely not. Will is quite the opposite.
From there, the evening passes pleasantly, though Ella’s words seem to linger at the back of my mind like a disappointed cloud. It’s ridiculous that I feel this way, but that’s the thing about feelings. They’re there whether you appreciate them or not. The son of a Lord and the daughter of a librarian and a maintenance man? We not only live oceans apart, but we’re also from worlds apart. Galaxies, even. But it’s a good reminder, I decide, as I close the front door to Mo’s multimillion-pound home, greeted by the massive butt sniffer.I’ll bet even he’s a ridiculously expensive breed of mutt.
I take off my makeup and climb into my pyjamas, then open the bedroom windows. The evening is kind of humid, and the city is due some rain. The clouds hang low in the sky, overheating the city and making its inhabitants restless. My Uber driver included. I pour myself a glass of wine from the bottle I have open in the fridge, then grab my tablet to send my mom an email and a couple of photographs I took while walking around the city the other day.
Sir Lancelot brings his heavy self to lie on the end of the bed, so I point the remote at the big screen TV on the opposite wall—one of the few things that truly denote that this is a man’s home—as my instructions as dog sitter included Sir L’s preferences for the occasional show on Animal Planet. Seriously.
And that’s the last thing I know until it’s eight o’ clock in the morning. I seem to have turned the TV off, or maybe it’s set on a timer. Whatever. Because the technology gods have blessed me further this morning as I wake, bleary eyed, to the sound of a text from my phone and something else a little more surprising than that.
Chapter Twenty-One
SADIE
Wake up, plum. How are you doing?I rub the sleep out of my eyes, smiling as I open Will’s text, though a lingering sense of unease is quick to follow.
I stretch, then type back my one-word answer.Peachy.As far as answers go, it isn’t a very honest one.
While there’s a definite peachy quality to your bottom, you’ll always be a plum in my eyes.
And you’re a fruitcake, I respond.
Hungover?Great, the man thinks I have a drinking problem.
Nope. Not one bit,I type back.
I didn’t drink a lot last night because, as a rule, I’m not a big drinker. Crazy Sadie doesn’t need airing too often. But also, I wanted to maintain a little alert around Ella. Not that she noticed; she was so relaxed, she might as well have been horizontal. But I like her. What you see certainly seems to be what you get. No hidden agenda, in other words.
Why, are you?I add as an afterthought.
Unfortunately, no. I’ve been up to my elbows in cervix most of the night.
Eww!Gross.
I jump as my phone begins to ring.
‘I just thought I’d qualify my previous statement,’ Will’s deep voice purrs. ‘I meant it in the most literal sense, though not in the sexual sense.’ There’s a definite bedroom quality to his voice this morning, despite the subject and the ambient background noise. The wail of an ambulance sounds distantly, the clip and scuff of shoes against the pavement.
‘It’s a little too early in the morning for throwing the word cervix into polite conversation, even for a doctor.’
‘If I’d truly been up to my elbows in cervix, I’d have very short arms.’
I laugh.Dammit. Why is it so hard to resist being sucked in by his silliness? His ridiculous sort of charm?
‘Whatever tickles your pickle,’ I retort, which, given his words, makes no sense. I rub my eye with the heel of my hand, biting back a yawn.
‘My pickleisofficially pickled this morning.’ A car alarm beeps, the solid sound of a car door closing following quickly behind. ‘There’s nothing like guiding new life into the world to brighten the dullest of mornings.’ He sounds tired but happy. And I can suddenly imagine him sitting behind the wheel of his car. Maybe his eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the leather headrest, just as he’d been when I lowered my head to his lap.
I inhale sharply at the memory, a breathless, tingling sort of sensation overcoming the length of me.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ My answer is immediate. ‘It’s just so warm.’ I kick the sheets down to my feet, suddenly overheated. I roll onto my side to face the window and, hopefully, a little air. The sky outside looks pretty dull and grey; the weatherman’s promise of rain undelivered. And worse, it’s almost as humid as it was last night.
‘Are you still in bed?’ The low-pitched tone of his voice brings back a rush of memories.Open your legs. Show me what’s mine.
‘No comment.’ I frown, forcing myself to sound unaffected.
