This Man Confessed (16 page)

He smiles. “Do you see how happy you make me when you do what you’re told?”

I ignore him and pop the bread in my mouth, each chew becoming easier, each swallow instigating less stomach turning. He just stands and watches me until I’ve worked my way through most of my breakfast. “Happy?” I ask. I know
I
am. I feel better already.

“Your color’s back. Yes, I’m happy.” He scoops up the remains and throws it in the bin, and then bends down, getting nose to nose with me. “My work here is done.” He pushes his lips to mine. “Now I’ll leave my wife to work in peace.”

I scoff. “No, you won’t.”

Pulling back, he hits me with a cheeky grin. “I might check in once or twice.”

I scoff again. “No, you won’t!”

“I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. Is Patrick here?” His question reminds me that I still haven’t spoken to my boss about Mikael.

“No. He’s in meetings all day.”

He straightens, flicking his eyes to my hair, clearly looking for signs of my fiddling fingers. “You’ve made me late,” he says, looking down at his Rolex.

“You make yourself late.” I shoo him away and pick up my flowers to put them in water. “Go.”

He holds his hands up and starts backing away from me. “Feeling better?”

“I do. Thank you.”

Blessing me with his smile, reserved only for me, he winks, blows a kiss, and walks out, leaving me with a little grin on my nonpale face. Victoria and Sal are smiling fondly and Tom’s swooning at my Lord’s back.

They’re all still so affected.

I make it to the end of the day with my breakfast still in my stomach. I feel so much better. Jesse has texted me five times, each time asking how I feel. My answer is the same for every reply. Better.

The final message asks a different question, though.

The last bit gets me.

I pack my desk up and wave a good-bye to all of my colleagues, meeting a woman holding a bunch of flowers at the door.

“Ava O’Shea?” she asks. It’s not the usual florist, and she called me by my maiden name. Jesse would absolutely never do that.

“That’s me.” I sound cautious, which is fine because I am. I’ve just noticed the flowers are not calla lilies and they are far from fresh. In fact, they’re dead. She places the flowers in my arms and thrusts the clipboard under my nose. She wants a signature for dead flowers? I shift my full arms and manage a rough scribble across the paper.

“Thanks,” she says casually as she turns to walk away.

I look down at the flowers a little puzzled. “They’re dead,” I call to her back.

“I know,” she replies, not in the least bit troubled by that.

“You think it’s okay to deliver dead flowers?”

She turns and laughs. “I’ve had stranger requests.”

I flinch. Like what? I find the card and remove it from the tiny envelope.

M
y heart stops beating in my chest and one name springs to mind immediately.

Coral.

I should feel concerned, but I don’t. I feel deadly possessive at the suggestion. A lightning bolt of Jesse’s famous attribute flies through me, leaving me dropping everything in my arms to the floor and tearing the malicious warning up slowly. Who the hell does she think she is? A fuck, that’s what she was, nothing more than a convenient fuck. Has she been in touch with Jesse again? Should I ask him and prick his curiosity, because I don’t want him to know about this. I don’t want anything tipping him over the edge. I can deal with empty threats. Leave him, or what? After gathering my things from the ground, I make my way to the car park, the desperate urge to be with him suddenly overwhelming me.

I come to an abrupt halt when I see the parking space where I left my Mini this morning is empty. No car. I glance up at the board displaying the floor number and note that I’m in the exact right place. So where the hell is my car?

“’S’all good, girl.” John’s low rumble pulls my body around to find him leaning out of the window of his Range Rover. “In you get.”

“My car’s been stolen.” I wave my arm at the empty space and turn back to check that I’m not imagining things.

“It’s not been stolen, girl. Get in.”

“What?” I turn startled eyes back to the mountain of a man. “Where is it, then?”

John has a clear look of embarrassment on his mean face. “Your motherfucking husband had it picked up.” He nods his head to the passenger side.

“Are you winding me up?” I laugh.

His eyebrows appear over his wraparounds. “What do you think?”

I take a deep, calming breath and make my way around to the passenger side and climb in. Yes, he needs me all right. He needs me to drive me fucking crazy! “I might strangle him,” I mutter, yanking my seatbelt around and clipping it in place.

“Take it easy on him, girl.” John commences strumming on the steering wheel as he drives out of the car park, back into the daylight.

“John,” I start in a matter-of-fact tone, “I like you. I really do, but unless you can enlighten me on an acceptable reason for my husband’s neurotic ways, then I won’t be taking any notice of your request to take it easy on him.”

He laughs a deep, rolling belly laugh, his neck retracting and revealing those chins he keeps hidden. “I like you, too, girl.” He chuckles, reaching under his glasses and wiping under his eyes. I’ve never seen this big, menacing beast so vivacious. It makes me smile, thoughts of challenging husbands and threatening notes soon making way for the giggles. But then John’s face straightens all too quickly, and I’m left laughing alone with wraparounds pointed at me. The sudden change in his expression snaps me right from my hysterical state.

