Page 43 of Sleep

“Do you want them?” Safe question then.

“I don’t think so. Not to mention that I live in a death trap. Child-safe spaces weren’t on the brief when I commissioned this place, but then Jenny wasn’t pregnant back then.”

“You love this Jenny?”

“All the questions,” he mused, giving me a gentle smile. He seemed to like that I was nervously blabbering random things at him.

“Jenny’s been with me for a long time. She’s an essential part of my life.”

“I get that.” I knew what that felt like, having someone be an essential part of your life. I could also feel the knives in my back, the wounds that would take a long time to heal, if they ever did. Bloody Mark.

It wasn’t a strange place to be, in someone else’s bedroom. Expectations were usually clear, though, not like now, with Jonny shimmying out of that bathrobe right in front of my eyes—eyes I discreetly turned towards the wall, not without taking a peek. I mean, he was right there. His back was turned towards me, but still. Strong shoulders. Built. A deliciously pert bottom.

I smiled…and only then realised he could see me in the mirrored wardrobe doors.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

“Sorry. You’re pretty good-looking. Couldn’t help it.”

“Pickle.” He sighed, slipping into a pair of briefs.

“Now, if your majesty doesn’t mind, get into bed. It’s late, and I, for one, need my beauty sleep.”

I was aiming for light-hearted, yet there was all this tension in the air.

“You don’t need beauty sleep. You’re beautiful already.”

“Jonny,” I whined. “You’re not helping yourself here.”

“Helping with what? I’m just being honest.”

And…here I went again, tangling myself up with another manipulative bastard, except Jonny was blushing like a teen, and my fragile ego was basking in the compliment.

I was a fool. Such a bloody fool.

Then he walked around the bed and out of the room, while I stood there, frozen in place.

Everything went dark. His silhouette reappeared in the doorway.

“I’ve never slept in here.”

I knew that and would’ve told him so, but I’d lost the use of my tongue. The darkness. The way he moved around in the soft glow from the city, shadows and light shifting over his skin as he carefully negotiated the duvet, tucked a pillow under his head.

“You took the pillows from the guest bedroom, so I’m assuming you’re…” He swallowed the last word. I would have, too.

“Jonny,” I said.

“Pickle,” he replied.

For the record, I was lost. I think I had been for a while.

“I’m not beautiful. I’m awkward, too tall and full of angles and…”

“You’re beautiful. All the right angles if you ask me, and I work in construction.”

The things he said.

“I’m just going to go use the bathroom,” I said, fleeing.

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