Page 63 of Hard
‘Maybe I only wear matching when I know I’m meeting you?’
‘Not true, trouble.’ I hold out my hand, and she comes to me, straddling my legs, settling herself lower and purposely rubbing her pussy against me.
‘This I need to hear.’ Her tone teases. ‘Come on, baby. Psychoanalyse me.’
‘You’re always put together gorgeously. And the very first day we met, I was the lucky recipient of a flash of your underwear.’ And then yesterday... not even gonna think about yesterday right now.About Troy. About matching underwear. Because that’s not what that was.I’m also gonna keep my eyes on her face, no matter what it takes. ‘I reckon you’ve got a deep-seated fear of being knocked over by a bus. What would the paramedics think if you were a mess of polka dots and flowers?’
‘You’re so silly,’ she says, running her fingers through my hair. Her cheeks heat as though remembering something dirty. And yep, I still manage to keep my gaze above her neck.
This girl. This bloody girl.
‘Your underwear matches your outerwear. You’re always pulled together. Co-ordinating shoes and outfit. Perfectly applied makeup. Deliciously matched underwear. And your insides,’ I say, placing my palm over her heart, ‘are as darling as your looks.’ To stop myself from embarrassing us both, I give her lips a quick peck, and as I stand, I slide her feet to the floor. ‘Come on, trouble. Let me show you some fruit you’ll love.’
In the kitchen, Paisley takes a seat at the breakfast bar, eyeing the large dish of well-polished fruit between us.
‘It all looks plastic.’ She grasps a shining red apple, turning it in fingers. ‘Or painted.’
‘It’s organic fruit, but Agnes still likes to wash the fuck out of it once it’s delivered. She used to seem content to let me pick the apples straight from her garden when I was a lad, but woe betide anyone who feed Sorcha an unwashed pear.’ Come to think of it, she used to let me steal the apples because I wasn’t getting enough food at home.
‘She must love Sorcha very much.’ Paisley’s voice pulls me from my dark thoughts.
‘Aye, she does that.’
‘So where are they today that you can walk around your house, flashing your hotness around while tempting random passing girls?’
I can barely recall the last time I walked around in the semi-buff. And I definitely can’t remember the last time a girl wore one of my shirts.And very little else.Sleeves rolled, the hem hits mid-thigh, so it’s not super revealing. But there’s just something about seeing a hot girl wearing your things. Whether it’s a territorial thing, or maybe because it signifies we’ve already had our clothesoff, I don’t know. All I can say is that it’s as sexy as fuck.
‘I’m only interested in tempting one girl. She’s trouble enough.’ I send her a flirty wink. ‘And today is one of those very rare Saturdays. I’m sure Agnes will be in her wee cottage at the back of the house, and I don’t have to pick up Sorcha until this afternoon. We’ve got hours and hours yet.’
‘You make it sound like you have plans.’
‘Oh, I do, trouble. Lots and lots of plan. Starting with your fruit education.’
Her shoulders slump. ‘The other F-word.’
‘Come on.’ I curl my fingers, beckoning her into the kitchen. When she’s in front of me, I back her up against one of the countertops, leaving her momentarily to open the freezer.
‘If it’s the ice cream kind of fruit, I’m down with that. Especially if it’s, say, fudge brownie or chocolate.’
‘There must be some very peculiar fruit and veg shops in the US.’ From the corner of my eye, I can see Paisley straining to view the contents of the dish I pull from the deep freeze. It’s pretty pointless. The thing has a lid, and I’m all about the surprise right now.
‘Fruitandveg? Those are some strange words you’re throwing about.’
‘Don’t tell me you refuse to eat vegetables, too.’ I stop in front of her, placing my hand on her shoulder. ‘Do you have something to tell me? Are you eight years old?’
‘Cute,’ she says. ‘I eat vegetables. I just don’t like fruit.’
‘You’re gonna like this fruit.’ The cold bowl chinks as I place it on the countertop, just behind her. ‘Trust me.’
‘That right there is a very wolfish smile. What are you up to?’
‘Do you trust me?’
She moves her head to one side, then the other as though contemplating before answering with a simple, ‘Yes.’
So I get to work, loosening the buttons of my shirt from the bottom up.
‘It might be a good time to point out that, a, I haven’t showered and, b, that I’m a little sore at his point.’