“He might get worse. I believe congratulations are in order.” His face dips, an indication that he’s looking at my stomach, before he returns to face the road.

“He’s told you?” I ask disbelievingly. I don’t want anyone to know yet. It’s way too soon.

“Girl, he didn’t need to.”

“He didn’t?”

“No, when I found Harrods baby department on the screen of his computer, it kind of let the cat out the bag. That and the smile on the motherfucker’s face all day.”

I sink into my seat, wondering what people might think. Shotgun, that’s what. A rush job because he’s knocked me up. My contentment waivers. And what about my parents and Dan?

John pulls up at The Manor, and I waste no time jumping down from his Range Rover and making my way up the steps.

“He’s in his office,” John calls.

“Thanks, John.” I head straight for the back of The Manor, passing through the summer room and smiling to myself at the sudden silence that falls. I cast my eyes across the gathering of women, all with drinks in their hands and all with sour faces. “Evening.” I smile brightly and receive a chorus of mumbles in return for my trouble. My smile widens at the thought of those faces souring further when they learn of my pregnancy.

As I approach Jesse’s office, the door opens and a man exits, looking tense but relieved all at once. It’s Steve. He looks different, fully clothed and without a whip in his grasp. I halt dead in my tracks, completely shocked, mainly because he’s in one piece. “Hi,” I stammer, the surprise clear in my tone.

His eyes lift and he smiles, a little embarrassed. “Ava.”

I’m staring at him, and I realize it’s rude, but I’m not sure what to say. There are no bruises or black eyes; he’s not limping and he doesn’t look like he’s just been offered burial or cremation. “How are you?” I ask, when my brain fails to give me anything better to say.

“I’m good.” He slips his hands into his jacket pockets, looking no less uncomfortable. “You?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” This is so awkward. The last time I saw him, he had me trussed up and was whipping the crap out of me. He was cocky and smarmy, but there is no trace of that man now. “You’ve been to see Jesse?”

“I have.” He laughs. “I’ve avoided it for long enough. I needed to apologize.”

“Oh.” My brain is failing me. He looks sincere enough, but if I was a man and I had Jesse vying for my blood, I think I would face the shame of groveling, too.

“I should apologize to you, too.” He stammers through his words. “Yeah…urm…I’m…I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. I’m the one who’s embarrassed now. I asked him to whip me. It’s me who should be feeling remorseful for setting him up for certain annihilation. “Steve, I shouldn’t have asked you. It was wrong of me.”

“No.” He smiles, but this time it’s a sweet offering. “I’d been walking a fine line for too long, getting carried away, losing respect for the women trusting me. You actually did me a favor, but, of course, I wish I’d never hurt you.”

I smile back. “I’ll accept yours, if you accept mine.”

He pulls his car keys from his pocket and starts to pass me. “Accepted. I’ll see you.”

“See you,” I call, watching his back disappear down the corridor.

I push through Jesse’s office door and find him on his knees in the middle of the floor, my mind suddenly awash with painful memories. But he’s fully dressed in his suit and there are piles and piles of paperwork spread on the floor in front of him. He looks up, and my heart constricts at the exasperated look on his beautiful face.

“Hey.” I shut the door behind me, and his look changes from mentally exhausted to contented in a split second.

“Here’s my beautiful girl.” He sits on his arse, knees bent and with his feet flat on the floor, opening his arms. “Come here. I need you.”

I walk slowly over. “Need
me,
or need me to sort all of this out for you?”

He pouts and waves him arms impatiently. “Both.”

I sit myself between his thighs and shuffle back until my back is pressed to his front. His arms wrap around my shoulders and his nose goes straight into my hair, taking a long, loud inhale. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Good, I don’t like seeing you poorly.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been underhanded and knocked me up,” I retort dryly, earning myself a nudge of his leg. “I saw Steve leaving.”

“Hmm,” he hums in my ear, nibbling at my lobe.

“Did you offer burial or cremation?” I grin to myself when I’m nudged again.

“I offered him an olive branch, actually. Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady.”

I’m pretty speechless. I would’ve put my life on the imminent demise of the poor Steve. “What’s made you so reasonable?”

“I’m always reasonable. It is you, beautiful girl, who’s the unreasonable one.”

I don’t bother challenging him. I don’t even bother scoffing or laughing, but his little comment has just reminded me of something. “What’s so reasonable about having my car stolen? And how did you manage it without any key?”

“Tow truck,” he replies with absolutely no shame or further explanation.

I reach forward and pick up a few pieces of paper, anything to stop myself from countering his ridiculous claim of not being unreasonable, or shouting at him for stealing my car.

“How was your day?” he asks.

I try to prevent the slight tensing of my body. “Productive. Shall we make a start?”

He groans but releases me. “Suppose so.”

