Page 21 of Resisting Mr Black

“Happy? I’m ecstatic. It’s just such a relief to have somewhere to move into and this place is so lovely.” I shake my head as I glance around because I’m still in a state of shock.

He breaks into one of his easy smiles. He seems happy that I’m happy. If he were anyone else I’d be hugging him right now for helping me out massively, but there is absolutely no way I can trust myself to be that close to him.

“Tomorrow we can pick up your stuff and move you in. I know a guy with a van.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

Ichew my thumbnail anxiously, aware that he’s swiftly turning into my white knight in shining armour. “Thanks. I’ve barely anything to move, so it shouldn’t take long.”

“How come?”

I look out at the river through the window and see the sun disappearing below the horizon leaving a burnished amber afterglow. “My ex kept most of the furniture.”

He’s slowly edging towards me and I realise with a stab of nerves that I won’t be able to get down quick enough before he reaches me. Sure enough, he’s already standing in front of me, and he raises his hands to my knees as if he’s going to touch me but stops. His palms hover a few tantalising centimetres away from my kneecaps, and a crease line appears on his forehead as he stares down at his hands. It’s as if he’s got some internal battle going on. My breathing becomes short, and every fibre of my being is on high alert as my eyes remain glued to him. After a few moments, he flexes his fingers then retracts his hands and pushes them into the front pocket of his jeans. His eyes sweep up my body, and he looks like a man defeated. I have no idea what the hell just happened.

“You’re my Kryptonite, Sophie Ward.”

What does that mean?

His phone begins to ring, and he pulls it from his pocket with a scowl. “What?” he barks, clearly not happy at the interruption. “Okay. I’ll be there in five.” He blows out a long breath and shoves his phone back in his pocket, the crease on his forehead returning.

“Is everything okay?”

“Something’s cropped up which I’ve got to go and sort.”

I frown. “At the gym?”

He pushes a hand through his hair and gives me a long look. “Yes. Now, come on,” he urges before I can ask any more questions. “I’ll drop you back home and you can make a start on your packing.”

The sunrise peeks through the high-rise buildings on a new day as I stand staring out of the tiny window onto the high street below. A light breeze blows an empty chip wrapper along the pavement and all is quiet before the chaos of the traffic starts and the shops open.

Two suitcases of clothes and five cardboard boxes containing all my earthly belongings stand in the hallway and I feel a stab of sadness that this is all I have to show for my ten years of adulthood. The mismatching pieces of second-hand furniture are being left behind because there’s no place for those in my shiny new apartment.

The sound of engines outside pulls my attention back to the street below. A white transit van is parked outside, and Art’s car pulls up behind it seconds later. Eight o’clock on the dot as promised. I’ve left the front door ajar.

He appears in the doorway and steps into the flat breaking into a broad smile when he sees me. An army green t-shirt fits snug against his upper body and shows off his tanned skin and dark features to perfection, and black denim jeans hang from his slim waist. His hair is sticking up haphazardly on top and isn’t swept back in its usual coiffured style. How can he make jeans and a t-shirt look hot? My hormones are being swept into a frenzy. It’s too early for this.

“Sophie, this is Big Steve.”

I take a few steps back at the sight of him because I’m not sure we’re all going to fit in the tiny hall. He’s a touch shorter than Art but is a wall of solid dense muscle. He’s pretty much bald but I reckon he was once a redhead. There’s a faint smattering of freckles on his cheekbones from too much sun and the top of his nose is slightly crooked. He could easily be a boxer or a bouncer, or both.

“Alright? Good to meet you.” He’s got a strong East End accent and when he smiles a gold tooth glistens somewhere in his upper jaw. He holds his hand out for me to shake.

“And you, thanks for helping me move.” I note what a gentle handshake he has for such a burly guy.

“No bother,” he assures me, his bright blue eyes giving me the once over. “So, you work up at that posh old hotel this one’s taken on, I hear?”

My eyes dart to Art who looks at me impassively. He’s been talking about me. “Yes, I’m the wedding planner there.”

Big Steve lets out a deep laugh. “When we heard he’d taken that on, me and the boys didn’t half have a laugh. It’s just what he’s been after.”

Art shoots him a look and gives a short sharp shake of his head as if telling him to shut up. Big Steve’s smile dissolves, and he rubs his hands together. “That the lot then?” He nods towards the boxes at the other end of the hall.

“Yes, just those.”

“We’ll make short work of this.” He strides over to one of the boxes, picks it up, and passes it to Art, and then he picks up another.

---