Over the next hour, we sort through endless papers, bills, contracts, and invoices. I’ve collated them all in date order, stacked them in neat piles, and secured them with elastic bands. Jesse slumps in his office chair and starts fiddling with his computer, and I watch as I finish binding the final pile of papers. He’s guiding his mouse around, his frown a perfect line on his brow. Curious, I get up to go and see what he’s so rapt with, and as I walk around his desk, he flicks his eyes quickly to me, and then hastily shuts his screen down.

“Dinner?” He stands.

I give him suspicious eyes and lean past him, turning the screen back on. It’s as I thought: baby paraphernalia everywhere. I turn my face to his with a questioning look, but I can’t possibly be cranky with him, especially when he shrugs sheepishly and starts biting at his bottom lip.

“Just doing a bit of research.” He actually looks down and starts scuffing his shoes on the office carpet. I melt at his feet. I could hug him. So I do. Tightly.

“I know you’re excited, but could we hold off telling people?”

“I want to shout about it,” he complains. “Tell everyone.”

“I know, but I’m only a few weeks. Women usually wait until their first scan, at least.”

“When’s the first scan? I’ll pay. We’ll get one tomorrow.”

I laugh and pull away. “It’s far too early for a scan, and anyway, the hospital will do it.”

He looks at me like I’ve just grown another head. “You are
not
having my baby in an NHS hospital!”

“I—”

“No, Ava. This is not up for discussion. End of.” It’s that tone—the one I know for absolutely sure never to challenge. “Never, no way.” He shakes his head. He’s horrified at the thought, clearly.

“What do you think they’ll do?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not giving them the chance.” He takes my hand and starts leading me from his office.

“You pay your taxes and so do I. It’s a privilege to have the National Health Service. You should be grateful.”

“I am. It’s wonderful, but we won’t be utilizing it. End of.”

“Neurotic,” I mutter, looking up at him on a grin.

My grin is returned, even though I can see he’s trying to remain serious. “
-ish.
” he replies. “I like your dress.” His eyes wander down the front of my nude structured pencil dress, as do mine.

“Thank you.”

“I want to show you something. Come on.” He opens the door and places his hand on the small of my back to guide me.

“What?” I ask, letting my body be gently pushed from his office.

I shiver when I feel his mouth at my ear. “You’ll see.”

I’m curious, and I’m also feeling a little breathless. From just a few whispered words and his hand on my body, I’m mentally begging for him. Pregnancy might be responsible, or it could just be him. No, it’s the latter, for sure, but combined I could be in a whole heap of sexual trouble.

We pass the members of The Manor in the summer room, Jesse nodding, me smiling, and make our way up the stairs until we’re walking down the corridor to the extension.

He opens the door to the very last room, the one I fled from, the one I sat on my arse sketching drafts in, and the one in which I received my warning from Sarah. I don’t particularly like this room, but as I’m pushed through and the whole area comes into view, I gasp.

It’s no longer an empty shell of raw plaster and a rough wooden floor. It’s now a palatial space, garnished in sumptuous materials, all in black and gold. I gingerly wander in, gazing around, drinking in the stunning space. The huge bed that I sketched has come to life and dominates the room, dressed in pale gold satin. The windows are adorned with heavy gold drapes of the same material, and the floor is soft and squidgy under my heels. I trail my eyes across the walls, finding the paper I picked on one wall and the three remaining walls painted in a dull gold to match the bedding and curtains. It’s almost an exact replica of my rough drawing.

I turn to face Jesse. “You did this?”

He shuts the door quietly. “I gave someone your drawing and told them to create it. Is it close?”

“It is. When?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter when. What matters is if you like it.” He’s trying to gauge my reaction, looking a little cautious and maybe even a little nervous, too.

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s ours.”

My eyes widen a little. “Ours?” What does he mean by that? Does he want us to live here?

He must catch the worry on my face because he smiles mildly. “No one has ever
been
in this room. This is our room. If I’m working and you’re with me, maybe you’ll want a sleep or some rest.”

“You mean when I have swollen ankles or exhaustion from carrying too much weight?” I’m suddenly contemplating the awful thought that we’re having a baby, we are starting a family, and The Manor will be a huge presence in our lives. My baby’s daddy owns a sex club. Once I have this baby, I’ll never want to bring it here, and with Jesse working I’ll hardly see him. He’ll hardly see
us
. The terrifying, unsure feelings are still lying dormant, but with this realization, they are threatening to rear their ugly heads and send me back a few paces. He’ll never sell this place. He’s already confirmed that. It was Carmichael’s baby.

“I mean if we need it, it will be here,” he says quietly.

I don’t want to need it, although I don’t say that. He’s gone to all of this trouble for me, so instead, I break my eyes away from Jesse’s thoughtful greens and cast them around the pale gold walls. There’s no wall art, no pictures or decorative pieces.

Except the cross.

My eyes remain fixed on the giant, dark wooden crucifix, and I notice at each end of the horizontal piece of wood spanning two-thirds of the way up, there are manacles—shiny, gold, intricately carved pieces of metal bolted to the far edges to hold something in place.